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#be better mairon.
mmmairon · 4 months
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i request more footage of The Boy™ (casper) 👉👈 pretty please?
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Pretend this ask isn’t nearly a year old but better late than never, right? I’ll always post my little boy. He provides window cleaning services for free. Enjoy.
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thirteenducks · 4 months
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feverish
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(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]
༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck
༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k
༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda
༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(
After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.
Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.
For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.
Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.
He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.
The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.
Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.
“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”
His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.
“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”
Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.
In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.
“Sweetheart? Are you up?”
A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.
Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.
“Hi, darling.”
The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”
You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.
“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”
He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.
That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.
You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”
There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...
“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”
Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”
It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.
He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.
“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.
He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.
Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.
“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”
You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”
“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”
You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”
“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.
You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”
Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”
Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”
No answer.
“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”
Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”
Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.
“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”
You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.
A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.
He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”
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cilil · 6 months
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My personal conspiracy theory is that Melkor actually wanted Fëanor to be captured, not killed, so he can continue to be creepy and obsessed with him. Unfortunately for him, Mairon was so pissed that his lover came back with burned hands, an entire army chasing him and drooling over someone else and their smith work (and jealous too) that he secretly bribed the Balrogs into killing Fëanor instead, and then they all pretended it was an "accident" and they "tried so hard", but he "wouldn't cooperate" and "just randomly died"
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sauronpilled · 5 days
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He continued to call himself Mairon the Admirable, or Tar-mairon ("King Excellent"), until after Númenor's downfall, although he could not use that name in Númenor, as it was a Quenya name with royal implications. There he was called Zigûr, meaning "Wizard" in Adûnaic.
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thelien-art · 3 months
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Sauron design - Huan design
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hirazuki · 1 year
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I did a costest of Mairon today (and an impromptu Almaren-era look, because why not) -- he's ready for con! I'm really happy with how he looks and too excited to wait to share photos until I'm done editing, so have some unedited shots plus two quick memes & the last thing you see when you dare imply Melkor might have not done nothing wrong XD
Inspiration for the memes came from this amazing poll by @kanafinwe-makalaure.
Edit: Ahaha okay this got A LOT more attention than I anticipated, for being just some test shots and silliness ^^; I usually don't include costume credits in costest photo dump posts, only on finished photos, but now I feel like I need to include them here too, so here you go: Wig: Arda Wigs (Grace, in "Fire Orange") Contacts: Uniqso (Sweety Crazy Red Demon Eye) Ears: Aradani Costumes (Sun Elf Ears) Circlet: PernCirclets (on Etsy) Gorget: Crystalsidyll (on Etsy) Gauntlets: Jadekei (on Etsy) Leather armor: LederFantasies (on Etsy) Fangs: Scarecrow (Small Deluxe Fangs) Gloves, dress base, and finger armor are mass-produced/store-bought; shirt is my own. I'm honestly shocked at the reception and everyone's really kind and supportive words! ♡♡♡
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artbyvampiraptor · 8 months
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Your own
Personal
Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
someone who cares
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naarisz · 1 year
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(He's thinking abt cats.)
//It's beeeeen a while since I posted anything, sorry. I don't really have time for art related things. :(
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cyraes · 6 months
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(click to enlarge bc tumblr resolution sucks)
🌻sort of ghibli'sh colour style of the lineart version. for my dear @theriverwild 💛
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theribbajack · 1 year
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The Lord of the One Ring, and of all Rings
I have never played Elden Ring, but it has a nice aesthetic. Meanwhile the deyassification of Sauron is something I’ll never forgive Amazon for.
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saintsilmarillion · 4 days
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Our Antlers Tangled Interlude 6
Waters and Wanting for @feast-of-horns
Uinen comes to Utumno seeking Ossë's freedom
Follow the full fic on AO3
Rating E
No Chapt specific Warnings
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It is said of those who venture beyond the Iron Mountains none are seen again. That any who seek out their lost kin in Utumno meet the same doom. Still Uinen comes to free Ossë. 
‘My marriage claim exceeds whatever loyalty you have sworn of him.’ She cries. 
The Dark Vala regards her from his iron throne. Above, gigantic glittering crystals hang like a threat. 
‘I do not wish to thwart your bond.’ He smiles at her indulgently. His elegant visage is both terrible and magnetising, hewn in sharp angles, painted with delicate features. ‘You may join my service and remain with your husband.’ 
‘I will not do that.’ Uinen replies and flinches as a crystal strikes the stone behind her, flinging ruby shards in all directions. 
Cackling strikes up around the hall, fallen spirits relishing in her distress. Great hosts of fire and grief, Ulmo and Yavanna, even of air, and of Manwë. 
She cannot find Ossë’s face among the leering masses but she recognises too many of the former maiar. 
‘You would not remain beside him, yet you claim to love him.’ The Dark Lord leans forwards, piercing her with his unsettling eyes.
‘I love him well enough to bring him forth from darkness without sacrificing myself to it.’ 
The assembled masses go wild at her response, shrieking filth and disdain for her 
‘Let her try.’ A sweet, beautiful voice calls forth, cutting through the cacophony. 
Light kindles behind the throne as a fire spirit steps up to it, bringing luminous warmth to the shadowed hall, setting the crystalline ceiling alight with reflections. 
Like a sudden blow to the face, Uinen realises that she knows him. 
Mairon, formerly of Aulë and deserter of Almaren. The one who delivered news of Ossë's betrayal. And then fell to the dark himself. 
He barely resembles the watchful smith who spoke little but thought deeply; always capable of crafting what was needed not what was asked. Garbed now as he is in black, glittering all over with ornaments, he seems more of pretty trophy than a master of their creation. 
‘We have not had something so fresh to play with for an age.’ He places a jewelled hand on the arm of the throne and looks up at his glowering master. ‘Give her to our judgement.’
The Dark Vala melts before his servant, warmth cracking the ice of his harsh mien. He lifts a hand indolently towards Mairon. 
‘Do you ask this favour of me?’
‘I do, my Lord.’ Mairon takes the hand in his, kneeling devoutly before the throne, and presses the knuckles against his lips. 
Ósanwë whispers between them, at the edge of Uinen’s hearing, though she would not dare reach out to listen even if they shouted.
‘Very well, their fate is yours.’ The Dark Lord dismisses Uinen without a glance, leaning back into the shadows of his throne to watch.
Mairon steps forward and looks down at her with cruel, blazing eyes. His beauty, once so comforting, is twisted and horrifying to look upon. 
‘Run our Hunt, evading capture by all denizens of the fortress until you breach its walls, and Ossë will be freed from my Lord’s service.’ 
She swallows, scorched by his gaze. 
‘And if I fail?’ 
‘If you fail, you will be ours to do with as we wish. Either way your husband is returned to your company.’ He shrugs as if this is mercy, eyes flickering over the assembled masses for their response.
They whoop and cheer his pronouncement. He is beloved by them, these pitiable creatures of Utumno, all crowding to burn themselves on his flames. 
‘I accept.’ 
Uinen wades through the burning caverns of Utumno. A hand raised against the blazing fury of the light. Creatures of fire and shadow chase her, dogging her heels. 
She gets the sense they are playing with her, not fully baring their claws. Of those that test her, many more linger at the corners of her eyes, not stepping forward to stake a claim. 
Still, she must fight to the limits of her strength against the creatures that do face her. 
Uinen stands resolute against their flames. She reaches within her own song and through it. Beyond fire and ashes there is deep water, plant life. Mosses and hardy weeds, algae and amphibians all come at her call. Rock breaks and springs of fresh water flood the fiery chambers, reclaiming them. 
Find your way to the surface, seek the outer sea, free us both. She encourages it.
Water flows and she follows. 
Finally, she comes upon an opening in the fortress walls, the grey light of distant Illuin and the Iron mountains shadowed against it. She did not think she could be so happy to see anything and cries at the sight. 
Uinen moves towards it but is halted by Mairon stepping from the shadows, silent despite his many dangling adornments. 
‘Ossë awaits you beyond.’ He gestures at the opening, suddenly distant, as he bars the way.
‘Will you deny me at the last?’ Uinen asks miserably. 
‘No,’ Mairon scoffs as if she asks unreasonably. 'I seek to see my assistance returned.’
‘Assistance? I have battled my way here through your vicious forces, your fires, all to see my husband again!’
‘A chance you would not have been given without my persuasion.’ He bites, spirit flaring awful heat that makes her cringe away in pain. Mairon pauses, regains himself. ‘I have a request of Master Aulë, all you need do is relay it.’
Uinen is not one to turn down hope for another after she has struggled for her own. She agrees to take his message, a little price for the return of her other half, and Mairon moves aside to let her pass. 
She hesitates, silver lamplight in her eyes, and turns away from it. 
Uinen reaches back into the shadows. 
Mairon lets her take his hand in hers.
‘You could come with us.’ She says.
He looks at their clasped hands sorrowfully, the gold of his eyes shifting white as they return to her. So beautiful and bright to be trapped in such awful darkness. 
‘I cannot. But aid me in this and you may deliver us all from Utumno’s grip.’ 
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solmarillion · 1 year
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sometimes the ideal relationship is an elf jewelsmith, his dwarf best friend and a totally-not-suspicious maia. you may find it hard to accept but it’s the truth
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thelien-art · 9 months
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Day 4 of @silvergiftingweek
Captured | Bad Ending
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Purple hyacinth: Hyacinth can symbolize both sorrow and a desire for forgiveness, therefore also regret
TW: bloody hands
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brynnmclean · 7 months
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Permanently jumping up and down and screaming over the Mairon AU :D
I LOVE THE AU. It's still very much living constantly in my brain!!!! I've been thinking a lot recently about Eönwë and Mairon in the Noontide of Valinor era, so here is a little bit that I've just written:
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Valarin isn't often heard on the streets of Tirion, the Maiar who visit the Noldor there being too polite, perhaps, to use a tongue that makes their nerves jangle like bells and their back teeth ache. Mairon has been living among elves exclusively for years now, using his language only briefly and carefully with Artanis, who wishes to share it with him as a gift.
Mairon is methodical, deliberate by nature. He keeps a firm hand on his power, especially while among the people he loves-- his family, his Arafinwëans.
His control slips when Eönwë tells him Melkor is being given free reign of Aman.
The ground shakes and his voice rings like a hammer strike gone too hard, steel shattering beneath the blow, sparks and shrapnel scattered points of pain. "Those fools," he spits, heedless of Eönwë's ruffled feathers and the affront in his eagle-sharp eyes-- what Mairon says is true. "He has blinded them, Manwë most of all! How can they let him free?"
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gerardspuppy · 1 year
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band au or smth (ft. his guitar, defaced courtesy of melkor)
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urwendii · 1 year
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I've been toying with the idea of a Maedhros Ossë and Mairon roadtrip through Middle Earth and the more I think of it the better it becomes.
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