#andróg

[gemsoflasgalen]

beleg and andróg

for @maironsbigboobs 💓 thank you so much for your support!!

commission or support me on kofi 🌿 | speedpaint below the cut ⬇️

[nimphelos]

more tolkien guys: turgon, bëor, ecthelion, & andróg

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

2 for the ask game

thank you!! 💕 | choose violence asks

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

honestly i rarely write characters being fully stone, because i enjoy fluidity and playing around with dynamics and how attraction and desire can change depending on the circumstances, and also topping and bottoming to me are kind of secondary?? like, maybe it's just because i view all sex through the lens of bdsm/kink, because that's what's interesting to me rather than just parts going places, but whatever the reason, dom/sub is a much more approachable framework for me than top/bottom. in sum, it isn't where it's going, but what you do with it in your mind! so i'm slightly rearranging the question to accommodate my charming perversities, i hope that's okay :o)

anyways, stating it right out baldly: andróg children of húrin would never dom. that is a man profoundly insecure about his own masculinity or lack thereof who longs to be túrin's someone's dog on a short leash. he took one look at mr wronged bloodstained cursed sword limpid-eyed tall dark and handsome and said "yep, i'm going down with this ship. i do hate and resent him though. and his boyfriend <33" he knows he's done something wrong and has spent a life fleeing from punishment—how exciting, then, to have punishment brought to you, forced on you, not a choice. he would never admit it, of course, because in his world to willingly submit unmans you, but he'd enjoy being a quarrelsome obdurate scratching-and-biting sub who gets stepped all over and hurt and told he's as pathetic as he feels and tries to suppress. permission to be weak, although he wouldn't think of it in those terms. reassurance of his own usefulness and strength found through being incredibly jealous and possessive (and then getting beaten up for it and feeling pathetic and starting the cycle again). anyways, have an excerpt from my wip on this very topic to close out, feat. andróg trying so hard not to reveal that he's hardcore kinking out on túrin being angry while trying to gently slide him towards a spot of woodland bdsm:

“Yes, if you’ll believe it. You castigate like a hierophant, you know; a warrior-prince with a flaming spear. I had rather you lashed me with your hand!” Neithan regarded him with slightly furrowed brows. “What, beat you?” He could have said he jested; he did not, but only shrugged and picked at the surface of the boulder with the sullen reticence of a child caught out in some petty misdeed. Neithan paced in a tight circle. “I do not like unnecessary violence. But if it would assist you—and I am your chief, and have the keeping of these people. . . Perhaps it is my obligation, the rendering of a kind of aid. . . If I”—he pursed his mouth; scrupulous, quailing a little, charmingly, before the unexpected, caught between duty and the innate recoiling from prostration that made him a yet more perfect idol before which to kneel—“If I hurt you somehow, would you change your ways? Conduct yourself as a man and not a beast and a robber?” His heart was at his lips.“Forsake my sins, you mean, hierophant? If you would give me your leave to stay, I would try, at least. I would do all I could. I cannot promise more.”

it's forthcoming!! there will be hitting!!! onwards to glory!!!!

[maironsbigboobs]

who is the biggest hater in the silm

Morgoth

Fëanor

Eöl

Curufin

Saeros

Glaurung

Maeglin

Caranthir

Andróg

Mîm

Other (say in tags)

Voting ended onDec 12, 2024

[redbootsindoriath]

Happy Christmas!

(And Yule, winter solstice, lunar new year, etc, there are a lot of holidays at this time of year but it happens to be Christmas today, so there we go.)

Anyway, it always struck me as funny how Beleg showed up with supplies that one winter like Saint Nicholas himself except bringing gifts to the kids on the naughty list. Couldn't believe I hadn't done a comic relating to that yet.

Transcription:

[Santa:] "Ah, well, I got here first. Tough luck, sorry, man. But hey, I do have some job openings for elves!" [Andróg:] "What's this black stuff he gave to all of us?"

[pxnxply]

but they had no shelter on the bare summit, and many were shot from below. Most valiant of these was Andróg, who fell mortally wounded by an arrow at the head of the outside stair.

:(

[outofangband]

🔥 for - let's think - the Gaurwaith. (Individual members or as a body.)

(Send 🔥 for an unpopular opinion)

Ok I don’t think I have any particularly unpopular opinions on them so here’s a random theory?

What if Húrin was the one to exile Andróg? The text is very vague about timing but he was almost certainly exiled pre Nírnaeth, it doesn’t make sense that Lorgan or Galdor exiled him though for different reasons

Dor-lómin is a vassal state for lack of a better term but I doubt Fingon or his court would feel the need to get involved in criminal matters unless it was related to treason or something. They probably left that to whoever the Lord of Dor-lómin was.

I have lots of thoughts about what the day to day running of Dor-lómin was like and what the official and unofficial duties were for the Lord (and lady) of Dor-lómin, what laws are from the elves, laws and customs they enforce themselves, etc please feel free to ask questions about this by the way!

As we know Húrin was alway often I imagine a lot of things were delegated but the sentencing of a kinsman for murder is probably something he would at least want to weigh in on

Anyways back to Andróg, it adds another layer of intrigue if it were Húrin who had any say over Andróg’s fate in Hithlum

[adanedhel]

Prompt: arm wrestling contest in Turin's outlaw band

this was fun! thank u sm for the prompt 🥰

“Ey come on! He’s half your age, Andróg!” Someone shouted from beside them, somewhere.

“You can beat ‘im, so old he’s goin’ soft!” Another voice shouted, and there was a round of laughter following it.

“Shut up!” Andróg barked, sweat rolling down the side of his face, and he gripped Túrin’s hand harder, “I didn’t see any of you beat him.” He grumbled, eyes fixed on Túrin in front of him.

So far neither of them had lost a single match to any of the other Gaurwaith, and of those who were present, they were the only two left on the bracket. They'd all had a bit to drink, and someone at some point had started the arm wrestling matches. Before they knew it, everyone in the main hall was gathering together and rolling up their sleeves around a table.

Túrin and Andróg were both tough to match in strength, Túrin with his youth and stamina, and Andróg with great arms from drawing his bow. A few months ago Andróg might have been able to beat Túrin at an arm wrestle, but it seemed his arms were going soft from disuse, after all. Their eyes were deadlocked onto each other, and both of their faces were red with exertion.

Around them, the men shouted and cheered and made bets, circling around them with anticipation. Andróg puffed, and sweat, and Túrin's arm finally budged a little, bending down towards the table. He bit his lip, and took a deep breath, ready to push back with all the might he had left, when suddenly his hand was down against the table, arm pinned at a painful angle, and he yelled out in anger.

There was a mix of cheers and boos from the crowd, those that had bet on Andróg moping as they paid up their dues. Andróg huffed and stood up from the table, rubbing his elbow and scowling.

"Good match," He said, with no small amount of spite behind his voice.

Túrin just laughed, and raised a glass to him, before downing the rest of his drink, "Don't be a sore loser, Andróg, I'd say just one loss is a pretty decent record."

Someone was filling his mug again, and there was a shuffle as more men entered the room, including Beleg. He'd taken a group out for an evening scout, and they'd just returned from changing shifts.

"Beleg!" He called, raising his mug and beckoning the elf towards him, "Have an ale!"

Beleg crossed the room, and sat in the seat Andróg had just occupied, "What has you in such a good spirit, then?"

One of his men, who was significantly more drunk, came over and leaned on Túrin's shoulder, and explained, "He's got an unbeatable arm! Stronger 'an any man of us, even beat ol' Andróg."

Beleg snorted, and noticed how he stood off to the side to lick his wounded ego and drown himself in another drink.

"Any man, is that so?" He smirked, "An what about elf? It's been a long time since any contest between the two of us, could you best even I, now?"

Túrin's eyes lit up with mischief and challenge, and he rested his elbow on the table once more, his hand open. Beleg grasped his hand, and braced himself. A crowd again started to circle around the table, and they were counted back from 3 before they both flexed and pushed into each other's hands.

Túrin's bicep was red, and already burning with exhaustion from so many previous matches, and the alcohol in his blood did nothing to help, but Beleg looked almost as relaxed as ever, the defined bulge of his arm the only thing belying his effort. Beleg smiled at him, and rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand in a gesture that made Túrin's palm sweat, and he almost faltered in his grip. He clenched his eyes shut, and huffed as he tried to push harder, with every ounce of energy left in him.

He felt Beleg's foot travel up his calf, and his eyes snapped open to meet the daring look in Beleg's own. Unashamed, and apparently unnoticed by others, he played under the table, trying to break Túrin's focus. Túrin gritted his teeth, ignoring the ankle hooked around his own, took a deep breath and-- Lost.

His hand was pinned to the table so suddenly that he could only sit there, gaping.

"I got bored of going easy on you," Beleg laughed, still holding Túrin's hand, and brought it to his lips, brushing over the knuckles.

Túrin swallowed hard, and if he hadn't already been red faced from ale and effort he would have blushed. "Not fair," He started, but Beleg laughed at him again.

"Don't be a sore loser, Túrin, I'd say just one loss is a pretty decent record."