#cílil writes

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

⸙ Prompt: Spin the bottle | Caranthir x Finrod ⸙ Synopsis: Caranthir hates party games. Finrod may be able to change his mind. ⸙ Warnings: Cousins kissing (in case you weren't aware) ⸙ Quadrupe drabble

Whoever had come up with this silly game, Carnistir didn't remember, but he knew he loathed them for it. 

First his brothers had dragged him to this strange, semi-secret meeting of various young Elven lords and ladies, attended by their cousins as well, and then he had been forced to participate in whichever asinine activities came to mind. 

The game in question was based on the simple and rather witless premise of sitting around an empty bottle placed on the floor which was spun around to determine the group's next victim, and it had steadily been devolving from demanding the disclosure of personal secrets and completing embarrassing little tasks to a plain and direct "who kisses who" version. 

Findaráto was favoured not only by the vast majority of attendants, but also the bottle itself, as it seemed. Smiling and casting down his gaze in faux coyness, he had just received a kiss from Turukáno — further contributing to Carnistir's foul mood — and was getting ready for another round. With a flurry of tinkling golden bracelets, he spun the bottle. 

Carnistir stared at it, more out of boredom than out of genuine interest. He was entranced by the candlelight reflecting off the glass until the bottle became slower and slower and eventually stopped, pointing at none other than–

"Moryo!" Tyelkormo exclaimed way too loudly, startling his younger brother out of his trance. "Moryo finally gets a kiss!" 

There were a few polite laughs and giggles at what was supposed to be a joke. Carnistir glared at him, irate, but was soon distracted when Findaráto practically crawled through the middle of the circle to reach him. 

Now on all fours in front of him, his attention was mercilessly drawn to his fair-haired cousin and that mesmerising green eyes of his, like sparkling jewels adorning a precious golden statue. Carnistir gulped, not knowing what to say. Should he decline? No, that would be cowardly. Should he make the first move? He knew not. 

Fortunately, Findaráto did it for him. A simple, lighthearted, "Hello, Moryo" was all he said before cupping his cheeks and leaning in to press his lips against his.  He was warm, soft and tasted like sweet wine, Carnistir noticed. Yet by far the most surprising thing was that, despite the hooting around them and the suboptimal situation, he found that he enjoyed it — so much so that he kissed him back.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

[furious-haste-of-malice]

AN: I promised to write a little something for @sortumavaara a while ago, so here it is! Based on and inspired by this artwork.

dark romance prompts

♡ prompt: taboo & overstimulation (rare pair bingo) | Glorfindel x Erestor ♡ synopsis: Glorfindel wants - needs - Erestor and hatches a new plan to make it happen, even if it means breaking a few teeny tiny rules and taboos ♡ warnings: highly dub-con/non-con, aphrodisiacs, obsession, unhinged horny & delusional Glorfy ♡ short oneshot (~800 words)

The thought that he shouldn't do this had crossed Glorfindel's mind. 

But the voice of reason had, in time, been drowned out by his desire, no, need to bed Erestor again, a feeling that had taken over his very mind and every waking thought. 

It was perhaps, as Glorfindel had also considered, not entirely right to feel this way, yet such a notion again did little to dissuade him; in fact, he had always found it rather arousing to break rules and taboos. 

And his favourite lover would enjoy it, he was certain. 

Erestor's cheeks were flushed bright red and his breathing was heavy. An empty tea cup sat in front of him, nearly getting knocked over as he sluggishly attempted to prop himself up and rise from his chair. 

"Glorfindel... not this again..."

He was slurring his words and sounded almost petulant, causing Glorfindel to smile, endeared by the display. 

"Yes, beloved. I promised we would try again, didn't I?"

Instead of waiting for a response, he picked up the smaller ellon and carried him over to the bed to begin undoing his robes. Erestor mumbled a few words of weak protest, but Glorfindel opted to stroke the growing bulge between his legs to soothe him. 

"I know it's not easy," he said softly. "After you were so tense last time, I prepared this tea for you. It should make it easier for you to take me. And I'll be careful, I promise." 

All Erestor managed was a groan while his remaining clothes were removed, and Glorfindel quickly discarded his own as well. Despite not having consumed the stimulating beverage himself, his cock was already hard as well, standing between his legs with the pride and poise expected from an accomplished warrior like himself. 

Erestor gulped and tried to rise, but Glorfindel swiftly moved to sit behind him and gathered him in his arms. 

"Let me show you how good it can feel when you're relaxed and ready," he cooed, grasping his lover's thighs to spread his legs wide open. 

Two fingers made their way in-between before Erestor could attempt to close them and gently prodded his entrance. Glorfindel found that he was indeed wet, as was the intended effect of the concoction he had slipped into his tea, yet not quite leaking. The amount of lubrication might still be insufficient to fit his entire length inside that tight little hole, but he was certainly willing to try. 

Placing his hands on the underside of his thighs, he lifted the smaller ellon up to place him on his lap and align his cock with his entrance, and Erestor squirmed in his grasp. 

"No, please," he protested weakly. "Please, my lord. I-I can't. And I promise I won't tell anyone – ah-!" 

Glorfindel attempted to shush him with a kiss, but his lips brushed against his cheek instead as Erestor turned his head to the side. His breath came in heavy gasps upon being breached, taking the warrior's large cock inch by inch. 

"Ssshhhh. You're doing so much better already," Glorfindel praised, holding him in place when he felt resistance. "Look, you managed to take half of me this time!"

"Stop – ngh – please... ah..." Erestor tried once more, but his pleas were soon reduced to small moans and gasps as Glorfindel began to move inside him. 

"We'll up the dosage next time," he reassured him, whispering in his ear. "Then it'll feel even better and you'll be able to take all of me. Doesn't that sound good?" 

He received no reply, but that suited him just fine. With every thrust, his world shrank more and more until it was reduced to the wonderful feeling of hot, wet tightness around his cock, exactly like he had imagined it. Glorfindel barely noticed that Erestor came soon after, and it didn't deter him either; he was simply too sweet when he tried and failed to beg for reprieve and could do nothing except take his cock over and over and over again. 

He loves it, he reminded himself, and one day he'll admit it too. 

Letting out the occasional indulgent moan to inform his lover of his boundless enjoyment, Glorfindel continued to bounce him on his lap and fuck him open until he'd had his fill. 

"You always feel so wonderful, Erestor," he breathed when he released inside him, accentuating his words with a gentle, almost chaste kiss on his cheek. 

Erestor was silent, and his chest was heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Glorfindel placed him on the bed and lay down as well, admiring him. 

"Do you even know how beautiful you are? How cute and precious and delicious?" he continued and leaned down to pepper his face with more kisses. "I can never resist you, beloved..." 

Thanks for reading!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

FireBird - March

Ah, my dear friend @cilil was so good to send in a couple of requests!

It's my joy and honour to present the first fic to you tonight :D

Prompts: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice” – “I don’t need a gentleman right now.” – Responsibility – Knight in shining armour

Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog

Words: 1030

Warnings: Injury, blood, sadness, bad elves, good Eönwë

“Let him be, I’ll take care of it,” Eönwë called, feeling the back of his neck heat up as the despicable half-truth crossed his dry lips.

Nobody had expected the co-habitation of once inveterate foes to be easy, and Eönwë even secretly believed that Manwë could and should have been more discouraging when it came to the outright hostile behaviour towards the reformed former denizens of Angband.

Unfortunately, the reality turned out to be much worse than anything the kind-hearted herald had ever imagined.

“Milord,” the group of reembodied Elves muttered and withdrew reluctantly.

It was forbidden for the Balrogs to travel in groups, and much too often resentful, unforgiving members of the High Houses liked to corner Melkor’s fallen servants and harass them cruelly.

“Away with you,” Eönwë called sternly. “Leave it to me!”

Of course, Eönwë did not doubt that any of the fearsome Maiar could have defended themselves against a few puny incarnates, but he took his role as a keeper of the peace very seriously.

Moreover, he was eager for this one Balrog in particular to understand that he was on his side, as much as that was even possible anymore.

“Bird,” Gothmog purred, leaning heavily against a boulder, and trying to angle his body so as to dissimulate the minor wounds the group of pesky troublemakers had inflicted upon him. “Have you come to chide me? I swear upon my honour that I’ve not laid a single claw upon your precious Children.”

At that ludicrous declaration, Eönwë let his frown deepen disapprovingly.

He knew Manwë’s stipulations only too well—after all, he had been the one tasked to convey them to the unfortunate souls they concerned—but, in his heart of hearts, he nevertheless much regretted to see his friend and lover hurt because of a set of cold, unfeeling rules.

“You’re allowed to defend yourself against those who’d seek to harm you,” he murmured insistently.

“And risk your displeasure, beloved? From your sweet lips came the ordinance to renounce my evil ways, and I shall do so, no matter the cost to my health and heart,” Gothmog replied calmly.

Unfortunately, his efforts at clumsy gallantry were considerably hampered by the fact that he was by now slowly slumping under the strain of desperately pretending that he was perfectly hale and happy.

“You look particularly appetising today, bird,” Gothmog tried to assuage the worry in the bright, sky-blue eyes of his most cherished enemy. “I mean, you look handsome.”

Eru’s long-haired pet meat bags might never have understood it, but there were truths and affinities sung into creation that far transcended their very limited interpretation of beauty and affection.

Thus, it had come to pass that these fierce warriors—having fought ferociously on opposite fronts in a seemingly eternal war—had ultimately found well-deserved peace in one another.

As all star-crossed lovers were wont to asseverate, they naturally were willing to selflessly die for the other.

Living, they’d soon found out, was a much more arduous and treacherous challenge.

Ever diligent to the point of undeniable stubbornness, Gothmog had decided that he’d use his new-found freedom to give Eönwë what he clearly yearned for so desperately: a proper romantic courtship.

“Could I interest you in a leisurely stroll by the river then?” the Balrog asked in a forcibly level voice.

“Don’t be silly,” Eönwë exclaimed. “You are injured! This is hardly the moment for pleasant walks by the water. Let me see!”

Indeed, the herald’s heart ached as he glimpsed the superficial but undoubtedly painful gashes marring Gothmog’s precious, gleaming hide.

“I shall have words with them,” he grumbled, gnashing his flawless teeth.

“Do not trouble yourself on my account, my sweetling,” Gothmog assured him quickly as he tried to squirm away from the inquisitive fingers ghosting across his skin and threatening to undo his carefully constructed façade of good manners and gentle words.

“They are my responsibility,” Eönwë opined. “And so are you, you foolhardy creature! If you will not defend yourself, will you at least promise to call for me if this ever happens again?”

His stern gaze softened, and his pursed lips relaxed into a charming smile. “I quite like being your knight in shining armour.”

As if embarrassed by his own confession, he drew his wings up defensively.

“Keep talking,” Gothmog drawled. The cocky, teasing grin he flashed Eönwë now was genuine, despite his tangible discomfort.

“You’re not the only one who’s trying to impress by putting his best foot forward, and the worst thing is, you didn’t even notice…” Eönwë complained softly, rubbing a blood-stained hand along his chiselled jaw shamefacedly.

“What do you believe has escaped my notice? How competently you’ve handled this situation, getting rid of these unwelcome intruders with aplomb and grace? Or your indescribable beauty as you arrived on the scene like an avenging entity made of summer bliss and autumn storms? You underestimate me, my winged wonder, for I am humbled by every awe-inspiring detail of your appearance and demeanour!”

“Humbug,” Eönwë mumbled, flattered despite suspecting that he was being lovingly mocked. “I don’t need a gentleman right now, Gothmog. Tell me how bad it is…Should I bring you to Estë?”

“Pah! Estë!” Gothmog guffawed. “What for? To be fussed over endlessly? ‘tis but a scratch, I tell you.”

Lifting his arm slowly, he cupped Eönwë’s cheek tenderly. “Please, believe me when I say that neither your entirely unnecessary preoccupation nor your gentle care has gone unnoticed.”

Beneath the soothing, healing caress of the one he loved against all odds and despite the bitter feud engraved into their very souls, Gothmog finally relaxed.

“When you arrived, I couldn’t help thinking how marvellous it is to see you appear like a ray of sun cutting through the blinding, burning mist of battle and to know that you’ve not come to smite me.”

“I am on your side, you know?” Eönwë whispered, curling up against the living heat of the terrible fire demon.

“There are no sides anymore,” Gothmog reminded him, quoting the announcement that had allowed them to meet and reconnect once more.

“Nevertheless…”

“Yes,” Gothmog yawned, slinging his arm around his beloved hero. “Thank you!”

-> Masterlist

Lots of love from me! (I shall be busy this weekend, but I theoretically am still willing to write something for this <3)

@fellowshipofthefics You didn't think that I'd skip this one, did you? LOL

[myslashyvalentine]

❤ MSV 2024 Collection is Open!❤

Happy Valentine’s day!

Congratulations to our new writers who completed their first swap! Thanks as well to all our veteran writers who continue to participate and make this swap a vibrant part of the Tolkien community. 

My Slashy Valentine 2024: The Master List!

AdmirableMonster wrote A Light Beneath Frozen Water for JazTheBard

Aglarien wrote Rosemary for Remembrance for Tethys_resort

Aipilosse wrote Star-kissed for undercat

Ally/steadfastalysanne2022 wrote Always Waiting For You Just to Cut to the Bone for AdmirableMonster

Argleena wrote Coming Back to You for Aglarien

Bird/ingenious_spark wrote Knit Together for raiyana

BloodwingBlackbird wrote Winter glowed on her leaves for HewerOfCaves

bluehair wrote Tell Me No for Aipilosse

Branka/LadywithaQuill wrote New Beginnings for senalishia

ChrissyStriped wrote Sharing Everything for Jade/Elladansgirl

cílil wrote Herald, Hero, Muse for Maironite

Cirilla/FakeCirilla9 wrote Falling star for Ally/steadfastalysanne2022

Cissy/Lost_inMiddleearth wrote If I Could Make Days Last Forever for phyncke

Elentarial/BaccaratBlack wrote The Forlorn for bluehair

elfscribe wrote And With Him Was Elrond for tabru

Elio/eliogardens wrote Uprooting for Kay/seregons

Ettelenë/firstamazon wrote Under Unclouded Stars for mangacrack

Fey/ThatFeanorian write With Song Meant Only For You and I for Torpi

forelevenses wrote to be alone with you for Luciann/Lucigoo89

Frances/Melusine6619 wrote Anniversary Celebration for RaisingCaiin

Gilithlin wrote Crescendo for elfscribe

Heather/indestructibleplum wrote Phantom Pains for Nuredhel

Heather/ohboromir wrote Hope for yletylyf

Helholden wrote Under the Stars, Above the Sun for Katrina/lemurious

HewerOfCaves wrote White Daffodil for IDNMT/I_did_not_mean_to

IDNMT/I_did_not_mean_to wrote Mix & Match for Zhie

IgnobleBard wrote Friendship Like The Holly Tree for Marchwriter

Jade/Elladansgirl wrote One Night With A King for Branka/LadywithaQuill

JazTheBard wrote Five Meetings for Ruinel

Katrina/lemurious wrote Fair They Wrought Us for Helholden

Kay/seregons wrote I Pledge My Heart to Thy Doom for sallysavestheday

Kefi/EclecticKefi wrote Our Gentle Sin for Kit/kitkatkaylie

Kit/kitkatkaylie wrote Youthful regrets for Lilithsea

Kristen/Harp_of_Gold wrote day will come for Chrissystriped

likethenight wrote the distraction or the force for Argleena

Lillithsea wrote The King of the Greenwood for Elentarial/BaccaratBlackLithgaeril wrote What to Make of This for Kefi/EclecticKefi

Luciann/Lucigoo89 wrote Two Lives Will Be Spared This Day for octopus_fool

lynndyre wrote There and Back Again for Ignoblebard

maglor-my-beloved wrote Of Farewells for Ettelenë/firstamazon

Maironite wrote Ready To Fall for Cilil

mangacrack wrote the home where I belong the most for reindeer_pizza

Marchwriter wrote All That Is Gold for likethenight

Mawgy wrote To the Victor Goes the Spoils for Gilithlin

NiennaWept wrote peaches we devour, dusty skin and all for thurinngwethil

Nuredhel wrote The flower and the flute for Whimsy/a_world_of_whimsy

octopus_fool wrote Thrush and Stag for lynndyre

phyncke wrote The King's Cabin for Frances/Melusine6619

RaisingCaiin wrote to warm my bed for Mawgy

reindeer_pizza wrote The King's Treasure for Skaelds

Ruiniel wrote Ára for Verecunda

sallysavestheday wrote Let Not My Love Be Called Idolatry for skywardstruck/tomefaired

❤sallysavestheday wrote Op. 1: Serenade for Bow and Axe for red_lasbelin

Senalishia wrote Cut Straight to the Heart for starlightwalking

Skaelds wrote you better not kill the groove for Elio/eliogardens

skywardstruck/tomefaired wrote show me the limits of your deceit for Tathrin

starlightwalking wrote Lazy Day for forelevenses

Tabru wrote Elrond and the King for visitor/lonelyvisitor

❤Talullah Red wrote Snowflight for BloodwingBlackbird

Tathrin wrote A Testing of Wills for Kristen/Harp_of_Gold

Tethys_resort wrote Two in Shadows for NiennaWept

thuringwethil wrote between my fingers, she leaves, then she lingers for  Cissy/Lost_inMiddleearth

Torpi wrote Ripe Fruit for Fey/ThatFeanorian

undercat wrote Comfort from a Heavy Hand for Heather/ohboromir

Verecunda wrote All the Luck in the World for Heather/Indestructibleplum

visitor/lonelyvistor wrote one whole with my other for Lithgaeril

Whimsy/a_world_of_whimsy wrote In the beginning for Cirilla/FakeCirilla9

yletylyf wrote Another Way for Bird/ingenious_spark

Zhie wrote Minuet for Basalt_Serpent

❤Zhie wrote His Father's Son for maglor_beloved

❤ Zhie wrote Very Welcome Visitor for Indestructibleplum

—————

❤ denotes a pinch hit or a treat. Thank you to our pinch hitters, Talullah Red and Zhie; they made sure everyone got a Valentine's Day story (or two). Sallysavestheday also wrote a treat for me!!!

If you need a link to the entire collection, it is right here: 2024 My Slashy Valentine

[z-h-i-e]

It's My Slashy Valentine round-up time. Here's the three new stories I have gifted to specific individuals through the magic of MSV, but also, are out there in the world for all to enjoy.

The New Shadow: Chapter Two Saelon/Herumor

Thirst Fëanor/Melkor

Orchidelirium Finrod/Glorfindel

If you'd like to know more about each, like how each one came to be crafted and silly notes from me, keep reading:

First up: The New Shadow: Chapter Two

I like to pride myself in my swift turnaround times; this, to my knowledge, was the first submitted of anything for the exchange this year, written at the end of last year after a lot of consultation with things I hadn't read in over a decade. I still remember the picnic table I sat at when I would have read these bits of the histories, but I digress. Tolkien envisioned a sequel to The Lord of the Rings, but stopped after rougly the first chapter, when it came to his attention it would be dark--like, cults and dark lord summoning dark--and he shelved it.

Every good chapter deserves a second chapter.

This piece goes into exactly what it was that happened to the missing sailors, what Saelon was up to, who the heck is Herumor, and why Borlas would have been better off if he had stayed at home. If you're looking for fluff this Valentine's Day--this is not the fic you're looking for. But if hot post-murder sex in the same room as the corpse is your jam, this is it. (With thanks to AnnEllspethRaven for betaing during the holidays so that I could get this up by the first of the year.)

Ever watch The Last Drive-in with Joe Bob Briggs? If this fic was a film, it would be featured there. Probably. Actually, maybe not, most of those films have a lot of boobies and this does not have those because slash, but… anyhow. Remember that time I wrote the Werewelf!Finrod Choose Your Own Adventure, and people thought that was dark? It definitely has a friend now. And this is that friend. Which would sacrifice that fic to Sauron in a heartbeat if this new fic thought it would bring the dark lord back. All this to say, if you squick easy, keep scrolling, and if this is intriguing, then come on down to the murder shack today!

Next piece: Thirst

This pinch hit came in right after I had recovered enough from the one-two punch of covid and bronchitis to get back to upright and writing again. There were a couple of options, but the idea of putting Fëanor and Melkor together was too interesting not to try. The summary is a good explanation of what you'll find here.

An Elda and an Ainu walk into a bar…and eventually stroll out into the back alley for canoodling. No on-screen sex, just a lot of banter about what they're going to do (or not going to do) or did do later. Because these two are 0% shy about that discussion at the pub.

There's a barmaid OC in this one who I simply must invite to another fic in the future. I also have to give a shoutout to cílil, because my usual betas were all busy when I got this one finished, and I had to do that thing where you post in a beta channel on discord and then cross your fingers and try not to look back every five minutes and start to think you're just going to have to volley it out into the world with potential typos. Much appreciation on the beta read!

This selection reads a little like a couple of D&D adventurers at a bar, mainly because I used D&D generators to get the right feel for the place, so I guess they were two D&D adventurers in a way. And like so many D&D adventures I've DMed, two characters ended up in an alley for adult funsies (and yet, I didn't make these two roll for it; I was feeling generous).

Last but not least: Orchidelirium

This is not the fic I intended to write. There's actually the start of a much, much different Glorfindel/Finrod fic, where Finrod and Glorfindel fall in love right before Glorfindel heads back to Middle-earth, and then Finrod pines and worries in Valinor and lives on the couch in Angrod and Eldalótë's house. But that story ended up being this oversized plot bunny of far too many chapters, and then the other night when I was trying to figure out how to dig myself out of the rabbit hole I was in, Fila told me about orchidelirium, this historical mania over orchids that happened during the Victorian era. Jokingly, I started to freeform brainstorm ideas on how this would translate to Middle-earth, and who would be involved, and Orchidelirium was born, with a very different premise.

In this story, Finrod has been growing and selling orchids, and is the president of a fancy orchid society. Glorfindel shows up back in Valinor, and brings his collection of orchids along, which are basically his flower bebes. Promptly, Finrod steps in and tries to buy them all, ala Cruella Devil ("I simply MUST have those orchids!" And now imagine Finrod in a long, fabulous fur coat smoking a long cigarette--it's not that hard). Galadriel is the VOICE OF REASON (tm), Saeros is THE VILLAGE JERKFACE (tm), and cameos by a handful of others in a Fëanorian free fanfic (try saying that five times fast). Also, the best sex I've written in a while. It's two old elves with nothing to lose, and a business venture that would make that one Fëanorian in the middle jealous, guided by AnnEllspethRaven's ability to beta and keep me from falling off the deck when writing ship lingo at the same time.

And behind every speedy writer, there's probably some cheerleaders, so the help from lferion, Ann, Fila, Smaug, and Red to keep me on task and motivated through what was the worst January in a long time helped immensely. <3

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Angbangweek 2023

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/aJLAZUn

by I_did_not_mean_to

There's not much I can say in my defence-other than that Cílil made me do it LOL

So, have 7 tiny snippets of me writing Angbang more or less seriously...

Words: 157, Chapters: 1/7, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Sauron | Mairon, Gothmog (Lord of Balrogs), Saruman | Curunír, Manwë Súlimo

Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon

Additional Tags: Short ficlets, angbang, death and destruction, Fluff, Crack, the usual, angbangweek 2023, writing and art, clumsy attempts at doing things

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/aJLAZUn

[ao3feed-angbang]

Angbangweek 2023

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/zi0gRGe

by I_did_not_mean_to

There's not much I can say in my defence-other than that Cílil made me do it LOL

So, have 7 tiny snippets of me writing Angbang more or less seriously...

Words: 157, Chapters: 1/7, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Sauron | Mairon, Gothmog (Lord of Balrogs), Saruman | Curunír, Manwë Súlimo

Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon

Additional Tags: Short ficlets, angbang, death and destruction, Fluff, Crack, the usual, angbangweek 2023, writing and art, clumsy attempts at doing things

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/zi0gRGe

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Mairon, Gothmog, Eönwë, Tilion & Ossë; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: 2nd person POV, vampire!Mairon, werewolf!Mairon, monsterfucking, Balrog anatomy, avian Ainu, merman, some Dom/sub dynamics, bit of predator/prey and other kinks, penetrative sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk

Warnings: Possessive themes, smut, tiny bit of degradation branding/burn marks, blood drinking/vampirism, mentions of impact play (whipping, spanking), swords/blades, bit of blood, biting, scratching

AN: Thanks to everyone who voted on my poll (back in the day). Sorry for the delay and here are your top choices plus our favorite birdy boy - hope you enjoy!

Mairon

𓂀 Once your heart is his, Mairon makes sure to live up to his reputation as the Lord of Gifts and the Lord of the Rings. Whether it is to seal a bond of marriage, asking for your hand or a promise of love and courtship, he crafts a beautiful ring just for you - showing everyone that you are now his and possibly also enhancing said ring with a few spells so he can watch over you.

𓂀 Yet gold is not the only way for him to mark your body; he also loves to use his fire to ensure neither you nor anyone else will ever forget where you belong. Mairon's preferred symbol to draw on your skin is The Eye, and he loves to place it right on your neck or chest so he can see it every time he takes you.

𓂀 His love and desire for you take many forms, as does he; when in the shape of a vampire, he enjoys biting you and drinking your blood while he makes love to you, strengthening the bond between you. He may sing to you to keep you calm while he feeds, and his song causes the wound and the vein he drank from to appear golden for a time until it slowly fades. Mairon expects you to wear those marks with pride and not cover them up.

𓂀 Whenever his form has more wolfish attributes, he also likes leaving bite marks, but his favorite feature is his knot. He loves how it swells inside you and stretches you out while he breeds you and how it keeps his seed inside until he decides he's done with you for the night.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Do you think you can take it?" 

Mairon slams into you with the full strength of his fána, making sure you can feel every inch of his hot, hard cock stretching you out without mercy. 

"Do you think you can take my knot, my precious little slut?" 

You barely manage to nod before a searing hot sensation makes you cry out in pain and pleasure alike. The eye symbol, proudly adorning your chest, glows in response to his words, like on the day when you were first marked by his hand. 

Satisfied with your obedience, Mairon stops moving and allows his seed to fill you. His knot swells proudly, binding you to him, and you try to muffle another scream — only for him to deter you with a quick slap on your thigh. 

"No," he says firmly, "let me hear it. I want to hear how much you love this, and you will not deny me."

Gothmog

☄ Contrary to popular belief, Gothmog can be affectionate and isn't afraid to show it. He likes to keep you close in public and holds you like a pretty little doll, making it clear to everyone that you belong to him and no one else may come close to you, let alone touch you. Even when he isn't around, the scent of fire and heat of his touch seems to surround you everywhere you go.

☄ Yet make no mistake: The Lord of Balrogs is incredibly strong and likes it rough. He may use his claws and fangs to as part of passionate love making and leave bite and scratch marks in strategic spots to ensure that everyone knows he has claimed you. Carry your marks with pride: To Balrogs, they are a symbol of strength and a sign that you belong.

☄ Gothmog's favorite way to claim and mark you, however, is fire - but he won't use his whip unless you ask him to. Instead, he may opt to simply use his hands to leave a nice and warm hand print on your skin; the same applies to any sort of impact play where he uses his hands instead of any tools. The touch of a Balrog leaves a lingering feeling of either cosy warmth or searing heat, and which one it will be is his choice to make.

☄ Aside from horns that you can hold on to, Gothmog also has a tail - and yes, he can and will use it. Not only is it a convenient as an additional limb to wrap around you and pull you close when his hands and arms are occupied and to keep others away from you, but he can also use it to fuck you if he so chooses, be it to tease you or for double penetration. He loves to test your limits.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"What a pretty little thing you are." Gothmog pats your head with his large hand while he continues to effortlessly bounce you on his lap as if you weigh nothing. 

You would have cried out from the intensity of his massive cock thrusting in and out of you rapidly, but all you manage is a muffled moan; your mouth is currently occupied by the tip of his tail. 

"We don't need the entire fortress to hear you," Gothmog said beforehand, and you agreed. 

He is — for his standards — gentle with you, but you also know that there isn't much mercy to be had in Angband. You consider yourself lucky to be with him. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when Gothmog rakes the claws of his free hand down your back and chuckles when he feels your throat vibrate with muted screams. 

"And so good for me too," he adds to his previous statement. "Keep taking me so nicely and I might even let you rest after this round."

Eönwë

⚔ As sweet and affectionate as Eönwë is with you in private, he's not exactly fond of others trying to compete, particularly during avian mating season. He stays with you whenever he can, guarding you like a precious treasure, and watches the people who approach you, both when's nearby and when he's somewhere else. Should another suitor be so foolish as to approach you anyway, they will soon notice a very irate Maia glaring at them and posturing aggressively, every single feather fluffed up.

⚔ While you two are still courting and not quite ready for marriage yet, Eönwë presents you with a lovely promise bracelet or anklet (your choice), made of his favorite materials that he gathered himself. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you wear it, and conveniently enough it also serves as a reminder to other suitors that you are very much taken - by the chief of the Maiar, no less.

⚔ When Eönwë makes love to you, he can be gentle, but he can also be feral. Sometimes his desire simply overwhelms him. Depending on his current form, he has talons on his hands and will make use of them to mark you, even drawing ancient patterns on you to show everyone who claimed you. You can also expect to find yourself covered in love bites, with his favorite area being your neck.

⚔ If you enjoy rough sex and agree to try out some more "extreme" kinks, Eönwë would love to make use of his sword - the song of steel and battle is ingrained in his very being, after all. As much as the rational part of him hates to see you hurt, the feral part of him is fascinated by the way you shiver when a cold blade is pressed against you or when it leaves beautiful lines of red on your skin and draws a few droplets of blood.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cold steel bites into your skin as the blade touches your throat, but you only have eyes for Eönwë. He's breathing heavily, and his fána glows with barely contained lust. 

"I want you," he breathes. 

You spread your legs in silent invitation. Surely he must know that you are already his; even if you decided to fight back now, which is the last thing on your mind, he would be too strong for you. 

"Exactly like this," Eönwë says then, and you understand. He wants to take you with his sword at your throat, utterly at his mercy, and your skin prickles with excitement. 

The prospect of submitting to the greatest warrior of the Maiar so completely is thrilling. 

Eönwë enters you with one swift thrust, his free hand reaching for your hip. You make sure not to move, as you know he wants from you, and welcome him inside. The blade presses against your skin, but only lightly; his hold is steady, his posture impeccable, no blood is drawn. 

You surrender. 

Tilion

☽ Tilion loves antlers, his pride and joy when it comes to his fána, and wants to share that with you. If you yourself are an Ainu and grow your own pair, he will paint them silver with moonlight. If not, he will gladly hunt beasts of your choosing for you to claim their horns or antlers as a prize for you to wear and paint them as well. Nothing makes him more proud than everyone seeing that you belong to him.

☽ In order to make sure you are always safe, even when he isn't around, Tilion also crafts protective moon charms, infused with the light of Telperion's fruit. These are designed to keep creatures of darkness away, fearing his wrath, and may also glow to alert you to nearby danger. Not least of all they come with the additional benefit of letting everyone know that Tilion is only ever one call away.

☽ He loves to be intimate with you whenever he can, worshiping your body to his heart's content. Like his own hunt and war paint, Tilion enjoys painting your skin with matching patterns. These are expressions of love and companionship, glowing hymns to your beauty, but also marks of ownership and desire.

☽ For as hopelessly romantic as Tilion is, never forget that he's also a hunter. When lust overwhelms him, he is a passionate and wild lover, and sex with him can get rough. He enjoys chasing you, catching you and holding you down while he takes you, as well as leaving bite marks all over your body. Rest assured though that he will take good care of you after and do anything to ensure that you're comfortable and at ease.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"You are too beautiful for your own good," Tilion sighs, smiling as he kisses you on the lips. 

You are both naked, lying together on a bed of moss in the woods of Oromë, and panting heavily after a wild and lengthy chase. Of course your lover has caught you in the end and carried you to a comfortable hidden spot to enjoy his prey. 

Tilion trails his hand down your chest, your stomach, your lower body, and you spread your legs in anticipation. He wants you, you can see it; his midnight blue eyes darken with desire. 

"There you go, little deer," whispers gentle praise against your lips before pushing two fingers inside of you. "You will be all nice and wet for me soon, won't you?" 

You nod. Of course you will be; how could you not when you are with your beloved hunter, chasing your love and your pleasure with no less determination and ferocity than he chases his prey. 

Ossë

⚡︎ Ossë is a capricious and jealous lover. His feelings for you are strong and passionate, and he will fight anyone who wishes you ill - or comes closer than he would like. The storms he conjures are mighty, and even if Ulmo and Uinen stop him from giving in to his jealousy, Ossë is also a mischievous Maia who will find other ways to mess with those who have wronged you or him.

⚡︎ You will find yourself getting showered with gifts from him, various trinkets that he picks up in the oceans of Arda: Pearls, seashells, items and parts from sunken ships, bones, teeth and also all sorts of fish and sea creatures he caught for you. Ossë delights in swimming, diving and hunting to his heart's content, but most importantly coming home to you with something new to show you.

⚡︎ Just like he himself is wild and fierce, so is intimacy with him. You will find yourself completely soaked, regardless of whether he takes you in the water (as he prefers) or outside, and covered in bite and scratch marks; Ossë simply can't resist taking a bite out of something as beautiful as you are. He also loves the thought that everyone can tell what you two have done afterwards.

⚡︎ Ossë enjoys being on top of you, all around you and inside you, having his tail wrapped tightly around you. After he's done making love to you, he likes carrying you around like a precious little pearl and singing to you in ancient tongues until you fall asleep. You may also notice that, whenever you've been with him, the scent of seawater sticks with you for days.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

The sand feels warm against your skin, but Ossë's form is cool and smooth. He rolls over so he's lying on top of you, his tail wrapping around your legs, and flashes you a toothy grin, like a hungry sea monster about to devour its unfortunate prey. 

"Should I take you here, marilla? Or should I drag you to the bottom of the ocean first?" he teases. 

Clawed, webbed fingers hold onto you possessively, and Ossë wastes no time nibbling on the side of your neck as you writhe underneath him. 

"Please have mercy, o lord of storms," you gasp, entertaining his little game to entice him to go on. 

You know your words had the intended effect when you feel something hard pressing against your thigh. 

"Perhaps I will," Ossë muses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

His tail keeps its grip on your legs, and he pushes his now-exposed cock between your thighs to rut against you.

"We will even start slowly," he whispers, "but worry not. You shall feel my full strength soon enough."

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

marilla (Quenya) - pearl

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 1

"Brother, where are you going?"

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air Relationship(s): Manwë & Melkor Synopsis: Despite many rejections, Manwë tries to connect with his brother Warnings: / AO3

To Manwë, his brother was nothing short of a miracle. Older, greater and so intelligent and wise in his innocent eyes, he was the light of his life and the very first being he had ever perceived right after his birth, even before he had heard his father's voice for the first time. 

To Melkor, his brother was a nuisance, and his callous willingness to express such sentiments caused Manwë a lot of grief and hurt. 

Whenever he wasn't cradled in the arms of his father or instructed in the ways of music and the making of things, the young Vala followed him around the Timeless Halls like an ethereal, cloud-like duckling. He soon began to mimic the way his older brother shaped his spirit as well, assuming a form with arms, legs and a head; one he would one day recognise as reminiscent of his father's yet unborn children and the appearance He Himself took while handling them, from which he assumed Melkor's inspiration had come. 

Manwë's form, still small and clumsy, was shrouded in a gentle white and blue glow and covered by fluffy clouds he had breathed into existence all by himself, a feat that had made his father proud and Melkor laugh at him with something he not yet understood as contempt. He only knew it was bad because Eru had scolded the older Vala for it. 

"Brother, where are you going?"

Melkor was once again leaving him behind after singing together for their father, abandoning him in front of the throne, and Manwë hurried after him, hoping that maybe he would feel inclined to play with him this time. His optimism and faith in the ultimate triumph of good, undying and eternal like he himself was, had already led to many rejections, at times even being pushed away and thrown around by his mightier brother, but his innate desire to love and please those around him was ever stronger. 

When Manwë reached out with his spirit, he was instantly met with a wall of a strong, distinctly unfriendly emotion he didn't understand; one that he would one day learn was called anger. 

"Go away." 

"But why?" 

He approached Melkor without fear, opening his heart freely to show him his love and admiration. 

"Can I come with you?" 

"No. I don't want you to."

"Can we maybe play together?" 

"No. I don't want to play with you."

"Can we sing together?"

"I need no other voices. Only you do." 

Manwë's spirit shrunk a little. He was not so young and naive anymore as to not grasp the concept of being unwelcome, but he still didn't understand why, and his brother had never bothered to explain. His best guess was that he was simply too small and unimpressive for someone as amazing as Melkor, even though his father often told him how lovely he was. 

"But why, brother? Have I done anything wrong?" Manwë asked; while he was willing to leave if it made his brother happy, he felt a strong need to at least understand his mistake. 

"Because I need no others by my side." 

Melkor turned to leave him behind once more, as he always did.

"You don't have to need me. We can just... be together?" Manwë tried. Yet instead of placating his brother, it only resulted in their exchange being cut short and him being pushed back, blown away like a feather in the wind. 

All he could do was float in place and watch Melkor vanish into the ethereal light of their father's realm. 

— — — 

Manwë had considered returning to Eru to be with him instead, yet his spirit felt heavy and burdened with an unknown emotion he would one day understand as shame. He wanted to make his father and brother happy, not to have them be upset with him or on his behalf, so he hid himself and searched his ëala for whichever shortcomings prevented him from connecting to his beloved sibling. 

Alas, his search was — as it had always been before — unsuccessful, for Manwë in his youth and innocence couldn't grasp the concepts and emotions that Melkor's heart had begun to conceive ever since others were born beside him, most notably the ability to hate and envy; and ever and anon would these things elude him, as Eru had designed him to be free of what would one day be called evil. 

Thus Manwë eventually wandered the Timeless Halls alone, repeating all the melodies he remembered and making more little clouds that he shaped to his heart's content, moving them around by summoning his element. His father had told him that he would one day be the Breath of Arda, the world that was to come; and whereas his understanding of such a destiny was as of yet limited, he nevertheless felt that it was good to practice. 

There was a shape he loved in particular, one born and growing from the slowly awakening seeds of inspiration he carried within him. Manwë imagined creatures he was going to make in the future, beings of wind and air like him, with wings and feathers and other features he would devise together with Yavanna. 

He had shown Melkor his ideas, proud that he had finally been inspired like his great brother was all the time, and had been told that his designs were silly and stupid. Still, Manwë held on to his winged creatures and played with them when he was by himself, shaping their likeness with his element and carrying them around like the Children would one day have their stuffed toys. 

It was then that he came upon his brother again by accident, holding on to the biggest cuddle-cloud he had made yet. Melkor was curled up in a corner and unusually still and silent, seemingly resting from whatever he had been up to in the meantime. 

Surely it must have been a great and miraculous deed if it could exhaust his strong sibling so, Manwë thought in awe, and approached him as quietly as he could. Perhaps Melkor hadn't meant to hurt him earlier and merely thought his little brother was too young to join him. Perhaps he was protecting him like his father always did. 

Lighting up with joy, Manwë wanted to curl up beside him and snuggle up to him, but something inside him told him not to. As great as his optimism and love for his brother were, he had on some level understood that his presence might still be unwelcome; yet even so, he wanted to do something to show Melkor just how much he loved him, to give him a part of himself to nurture their bond. 

Tenderly and carefully, Manwë nudged the older Vala's ëala until its limb-like appendages opened up and placed his cuddle-cloud in its embrace. Melkor shifted then, seemingly sensing that something was nearby, but remained in his state of meditative rest. Instead he embraced his brother's creation, and a few soft notes of contentment emanated from him. 

He likes it! Manwë thought to himself, glowing brightly with pride and joy, and continued to watch his brother for a while longer until he left him alone again. 

Maybe Melkor didn't need his company and thought he didn't want it either, but there was a part of his ëala that liked when a part of his brother was with him and sought comfort in the closeness of another; and if Manwë was going to return to his father's loving embrace, he should get some cuddles as well. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

Day 2 ~ Exploration & New Lands

AN: Companion piece to my contribution for @silmarillionepistolary day 2.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Fëanor x Nerdanel, Finwë 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Fëanor receives a mysterious letter and finds himself quite intrigued. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1k) | AO3

"Here is a letter for you. Something private, apparently."

Finwë purposefully pulled an envelope out of the small stack on his desk when his son walked in. There was a soft smile on his face and a warm glint in his eyes, making Fëanáro pause and look at him in surprise. The way his father was acting made it seem as if the letter in question had to be something special, even though it wasn't exactly unusual for people, family members and others alike, to contact the crown prince of the Noldor. 

Yet Fëanáro's doubts were soon dispelled when he saw the envelope that Finwë now handed him. It immediately stuck out, being smaller and differently shaped compared to the formal letters he and his father often received, apparently handmade by whoever had sent it, and not least because of the red and orange ribbon wrapped around it, rough and visibly self-spun, and a few dried, slightly crumpled wild flowers sticking out from every twist and knot. 

Whoever had sent this letter had clearly put a lot of effort into it, and Fëanáro was intrigued. 

He held it with both hands, taking his time to admire it. Instead of the usual formal listing of his names and titles, there was a simple "To Fëanáro" written on the envelope in sweeping, whimsical handwriting, suggesting the sender had addressed it to him with a certain amount of fondness or even joy. 

Finwë, that much was clear, had made similar observations and was curious as well. 

"The sender didn't provide their name, and the letter was apparently passed from person to person in the forges a few times before it finally arrived here," he said. "The only thing I could find was a tiny drawing of... I believe those are acanthus flowers." 

It was at this moment that Fëanáro suddenly flushed a bright red. Acanthus? He turned the envelope and saw the drawing in question, immediately reminded of a conversation he had recently had with a certain travel companion of his.

She remembered? he wondered, the thought making him smile involuntarily, but he tried to suppress his excitement. There was no way of knowing for sure until he read that letter. 

Finwë studied his expression with fatherly amusement. "May I take this as you having an idea who could have sent you this letter?"

Still red like the rubies he had polished earlier, Fëanáro shook his head reflexively. He was no fool; he knew that expression. His father was hoping that his stubborn, ambitious and reclusive son had been acquainted with a charming young lady that he could meet and accept into their family. Unfortunately for Finwë, however, the prince in question was not quite ready for that conversation yet, not to mention his uncertainty regarding his past encounters with the lady in question.

Who was no lady at all, in fact. 

Finwë didn't believe him, Fëanáro could tell, but mercifully chose not to press this matter further for the time being. 

"Very well. Let us speak of this another time then," he concluded their conversation.

Fëanáro gave a curt nod, forced a smile and practically fled from his father's office. 

Only after he had reached the privacy of his own chambers, he went to work carefully undoing the ribbon and opening the envelope. Everything had to stay intact, he thought as he attempted to suppress his impatience as well as the excited trembling of his fingers, for if his suspicions were correct, he was going to keep it safely stashed away in his collection. 

Finally, he was able to read the mystery letter. 

Dear Fëanáro, 

I hope you rested and recovered well after our last journey and that you don't mind me writing you like this.

When we parted ways near Tirion, I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed your company and that I would love to travel with you again — or meet up and show you all the projects we talked about, as well as seeing your works — though I must admit that I lost courage in the moment. 

I am certain that you are in great company at your father's court and I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but if you feel the same way about the time we spent together, please respond to this letter and let me know where and when we could meet again. 

Don't feel pressured, though — if I don't hear back from you I will assume you aren't interested and neither mention this nor bother you again. 

I hope you recognised the flower signature — I tried my best to avoid getting you in trouble with your father too soon. 

Yours, Nerdanel 

Her name was accompanied by yet another flower drawing, this time a few camellias and calla lilies. 

Fëanáro's blush extended all the way to the tips of his ears now, and a huge grin illuminated his fair face. 

It was her after all. Nerdanel who had walked up to him with such casual confidence that she had immediately caught his eye. Nerdanel who had offered her company, even though he had been too flustered to strike up a proper conversation. Nerdanel who had respected him and listened to him without the false and formal deference he was used to from the royal court. Nerdanel who had talked to him like a normal Elf and fellow artist and showed genuine interest in his passion. Nerdanel who was so capable, smart and wise, so much so that he could listen to her all day. Nerdanel whose eyes shone when she spoke about her art and whose cheeks turned as red as her beautiful hair when she gesticulated with her hands and feet while engaged in conversation. 

And Fëanáro was going to see her again. He had decided that already. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

Flower language explanation:

Acanthus: Fine art, artifice

Camellia: Longing, flame in my heart, adorable (depending on color)

Cally lily: Beauty, love at first sight

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

[cilil]

Day 1 ~ Daily Life & Customs

AN: For day 1 of @silmarillionepistolary. Yes, it had to be Cara for tax day, and yes, with Turgon. Thanks again to @elentarial for suggesting this pairing all the way back in December, I'm invested (pun intended) now.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Caranthir x Turgon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Caranthir is delighted to finally receive some personal correspondence - from his favourite cousin no less. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

Dear cousin, 

I hope you are well. 

The pen you gifted me proves to be wonderful not just for writing, but for inking my sketches and drawings as well, so I must thank you again. 

I have been making some progress with the tower I was designing, though I am not yet happy with the archway and window designs. Uncle Arafinwë was so kind as to ask Eönwë to take me to Ilmarin for inspiration, but Lord Manwë was more interested in telling me about the birds nesting in his towers than explaining the design. 

I am admittedly lacking inspiration of my own at the moment, so if you happen to have other ideas, please let me know.

Regards, Turukáno 

Carnistir read the letter several times, his brow furrowed in concentration and contemplation. It was quite like Turukáno to keep his correspondence short and to the point, yet another reason why he was — despite his sincere commiseration for his dear cousin's troubles — positively delighted to hear from him. 

Prince or not, Carnistir didn't receive many letters, and most of the ones that ended up on his desk were formal correspondence, either addressed to him or to one of his brothers. Tyelkormo and Makalaurë were particularly notorious for forgetting to take care of theirs, and Maitimo had recently taken to spending a lot of time with Findekáno and was less willing to help out. 

Thus many things fell onto Carnistir's shoulders, and private correspondence had become an even rarer treat. It made him feel important — even wanted in a strange and possibly pathetic manner, as he chastised himself — that Turukáno was indirectly asking him for help and opinions regarding one of his passion projects. 

Determined, Carnistir pushed a stack of papers aside and placed his new favourite letter in the middle, reaching for an empty sheet of paper to compose his response posthaste. While not exactly an urgent matter, it was not one to ignore for days or weeks either. 

Dear cousin, 

I appreciate your letter, and hope this one finds you well. 

If you would like my personal opinion, I am afraid I cannot say much without having seen the progress on your sketch. I would be happy to visit and have a look, though. 

What I can also do for you, if you wish, is arrange a meeting with Grandfather Mahtan and possibly Lord Aulë as well; surely they could provide some better insights. Let me know if you would like that, and I shall speak to my mother promptly. 

Regards, Carnistir

Carnistir hesitated before writing down his final lines. Briefly, he contemplated a warmer wording, at least a "yours" or "yours truly", but in the end decided the safest way was to simply mirror Turukáno's style. Besides, he didn't want to seem pushy or intrusive, not when he had such a golden opportunity to gain his favourite cousin's favour. 

He would accompany him to any meeting he might agree to, of course. It would certainly be helpful for his own studies as well, he justified it to himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. If he was going to study the depths and nuances of things like trade, taxes and even the occasional textile work, something his family members liked to tease him about, some input on style, composition and architecture couldn't hurt. 

Waiting for the ink to dry on the paper to avoid any unforgivable stains or smears, Carnistir began looking for an envelope and sealing wax. He was going to make sure that his letter would be sent as soon as possible. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

He was beautiful. Admirable. Desirable. 

Day 2 ~ Beauty ~ Mairon | Sauron Synopsis: Mairon has always been beautiful. Sauron is not. Warnings: / Drabble

⟢ AN: To celebrate LotR Week (@lotr20), I decided to write a few drabbles featuring the Dark Lord himself. Hope you enjoy!

He was beautiful. Admirable. Desirable. 

Beauty had always been as easy to him as breathing, had come to him as naturally as music, a part of his song that he wove time and time again with effortless grace. 

His smile once swayed even the mightiest dwellers of Arda, his fairness brought kingdoms to fall, his feet treaded paths lined with gifts and treasures, and adoration lit up the eyes of those who beheld him. 

Mairon. The Admirable. His lord's most precious, powerful and beautiful. 

The face staring back at him in the mirror – charred, ashen, dead – felt like a stranger.

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[cilil]

Caranthir

⌔ Synopsis: Caranthir Fëanorion, before and after the Oath. ⌔ Warnings: Angst, death ⌔ Double drabble

Carnistir he was named for the redness of his complexion, and once again Nerdanel's words rang true when the young prince was often shaken by great outbursts of anger. Morifinwë he was named for his black hair, reminiscent of his grandfather. 

Was there nothing else his parents saw in him, he wondered at times, only the likeness of others? No beauty like Maitimo's, no talent like Makalaurë's, not even Tyelkormo's rashness? Who was he in a family of great princes? 

And thus anger and bitterness would accompany Carnistir always, born from a desperate wish not to feel so painfully unremarkable. 

⌔

Caranthir remains bitter and quick to anger and he also remains alone. His brothers often come in pairs, but he is the one left out, nobody's favourite. 

Dwarves he has learned to tolerate, Men he has learned to respect and Haleth is the one he learns to love after he helps her save her people, yet she too leaves him behind. 

Mortal as she may be and doomed as their love may have been, Caranthir still grieves. 

When he finds death many years after Haleth, his brothers are by his side. Even so, Caranthir feels as though he dies alone. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

@feanorianweek

[cilil]

Maglor

⌔ Synopsis: Maglor Fëanorion, before and after the Oath. ⌔ Warnings: Angst, grief, suicidal thoughts ⌔ Double drabble

Makalaurë, for as long as he could remember, had been an artist, a singer, a musician, an actor. His harp was his trusted companion and his voice charmed even the Ainur, whose roles he would sometimes play in Ilmarin's theatre. 

A smith like his father or a sculptor like his mother Makalaurë had never been, but it mattered not. He had his own passion, his own art, his own destiny. 

It was hard to stand out as a son of Fëanáro, the mighty and renowned crown prince of the Noldor, as one of seven children; but Makalaurë had done it. 

⌔

Maglor has long since become a warrior, fighting in eternal service of his father's Oath. One of seven kinslayers, one of seven doomed princes, pitied and loathed. 

His sword remains by his side always, bloodstained and ready to be drawn at any moment. His harp he carries still, stubbornly hidden underneath his cloak, but he sings little, for his voice is hoarse from battle cries.

One by one his brothers fall, until at last even Maedhros abandons him. 

Maglor contemplates joining the jewel in the sea, but does not. 

Thus he becomes once more renowned — as a lonely, grieving minstrel. 

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@feanorianweek

[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 7

His brother never came.

Day 7: Freeform - Arda Healed Relationship(s): Manwë x Varda, Manwë & Melkor Synopsis: Dagor Dagorath is over, and Arda is healed - or is it? While everyone else enjoys the new world, Manwë mourns his brother. Warnings: Angst, loss of sibling, mentions of death, a bit of body horror, self-destruction of fána (not suicide, but you have been warned) AO3

The Battle of all Battles was over. The final notes of the Second Music faded away. 

Arda Marred had died, and Melkor with it. 

Arda Healed was born, yet he was still gone. 

Manwë stood upon the plains of Valinor, the place where everything had ended before it began anew, destroyed and remade like living memory rising from the ashes. It was silent save for the gentle breeze that ever accompanied him, and the sky was perfectly, brilliantly blue. 

He was waiting, had been for a while. Many ages ago, when they had first built the world — it felt like an eternity now and perhaps it was — Melkor had come upon Arda like a blazing comet, bright and crowned with ice and fire; yet all Manwë had seen in this world was the occasional shooting star that Varda sent across the sky. 

His brother never came. His brother had fallen one final time, it seemed. 

He had hoped that his father would remake him and cure him of his evil so they could finally be together as they were always meant to be, brothers in the mind of Ilúvatar; but alas, it seemed as though this was the one grace he would not be granted. It was a selfish desire perhaps, to want Melkor back after his death had ripped Manwë's own ëala apart, severing what remained of their connection with cruel finality. Yet it was for his brother's sake as well, having seen his decline and grieved the potential that was lost. 

Had he not been taught that redemption was possible for all? Had Eru himself not said that Melkor's discord would aid in devising wonderful things? Why then was there no happy ending for the first of them all, once the mightiest and brightest, one who could have been dearly beloved if pride and malice hadn't ruled his mind? 

Nevertheless, Manwë continued to wait, as if he was attempting to prove that he was no faithless brother to the ghost of his memories of Melkor. 

He knew not how long he had been standing there — unmoving like a statue, his gaze raised to the heavens in desperate hope — when Varda came to bring him home. 

"He won't come," she voiced what he had been refusing to think. 

"He was late in the other world too," Manwë opined, though the trembling weakness in his tone betrayed him. His wife was, as she had always been, so very wise and rational, while he was no more than an unquenchable wellspring of estel.

"Manwë," Varda said gently, taking his hand. "His evil is no more, and with it he too was unmade. I know you mourn his loss, but you cannot deny that he chose this path."

"I know." 

She began to pull him along. Manwë stood still for a while longer, stubborn and petulant, but followed her in the end. 

It most certainly wasn't her fault, and she was right as well. 

"Come and rejoice with the rest of us, my love. In this world we will finally know peace."

"And Melkor never will."

"He never wanted to." 

Again, Varda was right, but it did little to soothe Manwë's pain. 

"If Arda was healed, why wasn't he?" he asked. 

It was a question for his father rather than his wife, but patient and faithful as she was, she answered him regardless.

"I can only repeat myself: He never wanted to. You know that healing and redemption cannot come to someone who refuses it, right?"

Manwë nodded. Yes, that lesson they had learned indeed, and painfully so. 

"Manwë." Varda spoke more firmly now. "Beloved, if you ever want to be at peace you must ask yourself: Did you truly love Melkor or did you love the idea of a brother? Did you love what you saw when you were watching Námo and Irmo?" 

He remained silent. It was clear what the answer would be if he asked her what she thought, and he knew she wanted him to arrive at the same conclusion. Not out of malice, but out of love, for his own sake. 

Even so, Manwë felt misunderstood. In a world where all was healed, his brother was missing, and with him a part of his own being. In a world where all had returned and loved ones surrounded him, he had begun feeling incomplete and alone. 

— 

Aside from his missing brother, Arda Healed was a lovely place. Manwë had been advised by Irmo to enjoy what was rather than what could have been — a concept he remembered all too well from the world that was no more — and he had taken the advice, even as he noticed the shadow of concern that lingered on the Fëantur's fair face. 

Varda was the light of his life, as she had always been. They soared through the skies like they had done when they were young, painted it with stars and clouds, became one in body and spirit whenever they desired companionship.

Ulmo was his closest friend, and Manwë visited him often. They would make music together, in the clouds, on the shores, in the sea, carefree as they had been in their youth in the Timeless Halls. 

The other Valar he went to see as well, determined to give them the time and attention he hadn't always had in Arda Marred — all except Námo, for he had gone on vacation and couldn't be found, something that made him glad to hear. 

Whenever Manwë found himself in the company of Nienna, he was tempted to reveal his pain to her and seek her wisdom, yet restrained himself in the end; she had wept so much already, and he couldn't bear to cause her more grief. 

Eönwë had worried him for a time, deeply scarred from the wars he had fought in his name — more guilt that Manwë knew he wouldn't be able to overcome any time soon — but at last it seemed as though he had recovered. To the surprise and amusement of everyone, his herald found himself in the arms of none other than the Maia once known as Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, and he was happy that he would finally experience the joy of courtship, gladly leaving them alone. 

Ingwë welcomed Manwë in his home as eagerly as he had always done, and it was wonderful to see that another old friend was well. Even Fëanor seemed amenable to his company these days, as he had found out when Finwë invited him to a family gathering. 

"I hope the loss of your jewels burdens you no more," Manwë told the greatest among the Noldor. "Believe me, I would have never asked for your most beloved creations if it hadn't been necessary at the time. I was — and still am — truly sorry." 

To his surprise, Fëanor merely gave a light chuckle. "There is no need to worry about it any longer, my lord. I bear no ill will; and in the end their loss has only made me realise that I possessed greater treasures all along."

Manwë sat beside him in silence then, engrossed in the Noldo's proud, beautiful face that suddenly reminded him so much of his brother.

— 

He had travelled the world and seen everything he had always wanted to see, even walking among the Secondborn under the benevolent guidance of Lúthien. He had smiled and laughed and shared his songs and poetry with all that would listen. He had spoken to those who had never heard his voice in the old world, finally able to make himself known. 

But it wasn't enough. None of his many encounters could soothe the painful longing for his brother, the one that always remained out of reach, now more than ever before. There was a gaping wound in Manwë's heart, one only he could see, and nothing could stop the bleeding. 

Where would he find Melkor if he was here in Arda Healed, he wondered often. Would he visit him in his halls? Would they meet by happenstance in Irmo's gardens and enjoy sweet pastries and tea together? Would he come to see the world with him? Would he await him in some hidden location?

All these questions and many more did Manwë ask himself as his grief grew rather than lessened, as did dread and despair. Wherever he went, he always arrived at the same place, whatever he thought, he always arrived at the same conclusion: That his brother, his other half, whom he had never truly known due to ancient strife, was no more, and now he would never know him. 

He wouldn't be able to tell Melkor that he loved him more than any crown or kingdom, that he had loved him from the first moment of his existence, that he had never given up on him. He wouldn't be able to show him his heart and his memories, to prove to him that he had always spoken true. He wouldn't be able to experience that connection he had longed for so fervently, to live in a world where their brotherly bond was not torn, where whatever love they had for one another was not doomed. 

And this reality broke his heart. 

Varda found him weeping on the peak of Taniquetil after yet another night of watching the sky and waiting in vain. 

"Manwë..." 

He covered his face and shook his head. There was nothing he could have said to her; perhaps his behaviour was foolish and shameful, but he had truly tried his best to heal and repair himself after a piece of his ëala had been ripped away from him. 

"Beloved, why do you mourn him still?" 

"I cannot stop," Manwë whispered, "I cannot forget. There are wounds that cannot be healed even by the arts of Irmo, Estë or this new world. I know you will tell me that Arda is whole and beautiful without Melkor, but for me a world without my brother will always be incomplete." 

"Manwë, please –" 

"If the only way to heal Arda was to unmake him, the only way to heal my spirit is to unmake me also."

Talons broke out of his fingers as Manwë's grip on himself tightened, tearing into snowy skin with blood-red fury. 

"We were brothers, Varda, brothers in the mind of Ilúvatar. We were made from the same thought, two sides of the same coin. We were supposed to create together... and then were made to oppose one another. Melkor was the first being I ever perceived, his light was the first thing I ever saw, he was part of my purpose... and if I couldn't save him, what remains of it is also void." 

His breath quickened. His fána shook like a leaf in a storm. 

"I could only endure his banishment because I hoped — I believed — that when he returned from Void I could fix my mistakes and finally make everything whole again, as was Father's task and design for me. But I couldn't. I have failed him, Varda. And I am sorry." 

"Come home with me. Please." Varda's voice was unusually quiet, pleading, imploring him, and Manwë felt as though he was drowning in guilt, knowing that he wasn't going to. He was going to hurt her too, and it was wrong and unjust, but he couldn't continue like this any longer. 

The path he was going to take was his and his alone, and the only thing he could do was to hopefully make her understand why he couldn't come home with her. 

His hands dropped to his thighs, wet with tears. Manwë stared at them for a few moments, gathering his strength, then lifted them to his chest and raised his head to face Varda. His robes were easily shredded by sharp talons and his fána gave way when his fingers dug deep inside his own chest to tear himself open until she could see his bleeding, weakly twitching heart. 

"Behold what has been dying for a long time, kept alive only through duty and the love of others," Manwë whispered. "Yet no longer shall I be a burden and I will not appear again until my ëala is whole once more. What remains of my love, all that I have left to give, shall be with you. Forgive me, beloved." 

Thus the Elder King himself at last abandoned the shape that had faithfully walked upon Arda since the earliest days, leaving all that remained of him in the hands of his queen, and vanished like a gust of wind. 

— 

Manwë couldn't tell how long it had been since he had passed the Walls of Night; time didn't exist in the empty and endless Void, just like within the cosmic cradle of the Timeless Halls whence the Ainur had come. 

Neither did he know what he was hoping to find, knowing that his brother's days of wandering this realm were over. 

Even so, it seemed like a good place to go for one as painfully incomplete as he was. At the very least he would be doing penance for what he had done to his own brother, carrying out the council's judgement after he had failed to bring him back from the path of evil. 

Was this how Melkor had felt once? This never-ending pain of missing something? Was this what had driven him to rage and madness? Manwë had no answers to that, and the only one who could have answered him was not there. 

The other Valar had attempted to find him, but he had evaded them. His words to Varda had been final, and he believed himself unworthy of rescue after his numerous failings. Even his father's commands he wouldn't be able to follow at this time, if he could hear him where he was. Eru had neither called upon him nor answered his prayers ever since the Second Music, and Manwë accepted it as another part of his punishment. 

His spirit — first flying through empty space, then floating slowly — finally came to a halt. There was infinity out here, he knew, one couldn't search even if he had another eternity to do so, yet his strength was waning. Manwë was far away from the world he was bound to, weak and shaken after destroying his own fána; if the Powers were meant to be young again, he had failed at that too. The fatigue and exhaustion he felt was ancient like Varda's stars. 

He yearned for them. He yearned for her. But Manwë knew he couldn't bear to stay in Arda Healed any longer, if ever again. 

When he stood still, so did the only modicum of time. When he forgot himself, nothing existed out here. 

Tempted by oblivion, Manwë thought of the Secondborn, their gift of death and how Námo had foretold that even the Valar would one day envy them. Had Melkor in the end understood what no other Ainu ever had? Had Eru attempted to show him mercy by letting him be unmade? 

There was a light approaching him, too bright in the darkness of the Void. Manwë believed it to be a figment of his own imagination, recognising within it neither his wife nor his father, but something familiar... something soothing. 

It reminded him of the first light he had ever seen.  

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[cilil]

Maedhros

⌔ Synopsis: Maedhros Fëanorion, before and after the Oath. ⌔ Warnings: Angst ⌔ Double drabble

Maitimo he had been named, tall and beautiful even among the princes of Noldor, his father's eldest. Beloved brother, cherished kinsman, his family's pride and joy. 

Admiration followed him wherever he went, even when he felt undeserving of it. Being the voice of reason in the middle of chaos was at times a thankless task, and his feelings for Findekáno were a shameful secret he sought to hide; yet in the end, these burdens were born from love and passion, and Maitimo wouldn't have it otherwise. 

Whatever the future might bring, he was certain he would be able to endure. 

⌔

Maedhros he is now called, though he has long felt undeserving of such a name. 

Too many scars now mar his body; some tell stories of survival and endurance, others of his crimes. Redder than his hair is the blood staining his remaining hand. 

His name is no longer spoken with admiration and love, fear and disgust have taken their place. Kinslayer, the people whisper, murderer. And Maedhros knows what he has done and doesn't speak of it. 

He watches his father die. He watches his brothers die. He watches his beloved Finno die. 

Silently, he regrets that terrible Oath. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

@feanorianweek