#russingon

Thank you for the tag, @ladysterndust!

Here's a bit from my current WIP, for which I just succeeded in getting part 1 (the angst and whump) completely drafted. In celebration, here is one of the sweeter early moments from the in-progress part two (hurt/comfort/healing):

Findekano is exhausted; it hadn’t been a long walk, of course, yet he feels as he might have after running some miles before. Worse, actually. But the garden—soil and clover alike alive with boisterous buzzing and crawling things of all persuasions, trees adorned with vines like garlands, swaying in the gentle wind, tussocks of tall grasses rustling with the passing of small busy things—it is alive, and Findekano is alive within it, and he can take in great, gasping breaths of clean, new air. And Russandol is there. As Findekano lays down to recover, Russandol gathers up fallen flowers from some of the trees—pure white, lilac speckled with red, periwinkle blue—and sets to twining them into a garland, sitting near enough that Findekano can smell the sweet, floral fragrances. When Findekano has caught his breath and had some rest, he spurns the pillow for laying with his head in Russandol’s lap so that he can watch more closely the clever, precise motions of Russandol’s hands, drowsy and content. Russandol smiles down at him. When Russandol is done, he crowns Findekano with the resulting wreath, and every fluffy bee and slender wasp and vibrant butterfly comes by to investigate, sometimes alighting upon Findekano’s hand briefly before darting away, setting off to continue their day.

after the brief exile of the fëanorians ! i love them . finno has grown into a bad bicth in such a short time! he has a lean body in my aesthetic, muscolar but thin ! like all the elves , actually. lean. he also enjoys covering himself in jewels and later on maedhros will love to braid them into his hair 🩷

hope you enjoyed the higher quality panels🎀 they were funny to make during the road trips. i found myself grown fond of moroccan food, during my brief holiday here !

Fingon’s trauma centers around extreme cold and freezing to death while he sleeps. He likes having someone nice and warm curl up around him when he goes to bed.

Maedhros’ trauma centers around being a captive and being held down and tortured. He can’t bear to be touched or held from behind and prefers to initiate touch.

by sothatsagoodthing

In a version of canon in which Maedhros could not be rescued from Angband, his memory continues to haunt those he loves.

Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Findecano: Thanks!

Maitimo, walking in after and immediately smacking his head on the overhang and knocking himself on his ass:

The first whispers began immediately.

“Oh my stars, he is taller than they said.”

“And his hair—”

“Why are his eyes like that?”

“Do all Noldor appear haunted, or is it hereditary?”

The younger Vanyar were particularly intrigued.

(...)

[Maedhros] towered over nearly everyone present by an almost unreasonable degree. His copper-red hair hung loose and unbound to his waist, bright beneath the blossoms overhead. Strange cinnamon-colored drops scattered across his pale face, neck, and hands like flecks. Few among the Eldar bore such things, and every child in the city immediately became obsessed with them.

(...)

At Fingon’s side, Maedhros inclined his head slightly.

“Are they always like this?”

Fingon pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Findekáno,” Maedhros said quietly, “they are sketching me.”

Fingon did not even look.

“Is that child measuring my height with bamboo?”

“Sweet Valar...”

“Why are they doing this?”

(...)

Across the square, several young Vanyarin maidens huddled together behind silk fans.

(...)

At last, one approached with the solemn composure of someone petitioning a high priest.

“Prince Findekáno?”

Fingon already looked tired.

“Yes?”

She bowed deeply.

“We humbly request instruction.”

“…Instruction in what?”

“How one properly conducts courtship with a Noldo companion.”

The square fell mute.

However, Maedhros made the catastrophic mistake of laughing.

The maidens visibly startled.

"Ohh," One whispered in awe, “His eyes become crescent-shaped when amused…”

Another immediately began recording observations onto parchment.

Fingon stared at them in open horror.

“My husband is not an exotic bird!” He snapped, visibly affronted. “He is a person!” He gestured sharply toward Maedhros. “And he is standing directly beside me while you discuss him like a strange forest owl!”

Silence.

Behind him, Maedhros looked deeply displeased by this comparison.

Still, traitorously entertained, he folded his arms into his sleeves and continued watching.

Another maiden gathered enough courage to step forward.

“Is it true all the sons of Lord Fëanáro possess silver eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And red hair?”

“No.”

“Are they all beautiful?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” he said through gritted teeth. “Beautiful and dangerous!” he blurted furiously.

(...)

Several ancient nobles looked moments from collapse.

Because Fingon—beloved grandson of princess Indis, jewel of the golden city—

had returned from the Halls married to that.

A towering, silver-eyed Noldo with unbound copper hair and the stare of some elegant bird of prey.