写在三月春雨的路上, 若还能打著伞走在你的身旁。
archi (18+) ✧ they · them art · rp stuff · ai blocklist
i like curufin. taking requests <- i will continue these after artfight ends
Claire Keane
Jules of Nature
sheepfilms

roma★

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oozey mess

ellievsbear
cherry valley forever
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosmic Funnies
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Stranger Things
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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occasionally subtle
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Discoholic 🪩

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Janaina Medeiros
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@curufiin
写在三月春雨的路上, 若还能打著伞走在你的身旁。
archi (18+) ✧ they · them art · rp stuff · ai blocklist
i like curufin. taking requests <- i will continue these after artfight ends

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Not an allegation but Maeglin pleass with her to not fuck his dad. The very idea makes him nauseous
random asks | always accepting! | @curufiin
She passes him some ginger and honey. “Not to worry, I won’t ask you to call me mom.”
Maeglin looks visibly ill. Perhaps too ill to say anything.
also not beating the i’m sorry but you are still blonde and therefore inferior to me —curufin allegations
accuse my muse | accepting! | @curufiin
“I’m an inferior blonde yet I still keep getting with all the ones you’re wanting to be with…curious…”
Ok he is pummeling her for this one.
finfin says she is not beating the STOP FUCKING EVERYONE I WANT TO FUCK GO THIRST FOR WOMEN allegations
accuse my muse | accepting! | @curufiin
“If you’re jealous just admit that.” She laughs. “I pull both, thank you.”
Curufin is visibly furious. Alas, he cannot stay furious for long, because that means he then has to think about being gay, and, well, june had come and gone. “At least share.”
I really don’t want to open this can of worms because Tumblr hath no fury like people called out on their political performativeness but it is literally driving me up the wall to watch people react to Serkis’ ‘keep Tolkien white’ commentary by insisting twice as hard that Tolkien would descend down to earth and dropkick the entire Republican party to hell or whatever, just because they want to ensure that a piece of media they enjoy isn’t seen as being morally impure. Case in point: I have seen at least five instances of Tolkien’s ‘I hate apartheid’ valedictorian address being used as a ‘counter’ to Serkis being racist, including by actual news outlets.
Except it’s only ever the ‘I hate apartheid’ line that’s shared, and not the actual quote in its full context. Because here it is:
If we consider what Merton College and what the Oxford School of English owes to the Antipodes, to the Southern Hemisphere, especially to scholars born in Australia and New Zealand, it may well be felt that it is only just that one of them should now ascend an Oxford chair of English. Indeed it may be thought that justice has been delayed since 1925. There are of course other lands under the Southern Cross. I was born in one; though I do not claim to be the most learned of those who have come hither from the far end of the Dark Continent. But I have the hatred of apartheid in my bones; and most of all I detest the segregation or separation of Language and Literature. I do not care which of them you think White.
Which is to say. This isn’t exactly the antiracist quote of the century, to say the least. This is a white South Africa born man and a white Australian shaking hands and going ‘omg we relate’ and expressing what is a very, very mild ‘segregation is not great’ opinion in order to convey his thoughts on an academic subject, ie the confluence of language and literature. Using race to make a point about his own subject of interest, in his own interest, which is, amusingly enough, what a lot of ostensibly well meaning progressive seem to be doing.
I also think that some of the general surprise around ‘what do you mean large swathes of the Tolkien fandom are incredibly conservative!?’ in lib/left Tolkien fandom is the result of a tendency in said parts of the fandom to transpose one’s own progressiveness onto Tolkien and turn a blind eye to things like, say, the Shire being a very specifically mid-century British racist construct that is very, very clear in its politics, often going so far as to insist it’s anarchist or an ideal society or whatever the fuck… and then getting really Pikachu-meme ‘but they’re misreading it’ every single time a conservative explains exactly what it is about the legendarium that they really love, and get surprised when someone uses the Shire being a racist construct to do more racism. It is 2026 let us do away with ‘I don’t see colour’ interpretations of media, I beg. Nobody is cancelling you for enjoying a book that is not kind to race. Most of the books I love are not kind to race.

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In all seriousness, honestly, that response feels quite .... shitty.
requested by @kypsdozen
I should add curufin’s wife as a muse but she’d just be a female curufin. and this is on purpose because curufin finds her so fucking insufferable without having the eye opening realization of holy fuck i’m like that
By the time they had arrived in the workshop, Curufinwë had climbed up even higher, his legs dangling over Findekáno’s shoulders and resting his chin upon the elder’s head. He does not vist Nolofinwë often—not because he has anything against his quite boring uncle, and not entirely because he prefers the company of Arafinwë (who also happens to do as Curufinwë wishes more often). Rather, his mother often has things to say about his uncle, many criticisms and observations, and unknowingly Curufinwë has, over time, taken them to heart.
“Ammë lets me come closer,” he says, but does not push further than that. Instead, he turns his focus to a much more important topic. “Uncle Nolvo, I think you must return Turukáno to wherever you found him. He’s weird and he drools and he looks really ugly. I think he will grow up to be a really boring person, and I don’t want a boring cousin.”
He’s certain whoever had him before will take good care of him. A baby like that probably only needs to be fed a small bowl of pebbles a day. At least he does not require much food.
“You should sculpt a baby out of glass instead, like Ammë did with me! Then you can have the baby be as cute as you want.” Curufinwë stops suddenly in thought… and then open his mouth again. “But it might not be as cute as me. Ammë said your glassworks are ‘shit’!”
Once or twice throughout this baby diatribe Uncle Nolvo's work stills for a moment, though he never reacts openly. Findekano, on the other hand, is trying so hard not to laugh aloud he appears to be fighting for his life, in spite of dwelling in the undying lands.
"Hm," says Nolvo. "That isn't a very polite word, but I appreciate the critique."
"Maybe that's why you don't like how Turukano looks," Findekano suggests, voice trembling with suppressed mirth. "Now that I'm here in the workshop, it seems obvious he was made out of glass. Isn't that right, atar?"
Nolvo glances up only long enough to give Findekano a look. Please do not encourage this nonsense, that look says, more directly than words ever could. (Findekano ignores it.)
"All babies drool for a time," comes Uncle Nolvo's steady voice. "Even you did, little Curufinwë. It stops. Some babies are very ugly and grow up to be beautiful, and some beautiful children can grow to be quite ugly. There is no telling, yet, what sort of person Turukano will be. He is a regular, flesh-and-blood baby. I hope this sets your mind at ease.""
“I never drooled,” he rebuffs, with such offense in his voice that it seems probable he may come down from Findekáno’s shoulders and give his uncle a rightful bonk on the noggin for even suggesting such a thing. “And I think Turukáno is an ugly baby who will grow up to also be very ugly. You must melt him down and remake him, that’s what Ammë does when she doesn’t like something she is making. Can you make him more like Findekáno? I like him. He does what I tell him to.”
And how peculiar it is that none of Uncle Nolvo’s kids, so far, has -finwë names! Did they not count as a grandchild of King Finwë? Then again, his mother has said that his uncle is a peculiar man, so perhaps this isn’t unnatural. He wiggles a bit on Findekáno’s shoulders before scuttling down his back like an oversized, meaty insect, surprisingly agile and nimble for his age, and came to Nolofinwë’s side, unsatisfied by the limited viewing opportunities staying a safe distance away presents.
“Uncle Nolvo?” His voice comes then surrpisingly soft. Soft, sad, a little lonely sounding, as though he cannot quite begrudge his uncle for keeping the horrid creature that is Turukáno, for his uncle seemed a sad, lonely man. “Why do you never visit us?” Nevermind that they live just a short walk away from eachother, and crossed paths often. That does not count as a visit in Curufinwë’s mind. “I miss you. And- oh!”
Curufinwë’s face suddenly shifts into one of distress. “You must come talk to Ammë and Atar. She keeps talking about… about having another baby! Why would she want another baby when she has me? You have to tell her she doesn’t need another baby. Please?”
Eol: not beating the Just Like Your Mother allegations
Alas
"..."
He simply stared, silent and sad, at Curufin's face.
Oh. Oh dear. Oh no. Curufin was, by his standards, a master of ignoring sad, pathetic faces, but never before had he seen Eöl look so pitiful before.
It’s even making him… feel bad.
“I was only jesting,” he said quickly, cupping Eöl’s cheeks in his hands.

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My dear sea jewel,
I know you have not departed yet, but I wished to write something for you for when you are at last away. Tomorrow could not come any slower; I dread the rising of the sun, the opening of your eyes, though I long to look into them all the same. I know you are loyal to the Lord of Waters and his cause, just as I am to mine, and yet still I wish there could be a world where they do not shackle us to a fate where we must be apart.
I wish you would stay with me, Volwë. Though you sleep here peacefully, I know you will be away soon, and already I mourn for the days I must spend away from your company. How have you managed to capture my heart so utterly? Each moment you are not beside me is like a thousand years of torment, and each moment there is a piece of me missing; I am incomplete without you. If only we may be together, not relegated to these fleeting moments of intimacy.
I am in love with the way you laugh, the jokes you make, unfunny as they are. I am in love with your love for that fish of yours, and your passion for all the useless things in Arda. I am in love with your beauty, your kindness, your patience. I am even in love with how you snore, your tacky sense of fashion, even your love for stale breads and poor quality cheeses. Each time we meet again I fall in love with you all over again. I wish I did not have to mourn you when you are away, but at least the time spent apart makes me love you more.
I hope this will not have to be forever. I hope that one day, both our duties will be fulfilled, and then we can finally build the life we want. You said when we were younger that you wanted a cabin by the shores, away from the crown and away from your responsibilities. I hope we can have that.
There is so much more I can speak of, but I do not want to risk you waking up and seeing your arms empty. I hope that in hard times, my words may at least keep you company. I love you, Volwë.
Yours forever,
Curufinwë
p.s. Stop snoring.
Volwë read the letter many times in the days that followed. Though he was traveling across land unsettled and unexplored, and wished to keep the precious words safe for many long years yet, he kept risking them by drawing them out of the document wraps in his saddle bag and reading again. His fingers even traced some of the words (my dear sea jewel), a great sin to preservers of documents, for it left the oils of the skin and the grime of travel on the page where over time they would decay.
He couldn’t stop himself. He reread the letter by flickering firelight and in dappled afternoon sun, in the halls of Menegroth and in a farmer’s cottage in the Falas, and every time was like a new revelation.
It was in Eglarest some weeks later that he finally had the time and ink to respond.
Beloved Curwë,
You succeeded; I only found your letter the first night of my journey toward Arossiach, when I was making camp. I read it while I drank the wine you insisted I take, wearing the pendant you insisted I take, after brushing and feeding the horse you insisted I take. If I were half as generous with forgiveness as you are with your wealth, we would not have fought at the Mereth Aderthad at all. But then, we may have had no need to make up, and what a dark thought that is! I will write no more of such terrible things.
I remember waking the morning after you wrote to me and finding my arms were not empty at all. You had returned to them without my knowledge, just as you said in your letter, and I recall thinking that you seemed to glow in the early rays of sunlight, as if with the inner fire of the Noldor. I wished never to let go of you, but knew in the same breath I must.
It is impossible to know how this happened. We did not love each other in Valinor, did we? There we were selfish and playful youths, heedless of danger, for it hardly existed. I must believe, too, that you did not yet love me during the Darkening. Was it the fight? One day I found you brilliant and arrogant, and the next I found the arrogance endearing and the brilliance as necessary to me as air and water.
Our fates may lead us apart, but I hope that you will always take a moment to think of me at dusk, when the sun completes its arduous journey across the sky and returns to the embrace of the sea.
Yours,
Volwë Olovando
p.s. You snore, too. Perhaps no one has been brave enough to tell you (though with six brothers and an ex-wife who hates you, I doubt that). I don’t want to hear a word about my snoring until you stop shaking everything in the room all night.
Curufin knew better than to expect a swift reply from Volwë, whose travels took him across Beleriand, at times going weeks without stopping for rest more than a night at an inn. And he had written plenty of letters, many of which he spent days, or even a few weeks waiting for a response, and so knew this one would not come fast.
Even so, when his beloved set off, his mind went immediately to wondering just when he would receive a response, and when each time a servant came bearing his letters, Curufin found himself dizzy with anticipation, though he knew well the chances of Volwë writing him back that exact moment were slim.
So it was that when he finally received the response, he set off immediately to answer, his heart pounding with excitement and happiness, cheeks growing sore from just how much he smiled.
My dear sea jewel,
Firstly, I do not snore. That is a falsehood you just made up for the sake of getting under my skin, and I will not let you succeed in this venture.
Had we even truly fought at the Mereth Aderthad? I don’t recall such a thing, but I must’ve been too imebriated for it. Or, perhaps, your definition of fighting and mine are very different. But I certainly do remember the make up, yes. You were such a rascal, pulling that little trick of yours! Truthfully, I had not even imagined you capable of the level of lewdness you put on display there.
Then again, you were hardly any better under the watchful gaze of the Valar. Oft I wondered if Ulmo heard our ‘declarations of love’, as it were.
But no, I suppose I did not love you then. I cannot say, really. I did not not love you, but it was certainly not what I feel for you now. Even now I must admit I am a bit surprised I find myself so drawn to you. You were never that great of a prince, were you? Always eschewing your responsibilities and duties. Perhaps that was what drew me to you first, strange as it were, given how I am. I still remember when I first saw you in Alqualondë. You did not strike me as a prince, haha! Did I try to command you as though you were my servant, or did I do that with Findekáno? Likely both, knowing me.
And yet it’d seem that time spent apart reveals truths one might’ve never known had we always been together. Those years I spent without you… I do not know how to describe it. It sounds strange, and telling you this makes me feel a little foolish, but the truth was that I had never been lonelier in that time. I am not often a man of regret, but I wished I had taken you with me across the Sea sooner. But then maybe I would not have loved you like I do now.
How are your travels? I hope you will visit me soon, lest I set out west and find you myself. There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of you. I see your eyes in the twinkling stars, I hear your voice in the rush of the rivers, I feel the warmth of your embrace in the fires. I miss you very much.
Yours forever,
Curufinwë
p.s. I was only jesting regarding the idea of coming to you, but now that I am considering it further, it may not be so terrible of an idea. I have no qualms with river fish, but a man may only go so long before he begins to long for the bounties of the sea! The fares of Alqualondë were terribly delicious, and I miss them every day, too. They had such wonderful scallops. You are fortunate to be so dear to Círdan.
What if we like not... surported reposters... no? Just an idea?
Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.
Kids books is probably not the best way to word it, you can enjoy them at every age, including your childhood, as you get older you may find new truths in them, but they're still good for any age.
maybe love is real (post art euphoria)
the last yaoi
everyone gathers around the table as Manwe reads Mirea's horrible fanfiction... full size image here!
ft characters from: @kibutsulove @sidmarillion @fallensmith @j1mzi @ecthelioffd @laurie-fish @azarinka21 ilthilar and vaultcharacter :)

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Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Final Round
Senshi (Dungeon Meshi)
Ryland Grace (Project Hail Mary)
Mr. Ant Tenna (Deltarune)
Tenna art by @9Aaaalt29 on twt
sometimes i’ll be scrolling on here and almost reblog what a mutual reblogged from me like so true bestie