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illicit-unknown-shadows · 1 year

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Ixalië

Follow From: @eunoiaastralwings

Other RP Blog: @luthriel-tinuviel | @quiet-flower-wonderlings | @son-of-the-moon-and-sun | @tears-of-burden

Non-Tolkien: @shadow-hazehuntress | @spider-lily-droplets

AU/Canon Divergence Friendly - RULES

Feel free to reach out – with an idea of your own

ARTWORKS: Young Ixalië

Faceclaim: young Ixalië - Jenna Ortega ; Older Ixalië - Maggie Lindemann

Epesse: Ixalië

q. Shadow (feminine)

Sindarin: Dûviel

s. Daughter of the Night/Dark

Reason: Every one in Arda named her Daughter of the Night/Dark, because of her dark looks and type personality - thanks @saurons-flaming-eye.

Home: Halls of Mandos

Race: Maia

Ethnicity: Ainur

Origin: Born as an orphaned elleth in middle earth, whom later, was pushed to her death when she was a teenager - Mandos took pity on her bullied life and made her into his maia.

ABOUT:

Alignment: Lawful chaotic Good, but has sadistic tendencies

Occupation: Maia of Mandos

Love Interest: Eönwë

RP Love Interest:

Sexuality: Pansexual

Likes: reading, being alone, her job, her gifted magic, Mandos and Vairë.

Dislikes: Sauron, Melkor and dark creatures (until she doesn't and follows them)

Favorite Color: Black

Literature: crime and mystery stories.

Hobbies: Reading and writing.

APPEARANCE:

Height: 6′9

Visual Age: 20 - 23

Build: Lean Muscular, small built

Hair Color: Dark black

Hair Style: Young Ixa: Braided at both sides, bangs on her forehead or tied into classy bun. Older Ixa: Bangs on her forehead or tied into classy bun, otherwise left down dead straight.

Eye Color: black, glows red when using her powers

Eye Shape: Almond

Skin: Pale

Hands: Thin and long fingers

Scars: One near her left eyebrow

Types of Clothing: Gothic

Usual Accessories: None

Feet Appearance: Always has black boots on.

Mannerisms: Most always looks down and look through her eyelashes to stare, while relaxing all the muscles on her face. Sometimes give a raised eyebrow if anyone does something silly or questionable.

PERSONALITY:

Type: INTJ

Optimistic or Pessimistic: Pessimistic - sadistic tendencies

Introverted or Extroverted: Introverted

Bad Habits: preference for solitude, her comfort with being alone, somewhat dark personality among strangers. Can say the most ominous of things at bad times.

Love Language: Quality Time

Strongest Character Trait: analytical, inventive, and loves unraveling complex puzzles

Weakest Character Trait: stubborn, single-minded

Reactions to Praise: Cringes at first, then a prideful thanks

Reactions to Criticism: Is ok with it - a born strategist

Biggest Fear: Melkor or dark creatures (until they aren't)

Last Time they Cried: Not since becoming a maia

What Haunts Them: Her past orphaned and bullied life

Smell: exotic fruits

EXTRA NOTES:

Ixalië was born in Arda as Dûviel. She was orphaned at birth as her parents had abandoned her. Grew up in a nearby village orphanage.

She was different among the other children, who liked to play and laugh. Dûviel preferred to sight at a corner and read her books alone. She was easily picked on because of dark looks, which made her grow into a dark personality to avoid others and their teasing, mocking and bullying.

Dûviel was viewed as a witch or vampire, but she did not mind as long as people did not pay attention to her. She finally have thought to made a friend, with whom she was finally able to share interests and hobbies too - but unfortunately lied and betrayed to by her and pushed to her death off a cliff when she was only 19 years of age.

Mandos took pity on her and gave her rebirth to be his maia, who was granted visions by touching particular objects to help her unmark the truth. He named her Ixalië. Mandos and Vairë are whom she considers has both her saviors and parents, she grows in their care into her adulthood.

Slowly, she opens up to the idea of friendships again. Her best friend is a maia of Irmo, Nyarmë – they are polar opposite but it is like Vairë once explained to her: “You cannot have a shadow without light shining on you first.”

But later Melkor to brings her to his dark side,- and Ixalië follows to take vengeance upon the elves that once harmed her

In canon, much later - she meets Eönwë and eventually falls in love with him.

#Ixalië #tolkien oc #oc #tolkien ainur #tolkien roleplay #tolkien valar #namo mandos #maia of mandos

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the-lady-auri · 1 year

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Finished commission for @saurons-flaming-eye of their lovely maia oc. I had fun drawing this one!

As of this post, my commission queue is now empty, so please see pinned if interested in a commission

#art #oc #elf #elves #auri's art #silmarillion #commissions open #commissions #lord of the rings #lotr lotroc #lotr #namo mandos #námo #mandos #maia #maiar

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that-angry-noldo · 1 year

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"Some say you didn't win the Silmaril by yourself, grandma."

"Oh?" Luthien quirks a brow, shooting Elwing a curious look. Elwing sits at the table, watching Beren making her yet another toy. (It's hard, with his prostethic arm, but he managed to adapt somehow.) "Aren't they right, eyas? I've never won the Silmarill, did I?"

"They say you didn't- get it by yourself," little Elwing insists, and Beren sighs. Luthien laughs.

"I didn't, birdie. Your grandpa was there. I was never alone, I was never by myself."

"Lu, Morgoth quite literally threw meat at me at some point," Beren smirks at the memory. "All I did was sit there, trying not to stand out."

"You don't understand!" Elwing stresses, reaching for another strawberry. Beren pushes a bowl with sour cream closer to the girl. "They say- they say you traded for it, and that you made the whole story up so His Majesty would let you wed!"

"Elwing, dear, what did I say, what should you call the King?" Luthien asks, innocently tilting her head to the side. Elwing frowns.

"Dad said calling His Majesty 'sweatheart' is highly illegal and I shouldn't do so," she finally recites and reaches for pancakes. Beren helpfully passes them to her.

"Law is a social constduct made for you not to reach your whole potential," Luthien says. "Beren, we do have honey, right? Birdie, don't eat that unsweetened. What else do people talk about, eyas?"

"That the Silmarill is fake. And that- and that you don't really love eachother. And- and that you never leave your place and they think you are creepy and also cowards and liars-"

"Elwing, dear," Luthien sighs. "Don't cry. It's alright."

Beren stands from the table. "You know," he says, "it's not unusual for people to... make things up. I've heard a whole bunch of stuff about myself while growing up, and coming here, and marrying your grandma," he gets a jar of honey out from the drawer, places a bit in a smaller bowl. "You don't have to worry about that."

"But," Elwing draws in a sharp breath, "Dad cares. He gets... he gets all angry when he overhears those talks."

"Your dad is... a whole different story," Beren quietly says and places the bowl in front of Elwing. "People aren't always kind, eyas. People fear the things they can't explain, so they try to push them away."

"But... you're easy," Elwing says, and there are tears in her eyes. "You're easy to explain."

You bake pancakes and grow strawberies, is left unsaid. You let me feed Moo-Moo and Honeycomb and you teach me how to pet bees.

Beren wonders if that's what he always wanted - for someone to think about him and remember his farm and his cooking.

(Beren also knows something Elwing will never understand. He looks in the mirror and sees snow-white hair. He sees eyes too deep to be those of ordinary mortal. He sees Doom written all over his face. He looks at Luthien and sees eyes full of mischief, darker than night; he hears her voice and he he feels a trail of something different; he sees talons where nails should have been, and wings on her back, full of stars and of sparks.)

"We are, eyas," he smiles. "To some. We're easy to you, and you're easy to us. And the others don't matter, alright? Their words will fade. Our story will prevail."

Luthien comes closer, and suddenly a pair of dark blue wings close around the man and his granddaughter, shielding them from the world.

"We love you," Tinuviel smiles. "You love us. It should be enough, eyas."

It should be enough.

#elwing #luthien #beren #silmarillion #lay of leithian #beren × luthien #silm fic #Local Ficwriter Learns The Word «Eyas» And Needs To Use It In A Fic #i always hc that luthuen may have list her elven part after the whole mandos stuff but her maia part remained #and even intensified #anyways Luthien teaches little Elwing Crime

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lamemaster · 2 years

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Of the Song Unheard

Celebrimbor x OC

Summary: Celebrimbor's time in Mandos' halls and the yearning of his fea.

While my lord Mandos’ halls are never considered to be a lively place, they are often the only halls that offer peace to even the most tormented souls of Arda.

I do not remember my origin as a Maia. It was indistinguishable exactly when Illuvatar made my being distinct from the rest of the song and handed me to lord Mandos. The song that had made all of my existence, raging with the will of Illuvatar it had blended with a physical form in the hands of my Vala.

I walked the halls to meet with my lord. The halls of Mandos that once housed solitary fea of Miriel Þerindë were now brimming with fëar of dead exiles. In all of the fëar gathered in the halls, the ones of the line of Finwe shined brightest.

Feanor’s fea burned so glaringly that no one dared to go near it. Most descendants of Finwe had maintained their distance from the burning pillar known as Feanor. There was one, however, who was spared from Feanor’s rage.

Much to everyone’s shock Feanor had lamented for only one of his line. His fea had dimmed on the death of his grandson Celebrimbor who he had fondly reached out to by his epessë “Tyelpe” muttered softly.

The said grandson’s fea had arrived to the halls in shambles. Celebrimbor was the king of Eregion tortured by fallen Maia who now quendi called Sauron. My lord Mandos had called me to his presence at the arrival of the last of Finwean.

“Join us Awahaira” my lord stood in his glorious black gowns while I sensed a broken song surrounding us. It took me a while to gather that what surrounded us was the fea of a firstborn.

“My lord…” never before had I witnessed such a faint essence. Next to us, the song tremored at every movement. “My Maia Awahaira, I request of you to aid this fea” gathering the meager imprint of essence Mandos formed a semblance of a small light.

I looked back uncertainly at my Vala “I am not sure my lord. The fea is too delicate. I do not excel in the arts of healing fea”. Taking my hand Mandos handed me Celebrimbor who shivered at our contact “My dearest Maia while you might not be a healer of fëar, there is no one else in my halls I would entrust this task. Use your song of comfort and help this poor fea to the best you can. I have my faith in you” with this I had been dismissed from his halls.

This was how I ended up aiding Celebrimbor. While Maiar do not concern themselves with matters of time, it was clear that passing ages had done little to ease the strained fea in my care. We had made some progress but the firstborn refused to leave the halls as his grandmother had once done.

As I neared the gardens he often lingered I saw the faint outline of his appearance. With the patience of Ulmo’s ocean, my patient had learned to hold on to some sort of form than just a ball of light.

“I greet you Celebrimbor. I hope you are enjoying the new blooms that lady Yavanna so graciously granted us” expecting no reply I continued to assess the quendi in front of me. While his song had gained some strength it lingered on a single note unable to move on from some deep sorrow.

It had troubled me immensely that Celebrimbor held on to something that only his essence had remembered. I tried to sense it from him but it seemed to me that he himself had lost sense of what he longed for.

“I have a surprise for you” the quendi wandering across me stopped and turned to stare at me. His fea blinked due to the uncertainty of my words. Over the ages of getting to heal and know Celebrimbor, we had formed a friendship in the solemn halls of death and rebirth.

I prayed to Illuvatar that whatever he had guided me to would not harm my friend. It had been a vision that struck in the midst of passing time. It felt so familiar as if fitting a missing puzzle piece. Then it struck me that the vision sang to the tune that Celebrimbor’s essence mimicked at times.

“Trust me nilmo” I patiently put my hands forward guiding the unstable fea to rest on a bench. Unable to voice his fear Celebrimbor looked at me with an anxious expression. Unlike the rest of the fiery Finweans who blazed with passion, my friend was like the gentlest of light.

His gentle disposition had made me want to do everything to redeem him, who had risked his family for the sake of doing the right thing. Turning the song around us to a comforting tune I gazed back at my friend.

“The other day while I was lost in a song I had this vision and I want to share it with you” Celebrimbor wavered but listened carefully, “I think that you must see this. If there is any discomfort to your fea I will pull away immediately. Do you trust me nilmo?” in my mind I knew if he refused I would back down without a question but some divine intervention edged me to do this. It was as if the song in my vision struggled to break free and settle in the fea before me.

Celebrimbor’s fea flickered hesitantly before settling back on its usual frequency. I gathered this was his agreement. I couldn’t help but feel immense joy. Some of my emotions leaked in my song and the quendi next to me sensed it right away.

“Okay, now close your eyes nilmo, and let me guide you to what I saw” while we had often meditated to center his fea this time it felt different.

As we closed our eyes I felt Celebrimbor’s presence next to me in my mind. He stood next to me as I focused to pull the song from my vision. The dark emptiness gave away to a soft melody as the light snuck into my mind space.

Sensing the stability of fea next to me I brought in more of the song. As we started to form more of the song a different world engulfed us.

Much to my amazement despite the change, Celebrimbor stood firm. I witnessed the once resilient king of Eregion who had endured brutal torture.

The background changed into soft green grass that sang in tune with the wind that caressed it. Anar’s rays settled down into mild colors. The world around us fits perfectly into Celebrimbor’s yearning.

My friend, however, stood motionless his form more solid than ever. He stared ahead at the moving figures as his mouth opened to something that went unheard even to me.

“Come on Goldilocks!” a second-born woman stood hunched as a golden hound rushed to her carrying something in its mouth.

The hound came running to the woman who wore strange clothing, likes of which our halls had never seen. Her laughter rang loud as she caressed her companion who now had forced itself on her lap for more pets.

“Melda” I jolted as my friend whose voice was yet to hear said. It was a deep voice that carried the echo of caves. Celebrimbor moved as he tried to reach for the mortal who sat talking to her hound.

The song changed to that of tears, of loss, and regret. As the black surrounded us again I opened my eyes to a sobbing quendi who clutched the chest of his unbodied fea.

#celebrimbor #OC #the silmarillion #silmarillion #angst #Celebrimbor x OC #mandos #Namo #ainur #Maia Character

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tears-of-burden · 5 months

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❛ are you alright? ❜

@mano-maia-of-mandos

Cóloniélë gave the maia a weak sad smile.

“Is anyone. . .ever truly. . .alright?”

She asks – whimsically.

🥀 rain down, see the ⇉ ( @mano-maia-of-mandos ) ❛❜

#🥀 rain down #see the ⇉ ( @mano-maia-of-mandos ) ❛❜#manó

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thesummerestsolstice · 16 days

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The voyage west at the end of Return of the King is extremely funny to me, because just look at who's on board. You've got:

Frodo Baggins, hero of the Shire, in need of healing but also excited to see Valinor and meet the legendary elves who live there, a gentle soul

Elrond Halfelven, as kind as a summer, looking forward to peace west of the sea, probably wants to go chill out in a cottage with his wife for the next thousand years

Which seems fine. And then we get to everyone else.

Gandalf, cheeky bastard who's gotten so used to being a weird old wizard in Middle-Earth that's he's forgotten what Maia are supposed to act like, will immediately cause problems

Bilbo Baggins, noted storyteller, definitely planning to break into Aule's halls to see his dwarf friends, will ask all the elves weird questions and then sing about their lives and deaths in front of them, will immediately cause problems

Galadriel, who came to Aman half for Celebrian and Elrond's sake and half to taunt all her cousins about being the only one of them to survive the First Age, enjoys causing problems, will immediately cause many problems

(Also, to be clear, these are not three isolated problem-causers, they absolutely spent the entire trip to Valinor actively planning to give Amanyar society and the Valar an aneurysm.)

I just love the idea of Elrond, now reunited with Celebrian, and Frodo happily having tea with Elwing and Earendil, with nothing to interrupt them but the gentle sounds of the tides.

Meanwhile Galariel, Bilbo, and Gandalf are collectively bullying Mandos into releasing Maglor Feanorian from the halls because:

Bilbo wants to read him his translation of the Noldolante, which is written as a cheery Hobbit drinking song

Elrond always complained about how Gandalf and Maglor were both insufferably vague about advice and Gandalf needs to make sure he's more infuriating than Maglor as a matter of his wizardly pride

He still owes Galadriel money

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #valinor #elrond #elrond peredhel #frodo baggins #bilbo baggins #galadriel #gandalf #maglor

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sakasakiii · 10 months

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the idea of the peredhel twins having heightened senses due to their maia blood is one of the concepts ive seen floating around that i really like, so here's my take on it combined with the feanorians (+ fingon) lingering about as houseless spirits that i explored some time ago in an old inktober post 😌

houseless spirits see all, but they can't interact with the world around them so i suppose that makes for quite a static existence...but compared to an oathbound eternity in Mandos (sans Fingon??), i like to imagine they'll stay a little longer to watch over those left behind, just to make sure they're doing alright 👍🏻

some more lighthearted bonuses cuz why not:

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eldamaranquendi · 8 months

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Legendarium by Pete Amachree

Oromë leading his forces during The War of Wrath

Beleg is presented with the sword, Anglachel

Númenórean shrine to Yavanna, before the arrival of Sauron

Húrin's last stand at Nírnaeth Arnoediad

Melian the Maia and her daughter Lúthien, in the throne room of Menegroth

Húrin finds the Nauglamír, in the ruins of Nargothrond

Luthien sends the court of Morgoth to sleep with a song of enchantment

Fingolfin challenges Morgoth at the Gates of Angband

City of the Gondolindrim

Gondolin: The House of the Golden Flower

Daeron at the court of Menegroth

Assault on Nargothrond

Ruins of Doriath

Beren and Luthien flee Angband

Two Valaraukar, or Balrogs at Nírnaeth Arnoediad

Húrin returns to Morwen

Fëanor's last stand at Dagor-nuin-Giliath

The Catacombs of Menegroth

The Halls of Mandos

Númenórean shrine to Yavanna Kementari

Melkor and Sauron

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blue-istari-stars-of-the-south · 2 months

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Manó in Sud Siccana WIP

WIP in which my Tolkien OC Manó (Maia of Mandos and one of the Blue Istari) has arrived in the city of Sud Siccana and meets the son of Sauron and god emperor Vanimórë (owned by @spiced-wine-fic who graciously has given me permission to write about their wonderful OC ❤️). This is still in WIP form so I’m working at writing this still so it will probably be changed a little bit before it is finished.

As the Servant of Námo was marched down the bright, torchlit corridor, hands roughly forced down to his sides by the armed soldiers, Manó did not even attempt to struggle. It was evident that these Men were well-trained, and the Maia knew that even if he did try to get away, he would easily be tackled. And he could not risk showing his true powers in front of these Men. Especially when he had no idea who it was that acted as lord over them.

It would give away far too much too early. Too risky.

And he did have plans.

And where in the name of the Lord Námo are you, Aratacáno? Why have you left me to this imprisonment?

Though he searched and searched for his fellow Namodur, Manó could not locate him in the sea of consciousness that was the citizenry.

If the rumors from the caravanserai were to be believed, this city called Sud Siccana was home to the god emperor, and from here, he did rule the South with an army that rivaled any in Middle Earth.

The palace was sumptuously decorated, showing off the obvious wealth that this lord held. Secretly, Manó was in awe at it, but he kept that impression to himself. Saying nothing, the Maia could only hope that the disguise of an older man that he enshrouded himself in would be enough to keep him safe from this…this…

As they went, the group passed many a magnificent space; the Maia caught a quick glimpse of a large bathing pool with aquamarine water with white curtains hanging for privacy where one might repose in the steam. Even to Manó it was quite tempting. To have the chance to wash off the dust of the road. Another held a dining room, brilliantly colored pillows scattered around on the floor for sitting and discussing crucial matters.

An elaborately carved door was thrown open, and Manó was quickly hustled through.

Gathering as much dignity as he could muster, the Maia held his head high.

“Wait here.” One of the guards told him, and Manó was left on his own to take in his new surroundings. Fixing his dark robes, he stared around with interest. He had expected to be brought to some throne room and forced to grovel and beg for his very existence. But no, that was not the case.

This was a room with a massive table at the center, shelves of books lining the walls. Scrolls sat unopened, along with other scraps of parchment. A library of sorts, Manó told himself. When he felt it safe to move, the Namodur reached out, carefully examining one of these documents.

A letter from some important king of a Southron land that Manó did not know of. And he did feel his curiosity rise.

With a cautious finger, he broke the seal.

Inside was written a meticulously detailed manuscript that had to do with a battle off to the east, and begging for troops to come to their aid.

Lord Vanimórë.

Was this the name of the lord of these peoples?

Manó spoke the name silently to himself, felt a chill run up his spine at it, skin crawling.

“And what do you think you are doing, hm?”

The Maia jumped at the sudden voice, turning away from the table, his robes swirling about him. His green eyes widened then, as he beheld the one who had addressed him.

A tall man (no, an Elf more likely) stood in the doorway, watching him with keen violet eyes. Manó had never seen such a gaze in all of his long years, one so piercing and sharp, and it seemed to him like falling into pools of purple light. Long dark hair fell around his shoulders and down to his waist, tied back away from the elegant elegant Noldorin features. Clothed in all black with swords strapped across his back, the Elf crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, the posture hinting at seduction. A little smile played across the Elf’s face.

Overwhelmed by the presence, as if this Elf was staring straight into his ëala and seeing all that was hidden there, Manó felt the breath catch in his throat.

Steadying himself and at once feeling small before the purple gaze, the Maia bowed, placing a hand to his chest in apology.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” Manó finally managed to say. “I was merely curious.”

The Maia knew that he had to play his cards right with this one. A game of words and intrigue that he was not at all skilled at. Or else, he might find a far worse fate than the short imprisonment back in Tûl Harar. Manó was but a humble servant of the Lord of Mandos. What did he know of plotting and scheming?

How dare he make a Maia, an Ainu of Námo, feel so insignificant!

Anger flared then in Manó’s chest, but was quickly stamped out when the Elf locked eyes, staring him down.

Vanimórë chuckled then, closing the distance between them in a few long graceful strides, swept across the room like a dangerously prideful lion inspecting his realm.

And this indeed was his realm. No one would dare touch this king without the loss of their head and maybe a few other appendages.

Without hesitation, Lord Vanimórë spoke, the voice melodic and commanding all at once:

“I saw you and the other ride through the gates. Have the Valar sent one of their lackeys to come and spy on me? Maybe they’ve come to their senses.”

Head in a storm of thoughts, Manó felt a blush creep over his cheeks as Vanimórë came closer.

A scent of sandlewood.

The Maia a step backward, bumping against the table, sent a few of the scrolls toppling to the floor. Cornered and with nowhere to run, Manó stared straight into the eyes that watched him.

Eru’s name, did this demon have eyes everywhere?

“You…You must have seen wrong, good lord.” Manó replied, scrambling desperately for a convincing lie. “I came here alone.”

The calm smile remained, a dark eyebrow arched, as if completely unafraid and sure of himself in the face of the Namodur. The sight of it irked the Maia, but he kept his words to himself. It wouldn’t do to provoke him.

”Wrong?” Vanimórë said. “I don’t believe so. Especially when you made your arrival so obvious.”

“Sauron’s dark spawn.” Máno muttered, standing his ground.”The Valar speak of you, and not with kindness.”

The lord smirked then, fearsome as any warrior:

”Oh, I am sure that they do. Especially your Master. Isn’t that right?”

#manó #istari #silmarillion oc #tolkien oc #ainur #maia of mandos #silmarillion #tolkien #aratacáno #vanimore #silm #the silm #the silmarillion #blue istari #blue wizards

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cilil · 10 months

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Hi! I’m new to your blog and I don’t know if your requests are open ( if not I’m sorry just disregard this🫠) but if they are can you write something NSFW with Námo and a fem reader? Like maybe he sees her talking to someone in Mandos (like Feanor or someone) and gets jealous and then decides to remind her that she’s his? The spicier the better 🔥🔥🔥

Author's Note: I haven't officially opened requests for stuff outside of small events and challenges, but I was planning to do that sometime so why not~🖤

A Reminder

Characters: Námo/femMaia!reader Synopsis: Námo sees his favourite Maia spending a little too much time with a certain Noldo and decides to remind her that she belongs to him Featuring: Smut, BDSM, spanking, creampie Warnings: Explicit

"Come."

His command echoes within your mind, the force of his voice drowning out all others, and you find yourself losing focus on your current conversation.

"My lord-?"

"Now."

You tremble slightly, causing the elven fëa in front of you to draw closer, thoughts of concern on his mind. Perceptive as ever, Fëanor has already noticed your moment of distraction and immediately asks, "Is something the matter?"

You compose yourself as quickly as you can and reach out with your fëa to send a few calming thoughts, not wishing to worry him. Given how gloomy and quiet the Halls of Mandos could be, conversing with the rebellious Noldo has become one of the more delightful activities for you – and one your fellow Maiar gladly leave to you, finding themselves exasperated by his temperament.

"I am afraid I must cut our conversation short," you respond and bow your head respectfully. "Lord Námo summons me."

"A pity." Fëanor regards you with a certain warmth, an unusual sight. It hasn't escaped his notice either that not many of both your and his own kind are willing to be in his company, and though apprehensive at first, your feelings of appreciation seem to be reciprocated. The thought makes you smile.

"I will return in time," you promise, then hurry to appear before your lord. The sharpness in his tone earlier leads you to believe that he isn't in the mood to wait for you.

Námo is sitting on his throne with an air of otherworldly elegance, one elbow placed on the armrest as he appears to be pondering some kind of issue. His eyes meet yours as soon as he senses your presence, and you feel heat and cold alike course through you like electricity.

Something has displeased him.

"There you are, my little raven."

Námo's voice betrays nothing, yet he continues to regard you with thinly veiled discontent.

"My lord," you greet him and bow deeply. "How may I assist you?"

It feels strange to be so formal, you notice, after spending nights of passion in your lord's bed. Nevertheless, you know he prefers to court in private, and expects you to be on your best behaviour as a Maia of Mandos.

Námo seems like he hasn't paid attention to your question, but doesn't keep you waiting for too long. "I appreciate your hard work and dedication, yet I must admit that I find myself displeased when I see you spending so much time with a certain Noldo."

Your eyes widen. Until now, you weren't aware that he's been keeping an eye on you, let alone that he doesn't approve of your encounters with Fëanor.

"He seemed like he was in need of company," you attempt to defend yourself, but Námo raises his hand, signalling you to be silent.

"Your patience and kindness is commendable. My sister would certainly be proud," he says, yet in spite of praising you, his gaze betrays his displeasure. "And even so, you must remember that you belong to me first and foremost."

Your fána heats up as his eyes roam your form, desire causing them to darken, and your heart flutters in your chest. You want to tell him that you do belong to him and no one else, but something tells you that Námo won't be satisfied with mere words. Not when he looks at you like this, not when he speaks to you with such possessiveness in his voice. He will seek to claim you once again, and the realisation sparks desire within you as well.

You want to be his.

"Perhaps a reminder is in order," Námo suggests, though you both know his words are more akin to an order, and beckons you closer with a small wave of his hand.

You nod, flushing red under your hood and approach his throne with shaky steps. Will he take you right here, you wonder, to show everyone to whom you belong? It seems like it when he pulls you onto his lap and starts kissing you roughly, capturing your lips with his while his hands take hold of your smaller fána.

"P-please, my lord... not here–"

Námo lets out a quiet chuckle. "You don't want me to spread your lovely legs and take you in front of my court? I feel like you would enjoy it..."

His hand reaches underneath your hood to seize a fistful of your hair, tugging lightly to expose your neck for better access.

"But you have a point. The sight of your true beauty is mine alone to behold, and I don't want others desiring what belongs to me."

"Námo-!"

You barely manage to call out his name before the world around you suddenly shifts and blurs. He's bringing you somewhere else, but you don't know where until your back hits something soft and you look up at Námo looming over you with a stern expression. A quick glance around reveals that you're lying on his bed, his left hand resting on your chest to hold you in place in case you choose to defy his silent command. You let all tension leave your muscles as proof of your obedience and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what should be done to remind you of your place.

"Are you ready to be disciplined, little raven?" Námo asks. His voice is gentle and his mien relaxes as he utters those words, despite the lust and hunger shining in his eyes; even though he enjoys to be strict and dominant and his jealousy was very much genuine, he would never punish or claim you against your will. He knows he has acted on instinct and will not rob you of your chance to say no.

"I am ready, my lord," you whisper and bite your lip, shifting on the bed as heat begins to pool inside you. "I think I very much am in need of discipline."

Námo accepts your words with a pleased nod. "A confession is the first step, but I am afraid you will still have to submit to punishment so you will remember not to stray too far from my side again."

You lower your gaze in a display of penitence. "Of course, my lord."

Both of you are more than aware that neither of you regrets this, yet you love to commit to playing your roles accordingly. Námo doesn't take off your robes, letting his hand trail down your body instead. Slowly and methodically, he pulls up your skirt to expose your lower body and removes your panties. You squirm in anticipation and watch as his long fingers wrap around your ankles and lift your legs with just one hand, pushing them closer to your chest to expose your backside.

The first slap comes without warning, and you let out a soft gasp, realising that your lord intends to spank you.

"Whom do you serve?" Námo asks, accentuating his question with another well-aimed slap to your other thigh.

"Y-you, my lord–"

Slap.

"Articulate yourself properly."

"I-I serve you, my lord..."

A small smile, a curt nod. Nevertheless, he continues to spank you in-between questions.

"And to whom do you belong?"

"You – ah – I'm yours, my lord!"

"Indeed."

More slaps. Your ass and thighs start feeling warm.

"Do you think I like to share what is mine?"

"N-no, my lord..."

"Very good, little raven. So where should you be?"

"I should be... a-at your side... always–"

Námo rewards you with one final slap, then rubs your reddened skin soothingly. Despite the pain – or perhaps because of it – you feel yourself getting wet.

"Then you should know better than to spend all your time talking to rebellious fëar," he admonishes, "and if you keep disobeying me, I will have to use other means than just my hands next time."

The prospect is tempting. You wonder if you should disobey him on purpose, just to see what punishment he will devise for you, but your thoughts are interrupted when Námo releases your ankles to spread your legs. He pushes two fingers inside you, letting out a content hum as he feels your wetness dripping onto his hand all too eagerly.

"Good girl... so ready for me..."

You can't wait to have him inside you. Thankfully Námo doesn't keep you waiting - you hear the rustling of fabric as he parts his robes just enough to free his erection and feel him entering you without further delay. He pushes slowly but steadily, savouring the feeling of your tight walls parting for him, and you claw at the sheets underneath you.

"Ah– Námo-!"

"Do you like this?" he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against yours while he speaks. "Do you enjoy being claimed, my lovely little raven?"

"Y-yes-!"

Námo allows you a few precious seconds of adjusting to his size before he starts moving. It's not gentle lovemaking this time, no – he fucks you with hard, almost frenzied thrusts, strict and merciless like when he passes judgement, making sure to penetrate you as deeply as he can. While your moans and cries of bliss fill the room, your lord is a silent lover, listening to the beautiful noises you make instead.

He seizes your legs once again and pushes them up to your chest to go deeper still, pleased as your smaller fána arches helplessly underneath him and the song of your pleasure increases in volume yet again.

"So good for me, such a good girl..." Námo groans, pupils dilating in pure lust and hunger until his eyes are dark like a starless night. "I will fill you with my essence so you won't forget to whom you belong... so they will all know you are mine..."

You can only nod in agreement, and he fulfils his promise shortly after, releasing deep inside you. It seems to you as if he couldn't wait to fill you up, couldn't wait to lay claim to you in the most intimate way possible, and you take all he gives you.

Námo stays inside you for a while, making sure not a single droplet of his essence is wasted, and starts humming a soothing tune. You know this is yet another way for him to mark you, leaving an echo of his song on your fëa like an invisible imprint, ensuring that neither Ainur nor the fëar of Mandos will dare to come too close to you; and this, too, you accept gladly.

"All mine," Námo whispers and kisses your lips.

"All yours," you mumble obediently, eyes falling close as a sensation of comfortable weariness slowly overcomes you.

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feanors-silmarils · 1 month

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I really have to make an edit for my Sauron/Mano ship before Sinday Sunday is over lol

#manó #maiar of mandos #ainur #I will never shut up about my Maia of Námo bois ever

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tanoraqui · 11 months

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Theory: It’s significant that of the three recorded Balrog slayings, two involved shoving them off a very high precipice and one was drowning them in a fountain. It’s not about just destroying their physical form—they’re strong Maiar; that’s not enough. I’m sure at least a dozen Elves successfully disembodied Balrogs throughout the First Age. But in order to keep them disembodied, as you wreck their physical form so much that they have to abandon it, you have to trap them in the demesne of a Vala—Manwë and Ulmo shown here—friendly to your cause and so willing to yoink that wayward Maia back to whatever corner of Mandos or maybe the Void that bad kids go.

#balrog #maiar #valar #theories #the silmarillion #lotr #fall of gondolin

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thelien-art · 9 months

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My current blorbo´s; Melkor, Ereinion (Gil-Galad), Caranthir, and Elrond.

Explanation of some of their looks, as I've noticed that my designs for some characters are a bit unusual for many in the fandom

Melkor:

Oh boy, do I have thoughts on this creature!

So, he loses all his color when he pours himself into Arda (that takes a lot of years so I´m saying it only gets consequences right before he´s being sat in timeout in Mandos for 300 years) and now can only take a form with no color so yes he can still choose a form of his own wish, but it will be without pigment. Then later at the theft of the Silmarils, it´s said that he loses his ability to create a "fair form" talking about him being stuck in an "ugly" body, yet still, when he meets the Edain he´s described as taking a majestic and beautiful body, wich translates to me as it´s hard for him to change his body, he still can, but he has a preferred one, he can´t loose his scars, and he´s bound to a physical form as the first Ainur ever.

The hair is just him deciding to cut it at three in the morning and Mairon trying to save it the next day because he won't use energy to grow it out fast. It gets in his way you see. Sensory issues. He probably bites it off.

Ereinion:

I like to think of Ereinion as a child of Angband that got picked up by Maedhros and then given to Fingon for safekeeping. The pigment "flaws" are a turnout of being near Maiar who doesn´t try to make their effect on the world around them minimal, in a young age. (I also have a headcanon about that happening to some of the elves living in Valinor but much less since the Ainur residents there tries to keep it minimal)

I go a lot more on him in this post (also about pigment "flaws" in Valinor and Doriath) explaining both parentage and appearance.

Caranthir:

I think my Caranthir explains himself, red birthmark for his name and gold since he´s very ✨rich✨

Elrond:

Elrond is part Maia and I headcanon lesser Maiar to have some form of orb floating close to their head they can´t hide as it´s part of their fea, meaning it´s more or less how they would look without a body, so only stronger Maiar can hide their fea totally. He can shapeshift a little but not lose his body, but he can turn his teeth sharper and turn a bit taller, so small things like that.

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