the-angband-confessional

[the-angband-confessional]

It's me, Nony Story Writer!

Thank you so much for what you said in that message! ❤️ That was so kind of you!

And of course, I am nothing if not patient. Take your time and be well!

I also love your writing! Never stop. Especially Mairon smut. It is 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼*chef's kiss!*

Hi!!!

Thank you for your kind words. I have just posted your ask and my answer to it. You can read it here.

[the-angband-confessional]

Hey, it's the story writer. I sent the last part to your @a-world-of-whimsy-5 account, as you mentioned you'd moved it over there. Did you get it ok? 😊

Hi! I did get it, but I must ask for some patience because I'm answering story requests for another fandom blog at the moment.

I would like to take this opportunity to say that I love your writing and that I insist you keep it up ❤️

[the-angband-confessional]

Hi Nony! I will be posting your full ask and my reply on my other blog, @a-world-of-whimsy-5, as it is more in line of a story. I will be linking it to this ask once it has been posted (which should be in the next few minutes).

Edit to add: the full ask and response can now be read here!

[the-angband-confessional]

NOMINATE THE SECOND SEXIEST MAN HERE!!!

[the-angband-confessional]

He drank her.

The tea slid over his tongue, tasting all at the same time bitter and honeyed, metal and earth, her. Mairon leaned back against the velvet cushions and closed his eyes.

The world cracked open.

Sound bent first: a low, echoing hum that wasn’t quite music and wasn’t quite silence. Then the scent of fire, and smoke, yes, but sweet. The kind of fire that invites instead of devours. The kind that waits. The kind that whispers.

And then she was there.

Not seen, not touched: felt.

The heat of her wrapped around him like silk and ash. Her fingers, long and elegant, tipped with long dark red nails stroked down his chest. He opened his eyes but saw only light. Golden, flickering, too bright to resolve her form.

Her body moved with his, but her face blurred, haloed by the glow. Hair brushed his cheek. Hers? Maybe his. Her voice was everywhere. Moaning. Whispering. Crying out his name, each syllable echoing:

“Mairon…”

“Mairon!”

The rhythm of her hips clashed with the rhythm of her voice, and he couldn’t tell if he was moving into her or if she was drawing him deeper into herself, into the dream, into a memory of something that had never happened.

The fire around them danced, encircling their bodies as he thrust into her, deeper, slower, each movement stretching into eternity. Her legs wrapped around his waist like silk chains. Her breath burned lightning across his skin.

Her moans began to distort, twisting, echoing back at him in his own voice. The sound of him inside her. The sound of her unraveling for him. A paradox. A hymn.

“You are mine,” he said. Or thought. Or dreamed.

“You’ve always been mine.”

Flashes. Her lips parted, caught in a gasp that never finished. Her head thrown back. Her body shattering under him, over him, through him. He felt her teeth and tongue and lips kissing and biting down his neck and shoulder. He felt her fluttering, then spasming around him in climax, yet he shattered instead.

The sensation of her orgasm tore through the dream like a thousand flaming swords, burning away everything but her and him and the space between their heartbeats. His own release rushed up on him like the sundering of a world.

And still he could not see her.

He begged to see her. To know her face.

But the light wouldn’t let him.

It only warmed his chest and whispered back softly, so softly:

“I love you.”

He wanted to weep. To worship. To curse the dream for its cruelty.

The scene changed to a golden hilltop, bathed in sunlight. She stood alone at the top, turning to him, her long bright hair blowing in the breeze like a banner.

She reached for him. Her eyes pierced through the glow which still obscured her face, into his very being. He reached for her -

Cold.

He gasped awake. Blood rushing in his ears. Covered in sweat. The velvet cushions beneath him feeling rougher than usual. The empty goblet cooling by his foot.

His entire eäla still echoing with her moan. Her gasp. Her cry of his name. Her lips on his neck.

And when he looked in the mirror, his neck was covered in bites and bruises.

Still tender.

And so began the unravelling of Mairon. He ignored the mystery mortal woman's pleas to not try to find her. He had to. He had to know.

“What strange magic was this?” Mairon asked himself, his thoughts a roil. He peered into the goblet. It was as empty as it had been when he had set it down, and everything within his chamber appeared as it seemed. Nothing was amiss. “Who was this creature who could enchant me so?”

The heat of his vision, the passion and the flames and the astonishing vividness of it all, left his mind reeling in a way he could not describe, making it nigh impossible for him to think. Who was this woman? What powers did she wield? She had called herself a mortal, a being whose natural life was short and weak and oft ended swiftly. Yet she had invaded the very core of his spirit through potent dreams, effortlessly stripping away the restraint and steely control he possessed without him even perceiving it and making him crave all that he had not savoured before.

More importantly, it fed his desire to know more of her, to know her, and to make her utterly his own.

“Thuringwethil,” he called, clutching onto what clarity of thought he had left to him and rising. “A moment, if you please.”

Thuringwethil, having remained just outside the door, pushed it open and glided in, her lips curling up at the corners when her gaze rested on the crimson bruises marring her lord’s fair throat, and the little indents that were clearly left by the sharpened teeth of another. Mairon, it appeared to her, had had a most extraordinary encounter, and with a companion who was not seen or heard or even smelt by her.

“What do you require of me, my lord?” She offered, having decided against asking questions. Mairon answered to no one but a few, and she was most certainly not one of them. He would not take kindly to her probing into his affairs in any way.

Mairon recalled the breath that seared his skin, the cries of pleasure that lingered like sweet music in his ears, and the kisses that had branded him even in the world of awaking. He then knew he would neither rest nor know true peace until he had discovered the identity of the one who had sought him out, and she had agreed to remain by his side.

“Have the orcs ready the werewolves,” he finally commanded. “It appears a hunt is afoot.”

Alternate ending:

“Send for Lord Thû,” he finally commanded, ignorant of the way Thuringwethil trembled when she heard the name. “Tell him I have need of him and his counsel. If there is anyone who could aid me in learning the identity of this mortal, it is him.”

[the-angband-confessional]

She was surprised to see him standing in front of this door too, after all this means again she has to squeeze her brain to find the words strong enough to please the lord because sadly the vocabulary she knows are not enough and almost running out of her dictionary.

"A portrait of charm and beauty, with your enchanting black locks running down your back, and the radiant glow within your dreamy eyes, and the sharp curve of your brows and that captive smile."

She tried to kneel gracefully yet her pose give an awkward curtsy

"Your presence brightens the halls, illuminating all who have the privilege of knowing you, my most astonishing lord."

She raised her head slightly, her eyes not meeting his.

"I hope that I have been granted your holy acceptance to enter the hall, my lord."

She stood just beyond the open door, wringing her hands, after the last word fell off her lips. Meanwhile, Melkor regarded her the way he did everytime she appeared before him, his dark eyes a study of serene but frightening calm. It often made her wonder if she said too much or not enough, or if her words even pleased him in any way. He was a mighty lord, after all, the most powerful among his kin, and he was the constant recipient of the praise and flattery of others. At length, he finally stirred himself and said, “You have my leave to enter this hall. Pray tell me why you have come here and what you intend to do to while away your time.”

[the-angband-confessional]

Thuringwethil returns. She has another letter with her addressed to Mairon, which she hands to him.

"This was all I could find, master... The sender seems to have disappeared. I found it in the snow outside..."

Opening the letter with a tremble in his hand that only he noticed, he began to read:

-

My Lord and Master Mairon,

I don't know if you'll get this in time! Please don't try to find me.

I shouldn't have sent that last letter. It was wrong of me. Despite the depths of my feelings for you, I should not have told you. I shouldn't have planted that seed. It wasn't fair on you.

You are immortal, and you won't ever truly die. I am not. My lifespan will be over and done with in a blink of an eye to you. If all my wildest dreams were to come true, you would stay young and beautiful and strong forever, and I would wither and die, and go to an unknown place that even you, for all your power, could never follow. People say "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" but that is just a missguided platitude. To lose someone you love is the worst pain anyone can go through. I would rather take a thousand lashes of your whip than even risk putting you through that, not even if it meant I could spend but a single night in your embrace.

Please forgive me.

Perhaps in another life I will be immortal.

All my love forever,

-

This letter was not all. Inside the envelope was a silver locket on a long chain containing a lock of hair dyed a most unusual color, and a tiny phial with a strange red powder. There was a label on the phial—Drink me in tea with a candle burning to see my dreams. You don't have to know who I am to have a bit of fun... You won't see my true face.

Thankfully this letter had no blood on it, but like the last letter, had been written with tears flowing freely, dripping onto the page, smudging the occasional word.

Mairon tucked the letter inside his sleeve, lifted the locket, and studied the strainds of hair it contained. The colour was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“Bring me a goblet of hot water and a candle that has never seen use,” he commanded, though not ungently, “then tell the others I am not to be disturbed… not unless it is a matter of great importance.”

Thuringwethil curtsied and swiftly went about the tasks her lord set before her. She first went down to the kitchen and oversaw the boiling of clean water. Then she made her way to the great cellar, goblet of hot water in hand, and found a new candle made of scented tallow from among the many lying on one of the racks. It was tall and not misshapen like so many of the others. Her lord would approve of it.

“Here are the water and the candle you asked for, my lord,” she said upon her return. Mairon watched, almost out of boredom, as she pressed the goblet into his hand and placed the candle on the gilded stand nearest to his favourite seat. “I will tell the others to keep away,” she promised, while he sat amidst soft velvet cushions. “Pray call on me if you need me to aid you further.”

Mairon merely noded. It was the quick, brief nod a master gave their supplicant. He waited only until she shut the door behind her before blithely waving his free hand at the candle. A flame erupted from the wick, its light burning a dull gold. Mairon then took a deep breath to compose himself and dropped the lock of hair and red powder into the water. It swirled, bubbled, and steamed until it slowly turned into a liquid the colour of new blood.

“Most curious,” Mairon said, intrigued rather than frightened. He raised the goblet to his lips, drained it, set it down by his feet, and closed his eyes in anticipation for what was about to happen next.

[the-angband-confessional]

My Lord and Master Mairon

You don't know it, but I love you. It is not just desire (although i can't deny that is very present too), but true, devoted love. There are not enough words in all the tongues of Man, Elf or Ainu that could do justice to its true depth. My heart breaks anew every second of every day knowing that you will never be mine, not even for one night.

I wish for you to be happy. To succeed in everything you do. To live the most perfect existence. To be treated with only love and admiration. To never know heartbreak or despair. And to live forever knowing that no matter what happens, there was that one person (me) who loved you unconditionally, at your most good, and at your most evil, and desired you in your every fana.

Should you ever wish to discover my identity, by that time I will be long gone, as I am but mortal. However, if I am ever reborn, no matter which plane of existence I am on, my love for you will follow. Forever.

I love you.

Yours most devotedly,

(The letter is slightly smudged from the writer's tears which fell upon it when it was written... and ominously, a few dark red drops of blood)

Mairon reads the letter he has received and takes up his quill with a trembling hand.

To the most devoted, Y/n, greetings.

Your words reached me at a most unexpected hour, but they have moved me beyond measure all the same.

I confess, I knew not the depth of your feelings toward me, and I beg forgiveness for being ignorant of it until now. ‘Tis a most grievous fault on my part, and I hope to atone for it in whatever way that is deemed acceptable to you. To be loved unconditionally for all that I am—the good and the foul both, and to be so desired by any one being, stirs my spirit to degrees that even I, a creature who has lived long before the recording of the ages, cannot fathom it. It compels me to learn who you are and have you brought before me. Pray do not fear for your wellbeing when you are found. No harm will befall your person; I give you my assurances on this.

Your lord and master,

Mairon

Mairon puts down his quill and carefully folds his letter. "Thuringwethil,” he calls softly.

The door to his chamber swings open not long after. Thuringwethil drifts in, her wings dragging behind her like a supple, leathery train that gleamed a rich black in the light of the lamps that the thralls always keep lit.

“You summoned me, my lord,” she says, dipping her knees in a deep curtsy.

“You may think this task beneath you,” Mairon begins, reaching for the small pot of wax resting over a little stand with a little candle burning brightly within. “And perhaps it is." He dribbles a hot blob of gold and crimson onto the parchment to seal it. "Nevertheless, I trust no other with such an undertaking. Find the one who wrote the message here, and give my answer to them. It is possible that they may have been harmed,” he adds, pushing both his missive and the one he received across the table. “There is blood staining the corner of the parchment they sent. If they have indeed been harmed, they are to be brought straight to me. Is that understood?”

“I understand perfectly well, my lord,” Thuringwethil says. She takes the letters into her hands. “I will begin the search for the one who wrote to you at once.”

divider by @thecutestgrotto

[the-angband-confessional]

My letter:

Dear Mairon,

There's a bomb in the building...

It's your butt. Your butt is the bomb.

XOXO

Mairon flushes. He sits at his table, gets out a quill, ink, and parchment, and answers you.

To my dearest Y/n, in all haste, 

I am flattered by your words, unusual as they may be, and I thank you for them. Never have I received praise over that particular part of my person, but I will gladly accept it all the same. 

No more at present, I fear, for a lack of time.

Written by the hand of your lord and master,

Mairon

divider by @thecutestgrotto

[the-angband-confessional]

The letters event is still open!

I have reached one hundred followers!

But I love you all just the same.

In honor of reaching this milestone, I will open the confessions box for a special event. Letters! Send a letter to your favorite Angband baddie, and they will respond to you. It can be a declaration of love, a missive of hate, or anything you wish. It can be a letter from you, or a letter from one character to another. Go wild! I will begin answering letters next week.

[the-angband-confessional]

Lord Mairon I've been looking for you,

I got a letter,

For your hands only🫦.

"Ahh, a missive. How delightfully...kind of you"

A white as snow hand with lilac colored nails stretched, grasping the paper from Zabiba delicate fingers. Mairon's gaze, piercing as an arrow fixating on the letter's contents.

Dear wretch Mairon

I hope you stabbed yourself in the eye while you were using my khol, and have a constant stomach ache after you chewed my lipstick, give me back my nail polish or else.

May this letter reach you while you're choking on Manwe's nasty feather.

Thuringwethil⋆𓌹*^*𓌺⋆

"so Ronron do you want me to deliver a response or you'll answer face to face"

"Of all the ways to address such matters to me," Mairon seethes, his face puce with anger, as he studies the contents of the letter. He crosses to a table full of parchment, quills, and little bottles of ink, and pulls out a chair. "Wait a moment," he commands, sitting down and picking up a golden-brown quill after having set aside the message he received. "I will prepare an answer for you to take."

The Maia selects a thick square of parchment, dips his quill in a jar of black ink, and scratches out a brief reply.

My accursed torment lady,

I am too deft of hand to pierce myself in the eyes while adorning them with lines of color, and my physical form can withstand more than the ailments brought about by the consuming of lip stain sticks. I must say, however, that it was not I who feasted on such a thing, nor was it I who made use of your kohl. Another being has carried out the deed and now attempts to place the blame at my feet. Perhaps you should seek them out instead, and make them the target of your ire. As for the nail enamel you speak of—it is a most splendid color. Is it yours? I did not know. Nevertheless, you should not have left it in a place for anyone to take. It is mine now, but I shall give it back to you for an appropriate price. Pray call on me, so we can discuss the terms of its return.

May you choke on Huan’s vile fur Written by the hand of your lord, Mairon

divider by @thecutestgrotto

[the-angband-confessional]

Hi! I’d like to request quills or scroll dividers if you have time :)

Sure anon, hope these work! (Also this gave me Hamilton vibes and I ended up listening to some of the soundtrack lol) 🩵🌸

Scrolls and Quills

[the-angband-confessional]

I have reached one hundred followers!

But I love you all just the same.

In honor of reaching this milestone, I will open the confessions box for a special event. Letters! Send a letter to your favorite Angband baddie, and they will respond to you. It can be a declaration of love, a missive of hate, or anything you wish. It can be a letter from you, or a letter from one character to another. Go wild! I will begin answering letters next week.

[the-angband-confessional]

I have reached one hundred followers!

But I love you all just the same.

In honor of reaching this milestone, I will open the confessions box for a special event. Letters! Send a letter to your favorite Angband baddie, and they will respond to you. It can be a declaration of love, a missive of hate, or anything you wish. It can be a letter from you, or a letter from one character to another. Go wild! I will begin answering letters next week.

[the-angband-confessional]

I have reached one hundred followers!

But I love you all just the same.

In honor of reaching this milestone, I will open the confessions box for a special event. Letters! Send a letter to your favorite Angband baddie, and they will respond to you. It can be a declaration of love, a missive of hate, or anything you wish. It can be a letter from you, or a letter from one character to another. Go wild! I will begin answering letters next week.

[the-angband-confessional]

could I get Stars for Melkor/Morgoth?

<3

Hello! You need to send this ask to my other blog @a-world-of-whimsy-5

I also assume it's Mairon/Melkor? Anyway, send it to my other blog with your wants/do not wants, and I'll write up a story for you ☺️

[the-angband-confessional]

Asks are closed!

Asks are now closed for the confession box. However, I will be taking asks for stories on my other blogs from the 03rd of February.

For Tolkien, Prince Nuada, and Apollo/Hyacinthus asks, head over to @a-world-of-whimsy-5

For A Song of Ice and Fire, Fire and Blood, House of the Dragon and Game of Thrones asks, head over to @lemoncakesandwine

Prompts will be posted on the 3rd at 9pm, Sri Lanka Standard Time