#manwë imagine

[doodle-pops]

Manwë Discovering Your Lightning Scars

Request: Hello Mina! How are you going? I hope you’re well 💕 May I please request a fic or headcannon for Manwë or Namo x reader who has lightning strike scars? She (or Gn!) has lightning patterned scars across and down her shoulders and up her neck, nothing crazy, maybe a pale red color but definitely noticeable. It can be something like the story of how she got them or insecurities if a fic. If headcannons then just their general reactions and things in headcannons I guess? Thank you! - Anon

A/N: A pleasure to fulfil your request dearie. I did an all-in-one with the request, meshing both the headcanon and short imagine because I still could not decide between a headcanon and a fic. I also took an angst route with this >.<

·⊰ When Manwё discovers his lover has lightning scars, he would be a mixture of awe, terror and confusion. If you had managed to be struck by lightning, then it was a miracle you survived such a violent interaction.

·⊰ Being marvelled at the gorgeous patterns intricately dancing and interwoven across the expanse of your back, his hands would lightly ghost your skin. There is a part of him itching to touch the red spider-like veins, but he’s also petrified, believing that they would cause pain if he were to.

·⊰ His face would falter when he learned that you were insecure about your scars, always covering up and never wearing any clothing article that revealed the slightest skin. Giving small praise as his eyes fell on your scars and creating poetic phrases as he went along.

·⊰ Feeling as though he had some part to play in your accident, he would begin to apologise for mistakenly losing control or releasing a lightning storm so absentmindedly without being aware of anyone around who could possibly be struck.

·⊰ Eyes growing soft and heartstrings tugging, he's determined to get you to love yourself and see your beautiful. Along the way, he'd make a mental note to have more garments designed to show off or highlight the beauty of your skin.

·⊰ Manwё would consider you blessed and gift you a name signifying how lucky and blessed you were at the same time. But knowing the Elder King, since lightning were an extension of him and his abilities, he would also feel guilty.

·⊰ His heart would clench at the idea of him being responsible for your scars even though you would explain to him that it was your fault for running outside in the middle of a lightning storm precariously.

·⊰ But it doesn’t matter how much you preach to the Elder King that he wasn’t to feel guilty or to be blamed, his ability to feel immense levels of empathy and sympathy for others would urge him to behave apologetically. In his heart, he believes that he has some part to play in the incident.

·⊰ As his lover, you would have to spend a copious time holding his face within your hands, stroking his over his worrisome features and attempting to straighten them out. “Manwё, my sweet radiant love, please. I am well and I do not hold you accountable— it’s my clumsy self.”

·⊰ Your worrying King would perhaps crumble into your arms feeling distressed because you had no idea that lightning storms only occurred when he was enraged. So your lightning scars were an outcome of a moment he was having over his brother’s despicable actions.  

·⊰ Poor you still hadn’t understood why he was so apologetic and constantly hugging you while crying into your hair.

“Manwё? What are telling me?” you whimpered as the words fell from his lips while he buried his face into your hair. The arms that were snaked around your waist had tightened, terrified of you running away and abandoning him after learning the truth. He hadn’t meant to; you weren’t even a target. A simple outcome of anger— losing control in the spur of the moment— and his rage came crashing upon the earth in a series of violent intricate patterns. Striking the earth furiously for every action his brother precariously displayed.

Breathing shakily, the Elder King's muffled voice cried out, “I’m sorry for harming you my dove. I truly did not mean to injure you or take your life. Forgive me please.”

His words took time to register within your mind and when they did, your eyes widened in horror at what they meant. Despite the horror on your face and the skip in your heartbeat, your mind sang a different song to you, ‘He didn’t mean it Y/N’. You knew the Elder King would never bring harm to you purposefully, but hearing that an injury you gained was a result of his losing control, you found it alarming. “I…don’t blame you Manwё, it was an accident— a life-threatening one, but I don’t hate you. I’m alive, a survivor,” you consoled with small rubs and pats to the King’s back and head.

Withdrawing from your embrace while keeping his arms around your waist, he raised his head to be at your level. His stormy blue eyes gazed into yours with the utmost sympathy and concern, apologies were written across his crinkled face. “I never thought that I would truly injure someone with my…unruly outburst. I’m always careful, I always remember to be careful,” he whimpered. You could feel his fingers pressing into your lower vertebrate, careful not to touch the areas where the scars were present. It was no mistake that you felt his hesitancy to touch his accident.

“My love, my sweet ĕrĕmelda,” you cupped his face in your smaller hands, “even if you created the lightning storm, it was me being clumsy and running outside to only be struck. Blame not yourself.” You then leaned in to bump noses against the other and brought him in for a kiss.

“…You are right, I shouldn’t worry so greatly…” his voice then fell into silence before piquing up in confusion, “but why did you run outside in the middle of a lightning storm?”

Fumbling with your response, you cautiously laughed at the foolish reason for the result of your injury. You knew he'd stare at you as though you grew five heads. “. . .Well, um. . .I wanted to see the lightning storm up close. . .” you softly mumbled, fiddling with your thumbs, “it was just me being clumsy.”

Staring at you flabbergasted, the Elder King didn't know if to reprimand you or remain silent. Gripping your shoulders and giving you a firm shake, he commanded with concern in his tone, “You are staying inside during all lightning storms. In fact, you're stay inside during any flashy event. . .for your own good!”

Masterlist

Taglist: @edensrose @cilil @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365

#manwë x reader #manwë #manwë súlimo #manwe #manwe sulimo #manwe x reader #manwë imagine #manwë headcanon #manwë scenario #manwe imagine #manwe headcanon #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion headcanon #silmarillion fluff #middle earth headcanons #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #x reader fluff #x reader insert #ainur #valar #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

May I have some Yandere Manwe and Yandere Irmo headcanons?

I must confess, I am still a bit lost when it comes to Deres, but I hope you like these all the same.

Warnings: Unhealthy romantic obsessions | Possessiveness and jealousy | Stalking (through dreams) | Irmo dipping into his bag of tricks to create false thoughts and visions | Manipulation | Deception | Gaslighting  | Punishment through silent treatment | Training/Rewards | Guilt tripping | Cutting SO off from others | Confinement | Dark! Irmo | Dark! Manwë

Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Yandere Irmo will include:

Him dipping into your deepest thoughts and dreams without you even knowing. He will pry into every action, conversation, and meeting before making note of everyone you spoke to during the day.

This "need" to know will start from the beginning of him knowing you. This will continue long after you agree to be with him. Irmo justifies it as him protecting you and your interests.

If you ever learn of his spying on your thoughts and confront him, he will defend himself and insist he only does it for your own good, as you have no idea how much those others could hurt you.

What you don't know is that Irmo has even gone so far as to pry into the thoughts of those you interact with, searching for any crumbs he can find and use to his advantage.

He will take great care to show you the other person’s so-called dangerous thoughts, even fabricating false images after making use of his mastery over visions and dreams. He will then assert that this other other person is indeed harmful to you and convince you, little by little, to push that other person away from you.

"Do you see that, little moth?" He declares after showing you one conjured vision after another. "Do you see all the dark ways they fantasize about you while you carry out your tasks?"

Nothing gives him greater happiness than seeing his efforts have not gone to waste and that you agree with him.

“I am glad you agree with me, little moth,” he coos. “Now will you heed me and stay away from this person?”

Once you have successfully distanced yourself from that other person, Irmo will reward you greatly, especially granting whatever you desire during sex.

Yandere Manwë will include:

Him convincing you that everyone else will hurt and betray you, for he alone is free from evil and cannot comprehend it.

He will go on to insist that as the Elder King, he is duty-bound to protect you from all harm. Manwë will keep you within Ilmarin, confining you to the boundaries of its outer walls when you refuse to listen to him and try to leave.

“Come now, little dove, why do you need to leave me? Is a king not enough?” Manwë would grow glum and forlorn before gesturing to the slender towers and domes of the palace. “Is the magnificence of Ilmarin not enough?”

When you grow insistent on leaving, Manwë changes tactics. He will stop acknowledging you, ignoring you whenever you come upon him walking along paths and corridors, and even going so far as to ply you with guilt whenever you ask why he is doing all of this.

“How can I even look at you when you insist on leaving me,” he would lament. “And after everything I have done for you! Was your regard for me a lie?”

Manwë does not stop at mere words, however. He will find other ways to point out everything you would miss out on if you left him.

One of them would be to put you on a pedestal.

“Will anyone worship you like this little dove? Will anyone else treat you with complete adoration?”

Another way would be to get his attendants to play along.

“The king adores you like no other,” one attendant would say. “He looks at you like no one else exists,” another would say.

His words and actions soon have the desired effect. Manwë welcomes you with open arms when you come to him and declare that you will never leave him and that you are sorry for even thinking of leaving him. The king showers you with attention and riches beyond imagination as a reward.

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose

#Dark! Manwë #Dark! Irmo #Yandere! Manwë #Yandere! Irmo #Irmo #Manwë #Irmo imagine #Manwë imagine #Irmo x reader #Manwë x reader #the silm #the silm imagine #the valar #the ainur #the silmarillion #manwë headcanon #Irmo headcanon #my headcanon

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Manwë, Varda, Oromë, Námo and Irmo; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: Dom/sub dynamics/undertones, predator/prey kink, soul sex

Warnings: Possessive themes, bit of rough foreplay and sex, smut/suggestive

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who voted on my recent polls. I'll be trying out a bit of a new format, combining headcanons with small scenes/imagines, with this one and hope you'll find it enjoyable. If there are other characters you'd like to see for this, feel free to suggest and keep an eye out for future polls!♡

Manwë

ଘ The Elder King is a romantic lover and enjoys courting you, though even during these early stages he finds ways to subtly claim you for himself: He showers you with gifts like jewellery with sapphires (his signature gemstone), robes in his colours, objects decorated with feathers or bird-shaped items and writes poetry for you which he recites and sings for you both in private and in public.

ଘ Once Manwë has successfully conquered your heart, he makes sure to publicly display his affection for you by making you sit on his lap, kissing you and wrapping his wings around you at every opportunity.

ଘ In the bedroom, little remains of Manwë's calm, serene demeanour. He loves marking your body with his talons, covering you in love bites and engaging in breath play to make you feel just how much you need his element - need him.

ଘ Manwë has a breeding kink that gets particularly strong when he's in heat or nearing it and loves filling you up to make sure that his essence remains inside you as long as possible and his scent stays on you, deterring any other suitors from approaching you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Your lips part to release a soft gasp when Manwë pulls you closer and presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, biting and sucking gently to leave blossoming marks. His mighty talons draw patterns on the naked skin of your back, causing you to arch and lean into his embrace; he is careful not to hurt you, though you already know you will be covered in thin red lines once he's done with you. 

"My little dove," Manwë croons between kisses, his voice deceptively soft; he caresses you like a warm, gentle breeze, though you know a mighty storm is slumbering underneath his calm exterior, ready to be unleashed, should anyone else attempt to touch what is his.

"Yours," you whisper. Your hands claws at his robes as Manwë continues to mark you as his for all to see; the Elder King's mate and lover that no other would ever dare to lay claim to.

Varda

✧ The Queen of Stars is often absent from the daily affairs of Valinor in favour of tending to her creations in the depths of Eä, but she makes sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to even when she's not present.

✧ Varda loves giving you pretty necklaces, bracelets and other jewellery adorned with charms that are filled with her starlight, protecting you and burning anyone who attempts to touch you without her permission.

✧ When she makes love to you, she ensures that you will remember her touch and others see the marks she left on you as will - in case anyone was doubting that you are hers - by painting luminous constellations on your skin with her fingers, twinkling little stars reminiscent of notes in a song of her love for you.

✧ Varda also gives you water from her wells to drink, enjoying the thought of her essence filling you and providing you with light and refreshment. She will stop at nothing to make sure the powers of darkness and evil stay far away from you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Hold still, my little light," the Queen orders, pushing you down and into the soft sheets of her bed with gentle authority. 

You blink nervously when you see the tip of her index finger glowing with sacred, primordial light, ready to paint the canvas of your bare chest with tiny, glittering stars. 

"Will it hurt?" 

Varda smiles and leans down to kiss your brow. "Of course not. There is no evil in your heart, dearest; my light would never hurt you." 

Her starlit touch is hot, and for a moment you fear it'll sear your skin, but as soon as she begins caressing you, reminiscent of the gentle strokes of a paintbrush, the sensation changes to a comfortable heat. You raise your head to watch as she turns you into another one of her masterpieces, and your beloved Queen looks pleased whenever her nimble fingers elicit small noises from you, her luminous eyes holding your gaze while she slowly works her way lower and lower. 

Oromë

♘ Oromë is a hunter with all his heart, so once he has caught you, he certainly won't let anyone take away his favourite prey. He loves giving you trophies from his hunting trips to wear as accessories, a not-so-subtle message to all that you now belong to him.

♘ But that won't satisfy him for too long. The huntsman of the Valar is a wild and passionate lover and covers you in bite and scratch marks every time he takes you, making sure they are visible too.

♘ Oromë loves all sorts of cuddling and physical affection and actively initiates it whenever an opportunity presents itself. While this is certainly done for his and your enjoyment, he also wants others to see that you are his and his alone and ensure that his scent will be all over you even when he isn't around, in order to ward off unwanted attention from other suitors. For the same reason, he also breeds you thoroughly.

♘ If you are a good little pet for him, Oromë will reward you with a lovely collar he made specifically for you, letting everyone know that he has claimed you and intends to keep you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Oromë's large hands hold on to your hips with a strong, bruising grip that has you whining into the moss below. You already know not to expect mercy whenever you play his favourite game of hunting and catching his prey, a symbolic earning of his right to claim you. 

"What a lovely little deer," Oromë purrs and leans forward to bite the juncture between your neck and shoulder while he enters you with the fierce determination of a feral beast. 

Your cries and moans only spur him on to thrust deeper and harder, his hands keeping you in place with the strength and steadiness of an experienced hunter. As far as you know, you two are alone in this part of his woods, yet something tells you that he wouldn't mind if one of the other hunting parties found you – to see him taking you, marking you, filling you with his seed to ensure that his scent you be on you for days to come. 

Námo

☯ The mark of a Fëantur may be subtle, though no less intense than those visible on your skin. Once Námo has taken you as his lover, he binds your fëa to his, leaving an echo of his song and a ghost of his touch with you wherever you go. Those proficient in ósanwe and/or attuned to spiritual matters feel the Doomsman's presence wherever you go, no more than one call through your bond away.

☯ Nevertheless, Námo knows that not all Incarnates are able to sense and heed his silent warning, so he also presents you with clothes and jewellery to adorn your body. He likes long, flowing robes in dark colours, veils and little charms shaped like crows and ravens, similar to his own attire, and greatly enjoys seeing you wearing those, an unmistakable sign of belonging to him.

☯ When he isn't present and you are outside of his halls, Námo may occasionally guide your fate in whichever way he sees fit to make sure you return safely. Those who attempt to harm you will face the Doomsman's wrath.

☯ Yet as much as he wishes to protect you, Námo wants nothing more than to own and mark you in the most intimate way possible - which is your fëa. Should you ever be slain, or once his need and longing overwhelm him, he will whisk you away to Mandos, keep you there until the end of the world and fill your spirit with his song and essence time and time again until you know no other than him.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cool lips kiss the nape of your neck when Námo takes you, slowly and deliberately, enjoying the way your smaller form trembles in his arms. He's sitting on his throne with you on his lap, your robes covering the illicit image of the Master of Fate penetrating you, yet the small moans falling from your lips and the movement of his hips betray the truth. 

"Let me have you," Námo whispers, and you know he wants more than to claim just your body, so you open your mind to him as well. 

The sensation of his fëa reaching out to touch and intertwine with yours is just as intense as the joining of your bodily forms. Your helpless noises increase in volume despite your best efforts to hold back, yet Námo doesn't seem to mind – in fact, you begin to suspect that he wants the residents of Mandos to look up at his throne and watch, so they will know who you belong to for all ages to come. 

Irmo

☾ No one has escaped the loving arms of the Lord of Dreams without remnants of glittering dream dust on their clothes and skin, and you are certainly no exception, quite the contrary: As Irmo's favourite little butterfly, he makes sure to touch, embrace and cuddle you to his heart's content, and ever since your courtship started, you feel like the dream dust has never left you again. He feigns innocence, yet you suspect that this is very much his intention, so everyone can see his touch upon you even when he isn't around.

☾ Irmo crafts a special dream catcher for you and makes sure you wear it at all times, an unmistakable sign of his love for you. It contains a small part of himself and his power, and he taps into it to ward off nightmares.

☾ He also likes entering your dreams, spending time with you there and, most importantly, ensuring that no other suitors may ever find their way there, because you belong to him and him alone. When you sleep in his gardens, you often wake up feeling his lips and hands kissing and caressing your body, leaving trails of dream dust and, at times, colourful patterns on your skin.

☾ As much as he enjoys claiming your body, he desires nothing more than to possess you in spirit as well, so that the union of your fëar leaves a permanent mark on your very being, filling you with his song and his essence.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Here? In the middle of your garden?" 

Irmo merely laughs in response and rolls you over on your back to climb on top of you, his iridescent butterfly wings fluttering excitedly. 

"Why not, my darling petal? Is our love not the fairest and most beautiful thing my garden has ever seen?" 

Glittering dream dust falls from his wings and hair as he leans forward to kiss you, and you soon find yourself feeling both soothed and excited by his presence and the comfortable weight of his fána on top of you. 

Sensing your emotions, Irmo's gentle hand sneaks between your legs and finds you willing and eager for him, ready to be taken. He breaks the kiss to gaze at your face, delighting in your blushing cheeks, half-lidded eyes and parted, wet lips, panting softly as you look up at him. 

"I will make love to you until you fall asleep in my arms," Irmo whispers, "and when you do, I will continue to make love to you in your dreams." 

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

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[urwendii]

i still stand by my belief that Mairon & Fëanor would have been great crafting partner and when i mean this i mean they probably would end up committing war crimes anyway but it was all for Science(tm). anyway i wrote the start of a wip for an AU in which they end up working together and everyone in Valinor hates it.

#they're both neurodivergent and both have lingering daddy issues #can you imagine when they synch their hyperfixation phase? #manwë has to intervene himself bc theyre actually making changes in the fabric of the universe itself and breaking so many physics laws #silmarils created by both Fëanor AND Mairon might possibly trigger the formation of a black hole in the middle of Arda #cassy.tolkien #feanor #mairon

[edensrose]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur ⠀〳 ⠀reader ❜᭡

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ dodging their kisses ’ ❪ reaction of the ainur when you decide to goof around a little and dodge their kisses <3 ❫

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ mairon.

ʚ he's quite confused at this, begins wondering if he's done something to upset you — even if that was the case, why be stubborn?

ʚ tries one more time and when you dodge him again he catches the ghost of a smile on your lips. he excellently deduces that this is another one of your silly games

ʚ fine, he could play games too

ʚ grabs beneath your jaw and turns your head to him, kissing you with little regard for how you weren't prepared, or how he steals your breath away

ʚ kisses you until you're weak in the knees and when he pulls back to witness his dark lipstick staining your lips, he smirks before leaning in so that you're eye to eye

ʚ "next time I won't be as forgiving, dollface."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ melkor.

ʚ wasn't having it the first time that you dodged his kiss but decided to eye you carefully. watching to see exactly what you were up to

ʚ grabs you by the waist and turns you to face him so that you're met with his narrowed, violet hues

ʚ "that's fine, you don't have to kiss me. would you prefer my boot?"

ʚ as you splutter and try to explain that it was only an innocent joke, you watch as he chuckles and brings his hand to your throat. you pout at the realisation, knowing that he used his frightening demeanor to out with your little game when in reality he wasn't even angered

ʚ "you do have to make it up to me, though. come here."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ manwë.

ʚ thinks that perhaps you didn't see him leaning down to kiss you while the two of you cuddled and so, tries once more

ʚ pouts a little when you dodge him yet again. you don't look at him, not yet, knowing that his eyes would be your ultimate downfall

ʚ doesn't say anything for awhile, until it clicks. he then begins peppering kisses on your face instead, trapping you in his arms as you squeal and squirm due to his fingers tickling at your sides

ʚ "aww, what is the matter little dove? what will it be, my kisses or tickles?"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ irmo.

ʚ full on whines when you dodge his kiss the first time. stops, pouts and tries again — only to whine louder this time

ʚ he had his arms looped around your waist and was just about to fall asleep, so he wished to give you a little kiss. now he slumps into your stomach and pouts

ʚ brings your hand to him instead and peppers little kisses along your knuckles. "dearest, what have I done to anger you? I truly am sorry."

ʚ you give in after seeing his sleepy puppy eyes and lean down to give him all the kisses he desires

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ námo.

ʚ definitely was not expecting this, but he doesn't push any further nor comment. he simply backs off and looks to the side, assuming you may have been having a bad day

ʚ until he notices the corners of your lips curl into a smile — and that's when he knows you're up to your tricks again

ʚ "ah, I suppose I shall return to my duties, then."

ʚ two can play at that game. try kissing him throughout the day after that and he'll conveniently turn his head to talk to a maia or cut you off with a question, sometimes even turning away altogether

ʚ it's only when you're clinging to him and whining apologies does he even consider to reward you but cupping your cheek and giving you much needed kisses

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ eönwë.

ʚ like a confused puppy. he looks at you as though he's done something wrong and would probably just remain silent as he stares at your face

ʚ leans over to kiss your cheek and frowns when you dodge yet again. he takes your hand in his and immediately asks if he had done something wrong

ʚ he's so worried y/n, shame on you. he's practically ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness

ʚ due to this, you tell him it was merely a joke and hook your arms around his neck. he sighs with relief, looping his hold around your waist and pressing a much needed kiss to your lips

ʚ "such strange games you come up with. I hope you will have as much creativity in training later on."

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[ainur-confessions]

❪ ♡ ❫ ── manwë | sleeping

manwë is big on holding you in his arms while the two of you drift off. more often than not he prefers to have you rested on his chest while he lays on his back.

why?

well do you know what else is big? manwë. he's tall, ranging from about 8 - 9ft so what happens when he is halfway through his seventh dream and he accidentally rolls the two of you in such a way that suddenly you're being crushed beneath him, hmm?

of course he doesn't do it intentionally. but damn are you left smothered by feathers, fluffy hair and silken robes by the end of it.

#·⊰ ꒰🎐꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ៸៸ manwë ─ ♡. #manwë #manwë x reader #manwe #manwe x reader #the silmarillion #silm #tolkien #valar #ainur #imagines

[dirty-ainur-confessions]

❪ ♡ ❫ ── modern!manwë , ex spouses

oh ex husband!manwë is so frustrating(ly hot). especially because the two of you still work together. you've wished to quit as his secretary for the longest time but you can never bring yourself to do it. not when it was the last thing keeping the two of you in contact.

he held no ill feelings towards you. he still loved you with everything — it was your fear of committment which drove the two of you apart.

but oh. he drives you up the wall. he still looks so unfairly handsome in his suit and you swore that one day when you entered his office to hand him a file that he INTENTIONALLY had his blazer draped over his chair with his shirt's sleeves rolled up to his reveal his forearms.

and he still smiles at you. still opens the door for you. still cares for you. fuck him.

oh but you have. you've found yourself pressed against his desk as he fucks the living daylights out of you as he always has. touches you in every spot he knew would have you dizzy, moaning, clinging to him as you used to.

you know it's wrong, bedding your ex. you can't help it. not with the mind-numbing feeling is his cock pushing into all your weakest crevices. not with his hot kisses attacking the back of your neck. not when he calls you his pretty little dove. when he tells you how much he's missed this. your cries, your cunt, you.

“you've missed this. haven't you darling? you've missed being so full of me.” manwë spreads your legs further and presses a kiss to the side of your knee before cruxing it over his shoulder and hunching over you. practically jerking your body against his desk as he takes what was once his — what is his.

“my perfect little dove,” he groans, burying his head into your hair. “one more. give me one more before I let you go again." he shudders, bringing a free hand to thumb at your clit. “this needy little thing will always be mine.”

#·⊰ ꒰🌹꒱ 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭 ៸៸ manwë ─ ♡. #manwë #manwë x reader #manwë súlimo #manwe #manwe x reader #the silmarillion #silm #tolkien #manwë smut #smut #minors dni #imagines

[i-did-not-mean-to]

imagine being Manwë and Melkor's baby sister and falling for Sauron 👀

Dear anon...I'd rather not imagine that, because that's a very sad thing to imagine haha...

I don't know if you wanted this to be written or just make me think 🙈

If you wanted a ficlet, find 1k of pain under the cut, if not...I think that would be really difficult and problematic...I'm sure it would end in heartbreak to be honest...

If I've misunderstood you, please forgive me ❤️

Words: 1k

Characters: Mairon x OC

Warnings: slight angst

(Also, the lovely people from the SWG server might have inspired me more than was good for either one of us, anon, because they were so sweet and helpful and hence, my original plan of writing some 100 words about this might have...turned into a full ficlet...sorry)

She – her name would by now be lost in the sands of time or the dark crevices of the marring – had seen him first in a world still in becoming and he had defied words and melody by his sheer glory.

In those early days, they had still called him Mairon but – through the ages – he would wear many names like mere robes to be cast off when worn or stained, whereas she would lose the only she had ever claimed as her own; giving up things willingly was in her nature after all.

No-one could escape their destiny and hers was so vague and seemingly inconsequential that being forgotten seemed inevitable; she didn’t mind it though for she knew that everything needed a background and a base to even be visible.

Her function was to be that backbone of patience and belief that held all others aloft and made them shine.

While her brothers – mighty and as beloved as they were feared – had squabbled amongst themselves, she’d wandered around the still young realm, drawn to the creative powers like a moth to a flame. 

While everything had still been thriving, there had been very little for her to do as her heart’s desire and only might was unwavering trust in the face of defeat; her brothers’ sisters in strange and unforeseen ways, she had utter faith in both of them and believed that their respective ambitions would come to fruition and complement each other.

Hitherto, the limitations of her own power and influence had been an absence of creation, a mere shadow, a void as passive as she was; it had only been upon meeting this disciple of Aulë and being cowed by the radiance of his presence that she’d understood how regrettably lacking she really was.

Mairon was a masterful being – skilled, organised, and fair – with a sharp smile and a yet sharper mind, and before she had been able to but pursue that thought, blown away by the winds of her brother, she had found herself helplessly enthralled by the pulsating energy and promise emanating from this creature. 

By rights, he should have acted reverentially towards her but all she had been able to discern was an indomitable desire to unravel and rethread the natural order of things for them to make sense to him, and, evidently, she couldn’t help relenting and pouring herself into his vision, she never had had the strength for that.

She would follow him around – devoted and hopeful still – in hopes that he’d look upon her and find her adequate; steadfast but blurry around the edges, she would have been raw material for him to twist and mould as it pleased him.

Cutting and slightly haughty smiles were all that she had ever gotten from him though and – in the end – he’d followed her brother, Melkor, without casting any lingering glances into her direction. A genius such as his always needed a source of power – be it chaos to put into order or fury to hammer into a blade – and that was when she’d truly understood how impuissant she was. 

Until this moment, she had never resented her brothers for being so formidable; she had been content to live in their shadow and do their bidding if needed but – in that second where all her most cherished dreams had been offered to a seemingly indifferent Melkor – a small flicker of hate had rippled across the still waters of the well of loyalty that was her soul, effectively poisoning it for all the eons to come.

Much later, she sought him out once more, flitting like a wraith across the scarred land she still envisioned healed and hale, while her treacherous brother was confined under the watchful eyes of the other mighty, self-important Powers.

Surely, he would now recognise how wrong he had been in choosing Melkor over her; finally, her patient confidence would be rewarded, and she would be granted what she deserved – it was so very little she asked for, wasn’t it? – and the whole creation would be better for it.

She pleaded, she charmed as well as she could, she gave him her fondest, most brilliant smiles but it was all for naught in the end.

His interest – flaring like a wildfire in those deep eyes – abated almost instantly when he understood that it was selfish longing that brought her all this way rather than a much-awaited message from his master.

He would have treated her with honour had she been a messenger, but – as a supplicant inspired by the need of her own heart – she was cast out of his dark fortress like an unwanted beggar.

“I love you,” she cried in a voice barely above the sigh of the wind or the crunching of feet on fresh-fallen snow, “I have always loved you!”

Gorthaur’s fair brow darkened in confusion before – and this was so much worse – his face smoothed into the gentle, expressionless mien of a butcher about to put the blade to a beast’s throat.

“That’s a pity,” he sighed, “for it means nothing to me. Now run home to your brothers and only return if you have something to tell me that actually is of any interest to me.”

If only he had raged or heaped insults over her bent head, she thought bitterly, she might have fought back, but – as soon as she had spoken those fateful words – she had known herself that it was too late already and that her most intimate and desperate emotions were not even worth a reaction beyond studied and bored politeness to the one she adored so. 

And so, she waited, trusting still that what was rent should be mended and what was lost should be restored eventually; if necessary, she’d linger thus – suspended in agony –  until the world was torn asunder and made anew and time itself started afresh. Next time, she told herself with that quiet confidence that was her gift, she’d turn the tide.

Dearest anon, I am shite at world building 🙈 and I am haunted by the things I've read, so I am very very very sorry if this is not living up to your expectation; I've given it my best shot <3

Lots of love from me :D

#request? #IDNMT answers #Imagine #only it's 1k long #because reasons #Sauron #only he's never called that #because reasons again #Mairon x OC #and Manwë #and Melkor #for good measure #I have no clue what I am doing here

[the-red-butterfly]

The Oldest Of Friends

Day 2: Friends & Love | Rain & Clouds

Second day of @manweweek AND IT'S STILL TUESDAY, I'M ON TIME! I love their friendship so much (@cilil baby girl, I know you wanna ship them, you have my permission go ahead, go ham, green light means go) so so much, I think it was one of the things that first stuck with me when I read the silm. I mean, unless I imagined the whole thing. Wasn't there something about them working together?? Correct me if I'm wrong XD

Anyway, I REALLY wanted to draw Manwë under the rain, I'm doing everything on a time crunch but I would love to try again with more time and mind to put into it.

.

Open for Commissions

#my bird son #Manwë #Manwe #manwë sulimo #Manwe Sulimo #tolkien #silmarillion #jrr tolkien #tolkien universe #TheRedButterfly #traditional art #markers #fandom event #tolkien fanart #artists on tumblr #Manwë fanart #manwë week #manwë week 2024 #manweweek #manwe week #valar #ainur #Ulmo

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Glorfindel Week | Day 1: Valinor Headcanons

Glorfindel headcanons for his time in Valinor for @glorfindelweek 💛✨

I primarily write in the Second/Third Age, but I do have headcanons for Glorfindel in his youth and in Valinor that do influence my writing. I thought that today's prompt gives me a good opportunity to share them!

Born after Turgon, around Galadriel and Aredhel’s age. Glorfindel's actual age has never actually come up in my writing (other than he's Very Old), but the idea of it does influence his dynamic with other characters. He is younger than Turgon, and in a way defers to him beyond Turgon just being his king. Turgon is like an older brother to him. Ecthelion is slightly older, but barely; Egalmoth is a little younger, but also barely. Glorfindel treats them as peers as well as his best friends. Galadriel is also a peer and so he interacts with her as such, especially after his return in the Second Age and well into the Third Age. Glorfindel's age also somewhat affects his dynamic with Erestor, whom I of course write him with plenty. While I also now mostly write Erestor as having been born during the Years of the Trees, he is always specifically younger than Glorfindel. I don't think I ever mention it though and I'm not even sure if the effect is noticeable, but it's there. 🤭

Mostly Ñoldorin, but part-Vanyarin, cousin of Elenwë. This is an old but popular headcanon for Glorfindel, considering how: 1) it was said that Glorfindel crossed the Helcaraxë out of his kinship with Turgon; and 2) he has golden hair. I adopted it very early and just ran with it all these years. One thing that has changed over the years is that although I have written him as a pure Vanya before, I have now resolved to have him as part-Ñoldorin because, while, yes, there is support in the text that he is also a Ñoldo, my personal reason is that Glorfindel was the only one among Fingolfin’s host that canonically didn't take part in the kinslaying at Alqualondë. I dislike the idea that some clans are better than others, that violence was a mark of the Ñoldor while “goodness” is ascribed mostly to the Vanyar, who happen to be the whitest of the white among the races in Arda.

Has sisters (and maybe one brother). I imagine Glorfindel as having siblings; he just has that vibe about him. I usually place him around second out of five children, with the older sibling to him being always a sister. The placement sometimes changes, and sometimes there isn't even a brother at all (or if there was, Glorfindel hasn't met him before he left with Fingolfin's host), but somehow key to my idea of Glorfindel is that he has sisters and he has a good relationship with all of them. He is therefore comfortable with women, is gentle with them, and relates with them easily. He does, however, stand a bit independent of his sisters, who share a close bond among themselves, and he is the only one in his family to join the hosts crossing to Middle-earth.

Bonus: Valinor, post-death

He has returned to Middle-earth at least once before the Second Age, by fighting in the War of the Wrath. According to The History of Middle-earth, Glorfindel was reimbodied shortly after his death, within the First Age. Given that he already was there when Eärendil arrived asking the Valar for aid, you cannot convince me that Glorfindel wouldn't have gone. There was hardly anyone in Valinor more motivated to help Eärendil than Glorfindel himself, Eärendil’s savior in Gondolin, and you can take this headcanon from my cold and dead fingers.

Emissary of Manwë, learned from Nienna. It was also said that Glorfindel became a follower and friend of Olórin (Gandalf) in Valinor, so this isn't much of a stretch considering Olórin's alignment as well as a Maia. Given also how Glorfindel was returned primarily for his "goodness", and the fact that he was steadfast against the kinslayings, and his care and love for people, Nienna as the Vala he most aligns with also is not a stretch.

#glorfindel #headcanons #glorfindel week #glorfindelweek #tolkien #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion #the history of middle-earth #ah yes timezone #what a wonderful thing lol

[doodle-pops]

Desert Rose

Manwë x reader

Kinktober 2023: Sensory Play

Warnings: fem!reader, sensory play, slight temperature play, clit and nipple play, using a feather for stimulation, blindfold and bondage, cunnilingus, overstimulation

Words: 2.6k

Synopsis: Manwë decides to indulge in sensory play, using a unique tool considerably dear and a part of him to grant him assistance.

“If you don’t breathe, you’re going to pass out, my rose. Deep breaths darling. Relax and enjoy the moment.”

It wasn’t as though you weren’t basking in the allure the moment was providing, or rather the sight; it was the palpability of the intimacy the situation held. The sight was unbreakable, and it was impossible to tear your eyes away from the sight of delicate hands and nimble fingers grasping a feather and twirling it like a toy. Long fingers, dainty yet strong were embellished in a beauty of gold and silver that converged at a single point to meet the stem of his feather. Plucked from his wings at your curiosity and toying with you like an owner toying with a cat, his feather glided through the air, cutting all tension and colliding with the softness of your skin. Sliding over the crest and dips of your skin and through the sweat, it never ceased nor stained its delicate fluffiness and remained feathery to your likeness.

Your arms jerked the moment your body subconsciously reacted to the contact of the feather against your skin. Trailing across your shoulders and down your neck into your clavicle, you ceased breathing at the heightened sensation from the delicate little object. Your wrists knocked anxiously against the headboard, tugging at the blue, silky scarfs preventing your movements. Forced to experience a slow–paced torture, you clenched your stomach and threw your head backwards as the feather dipped lower to meet your bosom.

Struggling to release the air trapped in your throat, his feather trailed to meet your breast and circled your erected nipples. Its tip, fan–like and wispy, traced aerial patterns around your buds, shooting whips of cool air to meet your heated and perspiring skin. Even more, did your nipples stand out among the spiral of goosebumps surrounding the nub. The feather refused to cease its dance, twirling in the small gusts of drafts he summoned to aid its smooth movements and ensure maximum pleasure.

Manwë hovered beside you with a curious and eager childlike expression as his wrist flicked and swished the air that allowed the delicate motion of the white puff of cloud around your areola. Like a graceful dancer, his feather swirled and circled your entire breasts, sliding with ease through your sweat and not once absorbing weight to continue its featherweight performance. All the while, your breathless sighs and gasps as he continued became his catalyst to better his performance.

A quick dart of his tongue to moisten his lips, his head inched forward to wrap them around your left nipple while his feather toyed with your right. The difference in the temperature of his mouth and your nipple pushed your body into a violent shudder. Flicking his cool tongue against your tiny nub and moving with your thrashing, he hummed in delight as he enveloped your entire breast in his mouth. Larger hands reached out to grip your sides, keeping you sedated while he appreciated the sensation of your erratic heartbeat the more he applied force behind the suctions. His smile only grew when your moans became louder, leading to his teeth encasing your bud and his eyes flashing upwards to meet your hazy eyes.

Maintaining eye contact, you had forgotten about the feather making circles around your nipple and focused on the menacing grin he returned. Pleased with the attention placed on him, Manwë’s hypnotic stare demanded that you look on as he swirled his tongue in dizzy circles around your nipple before taking between his teeth for a teasing bite. With your soft intake of breath, he gingerly pulled away and withdrew the feather.

“My sweet rose, you are going to pass out and ruin the moment; breathe for me. Let me guide the air through your lungs.” His lips lingered over yours not that half his body coveted your trembling one. You could feel the cold air floating over your skin as your lashes fluttered urging you to exhale for a taste of his air. The icy burn of mint travelling throughout your lungs, revitalising your consciousness; it was as though you had been resuscitated.

Eagerly parting your lips for more and falling into a rhythmic breathing pattern, the Elder King’s lips dangled above yours, just an inch apart, as he blew cool air. You could taste the richness of the air on your tongue and a burning desire to kiss and satisfy your cravings for more. Attempting to crane your neck to reach his lips, he pulled away in the nick of time with a playful laugh and tsked at your desperation. “Not so fast, rose. Not so fast. We still have a long wait ahead before I can reward you with a kiss,” he whispered with allure.

Lips forming a pout, you kicked your feet at the rejection and fretted loudly. Attempts at crying out his name and begging for one small kiss were shot down with a silent arched brow and a subdued chuckle before reaching over to the nightstand for another blue strip of silk and flashing a look of naughtiness. Him dangling the light silky material before you with smugness left you wondering whether he was about to silence you or something else.

“What is that for?” you hurriedly imposed.

“Look not so terrified, my rose. It is all in good nature and cause,” he reassured and knelt closer to your head with the cloth. “Will you close your eyes for me, dove?”

The look of relief shimmering in your eyes once the dawn of realisation came about, you offered a dazed, lopsided grin and a nod of your head. As he inched closer, the sight of him became blurry until you could see no more once your eyes were shut. You could tell the deliberation of his gestures as his fingers brushed certain areas around your neck or his breath fanned your face while he tied the blindfold. Every hitch in your breath, his fingers would pause and hover over the area before brushing over it again to entice another provocation in your erratic heartbeat. Even with the proximity of his body inches away from yours, the coolness radiating off him was enough to subdue the raging heat he awakened from his temptations.

“There you go,” he murmured with purpose as his fingers came front to swipe the tresses that fell into your face, blocking the colour of the blindfold. His lips hovered close enough to taste the mint once again as he spoke. “Blue has always been your colour, rose. One might say pink, yet my colour takes you the best,” he praised and ghosted his lips closer, brushing at the corners of your mouth to elicit a soft gasp, followed by a whine as he pulled away before you could capture them.

“Manwë,” you groaned. Slumping further into the mattress, prohibited by the noose around your wrists, there was a series of shuffling nearby before the sudden jerk of feeling your legs being lifted and spread into a debauching position. Widened as though you were on display, your knees were being folded into the mattress, giving entrance to the obscene parting of your legs for Manwë to view a favourite sight of his.

With your lack of vision and dependability on your hearing, it was impossible to determine what his sequence of actions was. The only sounds audible were the blue jays and mockingbirds outside the chamber, whistling their daily melody. Not a squeak, whisper, cough or hum was echoed once your legs were widened for viewing. Then, the first touch came with sudden calamity, creating a series of wiggling and urges to buck upwards and into the sensation.

You didn’t know if it were his feather or another piece of cloth being dushed over your bundle of nerves, but it was the cool wisps of wind falling from his lips and landing on your clit to provoke your unpredictable thrashing. Forcing an odd cry of his name from your lips as he continued, you fought to thrust your hips to meet the sensation and grind against it, instead, all Manwë did was held your hips down and brought his head closer for more wisps of cool air to fall against your clit. His determination to prevent your body from having a mind of its own drove you to insanity the more he applied pressure to immobilise you while basking in his delighted fun.

To Manwë, the idea of using his abilities for pleasure in this manner was unheard of and unusual at first when cornered with the idea. However, the more you enticed him with his titles of being King of Arda and Lord of the Airs, he easily fell for your idea and appreciated the thought the deeper he indulged. Who knew using breath play in a different form would be so refreshing? To witness the ethereal form of your body, wriggling under his powers through the simplest usage; no strength, no thunderstorm and lightning, just the very air you breathed.

“Does it feel good, rose?” he queried, causing the flow of air to stop momentarily.

Squeezing your chest to force words out, you wheezed, “Yes! Fuck it feels so good! Please Manwë, more.”

And then he wondered if it would be possible to obtain that from his choice of method. Cocking his head with a challenging smile and gazing at your clit with thoughts of how to go about it, he abruptly agreed with himself and redirected his attention to you once more. “Why don’t we see if you can cum from such a delicate touch.”

The decision to dip his head closer to your cunt, close enough for his tongue to slip out and flick your bundle of nerves, he blew more cool air against the nub. Finding the perfect balance of torture, reaching for the discarded feather on the bed, he dragged the dainty threads over every fissure until it came to the one destination he desired. The first flick alongside the wisps of air was light and didn’t stimulate any reaction, prompting him to switch completely from the use of air to the feather. He was charmed by your response; heavy cries as the tip of the feather fiddled with your clit like a switch nonstop.

“Hmm, oh my god! Feels so good!” Your arms tugged the scarves fervently as the sensation of his feather was perfect against your nub. Paired with your sense of sight being cut off, you were able to easily direct all your focus into relishing the pulsation in your clit and the rising heat in your stomach. It was much faster than most orgasms you had achieved, and it was coming on with great intensity with the pace he devised.

“Please don’t stop, please don’t stop! Manwë please—” Falling short with your words the moment your legs began trembling, a loud sob ripped past your lips and your head lulled into the pillows. The desire to push him away and pull him closer was great as the pressure and heat increased to insurmountable summits.

All the while his fingers flicked his feather continually, tickling your clit and appreciating the minimal effort required to bring you to his peak. The softest touch of his feathers and the air surrounding him could release your most ethereal disposition known to his eyes. The power and confidence you made him feel knowing that he would never allow this moment to extinguish and to be able to tease you endlessly with his ability. Ready to incorporate into every session possible, he kept the stability of his wrist and fingers as the trembling of your body reached its limits.

There wasn’t a moment to lose as your body thrashed against the restraints, back bowing off the bed and legs wiggling in his grip to shut as a flow of warmth overcame your body. Manwë’s refusal to release his grip as he continued the movement of his feather, pushing your body into oversensitivity elicited waves of cries and attempts at escaping his horror. Though his will was greater than yours a testament to the power he held over your body, he pursued his actions, discarding the feather midway through and dropping his cool mouth onto your oversensitive bundle of nerves.

Suppressing his laughter at the back of his throat, his mouth formed a suction to quickly bring about another orgasm, pushing cool air from his lungs onto your clit to rekindle the fire. He was relentless and desperate for the reaction of your delicacy being put to the test—there was bliss from the smallest response you reacted with to the largest. Swirling the air and mouth around your clit, his head shook to increase the stimulation, knowing that you weren’t that far apart from the second oncoming wave.

“Manwë, please! T–Too much—ngh!” You wanted to consider him evil for his unwillingness to grant you reprieve and eagerness for his determination to desire as many orgasms as possible from this session. Having you tied up, blindfolded and at his mercy were the second best combinations.; the first being his heat cycle.

Flickering his tongue in correspondence to your trembling, he laughed at the airy whines you emitted, shooting more pleasure into your body. There wasn’t anything you could do any more as the beads of sweat pooled in your stomach and clavicle, your arms growing weary from the incessant tugging and your legs cramping from the feverish shaking. All you were capable of was lying there and being hit with your second climax in a row while you mumbled pleas for mercy and rest.

Lost in the bliss of being semi–conscious, your body finally collapsed into the mattress, leaving you a panting sweaty mess with small bits of your sanity keeping you awake. Somewhere along the fade of heat, you were able to make out the chilled swirls of air crawling up your body to aid with cooling you down and relaxation. Unfortunately, it only made your sensitivity worsen from the heightened pleasure and stimulation your entire body was engulfed in.

“Manwë, it’s too much…hmm,” you whined.

“My apologies, rose,” he replied and ceased the travel of air over your body. Crawling to lay beside your lethargic body, he pushed the blindfold off your eyes, bringing light into your world again. “How was it for a first attempt?” he curiously asked, eyes brimming with keenness.

Taking a moment to resuscitate as the brightness flowed through your senses, your brain was feeling fuzzy from the aftermath of his…cruelty. “Uh, um, oh God,” you muttered disappointed as your words were attempting to fail you. “It was uh—It was better than I imagined when I proposed it.”

“Then we can incorporate it into our nightly routine,” he suggested with a raised brow and leaned in closer to merge the gap with a playful peck to your lips. “I did enjoy your explicit responses to my talent. So fragile and sensitive like a rose.”

Feeling a wave of sleep coming on after the tumultuous battle you faced against him, you gingerly nodded your head in agreement and wryly smiled. “Whatever you say, Lord of the Air, just give me my kiss and we’ll make it work.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @lilmelily @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @the-phantom-of-arda @wandererindreams @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @ilu-stripes @batsyforyou @asianbutnotjapanese

#mina_kinktober2023 #silm smut #manwe x reader #manwe imagine #manwe smut #manwë x reader #manwë imagine #manwë smut #manwe sulimo #manwë súlimo #manwe #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion fic #silmarillion smut #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth smut #middle earth scenario #valar #ainur #x reader smut #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Lord and Master

Pairing:  Manwë x Fem. Reader (Elf |Third Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Angst | Dark

Warnings: Dark Manwë | Arranged marriage | Dub-con | Manipulation | Imbalance of power | Oral (male receiving) |Medieval sexism

Wordcount : 3.4K words

Summary: Manwë finally agrees to marry, but is angry because his ability to control his life is being stripped from him. Finally, on his wedding night, the chance to take back some of that control presents itself to him.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

A/n: This is my first foray into dark/dub-con, so I apologize if there are any mess-ups in the story.

The wedding passed like an ugly dream. Manwë did all that was required of him, biting the inside of his cheek the entire time.   

When word of his trysts with Námo made its way into the light, ladies refused him one by one. Varda was the first to rescind her offer of marriage. She had declared she did not think highly of a prince who threw the one he loved to the dirt and walked away like it all meant nothing to him. And where she went, the rest followed: Vána and Yavanna agreed with their lady’s choice, as did Arien and Ilmarë. Even the dutiful ones like Uinen, Lëa, and Melian refused the prince’s proposal with a courteous chorus of "Thank you kindly, your grace," followed by "But no." Nienna would never accept a proposal, and Meássë simply laughed in the messenger’s face when he showed her the king's letter. The king had purpled and raged for days when he heard.

Manwë turned to his bride, a wave of deep-seated anger and resentment surging through his veins. Lady y/n was not his choice for a wife. After Meássë refused, Eru finally had to stoop so low as to ask a minor lordling for his daughter’s hand in marriage. That stung as well. 

He glanced at his wife again. She was well-bred and well-mannered, so the others said. Y/n loved singing, sewing, and reading, but she was not what the crown prince wanted in a companion. She was too quiet and docile. She certainly was not Námo, yet he must wed her and secure the line of succession. That was his father’s order and the council's. 

"Wed her, bed her, and put a child in her," the king commanded once the offer of marriage had been accepted. "You are capable of this, yes?” 

Manwë had clenched his fists so hard they turned white at the knuckles. "You command I wed someone I do not desire," he spat, "Yet you heartily agree to your Lord Commander's wedding and bedding a lowly serving girl. How do you justify it, your grace?"

His father’s icy glare pinned him to the chair he sat in. It made Manwë feel so small. "Our Lord Commander is not my son. He will never wear the crown. And Eönwë commands the near-fanatical loyalty of our army. He even saved your life once. Do you not remember? How he fought your brother and bled in your name?" 

Manwë flinched when reminded. "Father...” 

"Keeping a warrior like our Lord Commander happy is in this realm's best interests." Eru interrupted him and picked up his quill and a piece of parchment. The sight made Manwë feel like he was in a ship already listing dangerously to one side. "And yours. That is how I justify it. But if you wish to refuse this marriage," Eru said while dipping the quill in new ink. "You need only say the word, and I will marry the lady instead.” 

And if I refuse, Valinor will learn my lord father has yet another son who flees his duty, the prince thought bitterly. Oh yes, I can hear it now. Poor king Eru, plagued with selfish, disobedient sons who care for nothing but themselves. 

Manwë did not want others to see him as no better than Melkor, but he wished for the days when his brother was heir and life was a carefree dream, where he was master of his destiny and lived how he pleased. Now, with every word and every stroke of his father's quill, he felt his sense of control being stripped from him, sliver by painful sliver. Each day he felt a little smaller and a little weaker. He started to feel more like a boy desperate for approval and nothing like the man he wanted to be.  

Forever bowing my head to the will of someone else. Father, the council, the crown. Is that what I am? Someone who readily acquiesces? Someone helpless and weak?  

Someone coughed. It was the priest. The time had come to exchange vows. The bride and groom turned to face each other, one with eyes full of hope and the other wishing to see nothing before them. 

"One heart," they repeated in unison, "One soul, One flesh. Bound in word, body, and spirit, from this day until the end of all days." 

Y/n looked at her new husband through her veil, thinking how comely he looked in his rich black velvet doublet, and his silver hair falling down to his shoulders in beautiful waves. She hoped to find blushing cheeks, bright eyes, and a shy smile. All she found was darkness in his deep blue eyes and anger in his clenched jaws. It was a warning, a sign of dark things that may come to pass. There was great danger here, but she shrugged the growing sense of foreboding away and still gave him her hand, shivering when he slipped a thin gold band onto her finger. There was nothing else she could do. The contract had been signed, and the vows had been said. For good or ill, she was his now, and her duty as a wife was to obey her husband. That was what she was taught. 

"With this ring," Manwë declared to all present, his words clearly forced. "I pledge my love!" 

His bride did the same. Y/n’s words were sweeter, and filled with tender hope. Her lord father came forward and lifted her veil. Manwë ground his teeth and did his duty, leaning in and kissing her chastely before swiftly pulling away. He accepted the necklace his father presented him in a beautifully carved box and draped it around his bride's throat. Y/n was overcome with the shivers. Her new jewels felt like a noose. She took deep breaths to compose herself and clung to the hope that the prince was as kind and courteous as the songs said he was and that love would bloom between them over time.  

"What the Gods have brought together," came the priest's cry, "let no one tear asunder!" 

The crowd clapped and cheered in approval when the crown prince and princess turned to face them. Manwë dutifully offered his arm, but y/n felt his stiffness as they walked down the aisle together. The chapel was aglow with the light of a thousand candles. A riot of color bled from the stained glass windows onto the floor. Those standing in the upper walkways threw rose petals onto the couple while they walked beneath them. Swirls of red and white rained down on y/n and Manwë even as the doors to the outside world opened. Crowds gathered outside Taniquetil’s great chapel cheered even louder than those inside. Y/n raised her arm and waved to them, thinking her heart would burst with joy. She turned to face her husband, her joy soon wilting like a flower under the scorching heat of the sun. When Manwë turned to her, his eyes filled with something akin to hate. 

“Come, wife," he said stiffly. "It is time we took ourselves to the feast." 

An hour later, they were walking into the great hall for the feast. Y/n tried to talk with her husband during the carriage ride to Ilmarin to engage his attention. Manwë would look at her with little interest before turning away. His cool indifference stung, but y/n chose to be patient. She thought he was grieving the loss of his first love. This will pass soon enough, she thought. Someday she would be rewarded. She was certain of it. 

The feast was a splendid affair. Eru had spared no expense. Minstrels strolled between tables, singing and fluting and strumming lyres. Fire dancers walked on stilts, juggling flaming batons in their hands. Guests dined on thick mushroom soup and salads of beans, onions, spinach, and beets. There was roasted boar and roasted quail and squab, and pears soaked in red wine. There were flagons of mead and flagons of ale, glass pitchers of iced summer wine, and the finest hippocras money could buy. Many broke into loud applause when servants walked into the hall carrying a great swan pie between them. The dish was reserved only for royalty. On this day, it would be served to everyone. Seated at the high table on an ornate chair under a richly embroidered canopy, y/n had little appetite for her food, fine as it all was. Her stomach would tie itself into unpleasant knots whenever she glanced at her husband.  

Manwë's mood had darkened even more. Irmo of House Blackgrave was seated with the other high lords and ladies, but Námo was nowhere to be seen. He had been ill since Manwë sent him away. A common illness, so the messenger said, one that would go away under the tender care of his sister. The prince knew differently. Námo was sick because of him.  

It should be me tending to him, and not Nienna.  

He could not tend to Námo now. The chance to do so disappeared when Manwë put his name on parchment and agreed to take y/n for a wife. With each stroke and flourish of the quill, he felt his sense of control slip away even more, making him feel helpless and angry. 

Weak. Helpless. Forever bowing to the will of others. This cannot continue. 

He heard gentle laughter. It was the Lord Commander's wife. She was wide-eyed while she watched a troupe of tumblers perform incredibly daring feats. Her doting husband kept her in his lap, not caring a whit for what other people thought. Eönwë was content to feed her morsels from his own plate before stealing unexpected kisses, his arm tightening around her waist in a protective gesture when she leaned in and cupped his face. He would listen indulgently whenever she said something, beaming like a man who knew his love was well returned. The sight filled Manwë with despair. He wished to hold Námo the same way, feed him the same way, and drown in his laughter. He turned to face his wife. She was playing with her food. Anger seared through his veins again.  

"Does the meal not please you?" he asked in rough, clipped tones.  

Y/n was startled. It was the first time the prince had asked anything of her since their first meeting half a year ago. 

"It is excellent, your highness," she replied meekly. "But I fear my appetite cannot do it justice."   

Your highness. The way she said it, all soft and submissive. Manwë gave her a measured look.  

Small. Meek. And bound by oath to obey me. The thoughts came swiftly and unbidden. Manwë ignored such thoughts and looked away just as a herald called the guests to dance. His wife placed her hand over his.  

"Shall we dance, your highness?" she asked hopefully. 

Manwë’s mouth twisting into an ugly sneer was all the answer y/n needed. He did not want to dance, eat, or join in the merrymaking. He wanted this night over and done with. 

There is only one thing left to do, he decided, and rose. The music slowly died when he stood to his full height. Everyone's attention turned to him. 

"I confess, my lords and ladies, as much as I would love to dance," he declared with a forced smile, "I have more... pressing matters to tend to with my lady wife. Come, my lady. It is time we did our duty." 

The others laughed. Y/n forced herself to smile. When her husband offered his arm, she rose and took it, turning a deaf ear to the ribald jests shouted their way. She let Manwë lead her through lofty halls and cool corridors, all while her stomach was a roil.  

She had been prepared for her bedding, but the way Manwë looked at her, his eyes ablaze with cold fury, frightened her. She looked straight ahead, clinging to the hope that her fears were unfounded and the prince would surprise her with tender words and gentle embraces. 

That was not to be. When the couple entered an airy bedchamber and the doors closed behind them, Manwë pulled away from her. He walked over to a side table and helped himself to a cup of wine.

Manwë studied her critically. Quiet. Dutiful. Perhaps this can work.

"You must now obey me in all things, yes?"

“I am your wife, your highness. I must obey."

Small. Meek. Bound by oath to obey me. This time, he did not push the thought away. Y/n was bound by oath to obey him. Whatever he asked of her, she had to do it without protest. The knowledge of it was too much for him to resist. 

It is time I regained some control over my life. I will not bow my head to yet another. 

"Undress yourself," Manwë commanded. He walked to the bed, his new boots clicking over the stone floor.  

Y/n blushed furiously. She dreamed of her husband undressing her, giggling while he fumbled with the clasps and lacings in her dress. She did not expect him to order her to undress herself in front of him. 

"Undress yourself," Manwë urged, his words like honey. "Come now. You are a true and obedient wife, yes?" 

Y/n wrung her hands. "I... I wish to be, your highness." 

Manwë lifted his cup and drank deeply, draining it to the last drop. "Then prove to me you are a true and obedient wife. Undress." 

Y/n flushed. She was his wife. She pledged herself to him. Swore to obey him in all things. And obey him she did. She first undid her braids, removing the pins and clips, her fingers fumbling at her hair like they were all broken thumbs. Manwë was content to watch. Seeing her hair fall free in loose strands did something to him. Watching her comply with his command did something to him. Whatever it was, he soon grew drunk on it.  

"You are still dressed, my lady," he observed. "Your gown… it is beautiful to be sure, but it is too much. Unburden yourself. But leave the necklace; I like it."  

Y/n flushed again. This time in humiliation. "Your highness, I... should I be doing this?" 

"Yes, sweet wife," Manwë replied, enjoying himself thoroughly. "It is only proper that you do so." 

His wife managed somehow, her cheeks aflame the entire time. Her heavy gown and sash slowly slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her feet. Her stays and slip followed. When she finally stepped out of the wisps that passed for smallclothes, Manwë put his cup on the ground and stood up, surprised to find himself already hard. 

There were gooseprickles all over y/n's exposed skin. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. Manwë circled her once, then twice, like a predator circling his prey. He let his hand glide up her spine and play with her hair. She shivered when he palmed the soft expanse of her breasts. Manwë felt her tremble. He liked it. It made him feel powerful, for the first time in many moons.  

"Undress me," Manwë ordered, slipping out of his boots.  

Y/n kept her eyes on the clasps on his tunic. She fumbled again, her fingers turning back into broken thumbs. Manwë smirked and kept still.  

Her hands were soft and warm when they brushed against his flesh. She was unsure of herself and hesitant, but she did her work dutifully and quickly. Once freed of his doublet and undershirt, Manwë returned to the bed and stood by the edge. 

"Come, wife," he said, holding out his hand. "Come here." 

His wife took one hesitant step after another, uncertain of what he wanted. Y/n had not been taught much concerning matters of the flesh. Her mother had told her to expect certain things, like discomfort and pain, but she also said such things would go away and the rest would be nothing but magic. Y/n studied her husband. There was hunger in his eyes, and flashes of something far more sinister. She feared there would be no magic this night. Not for her at any rate. 

"Closer," Manwë cooed. "Closer. Good. Now. On your knees." 

Y/n looked at him, shocked. "Your highness... I... I do not understand."  

Manwë grinned wolfishly. "Get on your knees and undo my belt. Go on. You would do it if you really wanted to be a dutiful wife, yes?" 

Y/n licked her lips. Of course, she wanted to be a dutiful wife. From the first moment she saw Manwë all she had ever wanted was to be a good wife and earn his love. She nodded and sank to her knees, grateful for the rug beneath her. She undid the clasp of his belt, then the drawstrings on his breeches. Her cheeks heated when Manwë tugged them down just enough to free his cock. 

"Open your mouth," he said, and caressed her cheek. He ran his thumb across her lips, imagining what they would look like, swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend. "Go on."  

Y/n looked up at him, thinking she had heard wrong. Manwë caressed her cheek again, almost in affection. "Open your mouth. You do not want to disappoint me, do you?" 

"No," she sputtered. It was a strange feeling, having his cock slip past her parted lips and sink further and further into her mouth. She felt him, thick and salty and heavy on her tongue. Y/n glanced up at him, surprised to find his eyes closed and his head thrown back. 

"Loosen your jaw," he hissed, and wrapped his hands around her hair, pulling it out of the way. "There. Like that."

Manwë's mind soon grew hazy with bliss. Gods, her mouth feels so good. His grunts grew louder and louder. There was nothing else—no whispered endearments—that would soothe his wife and inflame her passions. Manwë did not care. He simply wanted to regain some control. And it felt so good, to take back what control he had over his life. 

I am in control.

Y/n did not know what else to do. She let him thrust into her mouth, her eyes stinging with confused tears. Manwë wiped the tear away with his thumb and brought it to his lips, as if to taste. He shivered when he tasted the saltiness of her tear on the tip of his tongue, and shivered when he felt the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her sinful lips. He wanted to kiss those lips while he claimed her maidenhead, but not now. He was so close that he could already feel a tightness in his belly. He brushed his hands over her hair and groaned when her lips tightened around his cock. Just a little longer. He needed to hold on for a little longer. And that was all he had. The world went still. Manwë let out a deep moan while his body splintered and shook with ecstasy. Y/n could do nothing but grip his thighs while the warmth of his spend filled her mouth.

Manwë panted and drew back, satisfied for now. "Swallow," he insisted, not moving another inch until y/n had swallowed every last drop. He stood back and admired the sight of his wife on her knees before him, her lips glistening and swollen just like he hoped they would be. That sense of feeling powerful returned, this time stronger than before. 

I am in control.

Manwë grabbed that feeling with eager hands, not wanting to let go of it. 

I am lord and master.

He finally walked away, setting himself to rights and picking up the rest of his clothes as he did so. "I will sleep in here," he said, opening the door to a smaller bedroom. "Good night." 

Y/n rose and turned to face her own bed. Her knees were sore, and her jaws hurt. She thought there would be more to this night. "But your highness, this is our wedding night. Should we be…" 

"Do not fret," Manwë yawned contentedly. An hour or two of rest was needed, and then he would consummate their marriage. "I will claim your maidenhead and consummate this marriage. But it will be at a time of my choosing. Not yours. Never yours. Am I understood?" 

Y/n opened her mouth in reply. She thought she deserved to have some say on how this night went. Manwë leaned against the door, his arms crossed, and his eyes darkening again. It frightened her, made her whisper, "Yes." 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes, your highness." 

"Good," Manwë muttered. "Never forget what I am, wife. Your lord and master, nothing less than that." 

Y/n tried to blink back her tears when he slammed the door behind him. Her hopes slowly crumbled like brittle clay. There would be no love. No tenderness. Not with him, not after tonight. Manwë made it plain with his few words that she should not expect more from him. Suddenly more tired than ever, she crawled into bed and slipped beneath a soft pelt, waiting for him to come for her again. 

The thought made her blood run cold.

tags: @cilil​ 

#please mind the warnings #Manwë #dark Manwë #manwë x reader #x reader #Medieval! Ainur #manwë súlimo #Manwë smut #the silm #the silm smut #the silmarillion #Manwë imagine #The silm imagine #the valar #the ainur #the maiar #fanfiction #writeblr #💫whimsy's shenanigans #💫whimsy's plot bunnies #💫a world of whimsy writes

[cilil]

Any Yandere Manwe headcanons?

𝓐𝓝 ~ Sure thing! Here are some ^^

𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ~ 2nd person POV, reader insert, gender-neutral reader

𝓣𝓦𝓼 ~ Yandere, manipulative behavior, emotional manipulation, unhealthy relationships

ଘ The key thing about Yandere!Manwë is that everything is insidious. Everyone, including himself, believes that he is nothing but pure and good, so you yourself may question your own feelings time and time again - Are you the one who is in the wrong? Doesn't the Elder King in his divine wisdom indeed know better than you? Are you merely paranoid? Are you going against Eru's will if you even think about resisting him?

ଘ However, to even arrive at a point where you sense that something may be wrong, you have to escape Manwë's web, an illusion of perfect romance and companionship. With his skills as a poet, writer and singer, he does his best to woo you and pull wool over your eyes while he continues to draw you in.

ଘ You find yourself in an enviable position, with the Elder King himself doting on you and showering you with kindness, affection, attention and even special favors - whatever you desire, you may have it. Though there may be a price to pay, just a tiny thing he so very nicely asks for in return...

ଘ Once Manwë's interest in you slowly morphs into obsession, you're never alone. Even when you think no one is nearby, he either keeps his own eyes on you from his throne on Taniquetil or sends his bird servants to spy on you. Everything you do, everything you say, all is reported back to him.

ଘ Whether you resist or reject him doesn't matter. Manwë is used to (almost) everyone loving and adoring him, so why don't you? He immediately concludes that something must have corrupted you and of course he will be there to help out a poor little thing like yourself who can't free themselves from their "evil thoughts" without his "help".

ଘ Being a palace on top of a tall mountain, Ilmarin is the perfect place to "keep his darling safe". A golden cage, if you will. You enjoy a life of luxury and have no chance of leaving or escaping so Manwë can watch you and have access to you whenever he wishes. You may not even recall at which point he figuratively plucked you, his favorite little bird, out of the air and clipped your wings to make you his pet.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ˳༄꠶ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ˳༄꠶ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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

#cílil answers #heed warnings #headcanons #my headcanons #manwe x reader #manwe #manwë #manwe sulimo #yandere manwe #tw yandere #cw yandere #tw manipulation #cw manipulation #silmarillion #silmarillion imagine

[urwendii]

It is time to reward the bravery of the Ring Bearers and Bilbo is summoned to the Forges of Aulë.

A little tribute to the @fellowshipofthefics discord, I'm not exactly a Hobbit girlie but writing Bilbo is always a delight and you guys are always so kind.

Some Bagginshield flavours. Taking some liberties with canon because I can.

Bilbo had a very confusing day. If one could say so. It all started after his second breakfast when the Lady Galadriel came to visit him and Frodo- oh and what a breakfast it had been, Bilbo could not prove it but the quality of food in the Undying Lands really was outstanding. Frodo had even said so last time when they had taken a stroll in their garden. It had been a beautiful day with a blue sky and a crisp autumn wind. Bilbo loved the golden trees so very much.

But he was saying, ah yes. A very confusing day indeed. The Lady Galadriel had been accompanied by her husband the Lord Celeborn, a kind fella who answered a lot of Bilbo's questions about the technicalities of one of his Sindarin translation of a poem he had found in the library in Rivendell. Bilbo might even finish his work on this before the moon came full again. The Lord and his Lady had drank tea with them but refused any food - elves were strange like that, even so he might have to clarify they were indeed less strange than the others inhabitants of said mystical Lands. And indeed Bilbo had met some of them, as strange as they were. Looking like Elves or Men for most but Bilbo was no fool and could see the very much established otherness shining through their raiments.

Oh he was very fond of Gandalf indeed, and so glad his friend was there even though he was called Olórin here and that sounded too strange to Bilbo and so he kept calling him Gandalf because that was what his friend's name was for him.

So well today he was meeting another ! Ah yes for it was the purpose of the Lady Galadriel's visit. He was told to meet in Valmar - the city of many bells! Oh Bilbo was very excited indeed, Tírion he had visited often and often remained in the Palace's library - so many books ! So much knowledge. He felt a young hobbit again. Looked like one for that purpose too. Strange Lands indeed.

It had been peculiar that Frodo's presence was - if welcomed - not strictly mandatory and his nephew informed he would not mind staying home. Sometimes Frodo would simply stay and sleep. Ah, Bilbo could not blame him.

So he had gone. With the Lady and the Lord. To Valmar. The city of Maiar. The beings that were like Gandalf. And like another one whose name was not to be said too much because it seemed to greatly vexed many. Bilbo still had questions about his ring though. Ah well. He had packed a healthy elevenses and lunch (as well as other snacks, one could not be too cautious after all.)

Valmar stood proud and glorious, even outshining his most anticipated imaginings. The Lady and her husband seemed to know their way and up they went to a hill where a large building stood, decorated with many banners Bilbo recognised as Manwë's heraldry. The Elder King. Bilbo had never met him in person.

But it had not been the King awaiting him but his Herald. Standing tall and proud, Eönwë always seemed vexed, to Bilbo's humble opinion, there was a solemn expression on his face but the corners of his eyes had that tightness that Gandalf sometimes had with him in their younger years, when he seemed particularly exasperated by something Bilbo would do or say. Which was unfair because Bilbo had always been a delight. According to his good opinion of himself at least.

Eönwë was slightly intimidating though, in the way Ainur were - well aside Gandalf, but he was weird. He had been the one welcoming Frodo and Bilbo when they had reached the White Shores, making a grand speech with fancy words Bilbo had tried to pay attention too - he had been very hungry at that time! Now Bilbo wanted to ask him all sorts of questions.

This time and because he had been chewing on one of his snacks just before, he heard the words said and nodded when he was asked if he understood.

Well Bilbo was not stupid thank you very much. He was told to go with Eönwë to Aulë's forges - the Elder King had ruled on a decree, it was to be a formal thank you to the Ring Bearers, Frodo and Bilbo and Bilbo's award was different than his nephew and so he had to go to the Forges.

Why? He asked and asked again but every answer was similar to the way Gandalf would sometimes answer his queries, riddles that only made sense if you were a strange wizard.

Eönwë said not much actually, he monotously told Bilbo he would fly them here, the Lady and Lord were met with a polite bow and to pass his greeting to the Lady's father. And then off they went.

Flying! Oh Bilbo had once flew on the back of a Great Eagle! How amazing it had been. Ah. He missed these times. Now gone with the long years of his life but never regretted once.

He inquired on the method of transportation, to which the Herald wordlessly replied by opening large silver wings attached to his back. Bilbo had seen many wonders in his life but being carried by a winged person - not a great Eagle! Oh what a joy to be alive! The trip did not take long but it certainly made Bilbo hungry again and he told Eönwë so when they landed in front of a towering building where a cacophony of hammers hiting metal could he heard.

That seemed to confuse the Maia as he stood awkwardly by Bilbo's side while he sat down on the stair to unpack a loaf of bread, some honey, nuts, cheese and berries.

All better he decided after finishing eating. The polite thing to do had been to offer some to Eönwë but that seemed to make the Maia even less at ease. Strange strange creatures indeed. Ah well. More for him then.

Eönwë informed him they didn't eat - there was no need apparently and Bilbo thought that maybe that was why he looked not exactly really happy. Maybe Sauron would have been less evil if he too had some food once in a while. Bilbo could not imagine living his life without and would have certainly shared some of his snacks in exchange for seeing his ring once more.

The Halls were immense, even by a tall person standard but Bilbo could not help but stare at everything, there were wonders hung on the walls, resplendent armours exhibited, swords of ancient times, mundane objects, fountains, ingenious mechanism, clocks. What a lively place!

An imposing shape came to them, bushy red beard and golden eyes, a sturdy leather apron tied around his waist. Aulë welcomed both of them, his voice booming in the high ceiling.

"Welcome!" And said other things to them to Eönwë in what he learned to be Valarin. What a delightful language to try learning! So complicated and challenging. The Lady Galadriel had told him only one Elve ever mastered it and Bilbo was confused to learn he was not there. Oh yes he needed to finish the records of the First Age about the House of Fëanor and his sons.

That reminded him Frodo had mentioned something interesting the other evening during dinner. They had had a delicious potage from the gardens' vegetables - carrots, butternut, potatoes and garlic.

Oh, but he should focus on the conversation.

He asked Lord Aulë - or Lord Mahal if he knew the engineering behind Sting, his and Frodo's beloved sword.

"It grew blue when orcs were near."

Aulë seemed delighted with Bilbo's following questions, so many new things to learn that Bilbo did not immediately register when they entered a smithy, and another person was standing there.

A discreet cough had been what refocused him on his surroundings, finding Eönwë standing near...a dwarf.

Bilbo blinked. Once. Twice. Oh. Almost swoon.

Oh.

"I see you haven't lost your constant chatter." Thorin remarked and Bilbo would possibly need a seat soon if he could have one, yes thank you, ah.

"A prerogative of mine own creations." Aulë said. Eönwë explained this was Bilbo's gift. From the King.

Bilbo possibly would have said something if he had not been busy gaping and then sniffling and then- ah a hug felt nice, very nice indeed. He hadn't had such a nice hug in so long.

"You need to meet Frodo." He said amongst other things and "Oh Gandalf will be joyful to see you again." And "I need to tell you about the Ring I found." And "I'm so happy." And so many words that would take too long to record in pages for some feelings could only be felt. He would write them down though.

There and back again. Ah yes, very nice indeed.

#bilbo baggins #eonwe #eönwë #aule #aulë #thorin x bilbo #bagginshield #the hobbit #the hobbit fic #cassy.write

[edensrose]

“and if I were — ” he slips the ornament from atop his pale head of hair. “ — to give you the crown that speaks my title. . .”

manwë clears his throat. he lifts his eyes from the headpiece that proclaims him king. a shimmer of hope dawning upon him.

“would you find it in your heart. . . to love me once again, brother?”

yet as melkor stares onto the crown, his face falters not. if only to fall darker.

and as he parts his blackened lips — his voice cuts through in all its icy muster. straight through his sibling's heart.

“I would not.”

#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐝𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊ #manwë #manwe #melkor #morgoth #manwë súlimo #morgoth bauglir #the silmarillion #silm #tolkien #imagines #writing #everyone will suffer with me

[ainur-confessions]

Can you do a headcanon for what Manwë would do for fun on a winter day?

♡. taniquetil typically has snow, especially in the early morning. but during the winter, sometimes snowfall can really up the ante, and depending on your mood depends on what the two of you do 

♡.  if you are more of an indoor person, then manwë will stay with you, cuddled up in blankets whilst he wraps his wings around you. the two of you would enjoy warm meals and maybe even a dip in the warmer pools 

♡. he would also read to you. sometimes it's the poetry that he has written for you, or a novel of your choice

♡. watching you fall asleep because of how comfortable you are against him is something that he adores. if he can, he'll snuggle up with you for the remainder of the day

♡. if you are up for going outside, then he'll take you on a little walk upon the mountain. he'll make sure to wrap you up in lots of warm robes, even his own if he must 

♡. if you decide to be sneaky and pelt him with a snowball, you better be prepared for a war. he always loves letting loose and just having fun with you 

♡. you both end up falling into the snow at some point and laughing to the point your stomachs hurt. this often will result in a plethora of kisses - until you start sneezing and manwë immediately scoops you up and takes you inside to enjoy some warm tea and cuddles 

#·⊰ ꒰🎐꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ៸៸ manwë ─ ♡. #manwë x reader #manwe x reader #manwë súlimo #manwe sulimo #the silmarillion #silm #tolkien #ainur #valar #imagines