#at least my Mairon does

[thirteenducks]

smoke and wine

(diluc x fem!reader) [suggestive, but SFW]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to as 'her'), some suggestive content, no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~4.7k

༻❁༺ tags: self indulgent stormfic, adelinde best mother figure AND wingwoman, flustered diluc supremacy, reader does not want to cause trouble for diluc, diluc desperately wants reader to cause trouble for him, diluc wears boxer briefs because i said so, rampant use of ellipses

༻❁༺ author's note: i am back to offer you this with my hands outstretched before i vanish into the void for another six months :/ regardless, thank you for reading! <33 this fic was inspired by this lovely art by @mmmairon https://www.tumblr.com/mmmairon/733185437964926976/hi-mairon-i-love-the-self-insert-comfort-you-did?source=share please go check it out!

Diluc is a simple man. If there's something he can provide, he'll go out of his way to do it. And if that means allowing you to stay at his home for the night during a fierce storm, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort.

Before today, you had considered yourself rather proficient in predicting the weather for your forays into the Mondstadt hills. Experience had given you somewhat of a sixth sense for which afternoons would yield sunny skies and which would leave you huddled under a tree during a downpour.

This storm, however, had truly come out of nowhere. 

When your feet finally find the steps of the vineyard path ahead of you, you’re already too drenched to bother running from the rain. Your shoes, unfit for travel through the rain-soaked countryside, leave puddles behind everywhere you step; your dress is so soaked through that it must leave nothing to the imagination. 

You shiver, thanking Barbatos that you seem to be the only unfortunate traveler caught in this downpour. At least the grates of the grapevines above you give you some form of cover from the lashing sheets of rain.

Through the raindrops in your eyes, you gaze at the herbs in your basket, their delicate leaves sodden and dripping. Once the storm has passed, and you've returned home, you doubt they will be much worth keeping. So much for freshly-gathered, you lament.

Distracted by your mournful predictions, you hardly notice the dirt beneath your feet has turned to stone and you’re suddenly before the imposing building that dominates the landscape. Above you, lanterns on posts swing wildly in the wind, illuminating the grand wooden door of Dawn Winery.

As you huddle beneath the scant protection of the balcony above, poised to knock, you’re inevitably reminded of the only other time you’d encountered the owner of this estate. 

In the many months since, you’d learned which places to avoid in the Mondstadt countryside due to high monster traffic. That morning, however, the abyss mage had appeared out of nowhere in the sunny meadow of sweet flowers, leering at you and your lack of a weapon. You had barely gathered the presence of mind to drop what you were holding and run when the noise of boots, fast approaching, came from behind you. In another second, a blur of red and black had sped by and a gloved hand was pushing you down to the ground. Overhead, a blast of ice meant for your heart had split the sky above you instead.

Before you could regain your wits, the horrible sound of what you could only imagine were the monster’s last words tore through the air and flames, red and deep orange, surrounded you. The blue of the sky above you was ringed with fire.

Pushing yourself up by your elbows, you had scrambled to your feet, fear shooting through you like lightning as the flames licked higher and hotter around your boots -

And then they were gone, extinguished in an instant. Your breaths coming fast and shallow, you had inspected yourself for injuries and found nothing amiss but a few singed pieces of hair.

The gloved hand had appeared again in your field of vision, hovering hesitantly near your shoulder. 

“Are you alright? That attack didn’t hit you, did it?”

The voice was low and unfamiliar, and you had followed the sound until your eyes caught a mane of red hair in a sea of black. He smelled like smoke; you could see it emanating off the massive sword he held in his other hand.

“I’m not hurt, thank you. I had no idea this area wasn’t safe...” You murmured, gazing at the now-scorched patch of flowers you had stood so peacefully in a moment before. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, sir.” You offered your hand and name in introduction, and he had taken both with a gentle grace. His questioning eyes alighted on your belongings, dress, and hair before returning to your face.

“Please, call me Diluc. Of Dawn Winery,” he answers, anticipating your question.  “I’m the one who should apologize. This one -” he glances down at the ground in distaste, where a few shining leaves are all that is left of the abyss mage - “got away from me last night, and I’ve been chasing it down ever since. Really, it’s my fault.”

You duck your head in gratitude. “Thank you regardless, Diluc. I’ll make sure to avoid this area in the future...” You trail off sadly. This had been the best hill in the area to collect sweet flowers...

His face had changed a bit at your vow, so quickly you might have imagined it, before his handsome features returned to an unreadable expression. The exchange had not lasted long past that point. 

“Keep yourself safe,” were his brief parting words, leaving you with a nod before starting at a brisk pace toward the building in the distance.

And now that same building is before you once more. Drawing your bag closer to you in trepidation, you knock, the sound barely reaching your ears over the roar of thunder overhead.

You don’t have to wait long in the harsh wind before the giant door swings open and you’re face to face with the same man from all those months ago, staring at you with his mouth slightly parted. You blink at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say, until a woman’s soft voice calls from behind him in the doorway.

“Master Diluc? Is there someone out there?”

A middle-aged woman with a kind expression peers over Diluc’s shoulder at you and gasps. 

“Master Diluc! What are you doing, keeping her out here in all this rain?” she chides, pushing Diluc’s shoulder to punctuate her sentence, and he blinks as if coming out of a trance. He steps out of the doorway and allows the woman to grab you gently by the hand and lead you into the warm, carpeted foyer. The great door swings shut behind you with a soft thud and you allow yourself an exhale of relief at being out of the storm, if only for a few minutes.

“Goodness, you’re soaked through.” The woman, who wears a maid’s uniform, putters around you, taking your belongings from your grasp and hanging them on a stand next to the door. As she circles you, murmuring with concern, you take the opportunity to explain yourself.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, ma’am, I was just gathering herbs near Stone Gate when the downpour started...” You lock eyes with Diluc, who has not said a word yet. Your resolve wavers, but a drop of water cascading down your back causes you to shiver and you remember your situation. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I impose upon you until the worst of the storm passes?” Your teeth chatter a bit as a draft catches your soaked clothing. “I promise I won’t make too much trouble for -”

You’re cut off by the sensation of something large and warm surrounding you. It smells of smoke and wine and you look up in surprise to see Diluc, now bare to the arm, settling his overcoat on your shoulders. A light shade of pink dusts his cheekbones.

“This storm isn’t likely to pass before tomorrow morning at the earliest,” he rumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Adelinde, please tell Moco and Hillie to prepare a bath and fresh sheets in the downstairs guest room.” 

The warm timbre of his voice is tinged with something you can’t identify. Before you can protest, the woman, who must be Adelinde, gives him a nod. She curtsies to you with a smile and takes her leave.

Now standing alone with Diluc, you hurriedly voice your objections and promise to be on your way after you dry off a bit and perhaps borrow an umbrella. The man in front of you, however, refuses to acquiesce.

“You’ll at least let Adelinde feed you dinner, won’t you? It’s quite late already,” he remarks, glancing out the bay window at the darkened sky. “Have you eaten?”

At your dissenting response, he nods as if all is settled. You stare down at your shoes in mingled embarrassment and relief, watching the pools of water sink into the rich carpet. 

Diluc clears his throat and moves his hand to hover behind the small of your back as he walks towards the fireplace. “Please, wait here for Adelinde to return. I’ll speak to her about getting you some dry clothes to wear for the night,” he says, gesturing to the couch in front of the fire.

You grimace as you sit, the damp fabric of your dress sticking to you and probably ruining the plush velvet of the sofa. Not to mention Diluc’s coat...

Before you can dwell too long on that, Adelinde reappears with a steaming cup of tea that she sets in front of you. She appears to be in conversation with Diluc about something across the table as you sip your tea, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your bones.

“It’s awful luck that everything had to be taken in from the clotheslines when it started to rain,” she sighs. “There’s not a dry piece of women’s clothing in the house, I’m afraid.”

Diluc hums in contemplation. “I suppose mine will have to do, then. As long as it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, of course...” He trails off as he turns to you, his cheeks pink again.

You laugh a bit, good humor returning to your body as the warmth does. “I’ll take any clothing you have to offer, Adelinde. Truly, thank you.”

She smiles, and before you can say anything else, Diluc has gotten to his feet and is already halfway up the stairs. Your eyes follow him as he goes, afraid you’ve said something wrong, but Adelinde just laughs and gestures for you to stand.

“Don’t mind him. The young master’s always that straightforward. Let’s get you into a warm bath, hm?” She starts for the hallway at a brisk pace, ignoring your concerns about the water you’re tracking across the floor.

As the head maid leads you to the guest room, Diluc stands in his own quarters, staring at his bureau with a look of deliberation that a complex military maneuver might inspire. All around him, various pieces of clothing lay rejected. He’s glaring daggers at his pants drawer, which he now realizes contains only neatly folded black slacks and pairs of underwear.

Do I really only wear slacks and boxer briefs?

That’s a question for another day. For now, he lays out his options.

He can’t... he can’t offer you his underwear to wear. That’s out of the question. Few things could be less appropriate to lend to a guest, let alone a pretty... 

He shakes his head. His face is burning just thinking about it.

But wouldn’t you be uncomfortable in dress pants? They’d hardly fit you, anyways, so you might have to wear a belt as well just to keep them up... And could you really sleep in them? You’d probably end up shedding them, right?

He shakes his head again before he can go any further with that... dangerous thought.

He huffs. This is going nowhere. He’ll have to bring them both to Adelinde and see what she has to say, he thinks as he descends the staircase with a stack of clothes in hand.

Meanwhile, you stand with Adelinde in the most lavish guest bedroom you’ve ever set foot in. The bedspread, softer than a lamb as you run your hand over it, matches the curtains of the four-poster bed it rests on and the wall behind it. She opens the door to the attached bathroom, where a steaming claw-foot tub stands in the center. The aroma coming from it is like that of the lampgrass you had been collecting that afternoon before the storm hit, and it draws you to it like a moth to flame.

Adelinde curtsies to you and asks you to simply leave your wet clothes by the door and she’ll send someone to pick them up and deliver dry clothes in a bit. With that, she shuts the bedroom door behind you and leaves you to disrobe in the sweet-smelling bathroom.

After so long with your soaked garments clinging to you, peeling them off feels incredible. The water is the perfect temperature as you slide into it, feeling the stress of the afternoon melt away from your shoulders. The soaps next to the bath are thick and luxurious, perfuming the air with a thousand faint floral scents.

You don’t know how long you sit there, half-awake and submerged to the nose in the sweet-smelling water, until a knock at the bedroom door brings you back to reality.

Thinking it to be Adelinde or another maid, you straighten up and stretch your arms. You’d rather not get up and let her in yourself, so you merely call out your permission to let herself in. After all, the water’s so nice, and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with but a towel, anyways. 

The door opens quietly and a heavy step can be heard entering the bedroom and shuffling around a bit until it suddenly pauses. 

That’s odd. “Adelinde?” you call, rising a bit in the water to peek into the bedroom through the open door. No answer comes.

Furrowing your brow, you move to get out of the tub when the panicked voice of a man rings through the room.

“Wait! Wait, please... Archons, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you were - the door is - ”

It’s Diluc. He sounds more flustered than you thought was possible of such a stoic man.

“I just came to drop these off,” he continues, voice discomposed, and there’s a sound of something being placed on a chair. “Please forget this happened. I- I apologize a thousand times. I’ll, um, wait outside - please, forgive me... I’m leaving now, I swear.” 

And with that, the bedroom door closes with a thunk. You’re left frozen, your hands on the rim of the tub, your face a fetching shade of scarlet.

Diluc, on the opposite side of the door, is in no better shape. Not only had he walked in on you while you were- not only had he imposed upon you, but he had completely forgotten his objective of having Adelinde choose your clothing. Which meant, of course, that you were about to walk out of the bath and be faced with an odd selection of things to clothe yourself with.

It’s not like he can go back in and tell you it’s a mistake, though. Diluc sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, willing his heart rate to go down. Idiot. He’s an idiot.

Since the least he can do now is protect you from any further embarrassment, he thinks, he takes up a guard position outside your bedroom door.

It helps to know that at least it’s just him and the maids in the house, so you have no one else to worry about. It doesn’t help to know that you’re currently bare and covered in soap a scant twenty feet from him.

He buries his head in his hands again.

Meanwhile, you’ve removed yourself from the tub and are drying off while waiting for your pulse to return to normal. The towel in your hands is probably the fluffiest thing you’ve ever touched, yet it barely registers in your mind at the moment.

You weigh the ethics of telling Adelinde you’ve suddenly fallen violently ill and cannot come to dinner, but eventually you’ve gathered yourself enough to inspect the clothing Diluc brought you. There’s a black dress shirt, which is softer against your skin than it first looked as you button it up to your collarbone. Like his coat, it too carried a familiar fragrance of smoke and wine.

Turning to the rest of the stack, you’re confused to see a pair of dress pants and a pair of men’s... underwear?

They also smell like him… you think, as you pull them on.

Diluc, still fighting a blush, is leaning against the wall outside your door when Adelinde finds him. A hurried conversation ensues that you don’t catch much of from inside, but it’s clear enough that Adelinde is laughing at her master’s expense. 

She knocks, asking if you’re dressed, and waits for your affirmation before she enters. You hold up the slacks to her, a question on your lips, but the head maid puts her hand on yours before you say a word.

“You don’t have to wear those unless you want to. I know they’re far from the most comfortable pants in the world. Besides, it’s only Master Diluc and us maids here,” she assures you. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. It’s up to you.” You return her smile and fold the slacks, passing them to her waiting hand. “Why don’t you come sit by the fire while I set the table?” 

Thus assured, you leave the safety of the guest bedroom in only Diluc’s shirt and boxer briefs. Outside, the lord of the manor himself is standing in the hallway with a look of contrition on his face. 

He turns at the sound of the door and his eyes meet yours. 

It’s fatal. You offer him a smile, hoping to pretend the earlier situation never happened, but you’re met instead with a blank stare that makes you falter. Was he… angry? 

Archons, did he think you had let him into your room on purpose while you were undressed? The thought sends you spiraling. This was bad. You have to fix this. You fiddle with the hem of the dress shirt and prepare to apologize.

Across from you, Diluc is fighting an uphill battle with his self control to keep his eyes on yours as you stand before him in only his underwear. 

You were supposed to be wearing pants. Not… fuck, you’re staring at him like he has three heads. He has to say something. He has to set your mind at ease. He has to be a gentleman.

Think of Varka. Think of Seamus Pegg. Think of fucking Barbatos. For the love of Celestia do not think of anything else. Now SAY something.

“...How was your bath?” 

You blink. “It was… lovely, thank you.”

DO NOT THINK OF HER IN THE BATH. 

By the grace of whatever archons are watching over him, Diluc manages to carry a stilted conversation with you in which he apologizes profusely for his behavior earlier.

You do your best to reassure him that it was an honest mistake and no harm was done (except to your heart, but you’d hardly admit that). You soon find that he’s also asking your pardon for the “inappropriate” selection of clothes he brought you, however.

“Please, don’t apologize. They’re very comfortable.” You smile at him and Diluc feels his heart skip far too many beats. “Thank you again for your kindness, Diluc.” Archons, he loves the way you say his name. You’ll kill him at this rate.

Soon he’s falling into step behind you as Adelinde leads you into the dining room and seats you by the fire with a blanket. Satisfied that you’re comfortable, he turns and prepares to return to his study for the evening. 

Before he can, though, he’s arrested by your voice, innocently asking if he wouldn’t be joining you for dinner.

“I’m afraid I have… work to attend to,” he murmurs, glancing up to his office. “My apologies. I hope you enjoy- ow, Adelinde -”

The maid in question has two fingers wrapped around Diluc’s ear and is wearing a look of exasperation as she tugs on it, ignoring his words of protest. In a voice that suggests this is a common occurrence, she strongly forbids him from doing any more work tonight.

“Is it not the job of the master of the manor to keep his guests company?”

“Adelinde...”

“Master Diluc.”

He sighs, meeting your eyes with a sheepish look. “It appears that I’ll be joining you after all.”

With that, he settles himself in the armchair adjoining your couch, allowing his large frame to relax into it. A pleasant quiet descends as you watch the fire, listening to the maids readying the meal in the kitchen and the storm as it continues to rage outside.

You’re brought out of your reverie by Diluc’s voice, softer than you’ve yet heard it.

“May I ask how you found yourself out in the downpour this afternoon?”

You smile. “For the same reason I was out the first time we met.” He nods in recognition, glancing at the gathering bag and basket that still hang by the door to the winery.

“So, you’re a botanist, then? Or maybe an herbalist?”

The two of you continue this way, Diluc asking you questions about yourself in a low voice, and you answering them in the same soft tone. You lose track of time in the easy back-and-forth. 

After what feels like only a few minutes, a maid alerts you that dinner is ready; you rise and stretch, the blanket falling away from where it covers your bare legs. Diluc pointedly looks away, but you’re too distracted by the lovely smells coming from the table behind you to pay him any mind.

Walking ahead of you, Diluc draws out the seat adjacent to the head of the table and waits for you to sit before taking his own seat. The maids have been busy: a pot of tea, a bottle of sparkling wine, plates of roast beef, green beans, buttered potatoes, and stuffing, a tray of candied pecans, an apple tart, and a myriad of smaller dishes all line the ornate table. For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to take a portion of anything. 

Fortunately, Adelinde appears beside you and asks which and how much of each dish you would like, and soon your plate is as full as it can be.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you eat. The food is beyond reproach. Either the maids and Adelinde have pulled out all the stops tonight for you, or wealthy estate owners eat like this every night. You’re not sure which makes you feel more out of place, but the food is too delicious and you’re too tired to dwell on such things now.

Periodically, Diluc asks how you’re liking a certain dish or if you would like more of what you’re drinking. As the maids top off your glass of wine and you begin to feel the day catch up with you, however, your responses to Diluc get slower and shorter until you can barely keep your eyes open. 

Through your lowered lids, you’re graced with the sight of a rare smile as the man next to you takes you in. He stands, offering you an ungloved hand in a silent offer to escort you to your room. You’re too exhausted to notice the color that comes to his face when you gladly take it and get to your stumbling feet. 

By the time you’ve reached the door to your room, you’re leaning more on him than you are on your own legs. Offering Diluc a drowsy smile, you bow a little and thank him once again. He returns it in kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit. He’s never looked more handsome.

“Have a restful night. With any luck, the storm will abate by morning. Please, if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to come ask me.”

And with that, he leaves you to the plush sheets of the guest room. You’re asleep almost before your head hits the pillow.

You dream of smoke and wine.

In the small hours of the morning, you awake to a cold draft that makes you shiver and a mind fuzzy from sleep. You try in vain to return to sleep, the soft silk sheets beckoning to you, but a peal of thunder seems to shake the house every time you close your eyes.

Sighing, you sit up and rub your eyes. It’s almost pitch black in the room; the sun won’t rise for several hours yet.

Maybe you could make yourself a cup of tea? You shiver a bit, drawing the covers tighter around you. Sitting by the fire doesn’t sound bad, either.

Your feet are quiet on the carpeted floor as you gently open your bedroom door and step into the hallway. Sure enough, there’s a flickering light from the main room; the fire must be still alive in the grate.

You gather the blanket around you and hurry towards the warmth, only to stop short at the silhouette of a figure sitting where you were earlier. You take another tentative step onto the floorboards, but a creak gives you away. The figure stiffens and turns to face you.

Diluc’s face and frame relaxes when he sees you, but there is still a hint of worry in his tone when he asks, “Is there something wrong? Are you warm enough in your room?”

You nod, stepping gingerly around the couch to sit next to him. He shifts a little to give you more space as you pull your legs up beside you. “Everything’s fine. I just went to bed a little too early,” you assure him. “Could I trouble you to let me into the kitchen? I’d like to make myself a cup of tea, if it’s alright.”

“Please, allow me,” he murmurs, producing a pot and a second cup from the table next to him, where he was apparently enjoying one himself.

You sip it gratefully, allowing the taste to linger in your mouth. “May I ask why the esteemed Master Diluc is still awake at this hour?”

He smiles a bit at that and mentions that he never sleeps well during storms.

The two of you watch the flames as you sip your tea, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Even at this hour, the fire is still going strong. A thought strikes you and you turn to Diluc’s lap.

Sure enough, his vision is glowing, pulsing in a gentle bump-bump pattern that you’ve heard matches the wielder’s heartbeat. It relaxes you to see it so steady and dependable.

Before long, the warmth of the fire and the tea have lulled you back soundly to sleep. 

For the first time today, Diluc allows his gaze to rake over you unhindered.

You, asleep on his couch in his manor. Smelling like him. Dressed in his shirt and underwear.

In only his shirt and underwear, the least helpful part of his brain reminds him, and he has to stare at the fire for a while to curb that train of thought. It’s difficult when his gaze keeps flickering back to you anyway.

He counts himself lucky you’re not awake to see how the fire in the grate has grown in size and intensity, or how the vision on his hip is flickering in a wild bmp-bmp-bmp.

After reciting everything he knows of Mondstadtian foreign policy in his head a few times, he’s able to tone down the blush on his face enough to be manageable. As for the familiar, tight ache in his pants, he regards it as a lost cause. For now.

Diluc stands, stretching his arms with a quiet groan before turning to your sleeping form. He gently scoops you up into strong arms and wraps you tighter in the blanket you’re still clinging to, careful not to wake you. As he begins the slow walk to your doorway, a small smile adorns his face.

Upon ducking into your room, careful not to hit your legs against the doorway, he frowns. It’s much colder here than it was in the living room. He’ll have to do something about that.

As he places you under the covers, he unclips the vision from his thigh and folds it into your hand, where it thrums with a gentle rhythm . You drift awake for a moment, recognizing the red mane that hangs over your chest as Diluc tucks in the blanket around you.

Seeing your eyes flicker, he calls your name gently. “Are you comfortable?” You nod with a smile that hurts his heart in the best way. 

“Thank you, Diluc,” you murmur blearily, and he laughs a bit. You have just enough consciousness left to decide it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard as you slip back under the blanket of sleep.

That night, as the storm continues to rage outside his bedroom windows, Diluc sleeps better than he has in a long time. Downstairs, his vision pulses in your hand to his steady heartbeat.

You dream of warmth.

#diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #fem!reader #genshin x reader #flustered dilu....... #pls let me live at the winery i swear i'll be good #dilucposting

[edensrose]

˚◞❀˳ a proper farewell

god that title sounds dramatic as fuck so let me just clear things up immediately: no, I'm not leaving tumblr, I will still be very manageable to reach and interact. what I am drifting away from is the tolkien fandom — and since this place, despite my hardships, has meant so much to me - I decided to give it a proper little farewell, to the people who made everything count. along with a little explanation for my decision while shedding light on my experience. ( I'll try to be brief )

I joined the tolkien fandom while writing for thranduil, it's here I gained my following in the fanbase and things went quite smoothly. however, upon beginning to write for mairon, then melkor and then later the ainur — I saw an increase in hate anons. something I have experienced before, natural of a multi fandom blog, but never to this degree. initially I assumed it was because I was simply growing larger as a blog, and perhaps that is the reason — but from what I noticed, I was battling with a bunch of chronically online people who simply could not handle my love for. . . "problematic characters"

I never understood it, really. I never saw other ainur blogs getting the hate I did - I guess I'll truly never know. had I done something? was my writing just not good enough? were my vibes off? over the time I've been called things like two faced, fake, a romanticiser of abuse, lazy for not filing out requests, been told I shouldn't write reader inserts, told to kms and other graphic incidents ( such as people sending death threats and actual gore to my inbox ). this branched from burner accounts to anons, and I could just never understand why me. a quick gander at the #clownon tag and you'll find some of the instances in which I've been harassed.

I genuinely thought my writing was the issue.

which demotivated me from writing for quite some time. could I have turned anon off? sure, but that would have meant that the anons I'd frequently interact with would most likely not come around anymore. it meant a decline in requests, it meant just a crippling factor to my blog in general, so I chose to ignore. but it got hard to eventually. I was bullied for liking a god with big wings just because for crying out loud.

I've tried to fake being okay. fake being strong and unwavering about the hate, but I just couldn't anymore. and that's okay.

it wasn't all tears and hardships though. I have made very good friends through the tolkien fandom, many of which I consider close. from @bluezenzennie to @kiatheinsomniac — @a-contemplation-upon-flowers , @cilil , @someoneinthestars and so so many more. it'd take me forever to tag and honestly my heart is squeezing so much listing these few down already. they made fandom fun, whether it was our silly little play fights or collabs or you name it. those of you that have spent time to tell me about your day on anon or send in the nicest of things. I haven't forgotten them, and I cherish them, but it's time for me to go

am I sad? fucking of course. a part of me found so much comfort here and in these characters. I've spent hours on end developing lore for aus or designing aesthetics for writing — just writing and pumping out content or blogs, everything and anything I could do. and while I don't regret those times - the way I've been treated in response hurts. which is why I've made this decision.

I'm growing as a person too. I'm writing a book now, I've got an oc blog to promote that book that I'm working hard on ( @valentine-cafe ) , things are looking good. does this mean I'm just gonna disappear? of course not. I plan on staying around, getting back into request writing ( for other fandoms ) and still interacting and supporting my tolkien moots and friends. will I be writing or creating content for tolkien? probably not. at least not in the foreseeable future. the characters I once loved and cherished have now been ruined for me. I've been made to feel embarrassed for loving manwe and namo to the degree that I have, and I don't see myself being able to write for ainur without thinking of all the shit I've gotten for doing so.

regardless, I'll be here still. and while I might not be your local valarfucker anymore, I hope to be your rose still 🩷 thank you so much for two and a half years, I love you all dearly

#˚◞❀˳ 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 '𝒏 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆 ﹕ psa ꒱ ₊˚⊹ #actually cryinh my eyes out ahhh #tolkien

[cilil]

Day 6 ~ Loss & Betrayal

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: With Melkor trapped in the Void, Mairon can no longer reach him and resorts to addressing him in letters to cope with his situation on Númenor. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: References to/discussion of sexual assault. Also Mairon is a hater 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1.2k) | AO3

Beloved, 

I made it out of dungeons at last — in body, that is. 

In spirit I have long since been wandering and dreaming to distract myself from the miserable existence that I was subjected to. And subjected myself to; you know as well as I do that at times the long, twisted road of deception is a safer path to tread than brute force. 

I had to let them take me. Though it means little either way. 

The mortal king has, as was to be expected, grown fond of me already. He wants the divine secrets that only our kind has to offer, and more important yet, power and immortality. I promised him all of these things, of course, and he might well get at least a taste of some before I seize victory from his greedy, filthy hands. 

There will be a price to pay, however, that much I know already. Not only the shameful matter of allowing mortals to take me prisoner like a lowly incarnate, but also the realm in itself. 

I despise Númenórë, precious. I hate it. 

It is full of foul, indecent Men, crawling all over the island like the vermin they are. They consume lots of slimy seafood, presumably another "gift" from Ulmo and his ilk, and they audaciously serve me these abominations as well, expecting not only that I should eat them, but also praise their odious cuisine. They love the sea and venture out often, thinking themselves great explorers as if anything they could ever find has not been known for ages untold to us, the makers of this world. They worship our father and the vain Valar who in their eyes are nothing but strange gods they have never seen but bow to nevertheless, while they call us hateful names. 

And yet I must smile and gracefully endure the company of the king and those he surrounds himself with. He has named me his advisor now — a decision he will undoubtedly come to regret, though not a second before my designs for him come to pass and he faces his inevitable doom. 

The queen, it is said, was married to the king against her will, and I can certainly see the utter lack of charm that necessitated a forceful course of action. She does not lie with him willingly, and unfortunately his lust has fallen upon me instead. 

He leers at me when he asks me about our secrets. He corners me when I tell him about power. He touches me when I speak of you. He attempts to hold me when I praise your name. 

He has even had the audacity to call me a servant. 

Precious, 

the king has laid hands on me again. In fact he has only just now exited my chambers, satisfied with his detestable deeds, leaving me to bear the shame and impurity of a mortal's touch. 

I try not to see and not to feel when he comes near me. I try not to recoil or weep or destroy him for the crime of despoiling what belongs only to you. I try not to mourn the loss of our intimacy, long ago though it has been: This form was made for you, made for our love and our pleasure. 

Not for a mortal king.

He grows bolder now, having realised that I will not defend myself, and takes what he wants. And I have to let him. I could, perhaps should destroy him, burn down these chambers, the castle, the entire city with him and flee, but alas, I cannot and will not. For such petty revenge is not enough; the entire realm must fall. 

He does not even have the decency to humbly accept the grace that I show him. He treats me like a common whore, demeans and degrades me, handles me roughly, always takes and takes and takes and never asks. He claims I am nothing but a slave and a prostitute, yet it is him whose mind falls prey to my whispers and whose body cannot resist my beauty. 

I hate it. I hate him. He disgusts me, and no amount of gold or ships or crowns could change that. I need not tell you that only you are King of Kings, and no other could even hope to come close to your glory. I need not tell you that I never wanted any other. 

And yet... no matter how desperately I wish to burn those grasping, grimy, greedy hands whenever it comes into his foolish mind that a mortal could possess a Maia and he reaches for me, I must instead endure. I do not want it. I do not want any of this. But the plan must be executed, so that your enemies will be brought to ruin and returned to the doom you designed for them. 

Worst of all is the knowledge that the king will be back soon. I must admit now that the potency of my charms has become a double-edged sword: So very effective, so very strong is the desire I inspire within the hearts of weak mortal Men, yet being the object of such desire is a most undignified position to be in. 

He is insatiable, thoroughly ensnared, and I am... afraid. 

My love, 

I am distraught, more than I have ever been. I know not what to say. I wanted to cry out to you, but could not allow your name to be sullied by being spoken while another takes what is yours.

Beloved, I have committed the most unforgivable blasphemy against you and our sacred union. I saw it coming, knew it would happen, prayed for your forgiveness in advance, yet it did nothing to dispel the horror of such acts. 

I had to let a mere mortal violate my beautiful fána. I had to let a false king take me. I had to betray both you and myself for the sake of our perfect revenge. 

I want to burn my fána. I will burn it once I no longer need it. 

Even so, I weep. This is the very same fána that you touched, the one that bears the marks of your love. I desperately want to shed a skin so defiled, but the thought of losing what little I have left of you is unbearable. 

Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for letting a filthy mortal have me. Forgive me for sacrificing what is yours as well as mine. I swear that I did it only for you, for only the thought of you can keep me in this world — the thought of how you will smile when you behold the ruin of our enemies, how you will laugh, how pleased you will be with me. 

I have been trying to cleanse myself with water instead, but it is insufficient. I heated it until it was boiling, but it was not enough. 

I still feel his touch upon me, and it disgusts me. 

And if I shall burn to be rid of this filth upon me, so too shall the king and his entire realm. My flames shall feast upon mortal flesh as tribute for my sacrifice, and death shall claim all who remain until there is no one and nothing left of accursed Númenórë and its king. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

#mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth #melkor x mairon #angbang #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #silmarillionepistolary #cw sa #tw assault #tw sa mention

[superloves4]

While I slog through a fic I actually really want to tell (the joys of writing!) I decided to talk about that Feanor as Melkor's son AU I mentioned in my tags

So far I have three possibilities, from least realized to most:

Feanor as Melkor and Mairon bio baby, so far I don't really have much for this one, the Valar find baby Feanor after Melkor's imprisonment (haven't decided why Mairon wouldn't have escaped with the baby) and give him to Finwe to raise (I hadn't realized it doesn't makes sense for Miriel to die in this one until now, so either she doesn't and it's full throwing away canon or in this one she doesn't exist and Finwe just didn't want to tell Feanor who his real parents were, it's both sad and funny)

Baby Feanor kidnap adopted by Melkor, the timeline is bothering me here, maybe Feanor is born before Melkor's imprisonment? Or he leaves imprisonment way before the original? I mostly wanted this to be funny about Melkor and Mairon getting so attached and wanting so bad to be good parents to feral child Feanor that they actually get redeemed (although dark!Feanor x Nerdanel is very intriguing)

And the one I (unfortunately) have the most on (as of right now) is Feanor as Melkor... and Miriel's son, I jokingly thought about this one but alas it got bigger than I expected, so: Melkor decides to go mess with the elves only to find Miriel collecting bugs (they're silk worms, weird bug girl Miriel for the win!) and he gets actually quite impressed with her desire to not settle with the world and wanting to make it prettier with fabrics, they fall in love (or as much in love Melkor can be, so far he is more like canon evil Melkor than the softer one of the other two ideas) but when she finds out who he is, she runs away and falls for Finwe instead.

Finwe is then totally cool with raising Miriel's child because he loves her so much but Miriel keeps feeling she's awful for her previous love for Melkor, combined with the power required to sustain a half-ainur child, and ends up dying.

Finwe of course, absolutely adores little Feanor despite not being his bio dad, and thus names him Finwion (later Curufinwe), but raising a half-ainur child is not easy, especially when you can't actually ask anyone for help without revealing the truth, so Finwe just has to deal with eldritch child Feanor, alone.

(like, one time there's a teacher Feanor hates because he heard the teacher say that Feanor killed Miriel, so Feanor gives the teacher a bracelet he doesn't even understand how he made cursed, the teacher then complains to Finwe, who is just trying to understand how to explain to his son that he can't do that, also he fires the teacher)

Then it's basically the same as canon up until Melkor return, because instead of trying to create discord he arrives and realizes Feanor's his son and tries to pull a Darth Vader and convince Feanor to join him.

Feanor is, of course, against the idea but Melkor is convinced that if he reveals Feanor's true parentage in the upcoming festival then the uproar and hate will cause Feanor to be more willing.

Only, right before he can make his announcement Feanor shows up wearing the silmarils (Melkor decides to rename him Lightbringer but I haven't figured out what that is in Quenya) and instead of going along with Melkor, Feanor

Bows. to. MANWE!!!!!

And does a whole speech about Melkor trying to deceive him by claiming he isn't Finwe's son (Feanor already realized the truth, he's just rejecting it) and doing a whole spectacle of proof

The Finwe family isn't stupid and to Feanor's surprise, the first person to join his show is INDIS!!! Joined then (in order) by Nolo, Nerdanel, and Maglor (if it was political it would be Maedhros but it's a performance remember)

Manwe isn't stupid and understands what they are doing so when Melkor tries to say that it's all Finwe's lie he just tells Melkor that it was clear that Feanor was Finwe's son

Melkor storms out (he still plans to destroy the trees but his objective is Feanor instead of just the silmarils) and the Finweans leave too

Feanor has a cathartic talk and cry with his dad while the rest of the family discuss what this means for them all, Feanor is now more open to his half-family and his relation to the other Valas is totally different, and how that could end up having happier ending to the story.

And that's how much I have of this one, it compels me but it's the only one that I have no idea of how to add Melkor x Mairon and the original idea was about THEM as parents whereas this one is about the original Finweans in a different situation so I'm conflicted

#will I ever write any of these? #maybe when it's less hot and I can actually think #feanor as an eldritch child is so good to me #between this and the “feanor is a third thingol” I think I just like giving him more parents #maybe more parents will fix his attachment issues #or make it worse #feanorians #feanor #house of feanor #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #possible fic idea? #my writing #the melkor and miriel was totally because I thought “hehe they're black and white” #I don't control my brain clearly #melkor #morgoth #finwe #house of finwe #miriel #miriel therinde #just throwing it into the void #feanor son of melkor au

[sauron-kraut]

Throwback Thursday

Tagged by my beloved @cilil

This is not old, I posted this just a few months back. Have a snippet of Of Gods And Monsters:

Mairon stands by the vast window that opens to the sea; a warm clear night full of stars in the sky; he can hear the waves crashing onto the shores of Númenor, the smell of sea foam in the air.

Mairon hates it. His gaze wanders over the inky waters that move in the dark and spill themselves onto those shores he despises. Their blackness reminds the Maia of His blood, the blood he had kissed from His lips so many lifetimes ago. Mairon shudders as a gust of wind hits him, carrying the halo of his red golden hair to a dance around his slim frame.

He could close the window, could block out these lands at least for a while from the candlelit room, but does not. Mairon’s gaze wanders over the lamps in the harbor and the warmly illuminated windows of the city cascading down the hills that spread beneath his feet. He hears soft tinkling and voices carried by the wind.

The Maia is captive, prisoner and priest, is advisor and treasured companion, slaughterer, murderer. Whore. Mairon has drenched the people of Númenor in blood and sent the smoke of its burning bodies to the skies. For Him, for Him, he tells himself. And for Mairon craves violence. He is hated here by some, admired by many and feared by all.

All but one. A fact Mairon can only attribute to exorbitant hubris.

When the door to his quarters opens with a thud Mairon spins around. This time the man doesn’t even lower himself to a knock.

Mairon leans against the window frame, half sitting on the windowsill, unmoving. The sleeves of his light robe move softly in the breeze.

“What news do you bring to my chambers, my king ?” and the last words taste like venom, “ what desires?” and it tastes like bile.

Tagging @i-did-not-mean-to, @gardensofthemoon and @swanhild :) - saw so many have already been tagged, feel free ofc!

#tag game

[beyond-far-horizons]

What the literal HELL happened in Rings of Power?!

I’ve just seen spoilers and I....

.

.

.

Sauron is masquerading as some cheap Northern Aragon wannabe and he has some Dark Proposal with Galadriel??!!! I literally cannot take this guy seriously, I could see him down in my local pub circa 1999. Not to diss his acting but he’s nothing on Annatar and all Sauron could be.,

Tell me where is Celeborn? For I much desire to have him back in the timeline...

Okay I admit in a completely different story/scenario, I’m almost always down for enemies to lovers/villain shipping/dark proposal but really? Galadriel and Sauron? I....And to riff on the iconic scene from Fellowship...It’s meant to be about her temptation by power - by wanting to rule a realm of her own away from the Valar (valid to be honest, esp after their f*ckups in the Silmarillion) not about hooking up with the second most evil being in Ea, esp when she is already married! 

I know, I know people just want to enjoy this and I want to say fair play and you do you, but this is such an awful mangling of the lore and characters, it isn’t even worthy of Morgoth (although props where it’s due for them mentioning Sauron feeling the light of the One again - almost had me, not gonna lie), and it’s the potential that hurts all the more. The Second Age and the ability to shed some light on the literal Lord of the Rings - the OG Dark Lord and one of the most mysterious figures in popular fiction - is such a missed opportunity. 

The Second Age is Sauron’s time where you see him ‘in person’ in Eregion and Numenor and the opportunities to reveal facets of his character are so enticing. His relationship for decades with Celebrimbor - the master smith and sole remainder of Feanor’s line (the mortal enemy and rival of his master), how they could reflect on the nature and marring of Middle Earth and whether Sauron’s motivations were truly evil or whether he really wanted to redeem himself at first before ‘Morgoth’s bonds’ (ie his hatred and sadism) became too strong. It would be so fascinating to explore Sauron/Mairon’s nature as a Maia of Order and his tuition under Aule and Melkor and what that could reveal to us about the mechanics of Tolkien’s world and his magic. It would be so emotional to see how the fallout happened, the betrayal both Celebrimbor and Sauron felt about each other, the sheer brutality of what happened and the decadence and fall of Numenor after.

I don’t want to spoil anyone’s enjoyment, but it beggars belief to me that the showrunners had the audacity to adapt the Second Age when they obviously do not have the rights to it and despite the cast and crew trying and a few gems, it simply does not compare with what Tolkien wrote or what the show could have become as an adaptation if it had the skill, vision and rights to become what it sets itself up as. And that is a heartbreaking shame, not least because a whole host of new fans may be misled or put off the Second Age because of this. 

#anti rings of power #anti rop #sauron #galadriel #each to their own #I could almost enjoy it in small bits but then remember what it is distorting or replacing and I think no #antis don't interact #spoilers #I have tagged appropriately

[theriverwild]

Writer Asks

This was fun, thank you @demonscantgothere and tagging @galbrand, @tmwillson3, @jhalya, @myfavouritelunatic, @thrillofhope and anyone else who wants to do it!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Eight (for now...)

2. What's your total A03 words count?

568,161.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I am writing exclusively for the Lord of the Rings, The Rings of Power fandom and incorporating significant lore from the broader Tolkien Legendarium (LOTR, Hobbit, Silm, Unfinished Tales, etc.).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(596) That Which Lies Across the Sea (WIP): Fourth Age Mairon x Galadriel. Sauron/Mairon redemption arc taking him and Galadriel through the Dagor Dagorath and beyond to Arda Unmarred. It's a long tale!

(195) Autocorrelation (WIP): missing Haladriel scenes during TROP.

(136) Aftermath (WIP): Second and Third Age vignettes. Saurondriel plus other stories like where was Celeborn? And a little sprinkle of Celrond. Set after TROP with lore from LOTR and Unfinished Tales.

(82) Spatial and Temporal Patterns of Duplicity (WIP): Mairon's time as a double agent with the elves in Valinor before Morgoth is released from captivity. Character study vignettes with some one-sided pining for a young Artanis.

(82) Land of Enchantment: my first AU! This is a bit of dark fic with a much darker sequel but just watch me make it an HEA (of sorts). Haladriel / Saurondriel.

Note that the first four are part of my Use Well the Days series which is all canon compliant according to my own interpretation of Tolkien's works and The Rings of Power series.

(And more below the cut! Trying to avoid an overlong post for you scrollers)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Every single one is special to me.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah, well, I only have two finished fics so that would have to be Land of Enchantment which has a bit of a crushing epilogue, later explained and expanded on in the sequel.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

My fic for a funny smutty term challenge: Sunny Days Chasing the Clouds Away It is a fluffy and feel good Haladriel one-shot!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. I tagged everything I could think of up front on Kingdom of Rust because the first four chapters are rough. I'm hoping that prevents any hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes I do! There is noncon/dubcon in Land of Enchantment, Kingdom of Rust, and Marring of Mairon but generally my smut is consensual and ranges from fluffy to mildly kinky.

I like to write extremely visceral smut that does not leave a lot to the imagination. So far there is a little M-M and a lot of M-F.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope! At least not yet.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Sort of. The first chapter of TWLATS was modified and translated and linked to my original story.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. This sounds fun, but also terrifying given my propensity for "I'm not as good as anyone else" syndrome.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Well, I was a silent reader of many ships for over a decade but I have to say, nothing has struck the same chord as Saurondriel -- which pulled me out of the shadows and into fandom proper.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Nothing. I'm going to finish all my WIPS. They all have complete outlines.

Exceptions to this are my vignette fics, which do not have outlines, but I could call them complete today and it would not be out of place for how I set them up to support the rest of the series they are a part of.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Commenters have very kindly complimented my detailed plotting. I have short-term and long-term payoffs and like to weave events and interactions across years and different character arcs. My prose isn't the best and everything is quite wordy, but it's all there for a reason.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My prose lacks consistency. Love some lines, hate a lot of others. I publish stuff I'm not very satisfied (in terms of prose) with when I reach diminishing returns so I can keep the plot moving. I'm not trying to be sloppy, but I'd rather post and keep the story going instead of get stuck on a scene for two months.

That said, I welcome concrit in my canonverse fics because I really do want to improve.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Yes! Quenya, Sindarin, and Spanish so far in my fics. I post the translations in-line.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Lord of the Rings, The Rings of Power. And still here!

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I absolutely love my Use Well The Days universe but when I finished Land of Enchantment I felt like, 'whoa, that was something else.' And I feel the same way about the sequel I am trying to exorcise from my brain so I can get back to TWLATS and my more popular WIPS.

#my fic #my wips #trop fanfiction #tag game #tag asks #ask a writer #basically I get to advertise my fics #I like talking about them #100% bias over here #haladriel #saurondriel

[rebelrebelwrites]

I’ve decided to resurrect…

Fic Friday! ❤️ Weekly Fic Recs

Years ago, I did this back in the Reylo fandom, but I’m bringing it back for the Saurondriel/Haladriel fandom because: A) I’m still obscenely obsessed B) I’m all about supporting creators and C) Since I’m not currently writing for this fandom, I want to contribute how I can. 😊

Let’s do it!

This week’s recs are…

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal reading preferences.

+++

The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: Across That Fine Line by @myrsinemezzo

What you need to know going in:

A post-S1 that’s got hype for great reason. After stealing the mithril and Fëanor’s hammer, Sauron spirits away to Mordor with Gal hot on his heels. Once they reunite, things get spicy — we’re talking banter, manipulation (on both sides), a devious and devoted Sauron who’s also terrified of falling too far in love (too late, bro), and a Gal who’s rightfully wary but wants to believe that there’s a way to thread the needle with him. As their journey progresses, so does the depth of their dynamic. Plus! Some awesome inclusions/characters from Tolkien lore. All in all, an absolute must-read.

WIP, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and on AO3.

+++

The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: our souls were made from the stars by SilverWing12

What you need to know going in:

Oh gosh, where to even begin??? This lush, brilliant, meticulously measured slow burn of an AU is something I bask in every update. This story sees Mairon delayed in joining Melkor, and instead, he meets Galadriel in Valinor while she's still a child. Hundreds of years pass in which their friendship grows and grows, building to a point of mutual attraction and affection that is stifling in how well-realized and precarious it feels. The world-building, intentionality, pacing, characterization, and mounting pressure in this fic as Mairon falls deeper into darkness and Galadriel grows more suspicious (though both are clearly in love with each other) is simply luxurious.

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

+++

The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: Queen of the Southlands by @formerlyir

What you need to know going in:

Gal doesn’t find out about Sauron’s deception for years, and as a result, she becomes his Queen. The post-S1 ensuing romance, angst, delicious tension and SCORCHING smut is sublime. Get ready for a delightfully unhinged, very devoted Sauron and a Gal who’s rightfully sharp, incredibly brave, and demands what she’s owed. This fic more than sticks the landing at the conclusion — it shreds it. In the absolute best way. I cheered, folks. Cheered.

Complete, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Twitter, Instagram, on AO3.

+++

The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): Litost by @demonscantgothere

What you need to know going in:

It’s no secret that this story, as with every other story I’ve read by Helholden, is wonderful — expect to see their work on this list a few times at least. That being said, I think Litost might be my favorite. It’s post-S1, but by many years, starting with Galadriel being captured and brought back to Numenor as a prisoner of Ar-Pharazôn and his new High Priest of the Cult of Melkor… wonder who that could be? 👀🙃 You guessed it, everyone’s favorite Dark Lord! The resulting twists and turns in this fic continue to surprise, and the angst and longing (on both sides) simmers. The dialogue between these two, when they really communicate, is stellar at getting at the heart of their every conflict. It will pierce you — and you’ll love it.

WIP, Rated Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr or AO3.

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The Can't Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: Instruments of Salvation by @scriberated

What you need to know going in:

It's Gal who gets hurt when Orodruin erupts, and as a result, Sauron must save her the only way he can — by forging a bond, all while she still believes he's Halbrand, rightful king of the Southlands. As with all of Scriberated's works, the writing is impeccable, the smut is steamy as all hell, and the characterization is 🤌🤌🤌. As Gal and Hal/Sauron's bond grows in strength, so does the pace at which you'll consume this tantalizing treat of a fic. Stop reading because it's bedtime? Doubtful.

WIP, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr or AO3.

+++

🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don't see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don't fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend... ❤️

Until next week!

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #halbrand x galadriel #sauriel #fanfic #fic recs #saurondriel fanfic #haladriel fanfic

[urwendii]

Snippet from something I've been working on that might tie with my main verse. There's a lot of angband fic that have Maedhros being tortured by Mairon in er... dead dovish abusing ways but I dislike them very much and instead like to turn the tables on him.

"What about you then? We talk about me so much that I am beginning to feel flattered." Maedhros says, a hint of amusement colouring his voice.

Mairon raises one perfect amber eyebrow, his golden eyes riveted on Maedhros'.

"Let me see, what's your story? trophy Maia kept as a boy toy for Morgoþ's to enjoy whenever he looks away from the Silmarils long enough to remember you?"

The hand that shot up and curls around his neck does not surprises him but Maedhros only feels vicious satisfaction at the flicker of anger simmering in those hypnotic eyes.

"You know nothing, son of Fëanáro. "

"Ah, but I believe I do. Loving someone who would never give you his whole." His cracked lips curl into a smirk. Mairon's fingers tighten until Maedhros' air intake is compromised. Oh well. Let him die here and be done. On this small victory, at least. Yet the Maia seems to recall himself and with a snarl, shoves him back to slump again the wall of his cell.

"You must be an idiot to think antagonising me is going to bring you any sort of freedom Nelyafinwë. There is none in Angband."

"Ah," Maedhros smiles then spits blood. "This is true for you as well."

Then Mairon scoffs, as if the mere idea of his limited agency was risible but Maedhros has seen, has heard, he might have been gagged and bound but the flicker of pain on the Maia's face upon Morgoþ's dismissal has not escaped him. And oh curse him anew if Maedhros isn't going to drive that particular knife between the Maia's ribs even if he has to die because of it.

#i rarely am a hater in the silm but creepy rapist sauron is probably my most disliked fanon hc of maedhros imprisonment #anywayyy i have a thing for reluctant partnership between these 2 since i wrote the Roadtrip in M.E au #my main verse isnt an angbang positive fic as in my main hc is that their relationship imploded after his return with the Silmarils #i have written extensively (2 posts 🤣) about Melkor descent into madness following his Chaining and that plays in this verse #also bc i love a pining mairon trying to convince himself everything is fine when it is in fact not fine #also my Maedhros is a sassy bitch bc hes an eldest child and we so are like That arent we .... #cassy.writing #also good morning !!!!!<- girl who hasnt slept. it rained so much in 2 hours my street has flooded 😅

[drartslog]

Barn scene breakdown-1

Second part coming in a couple of hours as I have to rewrite it due to network collapse *sigh*

Now that it was announced that Joseph left... Guess all I have left are these precious little bits of his acting mastery. Get ready, this scene is an emotional train wreck

Let’s do this.

First shot, camera heavily tilted to the left.

Before Charlotte Brändström said this angle was to show how Adar tips Galadriel off balance, me and my partner had a discussion on whether it is to show that they’re both Distorted (yes, with Melkor’s darkness) or it is a victory OR even sin scales leaning towards Galadriel.

Galadriel’s standing dagger in hand, full body towards Adar, in an undeniable position of power, although she’s keeping her distance to be able see Adar clearly.

Adar is stripped of the gauntlet and whatever piece of rusted shit tip of sauron’s spear lol he’s carrying for a knife, he’s sitting in a very insecure pose, back to the wall, legs drawn to chest, his pierced hand hugging his mangled one.

Also, take notice how the light falls through the openings, just slightly casting Galadriel in itself and never touching Adar. They’re both quite deep in the dark, aren’t they? :)

Adar’s listening but looking past Galadriel, somewhere down and to the left of her (from Adar’s POV).

What might seem as a wandering gaze is actually a gaze fixed on her dagger. He doesn’t seem to fear her at all but it quite seems he’s waiting whether the torture is going to arrive or not. He’ll be looking at the dagger more or less until Galadriel threatens to torture the orcs.

Ah, there we go. Let me close-up.

The moment Galadriel says “the Sons of the Dark“ Adar’s lips’s corners twist down in a bitter smirk. (A vid might show it better)

And yes, “the Sons of the Dark“ does sound like it’s some title, something these elves chose to be, a name that they might carry with pride as the servants of Melkor. Adar is both bitter and angry at the assumption.

Adar glances at Galadriel for the first time.

The self-naming thing is the only thing he will put up a fight for. He doesn’t even begin to argue with the twisted, the ruined, the slaves, the scourge, as he knows his fight won’t matter to his captor, that all his statements will be disregarded.

The self-naming doesn’t interest Galadriel either (understandable, the Orcs are her enemy, she doesn’t want them to be humanized), as she cuts in

(Adar’s back looking at the dagger)

Adar bursts out laughing. At least what he substitutes for a burst of laughter.

He could’ve told her, he really could, all the stuff that passed unnoticed in the forest before her very eyes. But would she ever believe him, the enemy, that her friend is the true Enemy?

It is Adar’s continuous stare at the dagger that seems to make Galadriel realize she’s holding onto it.

I’m not guessing whether she has tortured Orcs before, but she’s really not into torturing in cold blood someone who resembles her kin so uncomfortably. She glances at the dagger in doubt, then finds another way.

We know this threat’s enough to make Adar start talking.

But it’s also the only thing that actually makes him look away from the potential source of his own torture (the dagger) for the first time and look at the potential source of torture for his Uruks (the sun). He blinks as the threat settles in.

It’s also the first time you can see his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He starts talking while looking at the Uruks.

(Interesting word choice, though, he calls Melkor Morgoth, “The Black Foe of the World”, a title Feanor gave him and Elves used as an insult. But it is probably because tRoP doesn’t have the rights for “Melkor”)

He will never even once glance at Galadriel during his speech.

(Interesting word choice-2, though, as it shows us Adar called Sauron something else. Tar-Mairon probably, the guy loved that name)

He now stares into nothingness and his lips tremble when he talks about a power over flesh. The tears in his eyes can be fully seen now.

Mawle is playing it full PTSD-flashback mode, tbh. The sheer amount of shit Adar’s seen is reflected in his tired and strained expression.

Also let me point out this is the first time he’s ever talking about his feat of taking down the greatest Maia to walk Middle-Earth. Not a good time, not the best person to spill out to.

“He bid as many as he could follow him far North. But tried, as he might, something was missing. A shadow of dark knowledge that kept itself hidden. Even from him.“

And oh, Galadriel believes him really well.

She has been there, she has been to the stronghold where Sauron died, she has even felt the coldest chamber where the Uruk torture and, presumably, the murder occured. She blinks as shifts gaze as she realizes Adar’s telling the truth.

Adar’s not forgiving Sauron for what he did. He’s looking even lower than before, completely at the floor, even shaking his head a little bit.

He calls the Uruk “children”, he also expresses his discontent with what Sauron did.

And that’s what (quite literally) pulls Galadriel out of trance.

She has been unconsciously leaning towards Adar as he was telling the story but now that the spell is broken, she pulls back and keeps distance.

This is the first time he says these words out loud, “I killed Sauron”. It seems it’s hard for him to believe himself as at first he states it differently, “I split him open”, and only then makes himself acknowledge and say “I killed Sauron“.

It’s a confession Adar makes more to himself then to Galadriel.

Of course she doesn’t. She unifies everything that is connected to Melkor and can’t take in that someone on THAT side might actually not be on Melkor’s or Sauron’s side.

Now it’s Adar who’s not impressed at all. The camera does a job of breaking the viewers neck to see it, and I have a feeling it was to further deepen the misunderstanding between Galadriel and Adar. Galadriel just can’t see him right.

He tilts his head and looks back up at Galadriel for the first time since his story. Lets out an amused exhale (can’t show that on a gif!)

Adar seems to know the drill. I guess it’s not his first time talking to the Elves as an Uruk. So the Elven concept of “Orcs are indescibably inferior to us“ is very well-known to him.

By now he’s just saying it for her, mocking her, showing her he knows what she’s about to say.

But Adar is wrong, it wasn’t the Uruks in whole Galadriel was thinking of.

Oh that contempt in her eyes as she’s looking him up and down. She doesn’t see him as a threat, she doesn’t see him as a leader, she doesn’t see him as anything at all.

And then we get aboard the actual emotional train wreck that is this scene because Galadriel’s view of the world finally snaps Adar (and it’s not the personal insult that gets him but her view of the Uruks)

Galadriel’s isn’t taking that. For her, Orcs are definitely not a race of their own. They’re mindless beasts unleashed by Morgoth/Sauron.

Galadriel gets Adar even more, notice how his lips tremble and how his eyebrows and lower eyelids move before he says “a heart“. That’s what it looks like to argue and not believe you’ll ever be heard.

He isn’t heard. For Galadriel, Orcs are connected to Melkor, therefore they’re evil and that’s all there is to it.

And so Adar appeals to the only being they both have little knowledge about, trying to get to her through religion, if nothing else works.

They interrupt each other during this argument, the dialogue speeding up, showing each one passionately standing their own ground, ready to defend their own view of the world.

Galadriel isn’t ready to comprehend that Orcs may not want to serve Melkor/Sauron and may have wishes of their own. Something as simple as a home or just a life. Adar’s simply tired and miserable from hitting against the wall even as he tries again and again. There are tears in his eyes as he says the “just as worthy of a breath of life“ line. Firstly I thought it was just light reflection but no, the tears are perfectly seen when he blinks (after the word “life”). This freaking moment breaks my heart every time I see it

Galadriel’s world collides against that. She hasn’t the slightest idea what to do with his words at first as they don’t match anything she thinks or believes in. She just stands there as her brain is trying to cope.

Adar saves her the need to immediately answer.

He’s looking at the floor, at the tunnel dig from Orodruin.

Galadriel’s brain copes. And it does so the easiest way, repelling everything she has just heard, so her world may stay the same as before.

Galadriel is rejecting everything Adar has said, repeating out loud what she has always thought about the Orcs.

#adar #galadriel #drart says #trop breakdown #rings of power #adar rings of power #lotr rings of power #trop amazon #rop amazon #i just wanna die in a corner #this scene breaks me every time #joseph mawle #morfydd clark #mawle's acting is SOMETHING #i died cutting this scene to gifs #halbrand #charlie vickers #adar's hopeless opus that's what this scene is

[lvsifer]

For the latest character ask game:

8, 12 (something I don't know yet if there is), 14 and 17 for Mairon/Sauron because I'm a predictable person

1, 5 and 9 for Feanor

3, 21 and 25 for Kylo Ren

Omg mein Feini these are SO much, I am jumping from wall to wall. <3

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I am not a fan when he is written with Melkor as an abusive ship. To each their own, but that is not at all how I see them.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Okay, the only one I might not have told you yet is, that in a real-world AU, he'd be French. Might have been the Lestat influence on me. But. SEE THE VISION. Also, look, to finally settle our horse dicourse: what about him riding on a cool skeleton horse like in that one painting we both reblogged?

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

High femme goth in-universe. Real world AU, I'd put him in a lot of gold and pearls and furs. In-universe getting more and more goth as Necromancer/Sauron. More plain as Annatar (Shadow of Morder my beloved), and Slut (tm) when he is Ar Pharazon's slave.

17. What's a ship for this character you don't hate but it's not your favorite that you're fine with?

I don't think there is one I can think of right now. I am either insanely horny about ships with him or shove them aside in complete disgust. Polarising guy.

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

HAHAHAHHAHAHHA. This bastard needs to be smacked against the wall like a mosquito. Love him for his hot unbearable cuntiness and the war crimes, hate him for the same reason. Needs to be pegged.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Had to think on this, but Hozier - Eat Your Young.

Esp this bit:

Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

Would kill him on sight.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

What the movies have done to him after Force Awakens. The whole redemption bit was just...so bad.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Ohhh, I love how immediate he feels as a character and how unrefined he is. This rawness mixed with his absolutely pathetic desire to be wanted by those who despise him (Hux, or imo Vader of he were still life. Have written fic about this.)

Nothing in particular that I don't like!

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Man it's been a while. I think I first saw fanart of him on my dash shortly after TFA came out and thought "who is this cool brooding goth"? Now I have written so much about him, probably some of the most I have ever written for a character (did not expect that tbh) and have a million head canons for him. He's my horrible son. <3

#fraeuleinfriedhof #character ask game #<3 #thank you for all these asks mein Feiniheini!!!!!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

All aboard

Here, friends, have a very meta little ficlet.

Husband and I plan on going on a little trip this week. This story has been read and ratified by him. He says it's very accurate. LOL

Words: 1381

Characters: I, husband, ALL the blorbos

Prompt: Road Trip

Warnings: Meta, first person

I wake up 10 minutes before my alarm, startled and confused because Finrod Felagund is perched on my headrest like a cat, strumming his harp.

Attracted by the disjointed tune, Maglor starts singing “Morning has broken” at the top of his lungs before his mother comes to drag him away by the braid. Nerdanel has, of course, been awake for hours already, making sure her progeny is ready to travel.

Brushed and braided, the infamous sons of Fëanor are scrubbed clean and wearing holes into my carpet by pacing through the room impatiently.

My husband groans and swats away Asfaloth’s attempts at rousing him.

“Shower?” he asks groggily and I acquiesce, all but running to the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. Not for a second do I believe that locks and bolts would keep my imaginary guests from intruding, but I hope that they’ll respect my privacy, nonetheless.

“You’ll take us, right?” Ulmo asks from the warm spray chasing away my fatigue. “We are good. We won’t make any trouble.”

“You,” I reply sharply, “can make it there on your own. There is plenty of water and air where we go!”

Sniffing, indignant and clearly vexed, he withdraws.

Thus refreshed, I exit my bubble of relative peace to do a quick headcount that quickly devolves into a pounding headache instead.

“We’re ready!” Elrond promises, waving a hand at those under his care. So far, so good, I think—with the exception of Glorfindel insisting on bringing his horse, Imladris seems to have its shit together.

Sandwiches have been packed and his infamous mother-in-law is sitting on a huge crate that is suspiciously labelled “travel provisions”.

“Is there a weight limit? How much space do you have in your trunk?” Nerdanel asks in a tense voice. “My husband, bless his heart, is loath to leave his forging equipment behind. Moreover, the boys…”

I cock a dubitative eyebrow at her. Her sons are hardly children anymore, but I can almost guess how their proclivities would interfere with an extensive road trip.

I drive an SUV—a big, boxy, black car that at least theoretically should allow for some follies.

“Nelyo won’t leave without Fingon…” she adds sheepishly. “Also…Tyelko’s dog, Káno’s instruments…at least Moryo and Curvo have agreed to share a suitcase for their books.”

Knowing that it’s a vain endeavour, I don’t even ask if all of this is strictly necessary.

I love them just the way they are; there is nothing wrong with them or with me.

I repeat those words like a mantra as I stare blankly at Nerdanel’s tired face, sporting an ever so slightly forced-looking smile—the encouraging mien of a mother knowing full well that the worst is yet to come.

Giving up on that part of my inescapable company, I shiver and turn to darkness and evil personified.

“Ready!” Mairon assures me, brandishing his checklist triumphantly. He is dressed soberly and might be allowed to be seen by others—his companions…not so much. 

Melkor, inspired by too much reality TV, has donned oversized sunglasses and a silk turban to keep his hair from frizzing in the constant stream of cold air blowing out of the AC, while Gothmog is wearing a floppy straw hat that does nothing to obscure his identity. The shiny horns and the aura of pure flame are wont to give him away and I am beyond thankful that nobody else can see him.

That, as well, is a problem for a later moment, I decide and turn to the dwarven faction to explain as gently as possible that pots, pans, flutes, and weapons are less than ideal hand luggage.

As expected, this goes over like a lead balloon.

Moreover, Thranduil has decided that he and his people will join us after all—nevertheless, he demands to be allowed to travel in the passenger seat, for privacy and to be as far away from the dwarves as possible in a restricted and closed space, and my husband shakes his head vehemently.

“I won’t have one of them on my lap,” he declares cuttingly. “Stuff them all in the trunk, with their tools and toys.”

Uproar. Outrage. Screaming in various languages. Curses upon my in-laws down to the first ancestor to have ever walked this earth—I merely smirk.

“Of course,” someone whines, “nobody wants to take me.”

Whirling around, I glimpse Túrin, his lower lip sticking out a little, his arms crossed above his chest petulantly.

The humans, I think frantically, and my mind goes blank.

“We’re ready to travel light,” Boromir promises, securing his bedroll and his pack as we speak and giving me an encouraging smile. “Gondor can set out.”

“I don’t trust the iron horse!” Éomer mutters, evidently much less inclined to just throw himself into my car without having checked the mysterious vehicle vigorously for loose shoes and bad teeth.

By this time, the Valar—immortal and indestructible as they are—have agreed that they’d survey the lay of the land from the roof of my trusty metal steed rather than be confined with a bunch of unruly children.

The thought of having to wipe away incessant rain as well as bird droppings throughout the whole voyage dismays me, but I take every win I can get and don’t demure.

“The good boy can come sit with me,” my husband declares, thankfully mollified by my obvious distress, at the sight of Huan wagging his tail eagerly.

“You’ll have to take Tyelko as well—the tall blonde with the hunting knives—and, come to think of it, how about balancing Curufin on your other leg?” I jump on that tiny concession eagerly, my eyes pleading and my lips quivering pitifully.

“Will they sing the whole time?” he asks sharply and I shrug, unwilling to admit that—most probably—they will indeed.

We start the elaborate game of Blorbo-Tetris, doing our best to separate those who love each other too well or too little in an attempt to preemptively extinguish potential fires that might otherwise ruin the start of our trip.

“At least…” he starts and then retreats as Thingol and Melian, followed by their retinue, draw up to the car, eyes narrowed in disdain. They do not appreciate the fact that they had almost been left behind—again.

“Mablung,” my husband—love of my life, light of my days—sniggers, much to the dismay of the dignified elf who is not used to being hailed in so derisive a fashion.

My car now feels so full that I have no doubt it is positively bulging, but we’ve finally made it onto the road.

My beloved spouse keeps his hand firmly clasped above the button that would turn the radio on, enduring the moaning and complaining with perfect equanimity.

The smell of various, impossibly fragrant foodstuffs being unpacked and the sound of enthusiastic chewing start to pervade the air—I open a window and shoot an apologetic look at my most cherished companion.

Discordant humming and vocalizing are interrupted periodically by raucous laughter and the odd brawl in the backseat; I throw myself onto the highway, wishing it was oncoming traffic.

All the while, my phone keeps chiming softly—Discord is letting me know that my friends are alive and well, and I smile through the agonizing migraine as discussions of wedding customs arise and are hotly debated.

Many of my obstinate and obnoxious travel companions are legacies from those people across the world I love so dearly and I owe it to them not to toss their cherished characters into the nearest gas station bin, no matter how insane they’ll eventually drive me.

At least, thank Eru the One, everyone is still dressed and decent and no deadly weapons have been deployed or old grudges dredged up to be settled within this merely leased vehicle—it would be quite a feat to explain away the huge bloodstains and deep gouges to my annoying garage.

A warm, comforting hand finds mine and I avert my eyes from the road for a millisecond to grin lopsidedly at my husband.

“Did you absolutely have to bring all of them?” he asks under his breath.

My shoulders twitch as I sigh shudderingly. “I love them,” I confess, “and wherever I go, they go.”

@fellowshipofthefics have a silly one!

Lots of love from me, I hope this little slice of my life could amuse you!

#og post #fotfics july event #IDNMT #Husband #All the blorbos #Summer Storms #Road Trip #fotfics summer stories #Week 3 #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt

[hirazuki]

It’s his Yule gift to himself ^^ 

Mairon: Sir, for the the last time, we are not calling it Melkortopia! Gothmog: Mairon, calm down, your blood pressure.

Look, it took exactly 21.4 meetings to settle on a name for the new place and now that it’s decided, Mairon is not going through that again.

(I don’t celebrate anything, but Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to those who do!)

Bonus:

Also, this is kind of like. headcanon central here, so some notes for anyone who cares below the cut! 

I’m very partial to the whole “corrupted” elves as the first orcs deal, but I also find the idea of Melkor Mairon (because let’s be honest, who would it be) enacting a subtler corruption and having some Avari as spies acting for him very appealing, and think that these two ideas can and should coexist.

I like to think that Mairon tried for years to get Melkor to see the merit in winning the Avari to their side in general but Melkor was disinterested and didn’t even try, constantly worsening their relations, and eventually he just threw his hands up and went, FINE. NEVERMIND. DESTROY THEM OR WHATEVER.

Even though Melkor does have associations with heat, volcanoes, etc., I think of him as primarily ice/cold/darkness (especially since that contrasts nicely with Mairon’s fire element aspect), so while Utumno would probably need some kind of light source indoors for (at least) his more mundane servants to be able to see what they’re doing, I headcanon that it’s more in the sense of ice crystals or rock/gem lights or something (i.e. light with no heat) plus because that’s also +200 misery points to Mairon because I interpret him as hating the cold ♡. (Whereas Angband is all torches and firelight; once Mairon ends up running things, he’s like, Melkor is away; this is the perfect opportunity to install CENTRAL HEATING.)

I headcanon that, prior to his crown with the silmarils, Melkor didn’t wear one; felt he didn’t need one, his power alone was enough for everyone to recognize his might, and he went without the trappings of rulership in general, being more characterized by his unconventionality, chaos, and freedom. All that changes with the taking of the silmarils, when he starts wearing a crown, staying within his fortress with few exceptions, etc., becoming more weighed down by such things, and he suffers a fundamental change in character. 

Mairon, however, does wear a circlet. As a relative latecomer to Utumno, compared to some other beings, and rising through the ranks to become Melkor’s right-hand man, I like to think he faced some challenges to his authority (from outright opposition to some low-key grumbling), so he made himself a physical indicator of his position. (I also like to think that this attitude resurfaced a bit once Utumno fell and Mairon got put in charge, making his early days of leadership very rocky; but eventually, everyone came to respect him as a leader in his own right... making Melkor’s eventual return also a bit awkward ^^;).

I went back and forth on so many Avari color schemes, but, as usual, ended up defaulting to my favorite dark elf palette, which is Morrowind’s Dunmer XD

#silmarillion #tolkien #my art #am i using these strips as a way to flesh out my designs and headcanons before diving into #some angsty artwork and fic for real? #... maybe >.> #i have two modes: either ridiculous humor or complete pain; there is no in between #enjoy the humor while it lasts XDD #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #the silmarillion's new groove #silm #silm musings #hira draws tolkien

[cilil]

Day 4 Melkor ⋆⛧⋆ Mairon

Synopsis: Mairon asks Melkor about the Void.

Warnings: /

Author's Note: Getting a little... philosophical? with this. Hope you enjoy what Melkor has to say ;)

They were lying on top of Melkor's huge bed in the depths of Utumno, two Ainur lovingly intertwined in fëa and fána, cuddling in the darkness after another night of passion. Mairon's head rested on the Vala's chest, and he idly traced the faint, swiftly healing scratch marks left on his skin by his own hand with one finger, remnants of his unabashed desire, while one his Melkor's large hands stroked his messy locks. 

"You have never told me about the Void before," Mairon whispered, breaking the peaceful silence. He didn't know why it occurred to him just now, perhaps it was the shadows of Utumno, perhaps it was simply the path his thoughts had taken, yet it was something he had always been curious about. 

Melkor's brows furrowed slightly as he contemplated his words, and for a moment Mairon worried that whatever memories he had of the Void caused him grief, but his breathing remained calm and even, and there was no hint of distress in his song. 

"The Void..." 

He slowly opened his eyes to meet the Maia's curious gaze. 

"How should I describe it... I suppose most would say it is simply that, a void, dark and empty, but I would rather call it a paradox in itself."

"What do you mean?" 

Once again, Melkor paused to collect his thoughts. 

"It is nothing, nothingness in itself to be precise, yet at the same time it holds the possibility for everything. It doesn't exist, shouldn't exist, it is nonexistence itself, yet because something exists, because we exist to observe it, it does exist after all. It is nowhere, yet we know where it is, a place we can even visit if we dare."

Mairon thought about his words for a few moments. 

"You said it holds the possibility for everything," he said, "however, you also said it doesn't exist. Is it correct then that it is empty? Or is... anything in it after all?" 

"Yes, no and maybe." 

Seeing his confusion, Melkor chuckled lightly. 

"It depends. Certainly nothing we would recognize as existence, by which I mean beings with fëar, beings made of materials from Eä, beings of song like we are. The Void may attempt to speak to you, perhaps even present itself to you, sometimes formless, sometimes in the shape of... creatures."

"Creatures?" 

Mairon's ears perked up, and he sounded more alarmed than he had intended. 

"Remember what I said about nonexistence acquiring a sort of false existence when it makes contact with things that exist? My best guess is that the Void has to enter existence if it wishes to interact with it, observe it or feed on it, like if you were to reach into a bowl of water with your hands to catch a fish. It has no shape of its own and cannot create one, because creating and shaping is something it can neither achieve nor comprehend, but it can–attempt to–consume other creatures to acquire their form."

"Has it... attempted to feed on you...?" 

"Perhaps." 

Mairon's eyes widened in alarm, but Melkor wrapped his arms around him reassuringly. 

"Not like you are imagining right now. I was never attacked by anything out there, nor has it spoken to me directly. I think it perceived me, yet if it wished to harm me, it apparently could not. Maybe it cannot attack or destroy beings like us, those who possess a fëa kindled with the Flame Imperishable; at least not not on its own."

The Vala's expression shifted, suddenly serious. 

"Even so, little flame, I want you to never go there. To say it isn't safe would be an understatement, no matter one's strength."

"Very well; but if you ever go there again, I will follow," Mairon said stubbornly. 

Melkor shook his head, though a small smile appeared on his lips. "I would forbid it, yet I know you will do what you think is right regardless of what I say now." 

taglist: @angbangweek @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

angbang masterlist |main masterlist | tag list form

#Angbangweek2023 #Angbang Week 2023 #angbang #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #melkor/mairon #melkor x mairon #ainur #fluff #void #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #tolkien fanworks #tolkien fanfiction #tolkien #cílil writes #my writing

[dalliansss]

either Mairon/Finrod: complimenting them with every single outfit change of the trip

or -(second ask)

love paradise - summer vacation scenarios for your otp

Context: takes place in this fucked up verse.

Mairon walks down the hallways and Angband trembles around him. In the úmaia's chest is a chaotic storm; just moments earlier, Melkor had given him orders to evacuate from Angband, that the fortress has been lost, and he had best now go east, as they had long planned -- east, far east, to the land of Mordor which awaits, and where the foundations of Barad-dûr already await to support further construction.

Mairon wants to stay and help fight the war, but Melkor would have none of it.

He turns to the direction of his quarters with purpose. The double-doors leading thereat open without need of physical touch; only Mairon's thoughts. The úmaia walks into the ornate but pristinely-kept room, and finds his maksima still sitting by the dresser, as if the Host of the West is not yet upon their doors, as if Angband does not tremble, in anticipation of the Wrath of the Valar.

Maksima, Finrod, his prize -- his precious -- sitting there clad in black silk, riddled with oxidized gold chains and dangling earrings, brushing his hair.

"The world is ending yet here you are, insisting to be pretty," Mairon says as he stands behind the former elf. He cards armored fingers through that platinum hair. Finrod regards him through the mirror.

"You like me pretty," Finrod states plaintively.

"I like mine creations always pretty," Mairon purrs just beside a pointed ear. "Now arise, maksima, precious. We leave Angband in all haste."

The former elf picks up a burlap satchel and dumps all his jewelry boxes in it. Jewelry -- all of which were crafted by Mairon, where the úmaia had not created jewelry in Ages.

They flee then, even before Eönwë's trumpets could be heard.

--

The first time Finrod wears Mairon's armor, the úmaia purrs so loudly the very room vibrates. Black has always been Finrod's color, and how he owned that color as the years rolled by, as he sank deeper and deeper into the tar-pit Mairon dropped him in, kicking and screaming, all his spittle about righteous anger and needless cruelty forgot and ground into the dust, drowned in the mire of blood that ever sustains his unnatural existence.

Mairon stands from his throne-like chair, and he closes the distance between them, crushing their lips together and blood seeps between, dark, scarlet blood mingled with Ainu copper.

His own. His precious.

"As beautiful as the world under an eclipse," Mairon snarls lowly against those lips. "Beautiful," he repeats, and he digs his talons into Finrod's nape, forcing him to tip his head back, to offer his pearl neck, where Mairon sinks his teeth.

--

The ship creaks around them, and Mairon nervously holds Finrod upon his lap. He hates the sea; always has. It was not Melkor who has hated and loathed the sea; it had been Mairon. The elven loremasters could never get their own lore right. Melkor would swim in the Sea and face Ulmo unafraid, while Mairon...Mairon would never.

He runs his hand through Finrod's platinum hair. Snarls. They are bound for Númenor, and he has seen how that dúnadan Ar-Pharazôn had eyed his maksima.

Mairon's fingers twist the fabric of Finrod's clothing, but then he hesitates and does not tear asunder the seemingly-fragile cloth.

"Stay close to me, once we dock in that accursed land," Mairon snarls, the words in Black Speech pressed against Finrod's bare shoulder. "I will not let this scum touch thee. Do you understand?"

"On the contrary," says Finrod. "I would let him touch me, and when he least expects it, I shall bite him and turn him into my thrall."

"You will do no such thing," Mairon says. "Not yet. Yet I shall give you the dúnadan once our plans come to fruition. You will tear him limb from limb for me."

Around them, the ship creaks again.

"When we get to Númenor," Mairon continues. "Choose plain clothing, once it shall be given. Leave all ornamentations to me. You will be as plain as dirt, if need be."

Finrod gives a disdainful snort. "Me, plain?"

"Do this for me, precious. I will not let that scum touch you. Do you understand me?"

Their bond lashes with hurt that makes Finrod flinch.

"You have very strange ways to say I am pretty. But very well. If you insist."

@skaelds

#my drabs #silmarillion #silm #sauron #mairon #finrod #findarato #blood in the mouth #totally not what you had in mind but it had to be written lmfao #sauron / finrod

[sauron-kraut]

Mairon for 4, 8 and 10

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

if I have NOTP for them.

Oooooh yes. I hate Galadriel/Mairon with a passion. It doesn't make sense at all (at least how they mostly seem to be shipped, as romantic) since she canonically does not trust him whatsoever + imo it takes away from the whole Celebrimbor arc (I might be strongly biased by ROP here). Also the way many (if not most) people ship them feels very uncomfortable to me.

a headcanon I have about this character.

Ah, I've already posted so many, so let's see... A very random headcanon I have about Mairon's physical appearance is that he has pretty feet. lol.

if I liked them immediately or if took a while before I warmed up to their character. Alternatively, if I disliked them immediately or if they lost my trust as their story progressed.

Liked/loved him almost immediately, probably with a short phase of being a bit indifferent before because I was focusing on the elves.

#ask game #asks