ulmo: i have no favourites

finrod and turgon: 🥺🥺🥺

ulmo: i have two favorites

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manwë: i have no favourites

fingon: 😔 🏹 😭

manwë: fuck.

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aulë: i have no favourites

the noldor: 🤗🥰🔨

aulë: i have many favourites

the noldor: 🤬🔥🔪

aulë: back to no favourites it is

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melkor: i have no favourites

húrin: 🤬😡👊🔪

melkor:

melkor: still no favourites.

So I just read that Moregoth crafted a crown of iron in which he set the silmarils and the it was dreadfully heavy and he never took it off ect ect

and I just love the idea that Morgoth makes a crown so massive that it becomes a burden too him. So here are some sketches of how his crown might look like and a close up of my favorite design, though i want to do more work on it.

Au where Melkor, instead of having the door slammed in his face, convinces Feanor to join him and his cause and he brings the Noldo to Angband. I have the feeling Mairon would probably be jealous of having another extremely talented smith catch Melkor's eye.

Mairon: You can't have 2 extremely gifted smiths here, Melkor! I just won't allow it! *glares at Feanor*

the sweet & talented @cilil tagged me on WIP Wednesday, so have a lil snipped from the next chapter of my Paul x Feyd fic <3

Feyd-Rautha lies down on the bed, closes his eyes and thinks of the boy. Reflected red light slashes the tenebrous room in half, a laceration that cuts Feyd-Rautha off by the chest. He touches where the light warms his skin just above his seventh rib and dips his fingers between his costal arches. Here. He imagines Paul’s blade push inside. He moans. “Come to me, Atreides,” Feyd-Rautha murmurs into the empty room, then throws an arm over his face, bites at his own skin enough to bruise while his free hand sinks between his legs. What if the secret door opened and the boy came to him now? Feyd-Rautha imagines Paul’s lesser weight on top of him, spreading Feyd-Rautha’s thighs.

And ALSO, this super old angbang wip from...2016..........that I will finish...some day:

Yet in gloaming Melkor had once more returned, gargantuan and of-augury. A light had shone in his eyes, both fiery and frore. Naught of offering or promises foul, only this: his hand extended, and crackling along the whiteness of his skin, power. And Mairon had taken it. For what Mairon wants is not to serve. He wants to make. Suddenly he needs not pledge himself. Nil binds him, but his own will to power. Torn from slumber, he for the first time sees, and stares into the depths of the world. And deeper than woe or servitude, cradled in igneous rock, lie his own blackening desires, clamouring for eternity. And eternal shall they be.

tagging: @sauron-kraut (i know cilil also tagged you but still <3), @jamlocked, @liesmyth, @saintstars, @crackinthecup, @curufiin @theskeletonprior

Throwback Thursday Tuesday

Tagged by the incredibly lovely and incredibly talented @gardensofthemoon and @cilil <3 Thank you so much!

I've gone with what might just be my favourite bit in Yield to the Moment (Angbang modern AU). NSFW under the cut.

Tagging @elevenelvenswords, @tarmairons, @sauron-kraut, @gerardspuppy, @markedasinfernal (only if you fancy! no pressure)

*

The days roll on. Snow falls down from leaden clouds, draping the landscape in white.

They go out walking, kicking up sprays of glittering snow, Melkor with his cane, bundled up in shirt, jumper, scarf, gloves, and Aulë’s thick sheepskin coat, while Mairon floats about in a thin top and an unzipped puffer jacket.

They take the horses out for hacks through the fields and woods. A bright, silent world. A world that feels newly made, all theirs to explore, to mark with footprints in the snow and say I am here where no one else has been before. They kiss under bare branches glistening with frost. They laugh and laugh, endlessly, like children, the cold air making their lungs ache. They ride for hours, until the sun sinks down into the west and the snow burns red-gold with its passing. Mairon tells Melkor what to do, when to pull on the reins, when to tap his heels against the horse’s flanks; Melkor listens.

They have snowball fights.

They find big daddy longlegs chilled into near perfect stillness in dark corners of the house. Melkor screams when he sees the first one. Mairon doesn’t quite manage not to laugh, but he does so while trapping the offending spider inside a glass and relocating it to the barn.

They take their meals with Aulë and Yavanna, all together round the kitchen table, like a family. Yavanna is a talker, chattering away like wind through leaves, easy on the ears. She tells Melkor about the patterns of farm life: the secrets of the sheep, the joy of a crisp apple plucked right off the branch, a feeling like new life in her old bones when she wakes up with the first shivering light of dawn and she looks at her land, her animals, the seeds planted by her hands grown tall and made eternal. Aulë, on the other hand, remains as quiet as the day Melkor met him. His thoughts are thoughts of stone, slow in their forming but sturdy, unshakeable. One night, during dinner, he asks Melkor to pass the salt. Pass the salt, son, that is what he says. Son. Melkor half-convinces himself he didn’t hear right.

Mairon takes him to his father’s workshop. Puts on gloves, a thick leather apron. Pulls out a chair for Melkor to sit, and watch. Metal hisses, sparks fly, and they bathe Mairon in a deep-red glow, the colour of blood, of coals flickering in the belly of a fire. His hands work, deft, strong, wielding the power of creation. Unmaking, remaking.

Melkor falls to his knees. Willingly, helplessly, he falls. Lust burns in his heart; worship trembles in his fingers. Mairon’s cock cage clatters to the floor. The door is unlocked, so they must be quick, they must be stealthy, silken flesh across Melkor’s tongue, filling his mouth, nudging down his throat; Mairon’s hands so large in their gloves clamped to the back of his skull; desperate, half-stifled moans, and Melkor’s own wet slurping sounds, and then, then—

Mairon comes with his name like a prayer on his lips, and Melkor swallows, sucks him dry, laps at him till he’s twitching, whimpering, maddened by his taste, by the glory of his pleasure.

Every day, Melkor falls in love all over again.

Every is a potential if you are enough

Manwe: Every person is a potential friend if you are kind enough.

Yavanna: Every acorn is a potential tree if you are patient enough.

Tulkas: Every struggle is a potential victory if you are brave enough.

Melkor: Every yawn is a potential blowjob if you are fast enough.

Manwe: Brother no!

morgoth

Every year Tolkien-themed Inktober doodles! Here goes: Melkor and Ungoliath watch tree lights, the light of the golden tree and dancing Maiar, first elves by the lake, Aqualonde, and bridge to Menegroth ♥ I already drew these already for 8years! Previous ones: Hobbit The Fellowship of the Ring The Two Towers The Return of the King Silmarillion Childern of Húrin Song of Dúrin

And finally here I come with a Moringotto aka the guy who thought it was a good idea to work with a giant spider…🙈

Prints and other stuff on my RedBubble and Threadless

My favorite Morgoth moment is when the Great Enemy of Middle Earth got attacked by a big spider and shrieked so loudly all his balrogs heard from miles away and had to come rescue him. Damsel behavior

The Lords of Angband

Morgoth

The Silmarillion fandom is collapsing.

Has anyone else noticed a lot of people leaving the silmarillion just general Tolkien fandom? Especially on tumblr. One of my favourite Silm blogs deleted their whole account and just disappeared. I’m seeing a lot of amazing creators put out their farewell statements. I absolutely don’t blame anyone who is choosing to leave and especially if it’s just because they’re not happy anymore or are moving on to other things. But I’m noticing that a lot of people are being very negative and some creators have explicitly stated that this has impacted them leaving and losing love and interest for something that once made them so happy because of all the negativity aimed at them. It’s so sad. Also wtf this is a hobby and some people are so demanding with creators like they’re not creating things unpaid and in their free time. Hating on people for what they love and find comfort in or calling them weird for liking and having different takes on certain FICTIONAL characters is disgusting and you’re absolutely the problem if you do that.

To any creators seeing this I just want you to know how much your work is and contribution is appreciated. Especially since it’s not that big of a fandom on here.