I've always wondered.. can you imitate someone else when using ósanwë? Like some people can do mimic other people's voices, could you do that?
Me speaking to Maedhros while imitating Fingon: "I'm alone in my chambers but we haven't got much time so get over here and make sure to be naked and ready! "
Fingon having a serious discussion in his room with Fëanor about matters of state when suddenly a naked and erect Maedhros barges in: "what the fu.... I'm gonna have to kill someone....."
ECTHELION OF THE FOUNTAIN
My entry for @tolkien-food-week Beleg and Túrin cottagecore, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort🥣
Beleg has barely taken his seat before Túrin picks up a spoon and begins inhaling food like a starved man. Lambs meat melts on his tongue in an explosion of flavour and Túrin hums in pleasure, unconcerned with his observing audience.
Beleg's laughter rings stunned and mirthful, ever charmed by Túrin's bear-like appetite. "Do they not feed you at the king's court?"
You can read Seven Courses here
Oh, Turgon, you're such a bad idgaf-er 😭
He's literally like:
Quick lasso tool doodle of one of Elrond's core memories as a child.
When he and Elros had once sneaked out to play, they were ambushed by orcs. Elrond jumped in front of his twin to save his life, but got slashed across the face with a warg claw in the process.
The orcs that ambushed them were swiftly dealt with by Maedhros and Maglor and the other adults, but Elrond would find himself keeping a physical memento of that moment for life. A scar across his face, visible to all.
When the bandages came off, and his peers first saw his new face, they mocked him, for many elves hold physical beauty to a high standard.
Distraught, Elrond runs away to a remote corner, where he finds solace in bonding with Maedhros over their shared experience and scars.
Anyway! Still feeling a bit crappy about my art but I felt inclined to draw this moment between Elrond and Maedhros :') Thanks to everyone who replied with nice things to my previous pity party post, I appreciate you all !!
“All hail High King Findekáno!”
Cried the herald, loud and strong And thus the people cried aloud “All hail our king, all join the throng!”
For Nolofinwë, tall and fair, His last stand made at Angband’s gate. And so the crown now shone a-bright Upon his son with iron fate.
Beleg and Gwindor as a couple, because @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras opened my eyes for them as a ship and it works so well TT
I need to go back and work on my fashion post...
Just wrote my first Russingon fic 😄 smut - some plot - modern au
If Fingon notices his off mood then he lets Maedhros brood in peace. He is lying on his back on Maedhros' bed, scrolling up and down his Instagram feed with his long fingers. Maedhros' eyes keep finding the spot where his shirt has ridden up. Shameless, his mind echoes, even though Fingon's talent for making himself comfortable wherever he is, has always been a quality he admires. He knows he is projecting his father's words onto him, but he can't stop thinking it.
Read OnlyCousins here: x
a belated and messy little Turgon (he has a little mole on his lip and nobody can take it from me) for @nolofinweanweek — and a short excerpt from my upcoming Nirnaeth fic featuring Turgon on a rooftop alone, practicing in his head my favourite brand of speech, ie a eulogy + coronation address + intrusive thoughts. Keep an eye out for the fic soon to see what he ends up actually saying 😇
I never expected the dead to be so punctual in their visitations. But my brother Fingon returns to me every night, in the plural now, accompanied by a multitude whose names I cannot pronounce. They speak in old languages and strange dialects and dead tongues in turn, refusing in their way to be legible to those of us fated to live on. Fingon’s voice is now somewhere in that polyphony. It is no longer distinguishable, no longer mine to separate from this collective he has been joined to in death.
If I had even the slightest hope, I would reach past this land and towards the sea, searching for some old version of my Fingon, who exists outside the tragic tale of the Noldor in exile, who can be mourned in isolation from all our other ghosts and all whom we helped make into ghosts. But my brother no longer exists in isolation. Death may have been his reward for a life well lived, but not his alone. Dirges must be orchestral or silent in war: there is no in-between. Perhaps we should indeed be silent. The other ghosts alongside him in the collective will remember not what we claimed we were doing or wanted to do but what we actually did after all, for dirges for the dead are the domain of the living.
But Fingon, how can I face my daughter now?
Nerdanel ⚒️
@winds-of-zephyr416 I hope this is what you wanted when you talked about Melkor and Mairon watching a film together.
If it is not, please consider the potential of them watching a film about Turin life and enjoying all the pain.
I'm yelling
That cross-stitch on the wall is perfection! "Eru Curse This Mess"
<3