#pxnxply

[asharpglance]

Maeglin and Eärendil for @pxnxply (and myself LOL)

[promisesofstone]

For @pxnxply

"We've totally got this!" - As they dress up as orcs

[curufiin]

👀 Eöl and Curvo

thing

ATTRACTION: Repulsive | Unattractive | Average | Attractive | God Help Me

TRUST: Trust To Be A Problem | Warrants Caution | Average | Reliable | Trust With My Life

RESPECT: Worthy Of Disrespect | Deserves No Respect | Hadn't Earned Any Special Respect | More Respected Than Most | Highest Respect

INTEREST: I'd Rather Watch Paint Dry | Distinctly Uninteresting | No Idea Yet | Interesting | I Must Learn More!

PRACTICAL SKILLS: Blunder Factory | Antitalent In Many Things | Average | Skilled In Many Things | Master

SOCIAL SKILLS: Disaster | Weirdo | Normal | You Should Speak | Silver Tongue

KNOWLEDGE SKILLS: Dummy | Knows A Few Things | Average | Expert | Walking Library

COMBAT SKILLS: Weakling | Half-Decent | Equal | I Can Learn From You | Unmatched

WEALTH: Pauper | Poor | Seems Average | Wealthy | Filthy Rich

YOU ARE: Brave | Strong | Kind | Scary | Unsettling | Secretive | Stubborn | Naïve | Strange | Lovely | Insecure | Genius | Misguided

I WOULD: Fight | Spar | Protect | Help | Kill For | Learn From | Date | Sleep With (😔) | Hire | Kill | Sacrifice Myself For

YOU ARE MY: Enemy | Rival | Friend | Family | Love/Crush | Most Important

Complete freely

SOMETHING GOOD YOU SHOWED ME: Galvorn.

SOMETHING BAD YOU SHOWED ME: His penis.

AN ADVICE FOR YOU: “Stop being like that.”

I WISH: “You were not half insane and it was respectable to be seen with you in piblic.”

[honeyedstxrlight]

"You'll be alright without me. I'm sure you'll find others to harass." from ecthelion, before he goes into battle at the fall of gondolin :)

hahaaha angsty memes | accepting! | @fatepowered // @pxnxply muse mention

Tarnin Austa was one of Auriel’s favorite celebrations of the year. It began at midnight with a solemn rite, after which all of the Ondolië fell into silence—not a single voice raised, no whispers shared amongst friends—until the first light of dawn. Then, as if releasing a held breath, the city burst into song. Choirs gathered along the highest walls of the city, their voices carrying over streets aglow with silver lamps, while jewel-toned lights shimmered from the branches of every tree.

Even as an adult, Auriel found the long hours of silence nearly unbearable, the stillness pressing in on her restless nature, but the reward was always worth it. When the music finally came, it did not simply fill the air, it settled deep into her very bones. The ancient melodies wrapped around her like an embrace, their familiar cadences pulling at something deep within her, echoing memories of Tirion upon Túna.

But this morning was different.

As the people gathered, waiting for the first light to spill from the East, something else answered instead. A brilliance—too bright, too sharp—rose from the North, cutting across the sky in a way that felt wrong, unnatural, as though the world itself had turned its face aside. It did not take long for understanding to ripple through the city.

Then panic followed.

It came all at once and not at all, a strange unraveling where moments seemed to slip through her grasp. One moment they stood in stunned silence, the next the streets were in motion; voices breaking the sacred quiet, feet pounding against stone, hands reaching, pulling, searching. It felt as though time lurched forward without her, skipping over the space between calm and chaos, leaving only the echo of what had been and the terror of what was to come.

For the longest time, her feet felt as though they had fused to the stone beneath her. Just last century, she had argued with Glorfindel and Ecthelion, stubborn in her conviction that she should be allowed to stand beside them, to march with the western host and prove herself in battle. She had spoken of courage then as though it were something simple, something she could summon at will. But now, with war at her very doorstep, she found herself completely frozen, until she saw Duilin fall. She rushed to him, hands unsteady as she tried to bind his wound, clinging to the hope that it would be enough. But it was futile. She could only watch as a blazing dart smote him from above; the light fading from those familiar brown eyes.

She wanted to cry, to scream, to mourn her beloved friend, but her feet moved before her mind could catch up. She had to find Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Turgon, Idril—anyone who could tell her what to do. She tried to search for them, but the world dissolved into noise. Screams splitting into shouts, shouts into the sharp, jarring clash of steel, all of it overlapping until nothing was distinct anymore. It pressed in on her from every side, too loud, too fast, every sound demanding her attention at once until her thoughts scattered, her focus slipping from her, wanting nothing more than to scream herself and cover her ears.

It was the familiar glint of silver that dragged her back, the shine of a diamond catching along the edges of a spiked helm, cutting clean through the chaos. Through the blur of bodies and motion, she saw Ecthelion gathering what remained of the House of the Swallow and the Heavenly Arch, his presence a fleeting point of order in a world coming undone.

“Ecthelion!” she cried, forcing her way toward him, the name torn from her throat. She reached him breathless, hands catching at his armor, as though she feared he might slip from her grasp the moment she let go. “Don’t, please don't go, don’t leave me,” she pleaded, voice unsteady, the words spilling out before she could gather them into anything stronger.

"You'll be alright without me. I'm sure you'll find others to harass."

The words struck harder than anything else had and she could only stare at him, her grip tightening against the cold metal of his armor as something sharp twisted deep in her chest. Harass. Of course he would say that, tone light, almost teasing, even now. And of course it would be true. Every prank she had played, every sharp remark tossed his way, every time she had turned her nose up at his guidance as though she did not need it, it all came rushing back at once, no longer playful, no longer harmless. Just...cruel. Just hers.

He had been patient with her, until she pushed him far enough to answer in kind. Where Glorfindel met her fire with warmth and laughter, Ecthelion met it head-on, sharp wit for sharp wit, never yielding an inch when she tested him. He challenged her, honed her, pushed her mind as much as her blade; correcting her footwork until it was perfect, dismantling her arguments piece by piece, demanding she think, not just react. He had taken her education into his own hands without being asked, shaping her into something sharper, stronger, more capable than she might have been otherwise. He had never treated her as fragile. Never allowed her to hide behind charm or mischief when she could be more. He had given his time, his attention, his effort freely, invested in making her the best she could be, and never asking for kindness in return, even when she withheld it.

And she had… what? She had smirked, brushed him off, turned it all into a game, pretending not to see the care in it, because it was easier than meeting it halfway.

“I—” The word caught, splintering into nothing before it could take form. Her throat tightened painfully, the rest of it lodging there, too heavy to force past. There should have been an apology—something clear, something worthy of everything he had done for her—but all she could feel was the crushing weight of it, the awful certainty that even if she managed to say it now, it would be too late to matter.

Her fingers curled tighter against him, almost desperate, as if she could keep him there through sheer will alone. “That’s not— I don’t—” she tried again, the words breaking apart as quickly as they formed, her voice thin, fraying at the edges. She had never struggled to speak before. Not like this. Not when it mattered.

But the apology never came.

[chainsxwsmile]

Traveling westward from Lithlad was easier said than done. Straight to the west lay Barad-dûr and legions of Sauron's closer-- and more unsavory-- allies. Who else would willingly dwell in the shadow of the enormous glowing eye atop the tower that pierced the starless sky like a sword aflame?

No, Bruce fancied keeping that tower-- and its main occupant-- far from his sights, which meant traversing further south than he wished as he kept his direction locked on the mountain range that encapsulated the land of shadow.

Lhingris wasn't any friendlier a dwelling as Barad-dûr-- especially to outsiders. Still, the towering keep of Cirith Ungol was smaller than other fortresses in Mordor, despite its impressive size. And it, most importantly, didn't have Sauron's current form stuck atop it, lidless and ever-watching.

Despite his enormous size, the Olog moved swiftly and softly. Hailing from the wild stock of Olog-hai in southern Mirkwood, Bruce always preferred to walk on all fours. It was far quieter than the lumbering, earth-shaking footfalls of Mordor-bred Olog-hai. And Bruce could flee more easily if the situation arose.

The road ahead carved narrowly into the montane rock and claustrophobia swelled in Bruce's chest. One wrong turn of the rocky corner into an enemy meant little room to flee. Still, the Olog braved forward, not daring to return to the path behind him.

@pxnxply (Talion)

[wanderingarcherviola]

The Bright Lord was dead.. Dead dead! She'd seen him fall to an enemy blade with her own eyes, watched as his lifeless body was dragged off to whatever grizzly fate.

His return really did steal the spotlight of her retaking that camp and freeing their Captains. With stunned silence she held out a severed arm, his severed arm "I- you really do come back after death, I thought you'd- I dunno- grow back from what's left of your corpse."

@pxnxply

[menelvagor]

🍆Idril and Tuor

Boing -✧- @pxnxply

Tuor watched his wife dance through the hall just before the feast had ended, her quick feet allowing her to simply fly about the room, charming all with her skill and grace. To some, also - not Tuor only - another, deeper interest in her movements. The Lord of the House of the Swan sat in his chair near the seat of the king himself, but remained where he sat, even as the urge to join Idril in her dance came upon him. No, he had to stay where he sat, or risk perhaps the distaste of Turgon.

He beamed at Idril after she had made her way around the whole hall and returned to her seat between him and her father, appearing as breathless as Tuor himself felt. He sat through the entire display, and did not know when he could stand up safely again, for he had slowly borne an erection that pulled uncomfortably at his trousers. His face was flushed, but it could easily be explained by the wine he had been drinking throughout the evening.

Tuor's eyes widened slightly when Idril offered her hand to him and he knew it was an invitation to rise up and to embrace her, or to dance with her, but he tugged insistently at her hand. He pulled her gently down so that she would sit back down between him and her father: a wall of protection. "I apologize, my love," he whispered but his reassuring smile returned and he held her hand within his own as he pulled it underneath the table.

"I wish not to stand up before the entire court of Turgon's at the moment, nor risk any eyes should I make my leave," he explained as he moved their hands until she could feel what made him wish to remain seated. His legs quivered slightly feeling her hand brush against him. "You are utterly beautiful when you dance so proudly, and I cannot help but think of the way you do so bare before me. Idril, we must stay here a while longer..."

[saltuary]

⪼ @pxnxply // cont.

Ah, but he was caught! Snared by love’s fair hand! Faramir’s eyes glinted with a sudden, mischievous light, a rare levity breaking through his usual solemn grace.

“Forgive me, fair Éowyn.” His lips parted in a smile both tender and wry, the faintest rose blooming upon his cheeks. “I mistook you – oh, for a moment only – for a ripe and blushing peach.”