#TPCdeaddovedecember

[dogblessyoutascha]

Did I accidentally make another wholesome-ish post for Dead Dove December? You bet yer ass I did!

This was for Prompt 4: Aphrodisiacs of @tolkienpinupcalendar 's Event.

Fic Link: You Got Us Into This Mess

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Pillory/stocks, free use ⊱ Pairing: Númenórean cultists x Maglor, Mairon ⊱ Synopsis: Mairon captures Maglor and brings him to the Temple of Melkor as a gift to his loyal followers. ⊱ Featuring: The Cult of Melkor is also a deranged sex cult now because Mairon said so, references to past Angbang ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, ritualistic gang rape, sadism & voyeurism (on Mairon's part in particular), the prompts by themselves

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're nearing the end (one more regular chapter that I have already written plus a bonus fic I'm currently working on).

Mulkhêrînim - (Adûnaic) - Children of Melkor. Thought it would be a lovely way for Mairon to address them like that as an ultimate affront against Eru. Translation by me with the help of this dictionary (because in the Tolkien fandom even the nasty porn needs linguistics!)

"I have a special gift for you today, oh faithful Mulkhêrînim." 

His loyal cultists mumbled among themselves when Mairon presented them with the exquisite treat he had captured. 

At first glance, it appeared to be yet another captive, like the innumerable amount he had caught in the service of his lord – a dark-haired man, albeit handsome by incarnate standards, was kneeling on the dais in front of the altar, his head and hands secured by a hastily erected pillory, naked save for a flimsy loin cloth. 

The more perceptive among Mairon's followers, however, had already noticed what made this one special: The pair of pointed ears sticking out from the mess that was his hair, almost defiantly announcing his identity as one of Ilúvatar's immortal children. 

"Is that an Elf?" one of the cultists gasped, pointing at the helpless prisoner. 

"Indeed it is, very good," Mairon purred and stood next to the Elf in question to almost tenderly pull his hair out of the way to show them off. "But not any Elf; I have captured one of royal blood." 

The whispering among his followers intensified, and he savoured the tension before the anxiously awaited revelation. 

"Meet Prince Makalaurë, also known as Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor!"

Laughing and jeering erupted from the crowd, their faces changing from curious to ravenous within seconds. Maglor, however, remained quiet, merely pressing his lips together and hardening his gaze. 

I suppose his dear brother told him what happens to those who talk back, Mairon thought with a pleased smirk. 

"Our minstrel's lonely wanderings have finally come to an end, so that he may grace us with his presence instead," he declared with a grand gesture, smugness bleeding into his tone like black ink dripping into water. 

"Will he be a sacrifice to the Lord?" a younger cultist asked. 

Mairon laughed. Oh, Melkor would be delighted to witness this scene; he could practically hear his gleeful laughter echoing through the temple from beyond the circles of the world, could see his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, could feel his joy – but he swiftly tore himself away from his memories and imagination, lest he be distracted for too long. 

"Perhaps he will be in time," he drawled, "though for now he shall serve you." 

His mortal followers, while loyal and so very eager to attain the immortality he had promised, didn't seem to grasp the meaning of his words, looking up at him expectantly. None had the courage to ask. Mairon suppressed a sigh of exasperation and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped aside so they could properly admire Maglor's scantily clad form.

"Have you never dreamed of getting a taste of what we will conquer? Of enjoying the pleasures of immortal flesh?" He chuckled. "Such rare blood is too precious to spill with haste, would you not agree? After all..." 

In one swift movement, Mairon raked his claw-like golden nails down Maglor's back, drawing blood and eliciting a piercing scream. 

"He has such a beautiful voice, for which he is renowned to this day. What a waste it would be to not enjoy his illustrious company..." 

Murmurs of agreement rose within the crowd, and a few cultists came closer, looking up at their high priest as they waited for permission. Mairon stepped back to make space for his followers and beckoned them with an elegant wave of his hands, causing the golden bangles on his arm to clink and tinkle. 

"Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." 

A heady mix of lust and greed filled the room, and he inhaled it eagerly, a warm shudder going through him. He was going to enjoy this spectacle greatly. 

Had he caught any other Elf, he would have to be worried that their fëa would all too soon flee to Mandos, unable to endure such violation, but the Fëanorion's ill-fated oath would keep him chained to his hröa. 

Robes billowing behind him as if moved by an unseen tempest of malice, Mairon strutted around the altar and leapt onto the lap of Melkor's statue with feline grace, taking a seat like a king would sit on a throne. 

"Do you see that, precious? Almost like home," he whispered to the statue and pressed a reverent kiss onto the cold marble hand, exactly where his ring would have been. 

Maglor didn't scream when his loin cloth was torn off him, nor when greedy hands explored his body and fondled him like a common whore. He didn't grace his captors with any pleas or protests. Only when one cultist knelt behind him and forced his cock inside, he finally cried out. 

Mairon smiled. Awaken their lust, and they are reduced to mere animals, as you taught me yourself. 

The scene unfolding in front of him was chaotic, erratic and filthy, just like Melkor would have loved it. The Man's coupling with their Elven captive was frenzied and hasty, gripping his hips with his knuckles white, chasing his pleasure. Maglor himself was soon silenced – in spite of his wonderful voice and the lovely sound of his screams – by another cultist forcing his mouth open to shove his cock down his throat.

"Let's see what else he can do with that talented tongue of his," another commented on the act, followed by raucous laughter. 

Mairon considered chastising them for not appreciating the beauty of a voice trembling with pain and despair, but instead kept a serene expression as if it had been an amusing statement. He couldn't quite fault them for it; after all, mortals were ever so impatient, and their new toy had many of them to satisfy. 

Whenever one finished inside of him, another would take their place. A young initiate was sent to retrieve some oil for additional lubrication and returned with a pitcher containing the very same sacred oil that was used in their ritual sacrifices – another thing too entertaining to be irked by, and thus Mairon remained silent, smiling and nodding along whenever one of his followers looked up at him for encouragement. 

"Let us see if they can break him, precious," he whispered to the statue. 

Maglor's head hung low whenever no one held it in place, though he had little room to move. The pillory kept him upright even as knees gave in, and seed had begun leaking out of him and down his thighs. Mairon was delighted to see droplets of red marring creamy white and caught the distinct scent of blood. Still, it didn't stop his followers from using their new toy like wild beasts mounting one another during mating season. Some also opted to help themselves before or after their turn, spilling onto whichever part of Maglor they could reach. 

Mairon hadn't paid attention to the passage of time, but he estimated a few hours had passed when they were finally done with the Noldorin prince, readjusting their robes and withdrawing from him while glancing up at their master. Abandoning his comfortable seat on the statue – though most unwillingly – he stepped closer to survey the results. 

Despite no longer being gagged, Maglor was eerily silent. His entire form was stained with viscous white, his face in particular, his lips were swollen, his legs trembling, his hole loose and leaking. 

Mairon graced his followers with a bright, pleased smile as if they had done him a great kindness and placed his fingertips together. 

"Well done, Mulkhêrînim. Our Lord shall look down upon you with benevolence and grant his favour to those who stand against his enemies." 

Maglor let out a small snort, yet the spark of rebellion was short-lived when Mairon backhanded him across the face with graceful elegance that belied the force of his blow. 

"Now take our guest to the King's dungeons and make accommodations worthy of a prince." 

The sweet smile on his face then twisted, showing sharp teeth, and his voice darkened as he added, "And make sure he cannot escape, lest you wish to invoke our Lord's wrath." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Dead Dove December

Hi everyone,

Mods @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book and @frosticenow are back with a a new prompt event for December. This month the theme is "dead dove." Interested in exploring some more extreme prompts this list is for you!

If you want us to reblog it:

Tag us @tolkienpinupcalendar

Send the link to our smut-mission form

Use the #TPCdeaddovedecember

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "You may have me," Melyanna promised him then, "but you will be mine in return." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Mind control, aphrodisiacs ⊱ Pairing: Melian x Thingol ⊱ Synopsis: Elwë chances upon an Aini in the forest and soon finds himself under her spell. Or: Melyanna's more-or-less accidental acquisition of a pet/lover/husband ⊱ Featuring: Eldritch Ainur, the effects of magic songs on the minds of incarnates, slight femdom, lady topping, light biting ⊱ Warnings: Creative liberties taken with canon, dub-con (he very much wants her, but he's also under a spell), the prompts

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: The (technically) last one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December. I messed up the posting order a bit at the end, but hey, it's all here now. Well almost; I am planning to write an "extra episode", so stay tuned for that!

I'm using the Quenyan names in this because Thingol was known and referred to as Elwë at this point in time and I thought that Melian, given how Ainur are omnilingual, would "match his language settings" by introducing herself with her Quenyan name as well.

He was frozen in place, not knowing if it was him who stood still or time itself. The very air seemed to thrum with a strange, ancient spell that neither he nor the forest could escape from, woven into the very fabric of reality. 

Elwë had thought nothing of it when he had followed her song, assuming that perhaps a kinswoman had been lost and required his aid; enchanting though this voice was and unlike anything he had ever heard. 

The being that turned to face him appeared to be a woman indeed, but most certainly no Elf. Her body was covered by a thin dress, resembling a nightgown more than actual garment, her feet were bare and her skin a mottled, greyish-brown with patches of light cream. Stray brown feathers were in her hair and adorned her shoulders and limbs. Most striking though were her lips, full, plump and golden as if covered in honey, and her eyes, unfathomable pools of dark midnight blue. 

Elwë could not speak, and neither did she. Her head was tilted slightly to the side as she beheld him with unabashed curiosity. Whether this moment lasted mere seconds or a century, he could not tell; and at last, the mysterious being approached. 

Her feet, Elwë noticed, made no sound on the forest ground when she moved. 

The depths of her eyes were aglow with a fey light that reminded him of the strange beings he had encountered across the sea; and it dawned on him then that he had encountered an Aini. She was of lesser stature than Oromë and his peers, but in his eyes no less magnificent – nay, even as her wild, otherworldly appearance sent shivers of dread and excitement alike down his spine, he found her beautiful. 

Her lips no longer moved. She was silent like him, yet somehow Elwë could still hear her song within his mind. 

The Aini reached for him, placing her palm on his cheek. Her skin making contact with his felt like rain and lightning at the same time, gentle coolness spreading within him just as a searing shock surged through his muscles. 

Melyanna. Elwë knew her name then, her very being, felt it touch his own. Whether she had spoken to him through ósanwë or planted a seed of recognition inside his willing, curious mind, he could not tell.

Melyanna. He wanted to say her name, but his tongue would not obey him. He wanted to call out to her, but knew not why or what he would ask of her. 

"Beautiful," a voice – her voice – spoke to him then, mirroring his own thoughts, and Elwë realised that Melyanna had her own designs, knowing exactly what she wanted from him. 

Her hands began to roam his body, and she hummed softly, filling his ears and his very being with a playful, lilting melody until she became the focus of his world, the only thing he could perceive. The trees, the forest, the sky above, all seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only her. 

"You may have me," Melyanna promised him then, "but you will be mine in return." 

Yes, Elwë thought in response, forcing himself to nod even as his body began to feel heavier and heavier. How could he say no to her after all, the most wondrous and enchanting creature he had ever met? Such thoughts no longer crossed his mind, as did any sense of danger or duty. Only desire remained. 

Delighted, Melyanna played with his hair, carding her fingers through it until her talon-like nails nearly drew blood, then kissed him at last. She didn't taste like honey, as Elwë had expected, yet no less sweet; her lips tasted like nectar, dew and freshly fallen rain. 

The song weaving itself into his very being grew and swelled, as did the need to become hers. 

When Melyanna let go so he could breathe, sensing that her Elven companion had begun to faint in her grasp, Elwë fell to his knees. 

Please. 

After a moment of deliberation, she pushed him down with surprising assertiveness and strength, reminding him how easily his body could be broken beyond repair if she so chose; and still, he felt no fear. She was on top of him faster than his eyes could follow and kissed him again, hungry for more. 

Elwë wanted nothing more than to please her. In his mind, he saw his hands exploring her as she did to him, though he was too befuddled to tell if it was just a fantasy or if his body obeyed. All he knew was that each kiss felt like Melyanna was devouring him alive, and that his excitement grew with each shaking breath he took, inhaling her very essence. 

His clothes had disappeared at some point, either through some sort of spell or torn to shreds by the now-feral Aini on top of him, yet he remained blissfully ignorant of their fate. Arousal coursed through him with such potency that his erection pressed against her lower body with every movement, eliciting a pleased purr from Melyanna. She revealed herself fully to him then, proudly straddling his hips like he was a most prestigious conquest of hers, and allowed him to gaze upon her nudity with shameless lust and greed. 

Elwë reached out to touch her. Before his hand made contact with her alluring flesh, however, Melyanna grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down, letting out a warning growl. 

I yield, I yield, he thought. 

"Mine," was all she said in response, and he understood. 

He was not the one in control. 

Thus appeased, Melyanna lifted her hips and guided his leaking cock between her legs. Elwë could feel her, warm, wet and soft like soil after rainfall in summer, yet before he had time to enjoy the sensation or ponder whether an Aini's anatomy would even resemble that of an Elven woman, she sat down in one swift movement. 

For the first time since he had fallen under her spell, his voice rang out, a loud, desperate moan, and Melyanna joined him in kind. The mere idea of being inside her, of becoming one with her was incomprehensible and utterly maddening, let alone the sensation of her divine flesh clenching around his eagerly twitching length, gripping him like she intended to never let him go again. 

And still, it was not enough. Elwë wanted more. It felt as though her essence was seeping through his skin and into his blood, making him truly and wholly hers and driving him insane with desire. Never again was he going to touch another, never again was he going to long for another, even if he never saw her again. Melyanna had taken root within his heart, too deep to be torn out again. 

He was hers now. 

Sensing the intensity of his emotions, she began to nibble on his neck. Perhaps it had been intended as a calming or affectionate gesture, yet Elwë found himself moaning and writhing underneath her when her teeth broke skin and she quickly soothed his wounds with her tongue. 

It was too much. 

His climax shook him to the core, and he saw a bright, blinding light as if his fëa had gone to the Timeless Halls, whence his lover had come ages ago. 

Melyanna let out a low, guttural noise of triumph, but didn't stop riding him as he went limp underneath her. Elwë realised then that even as exhaustion gripped him in body and spirit, the fire of their passion still burned him alive, and that she would continue to have her way with him until she too was fully satisfied. 

And he wanted nothing more than to give himself to her. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[dogblessyoutascha]

Instead of just sex, why not have a whole adventure while you're at it? This is for prompt 14 (Inebriated Sex) from the Dead Dove December Event over on @tolkienpinupcalendar !

Fic Link: From Compromise Comes Inebriation

[dogblessyoutascha]

Does TROP count? It certainly does in my brain. This was for Prompt 8: Degradation/Humiliation for the Dead Dove December Event hosted by @tolkienpinupcalendar !

Fic Link: Derision

[dogblessyoutascha]

For Prompt 5: BDSM Universe of @tolkienpinupcalendar 's Dead Dove December Event, I chose to write a little bit of AngBang.

Fic Link: Never Work With Less

[dogblessyoutascha]

Silvergifting for Prompt 3 of the Dead Dove December Event over on @tolkienpinupcalendar ? Don't mind if I yes.

Fic Link: You Think It's Loving I Suppose

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." ❞

⊱ Prompt: BDSM, painal ⊱ Pairing: Varda x Melkor ⊱ Synopsis: After Melkor has been captured, Varda decides to try her hand at making him submit to his rightful queen - and doing it her own way. ⊱ Featuring: Eldritch Ainur, tentacles made of holy light, sadistic domme Varda, double/triple penetration (spicy bingo) ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, non-consensual BDSM, infidelity*, Varda's holy light hurts Melkor, the painal prompt in itself *I personally hc that Ainur couples tend to be quite liberal with physical love (as their bodies are just raiment to them), however Varda is doing this behind Manwë's back and he might not be ok with his wife assaulting his brother, so... make of it what you will, warning just to be safe.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December that I'm still writing in February because yes. Enjoy~

It had pleased her to see him in chains. 

And it pleased her even more to have him kneel in front of her. 

Varda had ordered Melkor to be brought to her observatory within the highest tower of Ilmarin. Whether it was to settle an ancient dispute or it was merely pleasure she sought she herself couldn't tell, but what she knew for certain was that she finally had the arrogant Vala all to herself, away from the gaze of her sweet, all too kind husband. 

Though, of course, said Vala wouldn't make it easy to teach him a lesson in humility. 

Melkor looked up at her, a dark, triumphant grin twisting his fair features, and Varda swore to herself that she would wipe it off his face.

"So you wanted me all along, hm?" 

"The only thing I could ever want of you is your complete and utter surrender and submission to my rule," she said coldly and gripped his jaw. 

The searing heat of her hallowed hand elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the Dark Vala, and it was Varda's turn to smile. 

Even so, Melkor remained defiant. "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." 

"True." His attempt at regaining his haughty smile was more akin to a beast baring its teeth, but Varda was undaunted; rather, she felt a surge of excitement. 

One brother, already tame within her capable hands, and the other to be tamed by her, so that he might never challenge her or her subjects again. 

Melkor took advantage of her pensive silence. "But you are wrong if you believe I will be your little pet like he is – as amusing as it would be to see you admitting how much you have wanted me this whole time. Really, Varda, the true Elder King and Eru's impostor? How greedy of you." 

Without warning, Varda slapped him. 

"You shall not insult me or my husband in my presence. And whether you will learn to submit or not, we shall see." 

She could sense that it was slowly dawning on him how serious she was, and she wondered how Melkor would look if he was terrified, how he would sound if his mighty voice was reduced to a pleading whimper – something she quite enjoyed doing to Manwë. 

Fascinated, Varda looked at the handprint she had left on the Dark Vala's cheek, then her own hand, still faintly glowing with furious starlight, and finally at his bound form. He was trapped in his flesh in more ways than one thanks to Angainor, and the sensation of pain seemed more acute and intimate than what she had observed with other Ainur. 

Light, too, had served Melkor once, yet now its holy purity hurt him – retribution for his crimes – and it obeyed her command rather than his; and it was then that she knew exactly how she would teach him a lesson. 

With an elegant flick of her wrist, Varda sent forth a wave of starfire that incinerated the tattered remains of his clothes, leaving him bare under her merciless gaze. 

Fallen or not, he was still a sight to behold. Where Manwë's form spoke of lithe grace, Melkor's contained raw strength; where Manwë's hands were made for shaping clouds, holding quills to write his poetry and gentle touch, Melkor's carved valleys, broke mountains and accomplished many other evil deeds and feats of destruction. 

Varda allowed herself to behold his naked fána a while longer, until she found her eyes once again lingering on the mark she had left, marring skin that was cool, smooth and pale like snow. 

The temptation to touch him was great, but he was unworthy of such pleasure. 

Instead she gripped the collar Tulkas had so kindly put around his neck and forced him down on all fours with his head bowed in supplication. Melkor attempted to fight back, but Angainor sapped his strength and her light threatened to blind and burn him once more, so he acquiesced, though most unwillingly; his pride, as always, remained strong. 

Not for long, Varda promised herself, then asked aloud, "Will you be good for me?" 

"You should know better than to ask," Melkor snapped. 

"Very well." As far as she was concerned, his fate was sealed. 

Light erupted from her chest, back and shoulders, swiftly coalescing into long, tendril-like limbs – reminiscent of Yavanna's vines or even the tentacles of Ulmo's sea creatures, Varda thought with idle amusement. One wrapped around Melkor's neck, others pressed down on the back of his head and his shoulder blades to keep him down, more reached for his legs, while she calmly walked out of his sight and stood behind him, eager to witness the punishment she would bestow on him for his wicked ways. 

"You wouldn't," was all Melkor managed to say, though his voice shook just enough for Varda to know he was uncertain. 

"It doesn't have to happen," she said. "Renounce your false claim to kingship, call me your queen and abjure your evil deeds. Otherwise... yes, I would, and I will."

"Never!" 

Knowing that he couldn't see the delighted smile on her face, Varda allowed herself to indulge in her darkest impulses. 

"I knew you would say that." 

Hidden within the folds of her luxurious dress was, as always, a phial with water from her beloved wells that she now gleefully poured over his exposed backside, revelling in his vulnerability. The hallowed liquid was enough to make Melkor shiver in discomfort, and Varda knew full well it wouldn't provide sufficient lubrication either, but such was also not her intention. 

She wanted to purify and cause pain. 

And when she felt hot, tight flesh desperately clenching around one of her additional appendages and heard Melkor's scream within his ëala even before the sound tore through the air, she knew she had succeeded. Varda took her time pushing deeper and deeper, both curious to find the limits of his fána and aroused by the sight and sensation of penetrating the rebellious Vala that had caused her endless frustration. There was a certain pleasure to be found in breaking resistance, she noted, one that she couldn't derive from her sweet and docile husband. 

To her own surprise, Varda felt laughter bubbling up inside her chest. 

"You have your uses after all. Perhaps I was wrong to dismiss you as a lover," she taunted. "Though..." 

Willing a smaller tendril to wrap around the base of Melkor's cock, she drank in the panicked cry that followed with haughty indifference. 

"... make no mistake, this is not for pleasure." 

Yet Varda was lying to him, and she knew it as soon as she said those words. While she wouldn't allow Melkor to enjoy any of this, she would very much take pleasure in it herself. His screams and sobs whenever her light came in contact with his unholy flesh and moved inside him were bliss to her ears, even with the discord tainting his once-beautiful voice, and the desire to touch herself became unbearable when a second appendage joined the first, painfully penetrating her now-subdued nemesis. 

Varda slipped one hand under her dress to take care of herself – even serving her pleasure would be too high of an honour for Melkor – and waited. If necessary she would burn every inch of his skin and tear his hole open with more and more limbs of all shapes and sizes, but in the end she would have him begging for mercy.

No sooner than that would she grant it. 

She commanded a third appendage to enter her helpless prisoner, stretching the delicate ring of muscle to its limit, and soon felt something wet staining her luminous limbs, droplets of black blood. The sharp scent of iron assaulted her senses, and Varda knew not whether to be disgusted or excited. 

And for all his strength, Melkor was both captive and slave to his own flesh, and his will was swiftly eroded by blinding hot pain, causing him to break. 

"Stop it, please – please! I..." 

"Yes?" Varda stilled inside him, yet her fána was shuddering with pleasure. Her hand moved faster now, almost erratically. 

She was close and so was he in a way, though they arrived at wholly different limits. 

"Please... my queen..." 

Melkor was in a pitiful state, Varda noticed even as lust clouded her mind. Crying, sobbing, nearly collapsing on the floor from the pain he was in; a prideful being reduced to beautiful submission. It was this thought, this raw feeling of triumph and dominance that pushed her over the edge, and she took her time basking in the warm glow of her orgasm before pulling out and letting go of his neck. 

Black marks remained where her tendrils of light had restrained Melkor's fána and his hole was loose and raw as if he had been taken by the entire Valarin council. The mental image elicited a small chuckle from Varda; if he misbehaved again, she might consider doing exactly that and sharing him with the others. 

Nienna, of course, would tell her to pity him and Manwë would ask for mercy on behalf of his brother, but she found that she quite enjoyed the view and felt no regret. 

"You wanted me once and now you are whimpering and crying at my feet. Isn't this what you wanted? Does the light no longer please you, dear?”

Thanks for reading! ♡

[dogblessyoutascha]

Did another fic + art post for @tolkienpinupcalendar 's Dead Dove December Event!! This was for Prompt 2: Master/Slave but I failed miserably and made it cute.

Link: Slave To Her Whims

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ You try being quiet, but rest assured I'll make you scream. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Clit torture ⊱ Pairing: Nári x Uinen ⊱ Synopsis: [Valinor falls AU - in which Melkor's forces manage to conquer Valinor and enslave its inhabitants] Nári has managed to catch herself a pretty water spirit and intends to savour such a rare treat. ⊱ Featuring: Bondage, fire restraints, petting ⊱ Warnings: Balrogs are their own warning, sexual content, captive x captor, non-con, forced masturbation, orgasm denial, burns; also the prompt is its own warning

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December, featuring my Balrog OC and poor Uinen. Enjoy!

"It's not fair that you keep all the pretty ones to yourself." 

Nári lowered her head to look down at Thuringwethil. She was pouting, hunger flashing in her eyes. 

"Do you want to drink or fuck?" she asked bluntly. 

"Both." Thuringwethil licked her lips. "Such treats are hard to come by over in Middle-earth, after all." 

Nári couldn't agree more. Occasionally receiving an Elf as a plaything for her troubles was fun, but it wasn't the same as bedding another Aini – most notably when it came to how beautifully they could scream and how durable they were. Incarnates died too fast and too easily. 

"I have one picked out for tonight," she informed the other Úmaia. "But you can take one of the others." With a wink, she added, "I caught one of Varda's that might suit your taste." 

"Mmh..." Thuringwethil chewed on her bottom lip, smiling as if she was already envisioning warm, sweet blood in her mouth. "That sounds wonderful. I'll take you up on this – thank you kindly, dear." 

"Always, little bat." 

Nári watched her leave, then turned towards her original destination. Indeed, there was a special prize waiting for her in her chambers, and she would be sure to savour the experience. 

Bound to a metal chair with fiery threads resembling her whip was none other than Uinen, her hands tied behind her back and her legs secured on top of the armrests, leaving her exposed. Nári smiled to herself; as difficult as it was to subdue a water spirit when one's form was at risk of being harmed by the accursed element, leaving her like this, so beautifully helpless and ready to be toyed with, had been even more difficult. 

It was rather convenient that Uinen had opted to leave her usual fishtail behind to come on land; it would be a shame if she had no legs to spread. 

Her own tail flicked impatiently when Nári circled her new favourite catch. To see one whose element always sought to snuff out the fire nurturing her and her brothers subjected to the burn of her own was immensely pleasing. Uinen's hair normally dripped with water and her skin used to be sleek, cool and wet, but both had long since dried up, leaving her without its protection. Small whimpers fell from her lips when her fiery restraints mercilessly singed her fána, and the endless, wavy tresses of her hair were losing their lustre. 

"It seems as though your husband hasn't come to save you after all," Nári said, leaning closer from behind the other Maia to purr in her ear. "But don't take it personally – I'm sure he's been captured or slain in the meantime."

The only response Uinen gave was shaking her head vehemently. Nári felt a tiny twinge of irritation; as fun as it was to mock the predictable naivety of her enemies, she had grown tired of the blind faith many of her playthings seemed to have in their spouses and partners. Ossë, admittedly, was an opponent she wouldn't enjoy fighting – but he too would have to face the combined wrath of the Balrogs, and only a Vala could hope to survive that. 

I shall have her instead. I will burn his touch from her skin until nothing is left.

Her patience waning fast, Nári knelt down in front of Uinen and between her legs, a gesture of mocking reverence. 

Water spirit or not, her new toy was beautiful – the blue tint of her skin reminded her of Melkor's fires, her long turquoise hair fell down her slender shoulders and her large, dark blue eyes were adorable, especially when looking down at her with such delicious fear. Whatever clothing Uinen had worn had been burned away a long time ago, and Nári lazily reached out to cup her chest with one hand. It was big enough to nearly cover it, and she gave the soft flesh a few experimental tugs and squeezes. 

Uinen averted her gaze in shame and pressed her lips together to force down any noises of discomfort. Her fána was so wonderfully delicate and pliable, as if it had been made for someone else to toy with, and Nári felt the fire inside her burn hotter with every passing second. This was exactly what she had been desiring for a long time now, a pretty little plaything to call her own... and one that would live long enough to entertain her. 

"You try being quiet, but rest assured I'll make you scream," she laughed and punished Uinen for her silence with a sharp tug on one of her nipples before letting her large hand glide down her torso. Only small hints of muscle, mostly soft flesh to dig her claws into – just the way she liked it. For now, however, another part of the smaller Maia's anatomy demanded her attention. 

Uinen's womanhood was the one part of her fána that retained its wetness, glistening underneath the Balrog's covetous gaze. Normally hidden between her shapely thighs, her current position put it on full display, to be admired... and to be used. 

Nári traced her folds with the tip of her clawed index finger and felt her own arousal flare up when Uinen let out a whimper. 

"You like this, huh?" 

"N-no..." Squeezing her eyes shut, Uinen then muttered one tiny, breathy, "Please..." 

"You're cute when you beg. You should do it more," was all Nári said in response. Her grin put her fangs on display. 

She took in the alluring sight in front of her, briefly contemplating her next step – she could find out how Uinen tasted or how much she could fit inside her or... how many more sweet noises she could make. 

All in due time, Nári reminded herself. For now though, she decided on the latter. 

With surprisingly gentle movements, she pulled up the small hood to reveal the rosy pearl hidden underneath, causing Uinen to shiver from anticipation. Nári drew a few teasing circles with her claw, then pressed the pad of her thumb against it and began rubbing it. The heat and rough texture of her skin brought pain and pleasure alike to her lovely captive, as she intended: It was a form of art, blending these two sensations together and watching her playthings come undone. 

Uinen was soon writhing beautifully, her muscles tense, her limbs fighting against the fiery bonds that held her. From her plump purple lips fell moans, gasps and whines alike, though no more pleas for mercy. She had accepted her fate and was trying to preserve her dignity, something that Nári would delight in taking away from her in time. 

The Balrog was relentless in her pursuit of her unwilling partner's pleasure, increasing the speed and pressure of her movements until Uinen's inability to get away from the sheer onslaught and intensity of the sensations she was subjected to had her sobbing. Her release was approaching fast – the tenseness and twitching of her thighs made it obvious – but Nári was not feeling merciful. She might have considered letting the smaller Maia climax if she had begged for it. 

Keeping a close eye on Uinen, she brought her to the very edge only to withdraw and deny her release by pinching her swollen pearl with two claws. She was rewarded with an ear-splitting scream and uncontrollable sobbing, pain and frustration alike rippling through her captive's bound form. 

Nári had to suppress a groan; the view, the sounds, her own arousal rising within her, it all felt exquisite. 

"You didn't think it would be this easy, did you?" she laughed and leaned forward. Her hot tongue greedily lapped up the wetness threatening to drip out of Uinen and teased her sensitive, abused flesh. Her slightly salty taste was addictive. 

"We'll play this game all night," Nári purred between long, indulgent licks. "And if you beg, I might eventually let you cum."

Thanks for reading! ♡

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ There was no use in fighting this; and he had long since found out that it could feel quite nice if he didn't. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Captivity, master/slave ⊱ Pairing: Gothmog x Eönwë ⊱ Synopsis: [Valinor falls AU - in which Melkor's forces manage to conquer Valinor and enslave its inhabitants] Eönwë has been given to Gothmog as his pet and pleasure slave. To his horror, he finds that he enjoys his new role more than he should. ⊱ Featuring: Leash/collar, "pet training", fingering, rimming ⊱ Warnings: Dub-con, sexual slavery, sexual content; also the prompts are their own warning

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Finally starting @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December. This one's... fairly mild compared to other things on my list, so stay tuned for that. Suffice it to say: This AU will be featured several times. Enjoy!

He shouldn't enjoy this. 

He was supposed to resist, to fight until his last breath. 

And yet – 

Eönwë let out a quiet gasp when a tug on his leash demanded his attention and a claw was swiftly hooked underneath his collar to hold him in place. 

"You're so beautiful," Gothmog praised and leaned closer to nuzzle his hair. 

A few small agitated wing flaps was all Eönwë could do to resist, but it made no difference. If anything it delighted his captor to watch his desperate attempts at salvaging his dignity, like one would enjoy watching a pet pigeon frolicking around in its cage. 

"And you have such pretty wings too." Claws carded through his feathers and Eönwë found himself unwittingly making tiny noises of delight. It wasn't supposed to feel good... but he had been so alone for many ages. As sweet as freedom had tasted and as sorely as he missed it now, it hadn't sated his desperate longing to be touched. 

"Good bird." Gothmog pulled him onto his lap and wrapped one arm around him possessively, the leash firmly in his grasp. His other hand let go of the collar to continue petting his most prized prisoner. 

Eönwë didn't know what to think or feel whenever he was forced to let himself be touched like this. Surely someone like him who was only skilled in the art of war and woefully unfit for seduction couldn't be the kind of courtesan his new master desired, yet somehow he seemed steadfast in his decision to keep him for that purpose. The prospect had frightened him more than any sort of punishment or torture – but to his shock and surprise Gothmog had been strangely gentle. Good even. 

Whereas their encounters were far from what Eönwë had come to know as proper courtship, he had been neither beaten nor assaulted. Instead, he had been made to wear skimpy clothing, engage in cuddling and preening sessions with his captor, sleep in his bed and simply be around him. He was given treats and allowed to bathe, though Gothmog often insisted on watching him. It was strange and uncomfortable, but deep down Eönwë also found himself oddly intrigued by the prospect of being so openly and unabashedly desired by someone else; he couldn't fully indulge in the fantasy, fearing that kindness could turn into violence at any moment, and still he sometimes caught himself yearning. 

If only this could have happened differently. If only he wasn't just a pet. 

Rough, scaly skin brushed against his lips, and Eönwë parted them obediently, noticing that Gothmog had retracted his claws. Another small kindness. 

"You know what to do."

He did. It wasn't the first time they had done this, and while he didn't fear pain, he was relieved that he would receive some preparation for whatever was to come – especially when the thin, short robes he was wearing were pulled up and his legs were spread. Eönwë had expected to struggle, fight and bleed, and even though it would ease his feelings of guilt, he was glad that he didn't have to. 

Diligently, he licked Gothmog's finger until it was withdrawn and pushed against the resistant ring of muscle between his legs, attempting to enter him. Eönwë tensed reflexively – he still hadn't gotten used to being penetrated – but then forced his fána to relax. There was no use in fighting this; and he had long since found out that it could feel quite nice if he didn't. 

The first finger he took fairly easily, used to it after the last few rounds of "practice", but the second was still too much for his tight passage, untouched and unexplored for most of his existence. A pained whimper escaped him, and he clenched around the finger that was already inside him, his fána readying itself for the pain of being forced open – 

"It's alright," Gothmog murmured and briefly withdrew his hand to grab a bottle of oil and pour a generous amount over his fingers. The leash had long since been dropped and discarded; they both knew he had no chance of escaping and wouldn't try to. 

It was not alright, Eönwë attempted to remind himself – his home had been taken and the Elves and Maiar under his command had been captured and were surely suffering this very moment. Even so he took Gothmog's words to heart and let himself be soothed. He could take the sharp edge of a blade and the fury of a Balrog's whip and he could withstand the horrors of war if he had to; but the one thing he could not take was being defiled in such an intimate manner, the tender, innocent part within him that had spent ages waiting for his one true love being used and violated for the amusement and pleasure of his captor. 

For his own sanity, he had to believe that Gothmog's patience with him was a gesture of kindness and affection, and his eyes swam with gratitude when oil was slowly and gently spread all over his entrance and small praises were whispered in his ear. 

"Look how well you're doing with your training, little bird. In the beginning you could barely fit one of the little plugs." 

Eönwë nodded in agreement, tilting his head back to let Gothmog kiss his neck. It was true – even the smallest intrusion had caused him to tense up and cry, and he had required great patience and encouragement. With the added lubrication, two fingers now slipped inside him with relative ease.

"Soon you will be able to take me properly," Gothmog noted with a pleased purr, and Eönwë found that he wasn't as disturbed by the prospect as he perhaps should be. In fact, his fána was telling him just how nice it felt to finally have his needs met, no longer relying on his own fingers or various household objects to bring him relief whenever he was in heat.  

"Would you like a reward for being so good?" Gothmog asked him then, as if he had sensed his growing willingness and wanted to reinforce it. 

Eönwë had long since forgotten himself. "Yes, please." 

He was pushed forward, his face buried in the pillows of his new owner's luxurious bed, his ass up in the air, proudly displayed and begging for attention. Gothmog used his hands to spread him wide open once again and lowered his head. The feeling of a searing hot tongue had Eönwë flinch for a split second, then the pleasure of its rough texture brushing against his sensitive rim set in. He found himself moaning and mewling in delight, pushing his hips back to get more of that wonderful friction and inviting it inside. 

It's degrading, it's wrong, it's evil.

It feels so good.

He was no longer free and he was no longer pure, and yet this was how his deepest and most secret fantasies were finally fulfilled – to be desired by another, to be taken and pleasured without shame or inhibitions. He didn't have to court anyone, he didn't have to pretend; all he needed to do was to submit and be a pretty pet. 

He shouldn't want this. Yet when Gothmog briefly stopped to ask him if he liked his reward Eönwë begged for more, and the sheets underneath him were soon stained with the remnants of his most deplorable desire.

Thanks for reading! ♡

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Dead Dove December

It's that time of year again! Time to cozy up with blankets and hot cocoa, and read some beautifully crafted non-con smut . . . Everyone does that, right?

We are bringing Dead Dove December back with all new prompts!

As always, any fic, moodboard, fanart, edit, etc is allowed to be submitted!

To Submit:

Tag us @tolkienpinupcalendar

Use the tag #tpcdeaddoveedevember

Use the smutmissions form here

We look forward to seeing what you create!

Mods @bellejolras, @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book and @frosticenow

[dogblessyoutascha]

Hey, hey, hey! I'm back on my bullshit.

I wrote a fic and drew a pic for the @tolkienpinupcalendar 's Dead Dove December Event! This was for Prompt 1: Mind Control.

Link: That Girl Has Laid A Curse On Me

[dogblessyoutascha]

Took me a couple of days to get this up, but here is my post for Prompt 6: Prisoner/Captive! Dead Dove December is hosted by @tolkienpinupcalendar

Fic Link: Darkness Surrounds Us All

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Degradation, boot humping ⊱ Pairing: Nessa x Tulkas ⊱ Synopsis: In which Nessa ties up her husband and uses him as a dance floor and Tulkas is very excited about it. ⊱ Featuring: Tulkas has a thing for feet, femdom, misuse of Angainor, orgasm delay/denial ⊱ Warnings: Some humiliation/degradation (but consensual)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're making progress. Tbh this one is just kink and not really dead dove, but since the rest of the series is here too, I'll keep it in one place. Hope you enjoy!

Tulkas could watch his wife dance for ages. 

Nessa was the epitome of graceful elegance and blinding speed alike, twisting, turning and twirling to her heart's content, faster than even his eyes could follow. Her feet, usually naked, were dainty like a fawn's limbs and artfully arched, a miracle on their own, and yet so deceptively durable and strong, carrying her through the fields of Valinor and enduring even the most strenuous and ferocious dances. 

This hidden strength and lethal accuracy Tulkas had experienced himself many times – whenever Nessa challenged him to catch her, outran and evaded him with ease, laughed at his misfortune every time she let him come close only to slip away at the last second or asked him to dance, making him follow her lead until even the mighty Champion of the Valar collapsed in exhaustion. 

And still, he didn't mind. Tulkas was endlessly fascinated by the wild and wily creature he had been granted the honour of taking as his wife and had soon learned that he would even endure ridicule and humiliation to be in her presence – and gladly so. Perhaps, he sometimes had to admit to himself, there was a part of him that quite liked it and was more than happy to serve as her plaything and playground alike. 

The position he currently found himself in was degrading to say the least, lying flat on his back with his muscular limbs stretched out, restrained by the chain Angainor that Nessa had elegantly convinced him to give to her instead – for a more pleasurable use, as she had whispered in his ear. And pleasure Tulkas felt indeed as he could do nothing but watch her, even though his ëala and fána alike ached for her, wanted nothing more than to break free and chase her like he knew she loved and maybe, maybe be rewarded in the end if he did well. 

Nessa had long since taken to stepping on him as part of her performance. Her feet, soft and so very dainty, looked tiny compared to his large, bulky frame, dancing on him like birds would hop and patter on a sleeping moose. Neither her weight nor her movements bothered Tulkas, his fána too sturdy to be hurt or damaged easily; it was more akin to a massage, rough and at times uncomfortable, but ultimately pleasant and stimulating. 

"Do you like this?" Nessa asked, tiptoeing on his chest before raising one leg up and overhead alongside both arms, her entire form curving like a beautiful bow. 

Tulkas' mouth suddenly felt dry, and he stared up at her with unconcealed hunger. His wife, so lovely and alluring, so close, yet as always just barely out of reach. If he was a man of a weaker heart he would weep, but to push him this far she would have to be even more cruel. 

The thought was frightening and exciting at the same time. 

"Aye," was all Tulkas managed to say, swallowing hard. "I... you are..." 

"Hm?" Nessa performed a cheeky little pirouette, then hopped from one foot to the other to switch up her pose. "Yes, husband? What do you have to say? I am all ears." 

"I want you."

Tulkas had never been a particularly eloquent Ainu, nor did he know how to weave charming tales of flattery. His heart was on his sleeve and his desire written plainly across his face, flushed from excitement. 

"Of course you do." 

The arrogant certainty and mocking tone with which Nessa spoke to him would have prompted him to challenge any other in her place to a duel, but her saying it sent a heady rush of arousal directly to his groin. 

Not knowing what else to say, Tulkas added in a small, breathless voice, "Please."

Nessa took a moment to assess the state he was in, and her eyes quickly settled on the growing bulge between his legs. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, and she returned to a normal stance before stretching out one of her sinewy, wonderfully shaped legs to place one foot directly on his crotch, letting his erection nestle into its arch. 

"Indeed you do enjoy this," Nessa mused, "but I don't think I am in the mood to just give myself to you." 

"I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." 

Nessa laughed. "My wish is for you to stay as you are, for I find this sight quite entertaining."

Her words cut deep, and Tulkas gave her a wounded look. She was right of course, he was enjoying this greatly, but the thought of lying beneath her while his yearning grew and grew, only for his desire to remain unfulfilled in the end, threatened to break his heart into pieces. 

It seemed as though Nessa sensed his neediness and distress and took pity on him then, pushing down with her foot so he could feel it firmly resting against his clothed cock. Tulkas groaned, and she smiled impishly. 

"But it's rather endearing as well," she lilted. "So I feel like I should grant you a little reward. How does that sound?" 

"W-wonderful. Please, my lady..." 

"Go on. Work for it." 

Tulkas didn't need to be told twice. As soon as he had permission to do so, he began rutting against her in a maddened frenzy, as much as the chains holding him in place would allow. Oh, how he wished there was no barrier of clothing between his cock and the sole of her foot so he could feel just how warm and soft her skin was and how firm her muscles; how he wished he could run his hands up and down her legs and kiss her in reverence – but such honour would not be granted today, and he had learned to accept whatever his lady wife saw fit to give. 

The speed and vigour with which Tulkas chased his peak would have daunted many others, but not fierce and proud Nessa who kept her foot pressing down, even stepping on his most vulnerable parts with queenly grace; yet whatever pain he felt only heightened his pleasure. He would have spent just as fast as he moved, had she not decided to prolong the pleasurable torment by occasionally lifting her foot, stretching it languidly as she watched him silently plead to continue. 

The relief Tulkas felt when he was finally allowed to climax shattered his mind, and he was left babbling and muttering fragments of praise and gratitude. His garments were now thoroughly stained, a testament to his desperate depravity and terrific triumph alike – Nessa had accepted his devotion and admiration and seen it fit to reward him accordingly, and he couldn't be happier.

She continued her performance then, using his heaving, exhausted fána as her personal stage once more, and despite the humiliating state and position he was forced to remain in, Tulkas smiled and felt no shame.

Thanks for reading! ♡