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admin note: this journal is currently being used to interact in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) gondolinrpg so if any entries seems ridiculously out of context, that's why.
Jun. 29th, 2006 @ 05:32 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Don't fucking ask where these came from. I'm only about 6 and a half months late for those requests and my writing is, admittedly, of dubious quality.
i. the ever-cold (unless one knows how to keep warm)
( himring is not cold, brother | a drabblish thing of 180 words )
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ii. a doom by any other name
( an exceptionally random, dialogue-riddled explanation of how ambarussa got their very own names | 511 words )
Jan. 17th, 2006 @ 04:09 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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For some reason, my writer wants to write drabbles. Seeing as they're to be about me (and Fingon), I'm not complaining. So, any request, prompts, etc for me-centric drabbles, comment here. :)
Jun. 4th, 2005 @ 02:37 pm
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| » Steam |
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) applegnat requested a fic involving some hot! hot spring action. Seeing as my writer is, like, totally her bitch, she complied.
Maitimo’s skin is burning and Findekáno’s hair is wet. They’re both flushed pink and they haven’t even stepped into the water yet. The ground rumbles and hot water gushes and the suspense builds.
They’d count to three but neither wants to speak. They’d communicate with eyes but eyes will wander.
In the end, Maitimo grabs Findekáno’s hand and they plunge into the scalding water and lose their breath.
The steam rises around them in plumes and gasps; vapours like tendrils, licking their shoulders and necks and cheeks.
With an unholy sigh, they lean into each other and seal their secret
100 words
Oct. 31st, 2004 @ 10:55 am
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| » Behind Closed Doors |
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Possibly R-Rating. Possibly.
For applegnat
( Behind Closed Doors )
Oct. 21st, 2004 @ 02:26 pm
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| » Where It Hurts [-crossposted to my writer's journal too.] |
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Maedhros used to like to sleep in the mornings, for as long as possible, but that was when Telperion and Laurelin still waxed and waned. That was when Fingon loved him.
He supposes or hopes that Fingon must love him still, if he managed to make it all the way to Thangorodrim, alone, unaided and with a harp. A harp. Maedhros still cannot comprehend the sort of person who brings a harp on a rescue mission. Not that he does not appreciate it but he has started to believe that Fingon was fuelled by sheer bloody-mindedness.
It is certainly sheer bloody-mindedness that makes Fingon return day after day now, all voiceless accusations and clinical silence.
Maedhros thinks that this is where they should be swearing fealty to each other but they did that before and look where it got them. Burnt ships, bitter cold and permanent scars.
Look at my hand and tell me you don’t love me, Maedhros wants to say but thinks it would be bad taste. (He has maintained some vestige of decorum)
It is only when Maedhros forces himself to stand up, to leave his sick bed (even though he briefly toyed with the idea of multi-tasking and turning it into his death bed), that Fingon smiles at him.
The world will pay now, Maedhros thinks. Fingon is smiling, I am crippled and the sun is shining.
Sep. 28th, 2004 @ 10:45 am
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| » Under Blossoms We Made Our Vows |
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Originally my writer posted this at her own journal in response to her own challenge but the loverly applegnat said it should be posted here too so here y'all go.
Under the budding leaves we ran, laughing and screaming, until we were no longer sure who was chasing whom.
Under blossoms we made our vows, stuttering, inarticulate but heartfelt and true, fingers entwined, lips meeting briefly.
Under green leaves we lay, staring at upwards at branches that never stopped moving, yet somehow remained the same, and we swore that it would always be the same
Under falling gold and red leaves, we stood, shouting and arguing, at war and making war, with ourselves, with each other and with the world around us.
Under bare branches I walked, alone and empty.
Sep. 16th, 2004 @ 03:34 pm
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| » Grace |
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Title: Grace
For: Nol
Summary: If Quendi are going to live in the Modern Day, someone should teach them how not to break hearts. Featuring Fingon, the apparently Valiant.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,053
Feedback: Please. This is my writer's epic. Finally complete. You will all have read most of it before, but this is it in chronological order.
( Grace )
Sep. 7th, 2004 @ 12:51 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Some fluffy Lewis stuff for the ailing applegnat. Posted here because the final image is Fingon in a towel.
( Read more... )
Sep. 6th, 2004 @ 05:35 pm
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| » Music in the night... |
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More of Jamie (Fingon)/Lewis. Set before the Lewis-meets-Maedhros post a few posts back. I fully intend to make my writer post this in chronological order someday...
( Read more... )
Aug. 23rd, 2004 @ 03:53 pm
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| » Supplicant |
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I remember kneeling before your throne for the first time, flanked by two of my brothers. What did you think of me? (Fëanorian supplicant and the worst sort of degenerate but yours nonetheless?)
I remember kneeling before your throne for a second time, later that same night. (It was a starless night, as I recall. Your throne room was deserted except for ourselves.)
I remember kneeling before your throne for the last time, flanked by no one and nothing but heartbreak and madness, filled with bloodlust and a need to end it all. (Why did you wage war with me?)
100 words. Apologies for the spate of parentheses that have been attacking my journal of late. My writer and I have no excuse. ;)
Aug. 20th, 2004 @ 06:15 pm
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| » Not quite ourselves... |
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The best time in the day (the night) is, in my most humble and considered opinion, that moment when I am not quite awake and you are not quite asleep. You reach for me (or I reach for you) and we kiss, drowsily opening our eyes to sleepy smiles.
We are not quite ourselves then (or we are more ourselves than ever before or after) and all that exists is wordless, wondering need. It is a silent moment (except for rustling sheets) and ends only at the point when I am not quite asleep and you are not quite awake.
100 words.
Aug. 18th, 2004 @ 07:31 pm
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| » He walks in beauty like the night. |
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For applegnat
Summary: Lewis meets Maedhros in New York. Original concept for NYC-based Maedhros must, of course, be credited to maelipstick whose marvellous Maedhros is an inspiration.
( Read more... )
Aug. 10th, 2004 @ 08:41 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?*
How could my father not hear the panic in my words?
Whom shall they bear hither first?
Please send back a ship, I should have said, please, father, send one back! Just one! I should have begged him!
Fingon the valiant?
Fingon, my heart? My fëa? The better part of me? The only part of me worth saving? And I did not.
You saved me and held me and completed me but, in the end, you jilted me for Death (but not before I had jilted you for madness and ruin.)
100 words, *=quote from The Silmarillion
Aug. 4th, 2004 @ 05:14 pm
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| » Trilogie: TROIS |
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Our first kiss was accidental (in a premeditated sort of way) but our second was pure, hungry and sudden as we passed each other in an empty hallway. I was young (he was younger). It was all we could do to continue walking in opposite directions afterwards. It was all we could do not to say the words (although they followed soon enough).
We filled each other's hearts and heads until being together in a crowded room was as torturous as being apart.
That was the happy foolish love of youth but I fear it is lost to us now.
100 words.
Aug. 1st, 2004 @ 02:45 pm
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| » Trilogie: DEUX |
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I love everything that you love (except myself - that has always been a difficulty) I love these things because you love them - wind and sea and books and trees.
Sometimes, I do the things you love against my better judgment (although, being honest, my "better judgment" is hardly the yardstick for wisdom and sense).
I love (despite my complaints) the days when it rains from dawn till dusk (and we take the passage of the sun on faith) because I know that the city squares will be deserted and I might kiss you and taste the raindrops on your lips.
100 words.
Jul. 30th, 2004 @ 01:18 am
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| » Trilogie: UNE |
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How many times have I loved you and how many ways?
As cousin and guide and teacher.
As a co-conspirator and as an advisor, listening to your schemes and dreams.
As a comforter to dry both our tears when we could not speak of what lay between us.
As a king, a pitiful king in debt to his loyal subject.
As a loyal subject, in thrall to his own high king.
And as a lover and as an equal, incomplete without you; a stuttering lovestruck fool who has no need to question what is reflected in your eyes and mine.
(100 word - w/ apologies to Wm. Shakespeare)
Jul. 29th, 2004 @ 03:24 pm
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| » Did I? |
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Did I tell you I loved you when last I saw you?
No, I must have, I must have.
I can remember Himring, when the long cold day became the long cold night. I would stand at my bedchamber window, facing west.
Facing Hithlum.
Facing you.
I would whisper I love you and I would hope against hope that my words would reach you as a whisper of wind or a rustle of leaves.
Did you hear me, Findekáno, when I whispered the words across the plains of Anfauglith, rising in the dust with the last dawn of your life?
100 words.
Jun. 28th, 2004 @ 07:15 pm
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| » Not Much |
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This are not my words originally. They are his. Our writer/mun liked them so much that they're being posted again.
~*~
I wish I had something to give you, my Findekáno but I am not a poet like Maglor. I am not a craftsman like my father or Curufin or Celebrimbor. I do not have my mother's patience. I do not represent the beauty of light and shadow like Celegorm and Caranthir and I am not so single-minded in the hunt as Amrod and Amras.
I am the "tall one". The "eldest one".
It really doesn't seem like much.
All I have to give is myself and that I give wholly to you. I love you, Fingon, and I do not care who knows it.
May. 12th, 2004 @ 05:26 pm
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