a-world-of-whimsy-5

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Answering a story with a story

This is the sixth portion of this story for a story chain. The ask I received will appear first, and my answer after that. Enjoy!

Pairing: Mairon/Unrevealed character

Themes: Smut | Slice of Life | Domesticity

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word count: 3.4k words

Summary: More pleasures are shared. Mairon later explores the cottage his companion calls home, and the lands surrounding it. An important question is asked after his return.  

Minors DNI | 18+

Previous asks for this series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The Ask: The kiss had been an answer. A surrender. A beginning. Now, in the aftermath, the small cottage was thick with the scent of their mingled desire and the quiet hum of consequence.

She did not resist as Mairon gathered her into his arms, lifting her from the table as if she weighed nothing. Her legs unhooked from his waist, her head resting instinctively in the hollow between his throat and shoulder. Her breath was a warm, unsteady ghost against his skin. He moved through the dim space with the fluidity of a shadow, each step quiet but absolute.

He laid her down on the low bed, tucked into the stone-walled alcove, the mattress soft with dried grasses, covered with time-worn furs. Mortal things. Humble, temporary. And all the more precious for it. She had dreamed here. Of him.

He followed, stretching out beside her but not covering her, his warmth a golden line along her side. The fire crackled quietly across the room. She turned into him as if drawn, as if their bodies were magnets crafted long ago to find one another.

His hand lifted to smooth a lock of her strange coloured hair from her cheek. She trembled under the tenderness of it, and he felt the quake echo through his own chest.

“You have shared your soul with me,” he murmured, voice low and resonant. “Your dreams, your fears, your desire. And still you remain a beautiful enigma.” He let his fingers brush along the line of her jaw, then to her lips. “Tell me your name.”

She watched him, breath soft, eyes luminous with the last of her unshed tears. The fight had gone out of her. Or perhaps it had simply never truly been there, only the fear. She was bare before him in all ways now, and he, impossibly, had not destroyed her.

She whispered it to him, so quietly that even his Maiar senses took several seconds to define. The word came like an exhale, an invocation. The final thread between who she had been and who she had become.

Mairon let the name settle on his tongue.

He repeated it again, and there was something almost reverent in the way he said it. “A name worthy of its bearer.”

His hand slipped lower, along her neck, over the swell of her shoulder. She did not shy from his touch. Instead, she shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his chest just above his heart. The gesture was instinctive, shy. But when she did it again, and again - pressing lips to his skin like a litany, like a prayer - he stilled beneath her. Not in rejection, but in reverence. With his thumb and forefinger under her jaw, he gently drew her attention back up to his face.

“How did you come to know of me?” he asked, softer now. “Your letters spoke with the clarity of sight, not faith alone. Thû sensed a veil even he could not fully pierce.”

She took a slow breath and closed her eyes, her brow furrowing just slightly, as if the answer was too old for her to remember clearly. Then she said, “I am not wholly of the Edain. But I am mortal, nonetheless. My bloodline is distant. Diluted.”

He said nothing, watching her profile, the fall of her lashes against her cheek, the glimmer of firelight playing along her collarbone.

“Long ago, one of your kindred - a Maia of the green world, of wild places - chose to come to Middle-earth. She lingered. She loved one of the Aftercomers. From them came a line, passed through generations. The divine spark faded… but not entirely. My grandmother could speak to bees. My mother’s voice could still a storm. And I… I have always felt the Music, quiet and low, but still singing. And through it… I felt you.”

He was silent for a long time.

“And you knew me,” he said finally, “not as the world names me.”

She turned to face him again. “Whatever name the world gives you, I did not speak to it. I wrote to the one I felt through the veil. The one whose fire never dimmed, even beneath shadow. The one I felt in the quiet places, beneath the storm. I thought… if I could send one truth into the darkness, let it be this: you are loved.. Unconditionally.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, as if to drink in that truth and store it in his marrow. Her hand slid over his chest, light as a breath, then to his waist, her fingertips tracing the contours of his body as if to memorise him.

“I see your end,” she whispered, voice breaking against his skin. “The forging of the Ring. The fall. The fire. I see you cast down because of me.”

“No,” he said, and the word was steel. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “You are not my end. You are what remains when everything else has fallen.”

With that, he kissed her again. Deeper. Slower. Her lips parted beneath his, soft and trembling. His hand cradled her jaw. Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer.

Their bodies met again, not in urgency this time, but in worship. He touched her as if she were a song from the first Music, lost and found again. She explored him with equal awe, hands reverent, lips tasting the shape of his collarbone, the line of his ribs, the edge of his hip, eyes flicking up to meet his, her breath warm against his skin.

And then she moved lower.

Mairon stilled as her soft lips brushed the tip of him - exploratory, almost shy, tasting him. Her hand curled around the base of his cock, and her mouth opened to take him in.

His breath left him in a low, guttural sound. His eyes fluttered closed. Her tongue was warm and tentative at first, then bolder, tasting him, surrounding him. She took more of him, slowly, reverently, her hands bracing against his powerful thighs as though steadying herself for the gravity of what she was doing.

He looked down. Her iridescent, dyed hair falling over her face and pooling across his hips and abdomen like liquid flame. Forcing himself to be gentle, he tucked the long locks behind her ear and back over her head, allowing him a better view of her. The sight of her like this, on her hands and knees between his legs, lips wrapped around him, made his restraint shake at the core.

“E-enough,” he said, voice strained, not from displeasure but from need. “Not like this. I need you...”

She lifted her head, lips glistening and swollen, breath uneven, eyes wide and dark with heat. She looked utterly wanton.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, and pulled her up into his arms and rolled her beneath him.

He entered her slowly, carefully, watching every breath, every flutter of her eyes, the small sounds that escaped her lips - each one breaking his composure more than force or fury ever could. Her name left him unbidden -  breathed like a secret, hoarse and undone. She gasped, clinging to him, her body arching in slow waves beneath his. He thrust with aching restraint, giving her time, letting their union settle like fire in old stone, his fingers digging into the furs beside her head.

She moaned softly against his ear, his name whispered like a secret, again and again, just as she had in the desirous dreams she had sent him.

“Mairon-!”

Her legs tightened around him. He felt her begin to shake. Something inside him snapped, and he built the rhythm between them again - beautiful, terrible, inevitable, unending.

Their second climax was quieter, slower, but it left them both gasping. He fucked her through it, mouth at her neck, one hand gripping her hip tightly as if to keep her in this world, in this bed, in this moment, until the rhythm broke. His control snapped. He buried himself deep one final time, and when he came, it was silent at first, every muscle trembling, the weight of his surrender crashing through him like a wave of fire.

And then - her name - his voice broke around it, guttural and rough, as though it was the only thing he had to hold onto.

He lay beside her in the hush that followed, one hand still cradling her waist, the other tracing idle lines along her arm. Her breath was slowing now, steadier, and when she opened her eyes to find him watching her, the smallest, most incredulous smile curved her lips, before widening across her teeth, as she laughed.

“You’re staring!”

“I’ve never had cause to stare before,” he replied, grinning brightly. “Not like this.”

The smile across her face became gleeful, as though she'd just made a vital discovery. “I didn’t imagine you’d be quite so... warm!”

“I am Maiar, not marble,” he said, feigning offense, then a shadow of concern flickered over his face. "Not too warm for you though? I haven't hurt you?”

She laughed softly, and shook her head no, then leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He turned into it, caught her lips again, slower this time, more languid than hungry.

When he pulled back, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered, “We could stay like this forever.”

Her smile faltered, just a little.

“You forget,” she said gently, “that I am not forever. My blood doesn’t grant me your years,” she said, her eyes beginning to well up. “My soul will pass. Even with all that lingers in me… I am still mortal.”

“I know,” Mairon said, and his arms tightened around her, kissing away the single tear that had escaped her eye. “But I will find a way.”

In silence, they left the question of doubt unanswered and ignored. Just for now.

Because for now, they had this.

The rest of the world, the war, the doom, the flame: that could wait.

The Answer: Mairon awoke at dawn, his earthly vessel filled with an unaccustomed but much welcomed feeling of laziness and ease. It had rained heavily the night before, and though the cottage had grown cold, neither he nor she gave it a shred of thought. They had been too occupied with the spell that had ensnared them both to care about what took place in the wide world beyond the stone that ensconced them or the chill that seeped in to reach them.  

He turned to look at the one who had left an indelible mark upon his spirit. She slumbered peacefully, her iridescent hair now gleaming like quiet flame, and her body concealed beneath the pelt he had wrapped her in. Her lashes fluttered rapidly, as if she were witnessing a dream. Or was it a vision? Mairon did not know. He could have reached through their still-fresh bond and witnessed for himself what she was seeing, but he chose to keep away. The notion of violating a part of her he was not invited into—even if it was with pure intentions—felt evil and wrong.

He looked out the solitary window, having decided to leave her to her sleep. It appeared wider in the pale grey of morning than it did in the blackness of night, and it had a little window seat that smelt faintly of lavender. Light slowly poured in through the pale-coloured glass, a warm, buttery yellow that drove away the darkness from the night before and brought with it the promise of a fine day.

Mairon silently slipped out of bed and reached for the breeches that he had thrown onto the rushes on the floor. They were mercifully dry when he pulled them on, but he thought to inspect the roof in any event. He was a creator, after all, and repairing a thatched roof with what could be easily found within the forests out yonder would be the work of a moment for a being such as him. Suddenly, he heard his name whispered. When he returned his attention to his companion, she was still asleep, but his name rolled off her lips more than once. Perhaps it was him she was seeing, and, by the smile that slowly worked its way across her face, it was plain her dream was just a dream, and it was a happy one at that.

He went in search of the smoky hearth that passed for a kitchen, his entire being awash with joy.

The little cottage was somewhat comfortable despite its dilapidated appearance. There was a small lopsided table with two chairs, and the corner hearth that held the banked cookfire was not altogether empty. It had a slender rod affixed to the wall and a stew pot hanging from it. When Mairon stooped to study them, he discovered the rod moved this way and that. He wondered how she made use of it without burning herself. That was when he saw it: the wooden tongs that stood against the wall, away from the flames and by a wicker basket, their pointed ends blackened and burnt from much use. It was another object in desperate need of repair, but it made Mairon wonder if she would even agree to him meddling with her home. He then resolved to keep the matter for another day, for the time had come to seek out breakfast.

He picked up the basket, dusted it off, and crossed to the door.

When he pushed it open with just a thought and stepped over the lip into the wide open world beyond, he found his senses overwhelmed by clean air, sweet scents, and pleasing sounds. In Angband, the air was foul, the sounds of toil and violence and weeping echoed through its veritable maze of corridors and halls, and the scents of molten steel and unwashed bodies and much, much worse invaded one’s senses every waking moment. Here, though, in this pleasing patch of land, there was nothing to be seen but grass and bush and oak and pine, and there was nothing to be heard but the rhythmic sounds of a world bursting to life, not a world that oft found itself beset with toil and death and despair. He was beginning to see why she preferred a place like this for her home. Such peace and renewal was vital for the magic she and those who came before her weaved.

He sallied forth, his ever watchful eyes studying all that moved behind the trees.

There was much to be discovered in the land surrounding the cottage. Birds flittered from branch to branch, singing merrily as they sought food for their young. Flowers of rare hues and delicate beauty bloomed to greet the rising sun, their velvety petals glistening with clear drops of dew. Herbs that had no name spread out their leaves, and Mairon took care to commit each thing he saw to memory. He would ask her about them later. They may prove to be useful should he have a need for them.

He continued on, relishing the feel of his bare feet against cool grass, until he reached a tree that had toppled over during a storm. He got down to his haunches and, upon closer inspection, was delighted to discover mushrooms in great clusters of cream and brown clinging to the rotting bark. And they were safe for a mortal to eat. He plucked them one by one, threw them into the basket, and rose.

Is this what the gatherers did in Angband? He asked himself. Did they wander like this, seeking the food the rest of us ate?

It was a question he pondered over while he walked here and there, seeking more food for the table. In Angband, such menial tasks were carried out by the lowliest among the orcs, and they had to travel far for success of any kind; the lands around Angband were devoid of growing things, and its waters were choked with weeds and slime. Mairon then shivered. The waters were choked with weeds and slime, living things kept well away from the lands the great fortress sat on, and the snow was always befouled with soot and specks of metal and tar. Fortunately, they, as beings of spirit, did not have to rely on water to ease their thirst. Other libations were always on the offing—especially those taken from vanquished elves—and meat was always plentiful for them, even when it remained a priceless commodity to those who procured it for the meals of their betters.

Thoughts of orcs and elves brought forth a series of discomfiting questions. Did she know of what he did while in Angband? Did she know of the deeds he helped his master accomplish? Did she know of the torments he helped inflict?

The realisation that she may know all of what he did, the bad and the truly repugnant both, filled him with a sense of dread he could not name. Of course, she would have heard of them, or at least had some inkling of them. She had to, if she was able to feel his presence through the Music, and if she wrote him letters in Angband of all places. The thralls who found a way to escape would have talked, and their tales surely would have spread. Surely she must have heard of those.

Mairon thought it best to ask her and put the matter to rest once and for all. He then went from bush to bush as he sought wild ripe berries for something sweet. He found a few, but not much. It must have been too early in the season for more. Nevertheless, he picked what he could find, and he turned to return to the cottage.

The first meal of the day, and her, awaited.

She was awake when he arrived and fussing over the hearth. The cottage floor had been swept, and fresh rushes gave out a pleasing smell. Something bubbled away inside the pot as she added another log to the fire, filling the air with mouthwatering smells.

“My love, you need not toil so,” Mairon said from behind her. “I am here now. You must let me help you with your labours.” He knelt by her side and sniffed. Whatever it was she had in the pot made his stomach rumble with hunger. “What have you there?”

“Stew,” she explained, her body tingling when Mairon rested his hand on the small of her back. It brought back memories of the hours they spent lost in each other’s embrace. “It is just some vegetable with a bit of smoked rabbit for taste. And these mushrooms will go splendidly with them.” She took the basket off his hands and went out the back door. Mairon swiftly rose to follow.

There was more to the cottage than it seemed. A square garden of sorts stretched out to the thicket of trees immediately behind it, and high hills rose in the distance, their shapes faint in the light. There was a ramshackle well tucked away in one corner and more flowers and unknown herbs, each in their own little plot of loamy soil, and each growing wild like weeds. They rustled softly in the wind, and Mairon sighed dreamily. Oh, but to live here without a care in the world.

“How long have you lived here?” He questioned, curious.

“Not long, my love,” she murmured, grateful to now be able to share her home, such as it was, with him. “This cottage was a forgotten thing when I came upon it. I decided it would do until I thought about wandering again.” She upended the basket, emptying its contents onto a wide drying rack woven out of reeds. The berries she arranged on a smaller rack beside it, after having taken one to taste. It was plump and sweet instead of stringy and tart; she thought it would make a wonderful addition to their morning meal. “Now you know about it. Now you know where to find it.”

Mairon grinned and came forward to help. “Now I do.” He dropped an old pail into the waters of the well, then pulled on its rope to draw it back up after it was full. He gave it for her to take, and was not wholly caught unawares by the sight of her carrying such a heavy thing without trouble. A Maia’s life essence flowed through her veins, diluted as it was. It must have given her strength. Then he turned grave, having remembered the questions that had come to him while he was out in the woods. He cleared his throat and said, “My love… something troubles me. You know of me—you sent me those beautiful missives. But do you know the things I have done—all that I have done?”

She looked at him intensely, pinning him to where he stood like a moth to a board, and making him afraid. Finally, she set down the pail and opened her mouth to speak. 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

By your hand

Fandom: The Lord Of The Rings

Relationship: Arwen/Éowyn

Rating: M (eventually)

Summary:

In which the high commander of Gondor and the emissary of Rivendell steal a few moments together. Written for this gorgeous artwork by @saintstars : Horse Girls as part of @fall-for-tolkien Scribbles & Drabbles 2024

On AO3

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fourth Age of Arda

Count 0.4k (ongoing)

I. Eyes upon me

Éowyn crossed the halls followed by her reports, their armor shining silver and copper. None were lost on the latest expedition, which was a stroke of relief to all. 

As Chief Commander, cleansing the Morgul Vale amounted to a large part of her duties after the fall of the Shadow. Despite being vanquished, the mark of its claws still lingered over the land and pockets of ruthlessness yet clamored an allegiance to their former lord and master, wreaking havoc on the borders.

Fatigue wore down her muscles but her mind stayed sharp as Éowyn and her captains met with king and council. Emissaries had come, as they regularly did, to convene on ways to aid the efforts of Gondor, and even as she delivered her report the commander felt eyes upon her. 

Of course, this was nothing new—she’d gained quite the reputation, after all. 

But one gaze lingered among many, and from the corner of her eye, Éowyn discerned a glittering stare: one that held memories of pain and relief alike, bearing warmth that brushed her sullied cheek as it once did long ago, in the Houses of Healing.

Sensations and nerves aside, she continued as though unawares, relaying the state of things as they were with no embellishment. After all was done, Éowyn was able to retreat to the rooms allotted to her for the regular trips to the capital. She'd planned on returning to her new home in Haramon within the week, and that was well and good.

Or would have been.

Bathed and changed, she could barely keep her eyes open, gazing out the grand window facing stars that hung gleefully in a black sky. Their silvery light lingered in her mind long after she fell in a heap, sprawled over the voluminous bed. Éowyn absently cleared the messy, wet strands from her face. You’re here, then… it has been a while, hasn’t it? 

As her eyes were closing, there came a knock on the chamber door, and a youth’s muffled voice from the other side.

“My lady, a missive for you!”

After the messenger handed her the folded piece of paper, Éowyn cast a furtive look at the wax sigil.

The hardened skin of her fingertips brushed over the elegant, languorous handwriting; the expression on her face remained still as she read. When she looked up, the youth was still there, shuffling his feet. 

“You may go,” she told him with a pleasant smile that caused a mumbled ‘Yes, my lady’, and a flustered scurry. 

Still smiling, Éowyn closed the chamber door and slid down to the floor, her back propped against the cold wood. 

How can I refuse?

But you knew this already, did you not, nihtegale? 

AN:

In this AU, I had Éowyn stay on after the War of The Ring to be one of the two Chief Commanders of King Elessar, whose duties involved guarding and maintaining the borders of Gondor. Haramon - originally Emyn Arnen was written as Haramon. Chose to use this first version of the name here. 'nihtegale' - 'nightingale' in Old English. For the purpose of this fic, I used it as a term of affection in Rohanese!

TBC

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Take a look at this amazing artwork of Manwe that I commissioned from the brilliant @maedictus!! Please go follow her, her art style and designs are wonderful!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part six of this series can be read now!

Answering a story with a story

This is a masterlist of my story for a story chain. It is a stricly 18+ list. Minors DNI. Enjoy!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Answering a story with a story

This is the sixth portion of this story for a story chain. The ask I received will appear first, and my answer after that. Enjoy!

Pairing: Mairon/Unrevealed character

Themes: Smut | Slice of Life | Domesticity

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word count: 3.4k words

Summary: More pleasures are shared. Mairon later explores the cottage his companion calls home, and the lands surrounding it. An important question is asked after his return.  

Minors DNI | 18+

Previous asks for this series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The Ask: The kiss had been an answer. A surrender. A beginning. Now, in the aftermath, the small cottage was thick with the scent of their mingled desire and the quiet hum of consequence.

She did not resist as Mairon gathered her into his arms, lifting her from the table as if she weighed nothing. Her legs unhooked from his waist, her head resting instinctively in the hollow between his throat and shoulder. Her breath was a warm, unsteady ghost against his skin. He moved through the dim space with the fluidity of a shadow, each step quiet but absolute.

He laid her down on the low bed, tucked into the stone-walled alcove, the mattress soft with dried grasses, covered with time-worn furs. Mortal things. Humble, temporary. And all the more precious for it. She had dreamed here. Of him.

He followed, stretching out beside her but not covering her, his warmth a golden line along her side. The fire crackled quietly across the room. She turned into him as if drawn, as if their bodies were magnets crafted long ago to find one another.

His hand lifted to smooth a lock of her strange coloured hair from her cheek. She trembled under the tenderness of it, and he felt the quake echo through his own chest.

“You have shared your soul with me,” he murmured, voice low and resonant. “Your dreams, your fears, your desire. And still you remain a beautiful enigma.” He let his fingers brush along the line of her jaw, then to her lips. “Tell me your name.”

She watched him, breath soft, eyes luminous with the last of her unshed tears. The fight had gone out of her. Or perhaps it had simply never truly been there, only the fear. She was bare before him in all ways now, and he, impossibly, had not destroyed her.

She whispered it to him, so quietly that even his Maiar senses took several seconds to define. The word came like an exhale, an invocation. The final thread between who she had been and who she had become.

Mairon let the name settle on his tongue.

He repeated it again, and there was something almost reverent in the way he said it. “A name worthy of its bearer.”

His hand slipped lower, along her neck, over the swell of her shoulder. She did not shy from his touch. Instead, she shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his chest just above his heart. The gesture was instinctive, shy. But when she did it again, and again - pressing lips to his skin like a litany, like a prayer - he stilled beneath her. Not in rejection, but in reverence. With his thumb and forefinger under her jaw, he gently drew her attention back up to his face.

“How did you come to know of me?” he asked, softer now. “Your letters spoke with the clarity of sight, not faith alone. Thû sensed a veil even he could not fully pierce.”

She took a slow breath and closed her eyes, her brow furrowing just slightly, as if the answer was too old for her to remember clearly. Then she said, “I am not wholly of the Edain. But I am mortal, nonetheless. My bloodline is distant. Diluted.”

He said nothing, watching her profile, the fall of her lashes against her cheek, the glimmer of firelight playing along her collarbone.

“Long ago, one of your kindred - a Maia of the green world, of wild places - chose to come to Middle-earth. She lingered. She loved one of the Aftercomers. From them came a line, passed through generations. The divine spark faded… but not entirely. My grandmother could speak to bees. My mother’s voice could still a storm. And I… I have always felt the Music, quiet and low, but still singing. And through it… I felt you.”

He was silent for a long time.

“And you knew me,” he said finally, “not as the world names me.”

She turned to face him again. “Whatever name the world gives you, I did not speak to it. I wrote to the one I felt through the veil. The one whose fire never dimmed, even beneath shadow. The one I felt in the quiet places, beneath the storm. I thought… if I could send one truth into the darkness, let it be this: you are loved.. Unconditionally.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, as if to drink in that truth and store it in his marrow. Her hand slid over his chest, light as a breath, then to his waist, her fingertips tracing the contours of his body as if to memorise him.

“I see your end,” she whispered, voice breaking against his skin. “The forging of the Ring. The fall. The fire. I see you cast down because of me.”

“No,” he said, and the word was steel. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “You are not my end. You are what remains when everything else has fallen.”

With that, he kissed her again. Deeper. Slower. Her lips parted beneath his, soft and trembling. His hand cradled her jaw. Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer.

Their bodies met again, not in urgency this time, but in worship. He touched her as if she were a song from the first Music, lost and found again. She explored him with equal awe, hands reverent, lips tasting the shape of his collarbone, the line of his ribs, the edge of his hip, eyes flicking up to meet his, her breath warm against his skin.

And then she moved lower.

Mairon stilled as her soft lips brushed the tip of him - exploratory, almost shy, tasting him. Her hand curled around the base of his cock, and her mouth opened to take him in.

His breath left him in a low, guttural sound. His eyes fluttered closed. Her tongue was warm and tentative at first, then bolder, tasting him, surrounding him. She took more of him, slowly, reverently, her hands bracing against his powerful thighs as though steadying herself for the gravity of what she was doing.

He looked down. Her iridescent, dyed hair falling over her face and pooling across his hips and abdomen like liquid flame. Forcing himself to be gentle, he tucked the long locks behind her ear and back over her head, allowing him a better view of her. The sight of her like this, on her hands and knees between his legs, lips wrapped around him, made his restraint shake at the core.

“E-enough,” he said, voice strained, not from displeasure but from need. “Not like this. I need you...”

She lifted her head, lips glistening and swollen, breath uneven, eyes wide and dark with heat. She looked utterly wanton.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, and pulled her up into his arms and rolled her beneath him.

He entered her slowly, carefully, watching every breath, every flutter of her eyes, the small sounds that escaped her lips - each one breaking his composure more than force or fury ever could. Her name left him unbidden -  breathed like a secret, hoarse and undone. She gasped, clinging to him, her body arching in slow waves beneath his. He thrust with aching restraint, giving her time, letting their union settle like fire in old stone, his fingers digging into the furs beside her head.

She moaned softly against his ear, his name whispered like a secret, again and again, just as she had in the desirous dreams she had sent him.

“Mairon-!”

Her legs tightened around him. He felt her begin to shake. Something inside him snapped, and he built the rhythm between them again - beautiful, terrible, inevitable, unending.

Their second climax was quieter, slower, but it left them both gasping. He fucked her through it, mouth at her neck, one hand gripping her hip tightly as if to keep her in this world, in this bed, in this moment, until the rhythm broke. His control snapped. He buried himself deep one final time, and when he came, it was silent at first, every muscle trembling, the weight of his surrender crashing through him like a wave of fire.

And then - her name - his voice broke around it, guttural and rough, as though it was the only thing he had to hold onto.

He lay beside her in the hush that followed, one hand still cradling her waist, the other tracing idle lines along her arm. Her breath was slowing now, steadier, and when she opened her eyes to find him watching her, the smallest, most incredulous smile curved her lips, before widening across her teeth, as she laughed.

“You’re staring!”

“I’ve never had cause to stare before,” he replied, grinning brightly. “Not like this.”

The smile across her face became gleeful, as though she'd just made a vital discovery. “I didn’t imagine you’d be quite so... warm!”

“I am Maiar, not marble,” he said, feigning offense, then a shadow of concern flickered over his face. "Not too warm for you though? I haven't hurt you?”

She laughed softly, and shook her head no, then leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He turned into it, caught her lips again, slower this time, more languid than hungry.

When he pulled back, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered, “We could stay like this forever.”

Her smile faltered, just a little.

“You forget,” she said gently, “that I am not forever. My blood doesn’t grant me your years,” she said, her eyes beginning to well up. “My soul will pass. Even with all that lingers in me… I am still mortal.”

“I know,” Mairon said, and his arms tightened around her, kissing away the single tear that had escaped her eye. “But I will find a way.”

In silence, they left the question of doubt unanswered and ignored. Just for now.

Because for now, they had this.

The rest of the world, the war, the doom, the flame: that could wait.

The Answer: Mairon awoke at dawn, his earthly vessel filled with an unaccustomed but much welcomed feeling of laziness and ease. It had rained heavily the night before, and though the cottage had grown cold, neither he nor she gave it a shred of thought. They had been too occupied with the spell that had ensnared them both to care about what took place in the wide world beyond the stone that ensconced them or the chill that seeped in to reach them.  

He turned to look at the one who had left an indelible mark upon his spirit. She slumbered peacefully, her iridescent hair now gleaming like quiet flame, and her body concealed beneath the pelt he had wrapped her in. Her lashes fluttered rapidly, as if she were witnessing a dream. Or was it a vision? Mairon did not know. He could have reached through their still-fresh bond and witnessed for himself what she was seeing, but he chose to keep away. The notion of violating a part of her he was not invited into—even if it was with pure intentions—felt evil and wrong.

He looked out the solitary window, having decided to leave her to her sleep. It appeared wider in the pale grey of morning than it did in the blackness of night, and it had a little window seat that smelt faintly of lavender. Light slowly poured in through the pale-coloured glass, a warm, buttery yellow that drove away the darkness from the night before and brought with it the promise of a fine day.

Mairon silently slipped out of bed and reached for the breeches that he had thrown onto the rushes on the floor. They were mercifully dry when he pulled them on, but he thought to inspect the roof in any event. He was a creator, after all, and repairing a thatched roof with what could be easily found within the forests out yonder would be the work of a moment for a being such as him. Suddenly, he heard his name whispered. When he returned his attention to his companion, she was still asleep, but his name rolled off her lips more than once. Perhaps it was him she was seeing, and, by the smile that slowly worked its way across her face, it was plain her dream was just a dream, and it was a happy one at that.

He went in search of the smoky hearth that passed for a kitchen, his entire being awash with joy.

The little cottage was somewhat comfortable despite its dilapidated appearance. There was a small lopsided table with two chairs, and the corner hearth that held the banked cookfire was not altogether empty. It had a slender rod affixed to the wall and a stew pot hanging from it. When Mairon stooped to study them, he discovered the rod moved this way and that. He wondered how she made use of it without burning herself. That was when he saw it: the wooden tongs that stood against the wall, away from the flames and by a wicker basket, their pointed ends blackened and burnt from much use. It was another object in desperate need of repair, but it made Mairon wonder if she would even agree to him meddling with her home. He then resolved to keep the matter for another day, for the time had come to seek out breakfast.

He picked up the basket, dusted it off, and crossed to the door.

When he pushed it open with just a thought and stepped over the lip into the wide open world beyond, he found his senses overwhelmed by clean air, sweet scents, and pleasing sounds. In Angband, the air was foul, the sounds of toil and violence and weeping echoed through its veritable maze of corridors and halls, and the scents of molten steel and unwashed bodies and much, much worse invaded one’s senses every waking moment. Here, though, in this pleasing patch of land, there was nothing to be seen but grass and bush and oak and pine, and there was nothing to be heard but the rhythmic sounds of a world bursting to life, not a world that oft found itself beset with toil and death and despair. He was beginning to see why she preferred a place like this for her home. Such peace and renewal was vital for the magic she and those who came before her weaved.

He sallied forth, his ever watchful eyes studying all that moved behind the trees.

There was much to be discovered in the land surrounding the cottage. Birds flittered from branch to branch, singing merrily as they sought food for their young. Flowers of rare hues and delicate beauty bloomed to greet the rising sun, their velvety petals glistening with clear drops of dew. Herbs that had no name spread out their leaves, and Mairon took care to commit each thing he saw to memory. He would ask her about them later. They may prove to be useful should he have a need for them.

He continued on, relishing the feel of his bare feet against cool grass, until he reached a tree that had toppled over during a storm. He got down to his haunches and, upon closer inspection, was delighted to discover mushrooms in great clusters of cream and brown clinging to the rotting bark. And they were safe for a mortal to eat. He plucked them one by one, threw them into the basket, and rose.

Is this what the gatherers did in Angband? He asked himself. Did they wander like this, seeking the food the rest of us ate?

It was a question he pondered over while he walked here and there, seeking more food for the table. In Angband, such menial tasks were carried out by the lowliest among the orcs, and they had to travel far for success of any kind; the lands around Angband were devoid of growing things, and its waters were choked with weeds and slime. Mairon then shivered. The waters were choked with weeds and slime, living things kept well away from the lands the great fortress sat on, and the snow was always befouled with soot and specks of metal and tar. Fortunately, they, as beings of spirit, did not have to rely on water to ease their thirst. Other libations were always on the offing—especially those taken from vanquished elves—and meat was always plentiful for them, even when it remained a priceless commodity to those who procured it for the meals of their betters.

Thoughts of orcs and elves brought forth a series of discomfiting questions. Did she know of what he did while in Angband? Did she know of the deeds he helped his master accomplish? Did she know of the torments he helped inflict?

The realisation that she may know all of what he did, the bad and the truly repugnant both, filled him with a sense of dread he could not name. Of course, she would have heard of them, or at least had some inkling of them. She had to, if she was able to feel his presence through the Music, and if she wrote him letters in Angband of all places. The thralls who found a way to escape would have talked, and their tales surely would have spread. Surely she must have heard of those.

Mairon thought it best to ask her and put the matter to rest once and for all. He then went from bush to bush as he sought wild ripe berries for something sweet. He found a few, but not much. It must have been too early in the season for more. Nevertheless, he picked what he could find, and he turned to return to the cottage.

The first meal of the day, and her, awaited.

She was awake when he arrived and fussing over the hearth. The cottage floor had been swept, and fresh rushes gave out a pleasing smell. Something bubbled away inside the pot as she added another log to the fire, filling the air with mouthwatering smells.

“My love, you need not toil so,” Mairon said from behind her. “I am here now. You must let me help you with your labours.” He knelt by her side and sniffed. Whatever it was she had in the pot made his stomach rumble with hunger. “What have you there?”

“Stew,” she explained, her body tingling when Mairon rested his hand on the small of her back. It brought back memories of the hours they spent lost in each other’s embrace. “It is just some vegetable with a bit of smoked rabbit for taste. And these mushrooms will go splendidly with them.” She took the basket off his hands and went out the back door. Mairon swiftly rose to follow.

There was more to the cottage than it seemed. A square garden of sorts stretched out to the thicket of trees immediately behind it, and high hills rose in the distance, their shapes faint in the light. There was a ramshackle well tucked away in one corner and more flowers and unknown herbs, each in their own little plot of loamy soil, and each growing wild like weeds. They rustled softly in the wind, and Mairon sighed dreamily. Oh, but to live here without a care in the world.

“How long have you lived here?” He questioned, curious.

“Not long, my love,” she murmured, grateful to now be able to share her home, such as it was, with him. “This cottage was a forgotten thing when I came upon it. I decided it would do until I thought about wandering again.” She upended the basket, emptying its contents onto a wide drying rack woven out of reeds. The berries she arranged on a smaller rack beside it, after having taken one to taste. It was plump and sweet instead of stringy and tart; she thought it would make a wonderful addition to their morning meal. “Now you know about it. Now you know where to find it.”

Mairon grinned and came forward to help. “Now I do.” He dropped an old pail into the waters of the well, then pulled on its rope to draw it back up after it was full. He gave it for her to take, and was not wholly caught unawares by the sight of her carrying such a heavy thing without trouble. A Maia’s life essence flowed through her veins, diluted as it was. It must have given her strength. Then he turned grave, having remembered the questions that had come to him while he was out in the woods. He cleared his throat and said, “My love… something troubles me. You know of me—you sent me those beautiful missives. But do you know the things I have done—all that I have done?”

She looked at him intensely, pinning him to where he stood like a moth to a board, and making him afraid. Finally, she set down the pail and opened her mouth to speak. 

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Words to replace said, except this actually helps

I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.

IN RESPONSE TO Acknowledged Answered Protested

INPUT/JOIN CONVERSATION/ASK Added Implored Inquired Insisted Proposed Queried Questioned Recommended Testified

GUILTY/RELUCTANCE/SORRY Admitted Apologized Conceded Confessed Professed

FOR SOMEONE ELSE Advised Criticized Suggested

JUST CHECKING Affirmed Agreed Alleged Confirmed

LOUD Announced Chanted Crowed

LEWD/CUTE/SECRET SPY FEEL Appealed Disclosed Moaned

ANGRY FUCK OFF MATE WANNA FIGHT Argued Barked Challenged Cursed Fumed Growled Hissed Roared Swore

SMARTASS Articulated Asserted Assured Avowed Claimed Commanded Cross-examined Demanded Digressed Directed Foretold Instructed Interrupted Predicted Proclaimed Quoted Theorized

ASSHOLE Bellowed Boasted Bragged

NERVOUS TRAINWRECK Babbled Bawled Mumbled Sputtered Stammered Stuttered

SUAVE MOTHERFUCKER Bargained Divulged Disclosed Exhorted

FIRST OFF Began

LASTLY Concluded Concurred

WEAK PUSY Begged Blurted Complained Cried Faltered Fretted

HAPPY/LOL Cajoled Exclaimed Gushed Jested Joked Laughed

WEIRDLY HAPPY/EXCITED Extolled Jabbered Raved

BRUH, CHILL Cautioned Warned

ACTUALLY, YOU’RE WRONG Chided Contended Corrected Countered Debated Elaborated Objected Ranted Retorted

CHILL SAVAGE Commented Continued Observed Surmised

LISTEN BUDDY Enunciated Explained Elaborated Hinted Implied Lectured Reiterated Recited Reminded Stressed

BRUH I NEED U AND U NEED ME Confided Offered Urged

FINE Consented Decided

TOO EMO FULL OF EMOTIONS Croaked Lamented Pledged Sobbed Sympathized Wailed Whimpered

JUST SAYING Declared Decreed Mentioned Noted Pointed out Postulated Speculated Stated Told Vouched

WASN’T ME Denied Lied

EVIL SMARTASS Dictated Equivocated Ordered Reprimanded Threatened

BORED Droned Sighed

SHHHH IT’S QUIET TIME Echoed Mumbled Murmured Muttered Uttered Whispered

DRAMA QUEEN Exaggerated Panted Pleaded Prayed Preached

OH SHIT Gasped Marveled Screamed Screeched Shouted Shrieked Yelped Yelled

ANNOYED Grumbled Grunted Jeered Quipped Scolded Snapped Snarled Sneered

ANNOYING Nagged

I DON’T REALLY CARE BUT WHATEVER Guessed Ventured

I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM Hooted Howled Yowled

I WONDER Pondered Voiced Wondered

OH, YEAH, WHOOPS Recalled Recited Remembered

SURPRISE BITCH Revealed

IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD Scoffed Snickered Snorted

BITCHY Tattled Taunted Teased

Edit: People, I’m an English and creative writing double major in college; I understand that there’s nothing wrong with simply using “said.” This was just for fun, and it comes in handy when I need to add pizzazz. 

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Florence Welch at the BBC proms with ‘Symphony of lungs' at the Royal Albert Hall

📸 by Lillie Eiger

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It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Woot! Woot! The confessions box is open! Send a confession, a question, or a missive. But be warned! Melkor is super dramatic, Tevildo might try to scratch you (or push an object you love off a counter) and Thuringwethil can and will bite you. As for Mairon, he's in a corner somewhere, washing his hands of everyone's weirdness.

Good luck.

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An ancient Egypt AU? It sounds so cool! I'm sure you'll be able to do it! I'm also looking forward to seeing anything you come up with for a club AU.

A, P, and S for the ask me:fandom edition game.

Thank you so much for the ask and once again sorry for only answering now. 🖤

I anwered A ("Your current OTP") here.

Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

I am the "generally not into AUs" person so answering this one and coming up with something is a little hard for me. I will say that I once had a great discussion about an Old Egypt AU for Númenor with @cilil and that I'm planning to write (yes, you heard me right) a club AU with Mairon and possibly some other characters... Mairon will still be an otherworldly divine being here; let's see if and how I can pull this off in the future.

Show us an example of your personal headcanon

Mairon in his preferred form is 184 cm tall (though he can willingly vary his height). @lvsifer just confidently dropped this on a tram ride and I have absolutely adopted this as my headcanon since then. :D

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Silmarillion Characters as Supernatural Creatures

This was something I decided to do on a lark. The characters and their backstories (except for Necromancer! Mairon Zigûr) were inspired by stories I wrote featuring them. The list is far from comprehensive, but I will add to it and update the file whenever I come up with a backstory for another character and what supernatural creature they could be. Please credit if you use them for your stories/headcanon.

Themes/Warnings (More will be added as more characters are introduced): Death/Non-con/Fictional Vampirism/Fictional Lycanthropy/Shapeshifting

Silmarillion Characters as Supernatural Creatures

inspiration for the names of Beren’s companion’s

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Mandos put Curufin and Celegorm in separated chambers in his halls because their co dependency would make healing impossible for both.

Curufin requested a formal conference with Mandos. Then he declared that he had fully processed the trauma of death and Celegorm was fine too.

He was in Mandos for a day.

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Event Still Open

Hi everyone! Submissions are closed for prompts - thank you to all who took the time to submit.

Despite submissions for prompts being closed, you can still sign up to the event by claiming a prompt. You can view all of them here.

Further event details can be found here.

AO3's FAQs for how Prompt Meme challenges work

The challenge dashboard

Join our Discord

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◦˚~ ANIMATED MOON & STARS DIVIDERS ~˚◦

Requested by: @inkyprince Info: these were all drawn/made & animated by me. please reblog/like if use!

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🤭🤭🤭🤭

The Fëanorions arrive in Nargothrond

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Finrod: Ahh... peace. Perfect peace.

Celegorm and Curufin show up with a young elf and a ginormous dog in tow.

Finrod: Perfect peace shattered.

The Fëanorions arrive in Nargothrond

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Melkor in Máhanaxar

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Sorry this took forever, here is the matchup list :)