Viola would never openly question or disagree with her Dark Lord, but privately she would raise an eyebrow and gesture vaguely on the decision to crown an Elf as Prince of Angband..

Knowing the Dark Lord put some trust in her Viola set aside her general dislike of Elves and promised to tend to the pointy-ear diligently.

"I must admit I'm not too familiar with Elves, nor will I pretend to have any idea on what care is needed to keep one alive." The girl admitted, eyeing the new prince with caution and curiosity "But I will do my best to help you get settled into your new position, and hopefully not get a few stab wounds in the process."

@hauntedmystic

That cleared up her confusion nicely. With a nod she knelt down in front of him "You can eat a few more berries while I do this." Viola couldn't have people think she was starving the poor Elf.

Viola had been in Angband, and in the good graces of the Dark Lord, for some time now. She knew a thing or two about everyone else of the Inner Circle.

"Remove everything that isn't meat from that tray." She ordered without looking up "Gothmog hates anything that isn't meat. If you won't eat it then I'm sure he will appreciate you sharing."

“Oh… okay… Are you sure?” Maeglin asked as he finished the berries. “What if he’s busy? What if… he’s not hungry?” Maeglin knew he was bound to make a fool of himself. Maybe it would be best to stay here. Somehow the thought of being rejected by Gothmog was the most sickening thought of his life.

“We don’t have to do all that.” he said glumly.

"And what if you remain without allies at Court? The Dark Lord crowned you as Prince but you need to find your own footing and solidify your power." Viola rolled her eyes. She'd learned quick how things worked here, and she'd worked hard to become the Dark Lords little helper.

He was new here, but the power structure couldn't differ that much from Gondolin. "You have a giant target on your back and only me to watch it. Gothmog will help with showing everyone you're here to stay, not just some pawn with a fancy hat."

"Right, okay... How does my hair look?" Maeglin approached a mirror. "Should it be up or down? Or kind of both?" he asked, gathering some of his hair into his hands and lifting it up. He let it all down. Then twisted it all up. "I don't know... I never know. Down, I guess."

As distasteful as Maeglin was, at least Glorfindel knew his cat would be safe with him should he find him; Maeglin did love animals dearly.

Glorfindel took a calming breath, nodding his agreement. It would be okay. It had to be.

“Dance with me?” he suggested, hand settling at Ecthelion’s hip. It did not matter to him that no music was playing; however, after he spoke a melody did cascade from the mezzanine. “We’ll watch the sunset.”

Ecthelion allowed himself to be led, swept away by Glorfindel's joy as always. He could do nothing but admire his lover's dedication to celebration, even in spite of someone like Maeglin. As such, the Lord of the Silver Fountains' face softened, and he slid his hand into Glorfindel's. Good music and good company could soothe even the most irritated of spirits.

" It's a most wonderful party, Glorfindel, " he commented, drawing his face closer to Glorfindel's own. " You have outdone yourself once again. "

"Oh, thank you, my dear! That is very kind. I do take so much pride in cultivating community." he said and delicately brushed his lips across Ecthelion's. He spun him elegantly under the darkening sky before parting from him to look over the pink-streaked horizon. "It is a beautiful evening--but so is any when accompanied by you."

A moment later he felt an approaching presence despite her silent steps. He felt his hair being touched; he pulled from it a crystal butterly and turned to Idril. "For me...?"

"For you!"

Glorfindel secured it again and thanked her. As they embraced, she murmured news into his ear.

"What? Really?"

"And I wanted you to be the one to share it because I cannot stay long. I only wanted to say hello and eat a cupcake before the place got crowded." Mostly because she did not want to be around Maeglin more than she needed to be.

"I'm so happy to be the first friend you've told. Thank you."

Idril kissed his cheek, waved goodbye to Ecthelion, and departed.

"Oh, this is so exciting," Glorfindel commented before taking Ecthelion's hand upon the return inside.

"Thank you so much for sharing this holiday with me," Glorfindel smiled brightly as he addressed the glittering crowd, "Idril just informed me of her pregnancy!"

Applause applause!

Unfortunately Maeglin, overcome with disgust, threw up; and a majority of the elves here had never seen such a vile bodily function.

He took a steady breath, having only felt the pain again when it was brought to his attention. A hell of a thing to be able to forget for a few seconds.

“It’s alright.” Melkor answered before returning to his feet and slowly approaching a wall to flip on the lights. “I’m fine.”

Now that he could see the blood he had tracked in… maybe he wasn’t so fine as he had thought.

“What makes you think you can help?”

Mairon didn't believe him, just watched him get up, and after he did so, he too did the same, only to find Melkor's blood smeared across his thigh. He sat on the side of the bed, looking up at him, not wanting to wipe the blood away for some reason he could not and did not have the time to think about right now.

"I am working for the hotel, and part of my training is medical emergencies. I have a medical kit right there, in the closet, if you want, but... it would be easier if someone else did it." Mairon offered, staring at Melkor with his wide eyes and heart racing, but he wasn't sure it was just fear at this point.

"I promise I'm not trying to hurt you or anything..." he shrugged, mouth parting to say more but didn't know what, and stopped himself before he started rambling.

When he looked at Mairon again, he laughed--not at him but at the strangeness that he would think of licking his blood off the other's thigh when he saw it...

"Fine... Alright. How... helpful." he said before taking off his pants and taking a seat beside the desk where he spread his legs apart to look over the wound.

no when i say intimacy i mean one of us is bleeding out and the other is putting their entire body weight behind their hands to stop it

The sound of breaking glass came at once from nowhere and everywhere, but nothing was physically broken. Then the night was entirely silent as color and remnants of light bled from Mairon’s form and bedroom.

From this desolation through which Mairon would not be able to hear even his own frequency, rose Melkor’s Song. It had never relented and certainly wouldn’t now.

It wasn’t that Melkor wanted to force him to hear it-it was far more important to him that Mairon felt the way it thrived with dismay and disgust.

Would you even exist without Me? Melkor pondered. He had infiltrated all of creation; Mairon too rightfully belonged to him. You were made to love my arts… who are you without them?

Mairon was startled by the sudden sounds, jerked back and raised his hands to his ears, trembling a little and squeezed his eyes shut but after a moment, realizing that there was nothing shattering, that tye building didn't collapse over him, he slowly opened his eyes again, took his hands from his ears and raised wide eyes to Melkor.

His face changed, looking at him with reverence, probably the first time Mairon's face had wore that expression and he understood. In a heartbeat, Mairon's arms wrapped around Melkor waist and buried his face in his chest, tears pooling in his eyes, not from weakness or fear, but the realization that he would do anything for him. "I am sorry, Master. Please..." his voice broke and shivered against the Vala "Please..." Mairon breathed, wanting something, a touch, a word, something... Anything..

"I am foremost the elder king... created to be despised. Punished for my own divine nature. I thought you would understand how that feels... to be denied freedom of thought and creation and companionship." he said, idly touching strands of Mairon's hair.

"When all art is derivative... it ceases to be art. How you can stand working with Aule... I'll never fathom. To do as you're told is the true death. I don't suppose you have a companion either, do you? Has Aule ever kissed you? No-of course not such perversion as they would say--then what does he do for you but hold you back from your true potential?"

Once he had his drink and lit a cigarette Melkor migrated closer to the stage. He felt as though Mairon had to be someone he had loved over a hundred life times to be so drawn to him. He could so easily imagine what it must feel like to touch him—whether in a delicate graze over his fishnetted thigh or a domineering strike to his pretty ass.

It was maddening; Mairon must be a witch. The thought made him smile. How absurd.

His smile faded when others applauded. It was getting worse trying to cope with others looking upon him. Thinking about him. When he should belong to Melkor.

It didn't take long for Mairon to feel that prickly sensation on the back of his head and turned his eyes towards the crowd and they immediately locked with Melkor's as if they had a magnet for each other.

All his worries dissipated like dew under the fiery gaze of the sun when Melkor looked at him like that, like he owned him and Mairon's core tightened at that thought. He came closer and latched onto a pole right in front of him, started dancing, keeping eye contact all the while. He dropped his cape, diamonds sparkling around the base of his throat.

Mairon leaned back against the pole, Melkor at his side and arched his back, sliding down, the pole slipping between his ass cheeks and his eyes rolled up suddenly feeling hot all over as if it was... Something else pressing against him. He breathed out a moan, soft and quiet, only for Melkor to hear, his nipples got hard and skin flared in goosebumps.

He played it off like it was part of the show but it was anything but that, if Mairon's flushed cheeks were anything to go by. He reached out to him, catching Melkor's tie between his fingers and brought it to him, not pulling at it as he wouldn't dare. But he needed Melkor to pay attention to him.

"Would you meet me in the private booth? Please... My Master," and swallowed thickly. There was no humor in his eyes, only insatiable need and a fire that has been lit by him and only him.

The smoke Melkor exhaled rose between them and over Mairon's lips. To all else, he was nothing but well composed; but he was certain Mairon must be aware of how much harder his breathing had become while observing.

When he stood to follow Mairon, Melkor left his drink and cigarettes behind. Nothing else could matter to him.

When he closed a door, he stated, "I had Gothmog find how to cause some technical problems." He glanced toward a wall-mounted camera, satisfied to find the red indicator light was dead.

angbang sketch loosely inspired by frank dicksee’s la belle dame sans merci.

timelapse is here if anyone’s interested.

Soon the surveillance tapes would be reviewed by security to pinpoint where he had gone. Then what? He had no choice but to take the girl… boy… he wasn’t sure yet… hostage.

The thought of being the last to kiss him was strangely erotic. But perhaps the police would cooperate to keep the hostage alive. Definitely sounded like an increasing police presence outside.

As he contemplated this Melkor deepened their kiss, opened his mouth to him… until he parted to remark, “You’re oddly into this.” But so was he.

Mairon had a few pecks now and then but nothing like this. He had never had someone else's tongue inside his mouth or vice versa and the fear, mixed with all this stimulation was doing things to he that he had never imagined he would be able to feel, or hear himself make such sounds.

His cheeks flushed red and turned his head, his ginger hair falling to cover his face. He didn't know what to answer to the man so he tried to change the subject, even if all his body wanted was more. More of whatever this man was doing to him. He slowly turned his eyes to the other, "Sir, I've noticed your walk... Have you been injured? I can help, if you want, of course."

He took a steady breath, having only felt the pain again when it was brought to his attention. A hell of a thing to be able to forget for a few seconds.

“It’s alright.” Melkor answered before returning to his feet and slowly approaching a wall to flip on the lights. “I’m fine.”

Now that he could see the blood he had tracked in… maybe he wasn’t so fine as he had thought.

“What makes you think you can help?”

Maeglin’s gaze remained on Mairon long after the Maia had broken the Vision and turned his attention elsewhere.

How could he be worthy of even looking at Mairon when Idril had found Maeglin so repulsive? So much would be different… so many of their people still alive… if she hadn’t been so horrid.

But he did get a sick thrill out of thinking about the vengeance. He didn’t regret any of it. Not even slitting Eärendil’s throat when Idril refused him for the last time.

He was worse than Eöl ever had been.

Maeglin had a hard time understanding people. He would leave all the social influence to Mairon. So what is my role here? It had all been clear to Melkor. Oh, if only they could reach him, somehow. Maeglin did not understand spiritual matters as well as someone consorting with a Maia should, but he did not think anyone could simply stop existing. Melkor was somewhere. It would just take the right witchcraft to connect with him.

It was later into the night, emboldened into mysticism by too much wine and too many unanswered questions (WHY had she still refused him? Did she think he was bluffing? That Maeglin was too WEAK to go through with it?), when Maeglin found himself trying to make a blood offering to Melkor in a quiet room. A single candle illuminated the cold space as he watched his blood slip from the incision into the flame.

Mairon had been busy for the rest of the day. The king became more open to his suggestions and for the first time, he visited the forgets, made plans for stronger weapons and even had a handful of blacksmiths ask him to teach them whenever he had the time. This was something he could easily do and also win more favors with the king.

But his skills did not just end there and visited the port, the shipyard and participated in meetings, the king always looking to him whenever he made a decision, as if silently ask for approval.

All the activities had come to a end at last and Mairon was outside, talking quietly with some prince when he sensed the faint smell of blood. He excused himself and wondered the hallways until he reached the door from where the scent was most strong and opened the door.

Seeing it was Maeglin, immediately closed the door behind him and stepped closer, his eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing, Maeglin?" he asked softly, not to disturb but out of curiosity, and kneeled facing him, the candle between them.

There was something happening here and the only thing he could feel right now was... a thrill deep inside his chest.

Lifting his gaze, Maeglin’s focus wavered, unsure whether to look at Mairon’s lips or amber eyes.

“I can… feel Him.” He said after a moment spent watching the one light shifting over Mairon’s hair and face.

Maeglin had never been anything resembling stable. Maybe he was entirely insane, only imagining Melkor’s presence. But what else could this feeling be? It didn’t answer why Melkor remained silent, but there was some sort of magical connection made in this action.

He lifted the knife to his lips to taste his own blood, licking over the blade.

I’m gonna propose “I guess you haven’t read the silmarillion then :/” as a default response to anyone not understanding a reference to something obscure. even if it’s not remotely Tolkien related. I want to build up a perception that perhaps the sum total of human knowledge is contained in the silmarillion

"Wow." Melkor grinned. "What a temper. No, little one, you misunderstand. You have not the mind for strategy now... but you will. Are you always so quick to anger? Or only when you are enamored with a powerful god?"

He was unfazed by Mairon's fury. He could harm him in no way that mattered. And so Melkor came closer once again, hand landing not to strike him but grazing his hip... fingertips far too close to his ass.

He lowered his voice. "You've fantasized about me before. Haven't you? Imagined this very moment... how it might feel to be... under my hands. Call me a coward again, Mairon. Go ahead. And see what happens."

Melkor, completely unfazed by his temper had Mairon shocked into silence. His lips hanged parted and blushed when Melkor pointed out he was enamored and stepped back as the other approached, Mairon's thighs hitting the bed and kept eye contact but did not squirm away, even when his heart started thumping loud and blood rushed through him, a little overwhelming.

At his next words, Mairon could barely stand up. Melkor didn't need to touch him, not when his words, his voice was like a hand between his legs, pressing against that need pulsating and throbbing with every word that came out of Melkor's mouth.

"I..." he breathed, raising his hands to Melkor's chest, pushing him but without force. Maybe there was truth to what he was saying and needed to learn more before he could be confident to gain the Dark Lord's interest in any way that would matter to Mairon, but he would not go back to Aule unscathed... In one way or another. Mairon licked his lips and locked eyes with Melkor. He did not need to gather courage, he felt. He already had it. His desire overpowering each and every instinct of self preservation.

"Coward, " he whispered and his lips twitched into a smirk.

The sound of breaking glass came at once from nowhere and everywhere, but nothing was physically broken. Then the night was entirely silent as color and remnants of light bled from Mairon’s form and bedroom.

From this desolation through which Mairon would not be able to hear even his own frequency, rose Melkor’s Song. It had never relented and certainly wouldn’t now.

It wasn’t that Melkor wanted to force him to hear it-it was far more important to him that Mairon felt the way it thrived with dismay and disgust.

Would you even exist without Me? Melkor pondered. He had infiltrated all of creation; Mairon too rightfully belonged to him. You were made to love my arts… who are you without them?

“Hey! I don’t COWER!” he exclaimed. “And even if I did-which I DON’T-at least I ain’t using AI to rebalance my deck! Nyeh heh heh!”

Viola would never openly question or disagree with her Dark Lord, but privately she would raise an eyebrow and gesture vaguely on the decision to crown an Elf as Prince of Angband..

Knowing the Dark Lord put some trust in her Viola set aside her general dislike of Elves and promised to tend to the pointy-ear diligently.

"I must admit I'm not too familiar with Elves, nor will I pretend to have any idea on what care is needed to keep one alive." The girl admitted, eyeing the new prince with caution and curiosity "But I will do my best to help you get settled into your new position, and hopefully not get a few stab wounds in the process."

@hauntedmystic

That cleared up her confusion nicely. With a nod she knelt down in front of him "You can eat a few more berries while I do this." Viola couldn't have people think she was starving the poor Elf.

Viola had been in Angband, and in the good graces of the Dark Lord, for some time now. She knew a thing or two about everyone else of the Inner Circle.

"Remove everything that isn't meat from that tray." She ordered without looking up "Gothmog hates anything that isn't meat. If you won't eat it then I'm sure he will appreciate you sharing."

“Oh… okay… Are you sure?” Maeglin asked as he finished the berries. “What if he’s busy? What if… he’s not hungry?” Maeglin knew he was bound to make a fool of himself. Maybe it would be best to stay here. Somehow the thought of being rejected by Gothmog was the most sickening thought of his life.

“We don’t have to do all that.” he said glumly.

“Ohh—I would appreciate it if you save me some!” Ryou exclaimed as he closed the door and took the bags. Maybe he shouldn’t get involved with yet another card game, but… He did love Digimon. He could try to tell himself he would simply collect them.

“Great!” In the kitchen he looked through the snacks Yuugi brought before going about opening their drinks and pouring them. When his hands were free again, he embraced the smaller boy, gentle voice further softening as he said, “I’ve missed you.” Then once he parted from him, he inquired, “What of Atemu, is he well?”

 Yuugi knew that the moment he met Ryou they'd get along well enough. But it was the spirit of the Ring that had blocked any and all attempts to develop that close bond of friendship. Of course, there were a few moments here and there where they had a chance to talk, but to fully hang out - that hadn't been an option until the Millennium items had been handled. Once the Ceremonial duel was completed Atemu had the option of going to the land of the dead, or he had the option of staying. The former Pharaoh had chosen to stay in the modern world. A body of his own was granted and the man was off doing his own thing. 

When Ryou had gone to the kitchen, the shorter male had followed behind a moment later, violets brightening as he got a good look at the other. Arms had encircled around him in a hug, whcih he'd returned. Hearing the words 'I've missed you' had eased any and all tension within the shorter duelist.  ❝ Missed you too.❞ Yuugi murmurs, then they pull away and Atemu was brought up. Of course, he missed his darker half. A small smile appears upon his features,  ❝Atemu's fine. He's exploring - as he calls it. But he's traveling right now due to work. ❞ His head tilts a moment  ❝How are you doing, thought?❞

The resurrection miracle Atemu had been granted had affected the spirit of the ring by association. And so, now separated from his host, the nightmare of His existence continued.

Ameneman. He had finally shared his real name with Ryou, but he still liked using the name Bakura. He had taken so much from him-why not his name as well?

Their relationship was a complicated one. Without Zorc, Bakura was not as horrible but still carried a great deal of resentment and anger with no desire to remain here. A significant difference lay in his guilt for all He had put Ryou through—or maybe Ryou was only fantasizing that regret while he had always been jealous of Yuugi and Atem. Maybe Bakura really did not care, yet there was something different Ryou clung to.

Although the active possession had not been entirely constant, before the resurrection Bakura had still been aware of Ryou’s interactions at all times, even when the level of focus varied depending on His energy levels and moods.

He had been perfectly aware of all the feelings that haunted Ryou: the fear he had felt for his friends; and the loss and guilt he had experienced when friends from junior high in England had lost their Monster World shadow games.

It of course had only gotten worse after that once Bakura had crossed paths with Atemu’s host. Ah, Ryou had found such camaraderie in Yuugi! He didn’t think he was insane when trying to talk about his experiences with the possession and the shadow games! 

But then the sadness had become heavier when he understood how deep and beautiful Yuugi and Atemu’s bond was. Atemu loved him… while Ryou had been stuck with a demonic entity who would manipulate him in any way that pleased Him and furthered His opportunities for vengeance. It wasn’t fair to have this profound destiny… meant to be the one to host this ancient spirit… only for that spirit to be cruel and reckless. Did Ryou not deserve to be loved?

Ryou looked at his drink while he considered Yuugi’s question. How was he? “I’ve never… had the chance to talk about it.” He knew he needed to. That Yuugi was the one person who wouldn’t judge him cruelly or dismiss him as crazy. He couldn’t understand, not completely… not when Atemu had been such a different experience… but Yuugi could listen.

“For the duration of the time between Zorc’s destruction and His resurrection, I had been alone for the first in a very long time.” He said, taking a seat and smiling sadly to Yuugi as he gathered the courage to explain himself. “As long as I could remember… the spirit’s presence had remained an inescapable part of my mind. I spent years wishing for freedom only to find the isolation was entirely maddening. The emptiness was worse than anything He could have done to me. I… I really wanted to… kill myself.” he averted his gaze again during this confession. “I’ve been so… so jealous of you. Wishing He would love me like Atemu loves you!”

He paused to try to calm his breath and rub at his wet eyes. “A-and it’s been a lot… I don’t know. I know it’s stupid. How could I love someone like that? After all He’s done—not just to me. It makes me feel pathetic, but I cannot stand being without Him! I’m pathetic.” He pulled his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Having retracted his hand from Ecthelion’s face, Glorfindel giggled behind it, bright eyes closing for a few breaths. “Splendid!”

He took a moment to greet some others around him before speaking to Ecthelion again, “We have much to be grateful for… still, the longer nights to come are no simple matter for me. I’m very glad to have you at my side through heightened darkness.” With his non-sticky hand he touched one of Ecthelion’s again fondly… and unfortunately let his gaze fall sideways where he noticed Maeglin, whose goal for the evening was to drink as much wine as he could manage.

And Glorfindel’s smile faded. He blinked… trying to understand what he was looking at. Maeglin’s… greasy… hair. Clipped up, which made it look even worse. Why… would he disrespect Glorfindel like this? Why couldn’t he have washed his hair before arriving? He had been here long enough to know how to behave! And… a prince no less… so why?!

Glorfindel took a few steps closer to him to be certain of what he was seeing, feeling a terrible mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and even anger. Meanwhile, Maeglin was nonchalantly sampling a different type of wine and glancing around, hoping he would find a cat to play with.

Glorfindel took a deep breath. The obligations to Aredhel were challenging indeed. Another couple steps and he opened his mouth but Maeglin glanced his way and spoke first. “Where’s your cat?”

Glorfindel chose to ignore him. He took a glass of wine and strode back over to Ecthelion. “Why would he do this to me? To disrupt the integral harmony of MY party? Is he not ridiculous?”

As always, Ecthelion's usual reaction to Maeglin was to simply ignore his existence, and keep as much space between them as possible. When Glorfindel returned to him, he lightly patted the other on the shoulder as a kind of reassurance. " Don't worry about him, once he finds the cat he won't bother anyone else. " Ecthelion found it rather distasteful that Maeglin would deliver himself to the party in such an unkempt state, but in all honesty, he didn't truly expect anything different.

To distract Glorfindel from his frustration, Ecthelion gently took his hand, pulling him further away from where Maeglin continued to search for the feline, whom Ecthelion was sure was hiding somewhere away from all the commotion.

" Your party is lovely, " he commented, making sure to emphasize the others in the vicinity who were indeed enjoying themselves. " Ignore Maeglin. "

As distasteful as Maeglin was, at least Glorfindel knew his cat would be safe with him should he find him; Maeglin did love animals dearly.

Glorfindel took a calming breath, nodding his agreement. It would be okay. It had to be.

“Dance with me?” he suggested, hand settling at Ecthelion’s hip. It did not matter to him that no music was playing; however, after he spoke a melody did cascade from the mezzanine. “We’ll watch the sunset.”