#athelas drabble challenge

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day seven : dance

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 reader⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the elder king finds himself enthralled by the sight of you during a banquet

· ⊰ notes. this man makes me so soft

He inhales, yet feels nothing. No ease, no soothe to his burning lungs, no remedy to his shallow intakes, but he still inhales. He, the Breath of Arda, Lord of the Winds — now left breathless.

Amber accented with deep purple eyes, that mimic the afternoon sky above, train on the figure ahead. Through the sea of robes until they land on the silken twirls, the graceful steps, gentle smiles. 

And he feels his chest tighten. None of it, however, is out of ill-will. Rather, the Elder King finds himself entranced by the Ainu ahead with such a stunning countenance and an even more gorgeous gleam. 

"My Lord," a voice draws him out of his little fantasy as Manwë side-glances at his herald with a sheepish smile creeping upon his lips. "Yes, Eönwë?" "Why do you stare?" He almost feels embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole, but the older clears his throat and turns his attention back onto you. 

"Is she not beautiful, Eönwë?" 

Taken aback by the sudden forwardness, Eönwë can only give a soft, "mn."

Manwë almost frowns at the response but supposes that his herald simply wishes to not overstep. "Surely you can at least admire her looks, correct?" "I trust My Lord's judgement." Eönwë's firm nod leaves his brother grinning and it doesn't take long for his gaze to fall back on you. 

He could ask you to dance — he should. Yet here he stands like a deer in headlights, nervous, questioning. He feels the stare of his Maia and knows exactly what his look means. Ask her, my lord, ask her to dance. 

A part of him was about to deny, he parts his lips to explain to Eönwë why he cannot do any of the sorts — yet stiffens when he loses sight of you. Or rather, when he finally notices that you are making your way towards him.

"Your Majesty," you bow, smile fainter as you smooth out your robes. "My apologies for approaching you so suddenly. However I —" You halt, sudden nervousness swelling within your stomach. How does one go up to the Elder King and tell him you took notice of his staring? Had you no shame? You take a glance back at the one who beckoned you forward, almost glaring at the grin Irmo presents you and the little hand motion straight after. 

"I just — I. . ." 

He's confused for a moment, but a darling smile soon tugs upon his lips as both realisation settles in and he catches sight of Irmo in the background. With a clear of his throat, he extends his hand, fair, lean and gentle as his face bears a soft countenance.

"I believe it is I who should ask forgiveness for my stares, my lady," he spares Eönwë a short glance who all but nods in motivation and steps away. "Might I ask for a dance? You were simply breathtaking."

You feel your cheeks burn and when you finally find the strength to glance up, you see pink spilling onto his fair face as well. With a giggle, you slowly slip your hand into his, a little more confident now that you have witnessed his own bashfulness. 

"It would be my honour."

With that, you pull him to the dancefloor, and albeit surprised, he soon lets out the softest of laughs and tugs you closer. A smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eye. He can only thank the stars for this blessing — to enjoy a dance with you.

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[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Memories

Characters: Melkor/Mairon Synopsis: Mairon works on a statue of his beloved. Warnings: Loss of spouse, grief

Only perfection would be good enough for his beloved. Every angle, every plane, every little quirk and detail that was burned into his memory, he would shape it all with utmost love and reverence; and he wouldn't rest until everything was as it should be. 

Mairon put down his hammer and chisel and lovingly caressed the statue's cheek. The smooth, cool texture of the stone reminded him of the Vala's skin, and for a few precious seconds he closed his eyes and allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, to pretend that Melkor was here with him. 

Yet the moment was fleeting, just another dream of a lonely, widowed Maia, vanishing as quickly as it had come over him. Mairon opened his eyes and met the statue's empty gaze, once again hit with the painful realisation that he was alone and that his husband wasn't coming back, no matter how hard he tried to cling to everything that reminded him of him. 

Memories were all he had left, and in the quiet solitude of his forge, he rested his head on lifeless stone and wept.

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taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Athelas Drabble Challenge: Submission

Pairing: Melkor x Mairon

Themes: Very mild smut

Warnings: Very mild smut | NSFW | Bondage - Hand ties

Wordcount: 300 words

Summary: Melkor submits for the first time.

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.  

"Submit." It was what Mairon wanted—something other than lord and master. "Out there, I bow to you," he insisted, "but in here, you belong to me."

Melkor had scoffed. He was the true elder king, the greatest among them all. He would never submit to another.

And yet, it was what Mairon desired. Submission. Melkor finally yielded. And he found it to be different. Submitting to Mairon was different. It felt right, like that was how they were supposed to be.

And now Mairon's lips were a hair's breadth over his own, the flat of his palm cupping his cheek. That touch blazed like a furnace, but Melkor felt no pain. All he felt was pleasure shooting through him like bolts of white-hot lighting.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice already thick with need.

His name. Just his.

"It does not, precious." Melkor moaned when lips that tasted of cloves and honey opened over his, and warmth flooded his entire being. Mairon pressed into him, their fanas cleaving to each other while he moved. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a silent cry as each thrust brought him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. Melkor only encouraged him; his words and pleas and cries inflamed him.

It felt so strange to be the instrument of another's pleasure. To have to lay there, hands bound to the bedpost, unable to touch or possess, to be at the mercy of another, was indeed strange. And overwhelming. And exhilarating. Melkor yielded to hungry kisses, to caresses that went from gentle to frantic in the blink of an eye, to the nails that left a mark of their own all over his fana. He drowned in Mairon's desperate moans, his name spilling off Mairon's lips.

It was glorious.

tags: @cilil @edensrose​ @fictionfordays​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ 

[cilil]

Athelas Drabble Challenge - Ósanwë by @a-world-of-whimsy-5. A smutty triple drabble featuring the lovely rarepair Manwë x Eönwë aka Lords of Ilmarin. I loved it so much🤍

Luminous rebellion by @i-did-not-mean-to. Another Ainur rarepair, this time Curumo x Aiwendil. I'm obsessed with the way IDNMT writes them💚

Happy Friday, Fellowship! 💛

Fic recs are the best way to help promote someone else’s works! Find some of your favorite fics, they could be WIPs, completed, old, new, whatever you want to share, and rec at least (1) of them for us and your followers to see! Who knows, it might just be the fic someone out there is looking for!

Bonus: tag the author (if possible) and share with us why you are recommending this fic!

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day six : doom

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖    námo⠀〳 reader⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. death is his domain, and yet námo finds himself slipping when he sees a vision of your demise ( angst ៸៸ death ៸៸ war themes )

· ⊰ notes. I am. . . not okay and now neither will any of y'all be <3

He has seen death ample times in his millennia’s worth of existence.

He has witnessed the grief and wallowing of thousands of souls that enter his halls.

He has even found beauty in it. Death, that is. The release of responsibilities. The fierce, icy grip that would soon lead to peace.

He admired it, he envied it.

And yet. . . The day that Námo perceived your final moments, he found himself unable to function. Unable to speak, eat, sleep.

Countless times has he seen death, and yet nothing shook him more to his core than the sight of you laying there on the battlefield. Your body painted with crimson and your eyes shut. That beautiful face of yours so serene despite the wounds that littered your fána. For a moment, he may have considered the possibility of you simply lost in slumber, if it were not for the scene of chaos that carried on around you.

That is what his world had become, chaos. The realisation that he could not protect you broke him in several ways. He knew that this was unstoppable. He knew that this was fate. But what the Vala also knew is that this was cruelty in its finest. For The One to have shown him such horrible imageries — of the person he holds dear no less. . .

Námo was in a state. To know that your end would not be a peaceful send off. You would pass away in the heat of battle, the day of Dagor Dagorath. He will witness your death and yet, despite all his power and might he will not be able to reach you.

For the first time in his entire existence, he wished to listen to the whispers. To defy the very law by which Eru governs. To escape the loop. To break the will. The sight of you laying there on the ground was simply too much to bear.

It keeps him awake for weeks.

Months.

And worst of all? He finds himself drawing away from you. For whenever he sees your face, images of that fateful day to come plague his very eyes. He cannot move, cannot speak. He is ill with anxiety. Choking on the bitter reality.

He shuts you out.

He shuts you out, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Even when his mind screams at him. Reminds him that this is the route that his Creator has set out for him, he still continues. He isolates himself from you. Like a puppet on the strings he obeys and is pulled in the direction of this unwarranted fate.

It matters not how much he tries to fight it. Nor how much he wishes to scream until his lungs pour with crimson as he curses the name he has only ever known as holy.

And it is not until you are lying there on that battlefield. Peaceful amongst the chaos. Unaware of his wailing agony and his desperation to get to you. To scoop you up in his arms and savour your warmth. To whisper into your hair and kiss your lips one final time

It is only then that he truly realises the meaning of the word doom.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( eönwë )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   eönwë ⠀〳 ⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the war of wrath will forever plague his mind, even after simple training sessions with his fellow maiar ( war themes ៸៸ blood ៸៸ killing insinuation )

· ⊰ notes. back at it again with bullying eönwë <3

Ilmarin’s pools were the perfect place to retreat to after a long day of training. Sweat, crimson and dirt wash off into the crystal-like waters, leaving his folded wings as pristine as always. His hands, calloused with aeons of swordsmanship, cup the clear liquid and pour it down his face. 

Yet the warm waters do nothing to quell the storm overtaking Eönwë’s heart as he continues to bathe. If anything, they remind him of the heat of battle. Of the rush that sent his mind into a high. Of the fresh blood that stained his armour, his skin, his wings, and especially — 

His sword. 

Cerulean hues cast a glance at his blade that lays elegantly in its sheath beside his clothes that he abandoned before venturing into the waters. There is a ringing in his ears and a whisper in the air. As though his very sword — a symbol of his title, authority and righteousness — mocks him. Taunts him. Reminds him of those fateful nights in which the ground flowed with res and screams poured through the air.

The faint glimmer of that same colour that Eönwë had grown to despise catches his vision within the pools. Slipping from his skin and drifting off into nothingness. 

It was just training, he tells himself. 

Training cannot be compared to the war. 

. . . Then why are these images plaguing him so? 

Eönwë makes the mistake of focusing on the swirls of red within the crystal waters and in doing so comes face to face with a monster. A being of true malice. Of dishonour. A soldier. A murderer. 

The General of Valinor’s Host Himself. 

A shudder courses through his body and he can hardly recognise the image that he stares into. The sight of his hair mangled and clotted with red. His eyes bloodshot. His face stained with dirt and smeared with the same shade of crimson that coats him entirely. This image certainly is not a reflection of his current self, who stands in the pools clean and flawless. 

Was he truly clean? 

As if to answer his question, spots of that same damn shade take his vision and he quickly turns to his arms. One, two, three — multiple. His hands and arms begin to surface with a deep red and his eyes shoot open wide in surprise. 

His hands are quick to splash water onto himself. He rubs his arms vigorously. He scrapes at the vision of blood and yet it refuses to dissipate. No matter how much he soaked himself in water or lathered on soap. No matter how much he frantically rubbed and scrubbed and begged it to go away. 

The lump in his throat barely allows a noise of distress to leave him as his hands practically claw at the deep colour. His eyes are agape and desperate as he argues for his mind to spare him these agonising games. 

“Stop,’’

“Stop —”

“S-Stop.’’

He inhales sharply, eyes brimming with tears. It mattered not how much he washed or how much he pleaded. Never would he be able to remove the stain from his hands. The crimson that now defined his very being. 

Even as he wept to the heavens and beseeches The One himself. 

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day eight : flight

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 námo⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. whilst flying through the airs in need of a break, námo is pleasantly surprised by the eagle that joins him

· ⊰ notes. this event should have been called a manwë event with how much I'm writing for him — not that I mind of course <3

‘Flying all by your lonesome, little raven?’

Upon hearing the familiar voice ring through his ears, Námo rears his presently ebony-feathered head and beholds the mighty wingspan above him. So, that is where the rays of light went. . . they were blocked out by none other than His Majesty.

White, elegant feathers flap through the skies. Twinkling yet slitted sapphire eyes peer at his fellow Vala who also takes the form of a winds' creature. The two of them soar through the skies — one noticeably smaller than the other, yet majestic in every right. A contrast of colours that flutter through the air.

'Have you been stalking me, Your Majesty?'

Námo hears a chime in Manwë's fëa, as though the king had laughed at his little tease. The great white eagle lowers himself so that he is flying side-by-side with his lover.

'Is it so wrong of me to crave my dear doomsman? I heard your song in my skies. How could I turn down the opportunity to soar with you?'

If Námo could, he might have smiled. Instead, to show his appreciation he turns directory and flies a few circles around the larger bird. Brushing their feathers together and nuzzling their soft heads.

'How about we retire to your halls? I would much rather see your true form.' Námo offers, only to receive another chuckle through his head which causes his heart to flutter in the slightest.

'Is someone calling me pretty?'

Námo nearly forgets how to fly. His wings stiffen and he falls a few inches before quickly flapping his wings in panic and regaining his composure. He shoots his head in Manwë's direction, cursing his beady raven eyes that can hardly produce his typical icy glare.

'How about we land? You shall receive a pinch for that one.'

Another laugh as Manwë nuzzles his head against his lover's before agreeing. 'As you wish, my darling.' While Námo might not see it in this form, he can feel Manwë's smile in the air.

And so the two love birds soar through the skies. Dancing through the winds and fluttering amongst each other as they return to Ilmarin's Halls.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( navëquen )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   navëquen ⠀〳 vanimóre⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. he hates whenever his mind wanders back to angband, but it is the only way he gets to remember vanimóre as of late ( minors dni ៸៸ suggestive descriptions ៸៸ slight dark themes ៸៸ angst ៸៸ scar mention ៸៸ suggested masturbation )

· ⊰ notes. a quick reminder that navëquen belongs to my beloved friend @cilil ! please give him some love, he and vanimóre are my comfort ship <3

He can still feel the chains. 

Still feel the cold. 

Still feel the heat of those stunning crimson eyes staring him down.

With a hushed breath, Navëquen flutters open his grey gaze. To his dismay, it is not the beautiful crimson staring back at him but instead the ceiling of his chambers. His quiet, barren chambers. 

Alone. As always. 

A sigh parts his lips and the Maiar rises from his lying position with great effort. The empty air serves to chill his pale skin and he brings the sheets around him. Yet whether this was to warm up or hide his own flesh from his keen eyes was up for debate. 

Flashes of his dream pour into his mind. Navëquen pulls his lower lip between his teeth and attempts to banish these thoughts of longing. Of desire for the one he knows feels none of those for him. 

'I wonder what he might be thinking right now.'

His own conscience taunts him and he shuts his eyes. He indulges memories for the time being. The chill of chains encircles his wrists once more and the warmth of dark lips caressing his neck sends shivers down his spine. A mirage of rough hands slip down his sides, trace his thighs and before he knows it, Navëquen’s own thumb traces his inner thigh. 

He bites down hard on his lower lip and a bitter feeling nips at his fëa. His lean fingers slowly stroke at the scars of his still healing fána. 

And for a moment,

Just a moment,

He could still feel his touch. Cold and unforgiving, yet to Navëquen, it must have been the most loving and tender gesture he had ever experienced. Even if his counterpart stared at him with such hate and spat venom that brined his heart in agony and burned his ears. 

“Vanimóre. . .’’ he breathes, and the shame nearly eats him up from the inside out. How could it feel so wrong to say his other half’s name? A taint on his tongue. A scandal to his standing. And yet. . . He cannot stop himself from slipping his hand higher. 

His dark hair flushes against the pillows as his head hangs back. A heated gasp leaves his lips as images of his beloved cloud his vision. He needs this. He needs relief. He needs to feel loved again. 

Navëquen shuts his eyes, hoping that it would ease the guilt gnawing at him as his hand sets to work. To feel such immense humiliation over touching himself to the man who has hurt him — and yet is still the one he will always run back to. . . it is almost too much to bear. 

So he allows himself to slip into the bliss. Even if it is for but a moment. As the image of crimson hues overtakes him.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day one : crown

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   manwë ⠀〳 ⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. the elder king takes a moment to truly take in the meaning and implications of his crown, as well as remember what pain it led to

· ⊰ notes. starting off the drabble challenge strong with a lovely mirrored drabble alongside my @cilil 's! please check out hers here !

The icy winds of Taniquetil whistle through Ilmarin’s halls. The shine of Tilion’s vessel shines down onto the white marble, creating an almost ethereal glow as the King steps through his own home. 

Long had sleep escaped him. As memories flooded his mind. Thoughts of the past, of what could have been and sadly, what is now. It was days such as this that Manwë envied the slumber of the Children. If only he could give into such a delight and allow it to put his mind at ease. 

As his sapphire robes drag across the white floors and his steps are nothing but the pitter-patter of a minuscule dew cloud, his tired eyes spot a figure. Tall and majestic. Refined and held-together. Yet something in those orbs presently as dark as the night sky told a different story. Weariness. 

His own reflection. 

Halting in his step, Manwë gazes into one of the many pools of Ilmarin. He has seen his mirror image before. Why did this leave him silent? Mournful? Perhaps it was simply the expression he has worn since he rose from bed, but what his gaze truly fixates on is the elegant piece of jade resting atop his head. Extending feathered wings from the sides and decorated in sapphires. 

The Elder King’s Crown. 

A symbol of leadership. One of hope to some. Yet to him, in this moment, it served only to taunt him. It feels as though the mere weight of it will drag him into the pit of the very waters that he stares at. 

His delicate fingers brush against the edges and ease it off of his head, allowing for some loose strands of white to frame his face. As he holds the insignia of his right to rule in the palms of his hands — he feels no joy. No pride. Nor hope. 

Even in his strong hands, the crown feels heavier than iron. And in his eyes, it looks like nothing but a heavy stone that rests atop his head. 

A familiar voice rings within his ears and a sigh escapes his lips as he lowers the crown and stares into his reflection once more. He sees not the righteous and wise Elder King, but a young man. A boy even. With weariness in his eyes and an ache in his heart.

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[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day nine : memories

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   airilin ⠀〳 lúilírë⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. lúilírë laments over what once was, and what could have been. why did his beloved sea song leave him in favour of darkness?

· ⊰ notes. this is a future outcome to the drabble that my lovely friend @cilil wrote which you can find here

"Look, I spent the whole day diving to find one that is as pretty as you."

"I. . . this is the loveliest gift I have ever received. Thank you."

Blinking away the cloudiness from his pale azure eyes, Lúilírë pushes himself against the chair of his bedroom and lets out a hushed exhale. Discarding the charcoal onto the sheets of parchments where he previously sketched out battle strategies, his arms fall limp over the seat rests.

His head rolls back and he gazes at the intricate designs of the ceiling. Counting lines and deciphering patterns. Hoping to immerse himself in a sea of useless thoughts that will drown out the ocean appearing before his mind's eyes.

The sound of gentle tides crashing against rock. The scent of salt. The feel of tender skin against his. Arms of ardour surrounding him as gentle lips mould into his.

The song of the sea calls to him.

And like the fool he is, he shall always listen.

A soft cloud of air condensate exhales from his lips as he sighs and aimlessly hangs against the chair. It mattered not how sharp Lúilírë's mind was — during days like this, where all he felt was the once comforting touch, saw those sparkling hues and heard that enthralling, honeyed voice, there was no possibility of escaping the past. Nor the memories that flood his mind and clutch his heart like a vice.

What haunted him most was the voice.

The voice of a thousand adoring songs.

The voice of a being once tender.

The voice that once whispered endearments to his ear.

The voice that once. . .

He sucks in a breath at the memory.

— told him that he loved him.

His fingers move on their own will. Gliding up the back of his neck before wrapping around cold mineral. With a small tug, his long, silky blue hair falls down around him. Soft strands framing his eyes and face in an elegant, barely dishevelled manner.

Lúilírë brings his hand forward and opens his palm to observe the object. In his grasp lies a white jade hairpin. Decorated at the end with a few thin chains of silver and gems of sapphire. Set in an arrangement that mimicked a flower. Yet what was the true spectacle of the hairpin was the sphere at the centre. Flat in some areas, round in others and shining with purple, blue and pink undertones against white magnificence.

"I will get you as many as you like. . . Whatever my favourite little pearl's heart desires."

Cold fingers clench around the hairpin subconsciously and Lúilírë finds himself with a break in his otherwise proud or blank expression. Something true. Something raw.

Something broken.

The strategist takes a few moments to stare at the accessory, specifically the pearl of memories at the centre before his eyes flutter shut and his body leans forward.

Once he pulls the hairpin closer, his lips meet the pearl.

As do his tears to the jade.

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[cilil]

✧࿐⭑ past events masterlist .*

⭑ collaborations/community events .*

✧.* scribbles & drabbles 2024

✧.* dappled dapper drabbled pony races

✧.* my slashy valentine 2024

✧.* ainur secret santa (Námo & Irmo, Nienna)

✧.* tolkien pinup calendar (fic & art) (Melkor x Mairon x Gothmog, Manwë, Eönwë)

✧.* lotr secret santa (Eönwë x Gothmog | Melkor x Mairon x Gothmog)

✧.* white oliphaunt (Eönwë x Gothmog, Ori, Maedhros, Fingon, Caranthir)

✧.* scribbles & drabbles 2023

✧.* tolkien reverse summer bang 2023: to fan the fire (Orc OCs, gen) the rogue royal wedding (Melkor x Mairon, omegaverse) a reward for loyal service (Gothmog x Melkor x Mairon)

✧.* my slashy valentine 2023 (angbang, 5+1)

✧.* tolkien secret santa 2022

⭑ fandom weeks .*

✧.* ainur week (event blog here): 2023 | 2024

✧.* eönwë week

✧.* angbang week 2024 (event blog here)

✧.* glorfindel week (event blog here)

✧.* feast of horns (event blog here)

✧.* silmarillion epistolary week (event blog here)

✧.* fëanorian week (event blog here)

✧.* manwë week (event blog here)

✧.* lotr week (event blog here)

✧.* tolkien family week (event blog here)

✧.* deadly sins (event blog here)

✧.* silm smut week (event blog here)

✧.* silvergifting week (event blog here)

✧.* angbang week 2023

⭑ prompt events/challenges .*

✧.* sapphic september

✧.* dark romance prompts

✧.* screw yule

✧.* all tied up in july

✧.* summer stories '24

✧.* gentle june

✧.* femslash february

✧.* winter drabbles

✧.* dead dove december

✧.* november prompts

✧.* fotfictember

✧.* athelas 20 day drabble challenge

✧.* fotfics april alphabet challenge

⭑ swg challenges .*

✧.* swg tengwar challenge

✧.* swg it comes in threes

✧.* swg meet & greet

⭑ bingo cards .*

✧.* rare pair bingo card

✧.* sweet & spicy bingo card

✧.* fotfics spicy bingo

⭑ holiday gifts for you! .*

✧.* cílil's fantastic ficmas

✧.* silmarillion gift giving

✧.* halloween special!

✧.* march 25th - one ring destruction anniversary 2023

[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Tears

Characters: Eönwë/Olórin Synopsis: After centuries of carrying his burdens alone, Eönwë finally finds comfort in Olórin's arms. Warnings: Angst, Eönwë needs therapy

Eönwë tried his best to be strong for his brothers and sisters in arms. Never falter, never flee, never fail. And in the end he succeeded, defeating the Dark One on his own to finally end the war.

But at what cost?

Beleriand is no more, and now, centuries later, neither is Númenor–because of his mistakes. Because he couldn't save the Children or the land, because he let Mairon escape, because he didn't manage to provide enough guidance and wisdom. 

When Olórin finally finds him and opens his arms, wordlessly offering comfort, Eönwë embraces him and leans against the smaller Maia, desperate for support and reassurance. Warm hands caress his hair and rub soothing circles between his wings, providing him with the touch and closeness he craves. 

"I am sorry I failed them. And I failed you too," he says through ósanwë. 

"You did not." Olórin replies. "We are all proud of you; but never forget that, regardless of your deeds and your service, you are loved." 

It is only then, after ages of trying to be strong, that Eönwë finally closes his eyes and allows himself to weep. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

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[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Rage

Characters: Dark!Eönwë/reader Synopsis: When you see him again, he is no longer the Maia you once knew and loved. [Dark!Eönwë AU in which he joins Melkor] Warnings: Mentions of battle, blood, angst, doomed love

You knew Eönwë as a kind, gentle Maia. One who held your hand and kissed it to show his affection, wrapped his wings around you, comforted you when you were sad, promised to always protect you– 

Until the Dark Lord's whispers took hold of his mind, until that fateful day he asked you to leave with him and you refused, telling him you couldn't follow where he was going. 

When you see Eönwë again, it's on the battlefield. The beautiful sky-blue of his eyes has changed to a cruel orange and yellow, reminiscent of a bird of prey, and there's blood all over the white feathers of his wings and dripping from his sword. He cuts down your brothers and sisters in arms without mercy until only you remain, shivering under his gaze. 

Will you kill me as well? you want to ask, but no words come out even as you part your lips. Seeing your beloved like this, so familiar, yet so different at the same time, makes your heart ache. 

Eönwë remains silent as well as he raises his sword, and for the first time in your life, you are truly afraid of him. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

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[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Gardens

Characters: Irmo/Estë Synopsis: After the destruction of Almaren, Irmo and Estë rebuild their home. Warnings: /

AN: I decided to post the rest of this challenge at last because of my November goals (wrapping up old projects) as well as cleaning out my WIPs and drafts before all the December projects start. Hope you enjoy!

"How is the little one doing?" 

Estë looks over her husband's shoulder while Irmo tends to the tiny sapling they planted recently. 

"It appears to be healthy and ready to grow. Though I may ask Yavanna for assistance just to be sure."

He turns his head to kiss Estë's cheek, causing a soft, relieved smile to appear on her lips. 

They had a garden on Almaren, one they spent much time cultivating and caring for, and it broke her heart when it was destroyed. Yet somehow Irmo managed to save this one sapling on that fateful day, the last thing that now remains of their old home; he did it for her, knowing how much it means to her. 

Estë wraps her arms around him and places her head on his shoulder. How blessed she is to call this wonderful Vala her husband. 

"I suppose that would be for the best," she says. 

"Either way, worry not, my love." Irmo rests his cheek against hers, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "One day we will sleep together underneath this tree." 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot

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[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Poem

Characters: Ulmo/Manwë  Synopsis: Ulmo attempts to express his feelings to his beloved king and friend. Warnings: /

His king loves poetry, Ulmo knows. 

Yet while music comes to him as easily and naturally as his own element, poetry loves him not. 

The piece of paper in front of him is blank save for a few drops of water and ink and it's not the first of its kind. Even though Ulmo remembers ages of thoughts and feelings he could describe, nothing feels like it would be good enough to present to Manwë. 

In the end, he gives up and returns to the ocean. And while words have eluded him for hours now, his heart still aches, wishing to be heard, so Ulmo sings to his element. Perhaps his beloved will hear him, he thinks, if the echo of his song reaches the clouds around Taniquetil and fresh rain fills the pools of Ilmarin. Either way this is the best he can offer, and he hopes Manwë still finds joy in the union of their elements like he did in the past.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot

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[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Fate

Characters: Námo/Manwë Synopsis: Sometimes Námo wishes his fate was different. Warnings: /

Námo has always admired Manwë, for he is kind, just and so very fair. His ëala is bright and magnificent, filled with the song of wind and air, and he moves and speaks with the grace of a true king. 

There is no such beauty to be found within his own being, dark, gloomy and silent as he was made to be, Námo knows, and that Manwë was never meant to be his.

Even still, he allows himself to hope. 

Until one day when Manwë approaches him and tells him, "I asked Varda to marry me." 

And Námo's heart breaks. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

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