#namo imagine

[doodle-pops]

My Sweet Kitty

Námo x reader

A/N: My first ever fluffy Námo fic since I post a bunch of headcanons for him. I know I don’t write much for the Ainur in terms of fics (apart from Eönwë), so I hope this can be a start.

Warnings: none, fluff, humour

Words: 1.1k

Synopsis: You attempt to convince Námo of his feline qualities.

“You know, for someone who has a dog, you radiate a feline persona.”

Your words lingered in the air, suspended like taut strings on the brink of snapping, as you awaited a reaction from your solitary audience. Abruptly, Námo turned his head sharply, his gaze ready to unleash a torrent of his pent–up irritation in response to your comment about his personality. While he had grown accustomed to his siblings’ jibes and prods, ever since love happened to him, this peculiar emotion he sensed in your words struck him deep. It nestled in his chest, a discomfort that resonated in his ears, a subtle insinuation that his persona was unappealing.

His gaze bore into you, his expression a canvas painted with a myriad of unsaid thoughts, as you chuckled and affectionately patted his dog’s head. Watching as your laughter unfurled as you sat on the floor for reasons unknown, he couldn’t help but perceive a certain angelic quality about you. Yet, the ache in his heart remained, uncertain whether your words were intended as an insult or a compliment.

“What,” he began, pausing to draw in a deep breath before continuing, “do you precisely imply by labelling me a ‘cat person’ instead of a ‘dog person’?” His viridian eyes remained fixed on you, the intensity of his gaze drilling into your consciousness, as he awaited your laughter to subside and for you to respond to his pressing query.

Clutching your stomach, consumed by laughter, you were lost in a fit of reliving the scene repeatedly, momentarily forgetting his looming question. Even his dog, Gorgumoth, seemed captivated, nestled beside you, basking in the ripples of your amusement and the gentle head pats he received amidst the spectacle. It took five minutes of Námo’s impatient staring and his unwavering scrutiny for you to regain your composure, wiping a tear away before offering another comment. “Oh, dear, if only you could have witnessed your expression—the way your head whipped around, I could have sworn it was on the verge of snapping!”

Unimpressed by the lack of attention and cheerfulness in your response, Námo made another attempt to seek an answer to his inquiry. “Care to elaborate on the meaning of your statement?”

“Oh?” Your surprise was palpable, as his insistence on uncovering the concealed truths behind your words caught you off guard. Typically, he would have rolled his eyes or showcased his exasperation at your whimsical antics; after all, your hyperactive and eccentric nature stood in stark contrast to his reserved demeanour. “Well, um, it essentially signifies that your persona bears resemblance to the behaviour of a cat. Interestingly, people who exhibit such traits are often inclined to prefer cats over dogs due to the shared attributes.”

Námo’s gaze remained fixed on you, his viridian eyes still piercing with curiosity and a hint of annoyance. Your explanation seemed to have made some sense to him, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. His dog, still enjoying the attention you were providing, nuzzled closer to you as if to endorse your presence.

“So, you’re saying that my behaviour resembles that of a cat?” Námo inquired, his tone slightly incredulous.

You nodded, your laughter finally subsiding as you caught your breath. “Yes, that’s the gist of it. Cats are often seen as more independent, aloof, and sometimes a bit mysterious. And, well, you do have some of those traits.”

Námo’s expression didn’t change much, though you could detect a flicker of introspection in his eyes. He seemed to be mulling over your words, possibly reflecting on how he came across to others. “I suppose I can see the similarities,” he admitted reluctantly.

You grinned, glad that he was taking it in stride. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Cats are also elegant, and intelligent, and they have a certain air of mystery that’s quite intriguing.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, hinting at a small, rare smile. “You have a way of turning a potentially insulting statement into something...intriguing.”

“That’s my special talent,” you said with a wink. “But don’t take it too seriously dear. It was just a playful observation.”

Námo’s demeanour seemed to soften as he leaned back, his dog now fully sprawled out beside you. “I’ll keep that in mind. And for the record, I do appreciate both cats and dogs for their unique qualities.”

You chuckled. “Good to know. So, do you think you’re more of a cat person now?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of amusement in them was hard to miss. “Let’s not push it.”

“Aw, come on now Námo! There’s no harm in being considered as a cat,” you playfully whined as you removed yourself off the floor and strolled over to where he sat, draping yourself all over his shoulders. Lifting your finger to bump his nose, you grinned before kissing the tip and chuckled as he lazily blinked like a cat. “You know, cats are also known for saying, ‘I love you’ when they blink slowly. Tell me, was that a confession?”

Throwing you an exasperated look that screamed ‘Don’t push it,’ he unconsciously inched his head closer to your lips. It was a routine habit of his: deny enjoying or wanting kisses while pushing his head in for more. He was indeed your feline. “I have no idea what you speak of,” he softly muttered, still inching his head closer and staring at your lips.

“You’re not as smooth as you consider yourself to be, Námo.” You chuckled. “You’re displaying all the qualities of a kitty right now—so needy for a kiss.”

Your statement was the worst thing you could say to ruin the moment, and his head jerked away from your lips, facing front. Recomposing himself after the accidental slip–up, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and picked up his quill to resume his writing, as though nothing transpired between you two moments ago. He was indeed a kitten, getting all bashful and ignoring one’s presence after a confrontation. But you couldn’t resist dipping your head in to land a kiss on his cheek despite his low grumblings about you distracting him.

Leaning in, you whispered near his ear, “You’re more adorable than you realise.”

Námo’s cheeks flushed, and he coughed softly, clearing his throat as if to regain his composure. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

You grinned mischievously. “It’s part of my charm. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll embrace your inner cat entirely.”

He glanced at you, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re pushing it.”

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[zyozyominatozaki]

This thirteen-minute long video is causing me to die...

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Manwë, Varda, Oromë, Námo and Irmo; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: Dom/sub dynamics/undertones, predator/prey kink, soul sex

Warnings: Possessive themes, bit of rough foreplay and sex, smut/suggestive

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who voted on my recent polls. I'll be trying out a bit of a new format, combining headcanons with small scenes/imagines, with this one and hope you'll find it enjoyable. If there are other characters you'd like to see for this, feel free to suggest and keep an eye out for future polls!♡

Manwë

ଘ The Elder King is a romantic lover and enjoys courting you, though even during these early stages he finds ways to subtly claim you for himself: He showers you with gifts like jewellery with sapphires (his signature gemstone), robes in his colours, objects decorated with feathers or bird-shaped items and writes poetry for you which he recites and sings for you both in private and in public.

ଘ Once Manwë has successfully conquered your heart, he makes sure to publicly display his affection for you by making you sit on his lap, kissing you and wrapping his wings around you at every opportunity.

ଘ In the bedroom, little remains of Manwë's calm, serene demeanour. He loves marking your body with his talons, covering you in love bites and engaging in breath play to make you feel just how much you need his element - need him.

ଘ Manwë has a breeding kink that gets particularly strong when he's in heat or nearing it and loves filling you up to make sure that his essence remains inside you as long as possible and his scent stays on you, deterring any other suitors from approaching you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Your lips part to release a soft gasp when Manwë pulls you closer and presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, biting and sucking gently to leave blossoming marks. His mighty talons draw patterns on the naked skin of your back, causing you to arch and lean into his embrace; he is careful not to hurt you, though you already know you will be covered in thin red lines once he's done with you. 

"My little dove," Manwë croons between kisses, his voice deceptively soft; he caresses you like a warm, gentle breeze, though you know a mighty storm is slumbering underneath his calm exterior, ready to be unleashed, should anyone else attempt to touch what is his.

"Yours," you whisper. Your hands claws at his robes as Manwë continues to mark you as his for all to see; the Elder King's mate and lover that no other would ever dare to lay claim to.

Varda

✧ The Queen of Stars is often absent from the daily affairs of Valinor in favour of tending to her creations in the depths of Eä, but she makes sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to even when she's not present.

✧ Varda loves giving you pretty necklaces, bracelets and other jewellery adorned with charms that are filled with her starlight, protecting you and burning anyone who attempts to touch you without her permission.

✧ When she makes love to you, she ensures that you will remember her touch and others see the marks she left on you as will - in case anyone was doubting that you are hers - by painting luminous constellations on your skin with her fingers, twinkling little stars reminiscent of notes in a song of her love for you.

✧ Varda also gives you water from her wells to drink, enjoying the thought of her essence filling you and providing you with light and refreshment. She will stop at nothing to make sure the powers of darkness and evil stay far away from you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Hold still, my little light," the Queen orders, pushing you down and into the soft sheets of her bed with gentle authority. 

You blink nervously when you see the tip of her index finger glowing with sacred, primordial light, ready to paint the canvas of your bare chest with tiny, glittering stars. 

"Will it hurt?" 

Varda smiles and leans down to kiss your brow. "Of course not. There is no evil in your heart, dearest; my light would never hurt you." 

Her starlit touch is hot, and for a moment you fear it'll sear your skin, but as soon as she begins caressing you, reminiscent of the gentle strokes of a paintbrush, the sensation changes to a comfortable heat. You raise your head to watch as she turns you into another one of her masterpieces, and your beloved Queen looks pleased whenever her nimble fingers elicit small noises from you, her luminous eyes holding your gaze while she slowly works her way lower and lower. 

Oromë

♘ Oromë is a hunter with all his heart, so once he has caught you, he certainly won't let anyone take away his favourite prey. He loves giving you trophies from his hunting trips to wear as accessories, a not-so-subtle message to all that you now belong to him.

♘ But that won't satisfy him for too long. The huntsman of the Valar is a wild and passionate lover and covers you in bite and scratch marks every time he takes you, making sure they are visible too.

♘ Oromë loves all sorts of cuddling and physical affection and actively initiates it whenever an opportunity presents itself. While this is certainly done for his and your enjoyment, he also wants others to see that you are his and his alone and ensure that his scent will be all over you even when he isn't around, in order to ward off unwanted attention from other suitors. For the same reason, he also breeds you thoroughly.

♘ If you are a good little pet for him, Oromë will reward you with a lovely collar he made specifically for you, letting everyone know that he has claimed you and intends to keep you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Oromë's large hands hold on to your hips with a strong, bruising grip that has you whining into the moss below. You already know not to expect mercy whenever you play his favourite game of hunting and catching his prey, a symbolic earning of his right to claim you. 

"What a lovely little deer," Oromë purrs and leans forward to bite the juncture between your neck and shoulder while he enters you with the fierce determination of a feral beast. 

Your cries and moans only spur him on to thrust deeper and harder, his hands keeping you in place with the strength and steadiness of an experienced hunter. As far as you know, you two are alone in this part of his woods, yet something tells you that he wouldn't mind if one of the other hunting parties found you – to see him taking you, marking you, filling you with his seed to ensure that his scent you be on you for days to come. 

Námo

☯ The mark of a Fëantur may be subtle, though no less intense than those visible on your skin. Once Námo has taken you as his lover, he binds your fëa to his, leaving an echo of his song and a ghost of his touch with you wherever you go. Those proficient in ósanwe and/or attuned to spiritual matters feel the Doomsman's presence wherever you go, no more than one call through your bond away.

��� Nevertheless, Námo knows that not all Incarnates are able to sense and heed his silent warning, so he also presents you with clothes and jewellery to adorn your body. He likes long, flowing robes in dark colours, veils and little charms shaped like crows and ravens, similar to his own attire, and greatly enjoys seeing you wearing those, an unmistakable sign of belonging to him.

☯ When he isn't present and you are outside of his halls, Námo may occasionally guide your fate in whichever way he sees fit to make sure you return safely. Those who attempt to harm you will face the Doomsman's wrath.

☯ Yet as much as he wishes to protect you, Námo wants nothing more than to own and mark you in the most intimate way possible - which is your fëa. Should you ever be slain, or once his need and longing overwhelm him, he will whisk you away to Mandos, keep you there until the end of the world and fill your spirit with his song and essence time and time again until you know no other than him.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cool lips kiss the nape of your neck when Námo takes you, slowly and deliberately, enjoying the way your smaller form trembles in his arms. He's sitting on his throne with you on his lap, your robes covering the illicit image of the Master of Fate penetrating you, yet the small moans falling from your lips and the movement of his hips betray the truth. 

"Let me have you," Námo whispers, and you know he wants more than to claim just your body, so you open your mind to him as well. 

The sensation of his fëa reaching out to touch and intertwine with yours is just as intense as the joining of your bodily forms. Your helpless noises increase in volume despite your best efforts to hold back, yet Námo doesn't seem to mind – in fact, you begin to suspect that he wants the residents of Mandos to look up at his throne and watch, so they will know who you belong to for all ages to come. 

Irmo

☾ No one has escaped the loving arms of the Lord of Dreams without remnants of glittering dream dust on their clothes and skin, and you are certainly no exception, quite the contrary: As Irmo's favourite little butterfly, he makes sure to touch, embrace and cuddle you to his heart's content, and ever since your courtship started, you feel like the dream dust has never left you again. He feigns innocence, yet you suspect that this is very much his intention, so everyone can see his touch upon you even when he isn't around.

☾ Irmo crafts a special dream catcher for you and makes sure you wear it at all times, an unmistakable sign of his love for you. It contains a small part of himself and his power, and he taps into it to ward off nightmares.

☾ He also likes entering your dreams, spending time with you there and, most importantly, ensuring that no other suitors may ever find their way there, because you belong to him and him alone. When you sleep in his gardens, you often wake up feeling his lips and hands kissing and caressing your body, leaving trails of dream dust and, at times, colourful patterns on your skin.

☾ As much as he enjoys claiming your body, he desires nothing more than to possess you in spirit as well, so that the union of your fëar leaves a permanent mark on your very being, filling you with his song and his essence.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Here? In the middle of your garden?" 

Irmo merely laughs in response and rolls you over on your back to climb on top of you, his iridescent butterfly wings fluttering excitedly. 

"Why not, my darling petal? Is our love not the fairest and most beautiful thing my garden has ever seen?" 

Glittering dream dust falls from his wings and hair as he leans forward to kiss you, and you soon find yourself feeling both soothed and excited by his presence and the comfortable weight of his fána on top of you. 

Sensing your emotions, Irmo's gentle hand sneaks between your legs and finds you willing and eager for him, ready to be taken. He breaks the kiss to gaze at your face, delighting in your blushing cheeks, half-lidded eyes and parted, wet lips, panting softly as you look up at him. 

"I will make love to you until you fall asleep in my arms," Irmo whispers, "and when you do, I will continue to make love to you in your dreams." 

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello M darling! Firstly, congratulations on reaching 500! You totally deserve it and I can't wait to see more from you<3

For your event, I was wondering if I could request a modern!calamórë with the prompt 23. “Say my name.” and a library setting?

College students!Manwë and Námo are boyfriends and they should be studying for their final, but Manwë decides on a fun little way of helping Námo memorise his work and it leads into him testing Námo whilst pleasuring him? He only gives him what he wants if he gets the answers correct, much to Námo's dismay because he's all needy<3 it eventually leads to them fucking and trying to keep it hush, even if they are the only two in the library at such a late time 💕

Hope this isn't too much! You can mix and match what you think works well. Congratulations again 🥰

Thank you! And thanks for your request, I hope you like this.

"Motivation"

Prompt 23. “Say my name.” and a library setting.

Pairing: Modern Námo x Manwë (both college students)

Themes: Modern AU | Smut | Soft

Warnings: Praise kink | Begging | Explicit language | Dirty talk | Foreplay | Public sex | Oral

Word count: 2.3k words

Summary: Late night prep for English lit finals goes in a completely different direction.

Rating:  🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

Manwë held up a mock exam paper, impatience writ large on his face. "Come now, little raven, we need to focus for tomorrow’s exam."

Námo huffed and slumped into his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time. It was nearly eleven at night, and the library was empty save for the two of them. They had been studying for hours, pouring over books and filling up mock papers, reviewing each other’s answers, all in preparation for their English Literature finals. It was exhausting work, and now Námo just wanted to fall into bed. Any bed. Or a sofa. Or even a comfortable chair. Somewhere. Anywhere. And just sleep.

"No more, mon cher," he mumbled, half asleep.

"Now, that could work, little raven. If I were Gomez Addams." Manwë snickered and shook his head. Clearly, Námo was still stuck on that morning’s French paper, but it was not going to do. They had one final exam to get through, and then they would be free to do as they wished. He picked up a pencil, tapped it against the table to get Námo to pay attention. "Unfortunately, I am not. Now come. We need to focus."

Námo sat up straight and groaned. He rubbed his eyes once more and tried to focus. A large emphasis would have to be laid on "tried to," because Námo tried, and failed. "I can’t," he whined, and he tried to sleep at the table, his head on his folded arms. "I just can’t. Can we go back to our dorm now?"

"One more round, that is all," Manwë urged, and he placed a hand on Námo’s shoulder, shaking it gently to try and keep him awake. "Thirty minutes, little raven. Just thirty minutes and we can leave, I promise."

"Do you?"  Námo asked hopefully, as visions of fluffy beds and soft pillows danced before his drooping eyes.

"I do, little raven." Manwë said, brushing back an ash-blonde lock of hair that covered Námo’s left eye. When that eye flew wide open and looked right back at him, as if pleading with him not to stop, Manwë had an idea. He will have to dig into his special bag of tricks to motivate Námo into studying.

"So," Manwë started by first smoothing back Námo’s soft, wavy hair. He lifted a paper with his free hand. "Do you know what the answer to question number five is? Where the passage is from?"

Námo lifted his head and squinted at the paper that had been held up for him to see. The answer to this was easy. "C. John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress."

"Very good," Manwë hummed sweetly, his eyes on the mock quiz. He pushed Námo’s hair from his neck and drew lazy circles with a finger, something he knew would grab Námo’s attention and make him more alert. It worked; he heard it in the sharp intake of breath. "Now, the next question. Which of the following is true of the passage?"

Námo found it hard to focus when a large, warm hand started to rub the back of his neck, but he answered all the same. "C. It’s C."

"You’re doing perfectly, little raven. And the question after that? What does the last sentence suggest?"

"That Father Roger failed to nurture the boy’s talents?"

"Excellent. Now. What about," Manwë settled on a harder question. "Ahh. Yes. This one. Question number thirteen. What does the passage describe, little raven?"

Námo groaned in defeat when he looked at the paper. Of course, Manwë had to go find a question on Beowulf. "I fucking hate you, you know that?"

Manwë simply smiled to himself and raked his fingers through Námo’s hair. "I know, little raven. However, the question remains unanswered." He shook the paper, demanding an answer.

Námo had plenty to say. All unrepeatable things, of course, but the sensations that came with Manwë running his hand through his hair killed the heated words already at the tip of his tongue. Námo grabbed onto his chair and inched it closer to Manwë’s, so he could get a better look at the question. The sounds of his chair being dragged were muffled by the thick carpet, not that anyone could have heard anyway. He read and read, debating which answer to choose. Manwë kept combing his hand through Námo’s hair, his lips curling when he caught the barely audible whimper.

After some struggle, Námo settled on, "B," he said triumphantly. "Loss of life in battle."

And Manwë was quick to pull his hand away. The answer was wrong after all.

"Wait… why did you do that, babe?" Námo protested.

"Do what, little raven?" Manwë said lightly, his gaze fixed firmly on the paper before him, his eyes glinting wickedly.

"Take your hand away. Why did you do it?"

Manwë turned his attention to Námo, taking in the narrowed eyes and the heavy pout. Not only was he hooked on what Manwë was doing, he was sulking. Námo was actually sulking, like a child that had been denied candy.

Manwë struggled to bury a triumphant smirk. He had Námo exactly where he wanted him. "Needy, are we?"

"No," Námo lied, and poorly too. Oh, he was needy, so very needy, and it was already starting to show.

"No?" Manwë leaned in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth over the shell of Námo’s ear. "Then why are you sulking, sweet raven?"

Námo grumbled something ineligible before looking away, his arms crossing over his chest. Manwë smirked and leaned in even closer, his lips grazing Námo’s earlobe. To give him more incentive, he decided. "Do you want me to keep touching you?"

He flushed; yes, he did want Manwë to keep touching him. "What if I do?" Námo said, his breath hitching when teeth nipped and pulled.

"Keep answering correctly, and I will. In all manner of ways," Manwë sat up straight and took the mock paper to hand. "So, little raven. What is the answer to question thirteen?"

That large hand of his brushed over the nape of Námo’s neck, to encourage him. This time Námo focused and tried to recall what he learned at class. He took another stab at the answer.

"E," he said, hoping and praying that this was the correct one, as he did not want Manwë to pull away again.

It was, and Manwë gave the paper to Námo to hold, freeing up both his hands for the things he wanted to do next.

"You’re doing so well, little raven," he murmured, his hand sliding down the length of Námo’s arm. The goosebumps he felt brush against his palm made him smile.  "So well. What about the question sixteen?"

Námo answered correctly again, his eyes closing when Manwë snuck a hand under his t-shirt and let the other delve into his hair. He slumped back into his chair, although this time, it was not due to weariness or a need to sleep. Flushed and breathless, he tried to focus as Manwë’s hand glided all over his chest, stoking a familiar fire in his blood.

"Any… oh fuck," he breathed when skilled fingers pinched at a nipple, lightly at first, then insistently, making it throb and ache.

"Yes, little raven?" Manwë kept at his ministrations, focusing on one nipple before turning his attention to the other.

His heart fluttering in his chest, Námo shook his head and forced himself to focus. Hard to do so when that deft hand of Manwë’s kept sending jolts of pain and pleasure all over his body. And he wanted it. Oh, how he wanted it—to feel those jolts wash over his body. "Any… any more questions, babe?"

"Eager to go on, eh?" Manwë said, his voice now thick and rough. "I’m proud of you, little raven. Very well, question twenty."

Námo looked down at the question, his eyes already going hazy as lust overtook him. He struggled to answer, to form proper words. Manwë’s touch proved it nearly impossible to do so, but the heat of his touch and the words of his praise were all too good to pass up. Sleep was forgotten at last. He made himself concentrate and answered, his words faltering near the end when Manwë’s hand glided down, going lower and lower, not stopping until it rested over the band of his shorts. Námo waited, wanting to see what Manwë would do next. Would he abruptly stop now that their study session was nearing its end, or would he go on? Oh, how Námo craved for him to go on.

"Hard already," Manwë let his hand glide even lower, trailing over the bulge of Námo’s erection. A breathless laugh fell over his lips when Námo’s mouth parted in a silent moan, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut. Late-night studying just got very interesting.

"Don’t stop," Námo whispered, his hand moving over Manwë’s. "Please. Please babe, don’t stop."

"You are needy," Manwë muttered, his own needs coursing through his veins like an out-of-control fire at the sight of Námo writhing like anything. "I will not stop. But you must say my name first. No more, babe."

Námo blinked and looked around, hoping that the librarian would not actually walk in on them.

"Mrs. Murtaugh is off in that office of hers, little raven," Manwë dipped and nipped his earlobe again as he loosened the top button. There was a brief hissing sound as the zip came down. "It’s just you and me. Now, will you do it? Say my name?"

Námo tried. Oh, how he tried, but his tongue felt like it was tied up in knots. Manwë let his lips drift over Námo’s shoulder, his hand palming Námo’s cock over the thin fabric of his briefs.

"Say my name, little raven," he groaned, his touch growing more intense by the moment. "Say it."

Manwë cupped him and applied more pressure, just enough to crumble what defenses Námo had. His name soon fell from Námo’s lips in what was a half-moan, half-whimper. Finals and studying and everything else had been forgotten. Manwë kept stroking him, his senses blind to all but his boyfriend. Námo encouraged him, his worry at them being caught all but forgotten.

"Not enough, Manwë," he whispered, his breath harsh and ragged. "Please, Manwë. Please."

Vivid, arctic blue eyes lit up immediately. Manwë lapped it up and wanted to hear more of Námo’s begging. He always loved it when Námo begged. "Such a needy slut you are, little raven. But you’re going to have to try harder."

Námo whined and complained, but Manwë, despite his caresses, remained unmoved and refused to go further. Unable to bear it anymore, Námo yielded quite shamelessly.

"Please give me more, Manwë," he mewled, "Please. Please."

"More you say," Manwë purred, his voice sweet as honey just then. "More of what, little raven?"

One final squeeze, and Námo was like putty in Manwë’s skilled hands. "Go down on me. Please."

Manwë fully planned on doing it, but he needed to hear another round of pleading before he did. "You will have to be more specific, little raven."

Thoroughly done in by now, Námo very nearly sobbed, "Please suck my cock. Please."

With a satisfied growl, Manwë pulled away and snuck under the table. "You’re not to make a sound, do you hear me?" He peeled back Námo’s briefs, freeing his erection for his touch. "Not one sound."

"What?" Námo breathed, his eyes locked onto what Manwë was doing. "Why?"

"I know how loud you can get, little raven," Manwë grinned wolfishly and pushed Námo's thighs apart. The carpet felt coarse against his knees, but he took no notice. "And we cannot afford to have Mrs. Murtaugh hearing those sweet noises you make, do we?"

Námo nodded and put his hand to his mouth. It was just as well that he did, as the first moan spilled out barely a moment later. Manwë pressed soft kisses against the tip, moaning quietly to himself when Námo moved a hand through his hair. The library was quiet, so very quiet, and all either could hear was the sound of the other’s rough breathing. Such a pity, thought Manwë, that he couldn’t get to properly enjoy all the sounds Námo made, but he made himself content with the sight of Námo’s silvery eyes, now dark and clouded with lust.

Námo nearly forgot himself and cried out in ecstasy when Manwë ran his tongue along his shaft before slipping all of him into his wet, hot mouth. He wanted to moan out loud, but the knowledge that they were in the library was all that stopped him from doing so. The sounds he made were hoarse and muffled, but the sensations — the feeling of Manwë gripping at his waist, his fingers digging into soft flesh, his free hand moving in tandem with his mouth, his grip squeezing and releasing with each stroke — it was all too much, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

The gleam in Námo’s eyes betrayed his need and how close he was. Manwë didn’t slow down; he didn’t stop. He wanted to feel the taste of Námo’s seed against his tongue. He also wanted to get it over with so he could take Námo home and have his way with the rest of Námo’s body. He went faster, took Námo even deeper, his strokes relentless as he felt Námo stiffen even more. Námo didn’t last much longer, his hand fisting in Manwë’s thick, white hair. His body shook, and a deep, muffled moan was followed by a spurt of warmth filling Manwë mouth.

"Couldn’t hold out, could you?" Manwë swallowed and grinned.

Námo managed a weak smile, his chest still heaving. "Like you said, I’m a needy little thing. Did you expect me to last long?"

Manwë laughed this time, his eyes glinting. "I suppose you’re right. Let’s get you cleaned up and back home. I need to hear those pretty sounds of yours while I fuck you."

tags: @cilil | @asianbutnotjapanese |@fictionfordays

[curufan]

Do we have any information about the first elves captured by Morgoth (not the orc-stuff, not really at least)? I mean, during the time before Orome found them? It's said that some elves vanished caught by Haunter. What I want to ask is did nobody of those elves die? Was Morgoth so careful (it's hard for me to believe all those 'experiments' — and orc-creation if we choose that version — always were super-successful) not to kill elves by accident? Or they actually died at some point but Namo just didn't tell anyone else? Well it's actually possible, doom and all.

But I still think it can be interesting to think about

[imagine-in-tolkiens-world]

[shrikeseams]

okay, but what if Finwe summoned himself from the moment of his death like, 15 minutes later, and his dead future self just fuckin. Jumps Melkor from behind.

Time-travel non-fixit where Maedhros kills Maitimo

[thesummerestsolstice]

I like the idea that the Valar can grant boons to men or elves they favor. Sometimes visible– glowing markings, feathers, claws– and sometimes not. Attitudes of these blessings ranged from fear to reverence to jealousy, often reflecting opinions of the Valar more generally.

Galadriel's special treelight hair came from Finarfin. Finarfin got it as a result of Manwe's favor. Given how rare it was for Manwe to bestow such gifts, this caused quite a stir. Later, Morgoth would spread rumors that Manwe was trying to set Finarfin up as the new Noldor crown prince, bypassing Finwe's older children.

Namo gave Fingolfin a blessing, and no one was particularly sure why, Fingolfin included. The truth was that Namo had already foreseen Fingolfin's death, and wanted to give him the strength to let him wound Morgoth before falling to him. Namo has always felt a sense of responsibility for those who choose to come to his halls, even if he's powerless to change their fates.

Celegorm was blessed by Orome, given the kind of teeth and claws that a few of his best disciples had been granted over the years. Orome couldn't take those gifts back, so Celegorm kept them for all his life. You wouldn't know that looking at paintings of him, though, because none of them show him with the marks of Orome's hunt. Whether this was a choice made by him or by later revisionists trying to minimize his connection with the Valar is unknown.

Varda gave blessings to both Earendil and Gil-Galad in the final years of the First Age. Both of them are said to have shone like stars afterwards, and there were some darker rumors that like the hallowed Silmarils, they would burn any unholy flesh that touched them. Some speculated that the blessings were Varda's way of apologizing for leaving the elves to face Morgoth alone for so long.

Ulmo is probably the Vala who's given out the most blessings– Cirdan, Turgon, Finrod, and Tuor all recieved boons from him, among others. But everyone who's gotten blessings from Ulmo is weirdly secretive about it. There's lots of gossip floating around– Ulmo is the reason Cirdan has a beard, Ulmo is the reason Turgon is taller than Maedhros, Ulmo is the reason that everyone likes Finrod so much, actually everyone blessed by Ulmo gets gills and he has secret underwater meetings with them– you get the idea. Well, probably no reason to consider that last one. I can't imagine any of the Valar using their power for something that foolish.

There is fierce scholarly debate on whether Thingol received a blessing from Melian, and whether her descendants could, theoretically, do the same. Elrond would like everyone to please stop asking him about it. Elrond would also like everyone to please stop talking about Gil-Galad's hair turning silver after the two of them took a very normal hunting trip together.

(Multiple Valar have tried to take credit for just how amazingly luscious and wonderful Finwe's hair is. But no, that wasn't a blessing. He's just like that.)

[doodle-pops]

The Ainur | With Reader Experiencing Panic Attacks

Request: I've been like an overexcited Buddy the Elf since you announced requests open, I love them so unbelievably much, they make my week and sometimes my month. So if I may please make a little request... how do you think the Ainur would react if the reader suffers from panic attacks? - anon

A/N: I went with the classic bunch I usually write for, however, I found it difficult to come up with something for Melkor (because I couldn't picture him being patient or soft enough? Idk, if that's just me). So he’s out in this one. Enjoy!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Manwë

As someone gentle and nurturing when it comes to dealing with others, Manwë would be a wonderful individual to assess your panic attacks when they strike. Whether they come in waves of frantic panicking or silence, he’s observant and on the lookout for when an episode can arise. Hence why he has a hand in certain activities in your day-to-day duties to reduce any form of stress that would bring it on. This also extends to arranging secluded spots where you can be at peace and blend into nature.

If your panic attacks derive from traumatic events or stress, the Lord of Airs will do his best to ensure that you are never placed in situations where you can relive or entertain such build-ups. His eyes are always on your figure, not too close nor too far, as he observes the people you communicate with and the level of work you handle.

All in all, you’ve got someone who would invite his little bird friends to perform melodies to ease your pain, or the Lord himself would engage in leisurely activities for your sanity.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Irmo

The moment he enters you spot your figure, he’s aware that something is off. In fact, it was the reason why he was drawn to your presence in the first place, high levels stress of radiating strongly. Irmo would be worried about the blank look on your face as you’re staring off into the distance and your body slumps. He’s more familiar with the frantic forms of panic attacks, that this other outcome has him slightly worried. Just how much stress or possible trauma were you under at that very moment.

Communicating with you by calling out your name would come surprisingly at ease as you take glances at him with a lethargic expression. He could see that in your mind, thoughts were raging war rapidly to the point you could barely keep up with a single focal point, and he understood how you felt at that moment. He is tender and gentle as he calls out to you and informs you that he’s going to hold you closely to help bring you back into reality.

With Irmo, you get the opportunity to spend lots of time in his gardens to soothe your mind. He practically opens it to you and invites you to use it when the thoughts in your mind are colliding and creating a frenzy. There are moments, when he would pay you a visit as you’re relaxing to hold your hand and reassure you that he’s here and you not drifting off deep into your thoughts.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Námo

The Lord of the Dead would find the situation unfamiliar to him since his profession deals with souls and not of the flesh. When he faces you in your panicked state, panting and gasping for air as your eyes flutter like a storm around the room and clinging to some surface, his first thought is that you were harmed. Quickly rushing to your side, Námo would attempt his best to pacify your erraticism, placing his hands against your face to get you to focus on him while guiding your hands to his face to anchor yourself back to earth. It breaks his heart to eventually learn that it wasn’t an injury but rather a panic attack once his brother accessed your health.

As Námo now learns of what a panic attack looks like and has become familiar with it and how it can arise, he would arrange with his brother to pardon you visitations to his garden for peaceful moments while he was busy attempting to create one at his domain to surprise you upon your return. It’s difficult for Námo to find breaks in between his duties, but he tries his hardest to meet with you and spend more time conversing about any problems or possible traumatic experiences that can cause your panic attacks.

He would remedy incense, teas, and music for you, under the assistance of his brother and Lady Ëste. There would be more breaks in your schedule if stress is the cause and a higher demand that you relax and enjoy the beauty of life while leaving the heavier duties to him. While Námo would be eyeing you like a hawk, courtesy his Maiar who would be placed in charge of you, he would step in and handle your care on his own.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Ëonwë

The Herald of Manwë would be partially familiar with the dynamic of what serve panicking looks like after fighting alongside other elves who are more susceptible to such conditions. He may not have treated soldiers who suffered the attacks but witnessed the procedure, which is why when it occurred to you, he was able to access the situation. Swiftly he moves, but beneath his appearance, he’s panicking as well, as he captures your attention after noticing your symptoms. Using his wings, Ëonwë will embrace you in a hug and have them cocoon you both from the outside world.

His wings are one of the best sources to dealing with your panic attacks as it brings an extra sense of security and comfort. He normally uses his wings when he wants to shut the world (noises) out, so it comes in handy in a situation like yours. His hands are on your face as he guides your breathing to reduce your erraticism. The soft coos and a few chirps would slip out because his heart breaks at the sight of you appearing distorted.

Ëonwë would whisk you away to an enclosed area where it can simply be you and him without any distractions. He would spend the rest of the moment in tranquillity, lounging about the place with you in his arms, stroking your hair and watching as you sleep.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Mairon

 Confused and concerned at your state of silence, you blankly stare off into God knows where, probably the wall, as your mind turns into a battlefield of thoughts. At first, he’ll ignore you and believe you’re just being your usual self (weird), but as time passes and you’re still sitting there for almost an hour unresponsive, he becomes concerned. He’ll hover over you, unsure if to gently touch you or firmly shake you awake, instead, he settles on calling you. Mairon wouldn’t understand that it was a panic attack because he tends to experience erratic ones and is familiar with those.

However, after learning, he would be on the lookout anytime he notices you slumped with a blank expression and eyes distantly gazing into the unknown. His actions would be a lot more caring as he gingerly touches your shoulder or hands for you to grasp the concept of not slipping away too deeply into your thoughts. Mairon wouldn’t be an expert at having professional care, because how he deals with his own panic attacks isn’t for everyone, so he understands that being sensitive is necessary.

It’s one of the times when his tone changes, and so do his expressions as he tends to you. Might crack a few jokes to test the waters and see where you stand on the scale before advancing with the rest of his care. You might get him to stop for a moment with his plotting and crafting to sit with you in a quiet embrace and listen to your thoughts. A small kiss to your forehead before he sends you off to your shared chambers or gardens (if he has one appropriate to sit in) to spend the rest of the day.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

[wint3r-h3art]

for Christmas I would like namor to gift me a butt plug encrusted with the finest talokan jewels. that’s all 🤠

I imagine him gifting you a box with various sizes to work you up and train you to fit him 🤭 of course on the actual day, you get to try the real thing

[shrikeseams]

#which does make me picture post-darkening valinor full of desperate osanwe calls like what if ungoliant also ate little timmy - @welcomingdisaster

i do think in pre-darkening aman kids were largely free-roamed. like it's a land where there's nothing to really worry about outside of accidents. even if they fall into the ocean or something i bet you a friendly maia spirit is going to be fishing them out.

elven parents are not particularly worried if their kids go missing for a few days here and there. probably eating dinner at a friend's or going one some kinda forest adventure.

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Blorbo" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Special Little Guy (gender neutral)

Lmao. That's like, my special little guy. He takes up my brain space. I'm rotating him.

you know how lilo from lilo and stitch has that doll she made, complete with backstory? basically like that

one's blorbo is a character one cares a lot about. it kind of has like... condescending or woobifying connotations? like expressing that Maedhros is your blorbo is sort of uh... one imagines like, a chibi Maedhros. cute, not scary. but it doesn't necessarily imply the speaker has distorted perception of the character in general, just a sort of fondness

The character a person wants to use as a doll/stuffed animal

A character who the author loves too much (and knows it)

"OMG Blorbo was in the new trailer for 5 seconds!" is a common statement

which often provokes... strange thoughts at 11pm.

Beloved character who you think about entirely too much and also enjoy putting in Situations

It implies some degress of being pathetic as well.

No relation to Blorbo Baggins.

The character you put under a microscope, put through the cheese grater, put into the salad spinner, and squeeze like a plushie.

A beloved character whom you want to both stick in a microwave and protect with all you have

character one fangirls* over (*gender neutral)

Just a little guy, whom I am deeply enamored of and just want to squish on the head and see what happens.

Favourive character, often pathetic, someone to pity as much as love

obsessed. baby. Will run my mouth off about them

the word "favorite" wasn't enough to encapsulate "the exact kind of character made specifically for me in the lab" either. my friendgroup started calling those types of characters "callouts" because they were calling you out by existing Exactly To Your Tastes

(not necessarily in a way that condones their actions, but deeply beloved nonetheless)

The "cinnamon roll" kind. Idk I love Namo but I'd never call him a blorbo, it just wouldn't feel right.

??

dear?

My personal favourite character, whom I want to adopt even if he's a dark lord

A particularly beloved (or beloathed-in-a-positive-way) character.

Generally seem to be problematic favs.

I think it was originally meant to be somewhat mocking, but it was wholeheartedly adopted and is now used unironically.

A favored character that usually is subjected to great amounts of trauma and or fluff.

A favourite character, usually male

The obsession character

Feanor/character you are unreasonably attached to esp. if they are a Bad Person TM

The character who is most special and beloved to you (and often that means you're gonna put them through The Horrors)

a character that makes you chew on the bars of your enclosure

Special little character from my shows(tm)

usually having an aura of kicked wet puppy (brimby)

You'd build a shrine to them

Idk, ask the children 😹. Er. Hot character you like? I'm sure people have very complex definitions explaining why they like the hot character but I don't take fandom that seriously.

Your guy (gender neutral), not a comfort character, but perhaps a character you would like to see experience the worst situations possible (affectionate)

occasionally blorbo from my floor (my cat)

Just a widdle pathetic guy 🥺😈

A favourite character, thuogh usually one you squash like a stress ball or squeaky toy rather than put gently on a shelf

Ungoliant

Guy (gender neutral) who I hold in my hand like a neat rock and look at

character whom i will put in a glass and shake

character you are putting in the metaphorical salad spinner

A favourite character, often a war criminal treated like they did nothing wrong, they are a little kitty

(character you're particularly attached to and usually put in physically and/or mentally torturous situations for fun)

A character you’ve imprinted on and like seeing in misery. They’re your wet cat you enjoy pouring water on but also toweling off

Your favorite character, to whom no harm may come (except in the service of angst)

my guy. my friend my buddy. the person

Literally your favourite ever character, but not like you want to f*ck them, more like "how much can i let them suffer?"

Your favouritest character from media that you like to put in all kinds of situations, but is not morally problematic.

favourite character you want to bully

a fictional character that you like to an obsessive amount, typically more than other favourite characters; your specialist little guy; someone you are unwell about; you don’t always have to like your blorbo per day but they must take up constant thought space

[cilil]

cilil's Halloween special

ʚ𖦹ɞ Author's Note: It's that time of the year, revelers and travelers, and I present to you a little something I made to celebrate the season (and another milestone). This is a fun and silly choose your own adventure story with a couple of options and a tiny bit of romance and innuendo sprinkled in. I hope you enjoy (and that tungle doesn't randomly eat posts or links, fingers crossed)! Happy Halloween!

ʚ𖦹ɞ Featuring: Your top choices - Melkor, Mairon, Námo, Oromë, Nienna, Varda and Yavanna

ʚ𖦹ɞ Warnings: / (Just a tiny bit of spooky and the dork lords being their dork lord selves)

ʚ𖦹ɞ Additional mystery: Out of the seven objects described in the first scene, two are in fact real and in my possession right now. Can you guess which ones? (No, there are no hints in the story itself as it isn't about me, but maybe some of you know me or have a hunch. Happy guessing!)

It is not the first time that your fëa has found itself wandering the Path of Dreams in your sleep, though it looks different today. The sky above the great trees and hedges surrounding you is dark, stars twinkling weakly in the distance, and the only light comes from the full moon peeking through ghostly clouds. The gentle breeze carrying formless whispers from the forest is sharper and colder today, and the voices you hear are distorted and erratic. 

You wonder if this is Irmo's doing as you hasten along your path, if he has twisted the normally peaceful dream realm into one of nightmares. Or are other spirits out there that were roused by your searching thought, displeased by your presence or perhaps even curious? 

Instead of the golden gate and winding paths that would lead you to Lórien, you find a lonely, ancient-looking pavilion. It's overgrown with ivy, nearly covering it in its entirety. You have never heard any tales about such a location existing on the Path of Dreams, but your curiosity compels you to explore. 

There is no one inside, nor anywhere nearby. It seems to you as though this pavilion hasn't seen visitors in a long time, yet it isn't empty: Pillows sit on the floor, their vibrant colours faded, surrounding a small table with various objects on it. 

You examine the objects. Which one catches your interest?

☞ An old book with a rich emerald cover and silver ornaments. Its pages are yellowed and written in an ancient language you don't understand. 

☞ A perfectly cut and polished almond-shaped gem. It seems to be a ruby or opal at first glance, shining with a warm light from the inside. 

☞ A bouquet of flowers in a carved pumpkin. The plants all look as if they were freshly cut and harvested, but upon closer examination you see that they were preserved with wax. 

☞ A bronze letter opener in the shape of a dagger. When you run your finger across it, the edge and tip of the blade are sharper than expected. 

☞ An ancient telescope with strange symbols engraved. It's pointed at the roof of the pavilion, making you wonder what you are supposed to see there.

☞ A simple silver necklace with a pendant shaped like a budding rose. It seems unassuming at first, but the longer you look upon it, the more you feel like it might have been blessed. 

☞ A diadem with countless gems and pearls. Once it has drawn your gaze, you are in awe of the way it sparkles and glitters even in the twilight. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!

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taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @wandererindreams

[jaemdigital]

friends to lovers; jeno!headcanon.

jeno x reader, friends to lovers. (pt-br)

contém: fluff, menção à karina e jaemin, jeno é mto fofinho. :( *alguns prints de mensagens.

notas: um headcanon fofinho :p. eu sumi por bastante tempo, né? se quiserem entender, eu fiz um post aqui! muito cansaço, desânimo e tristeza acerca do que aconteceu com um dos meus maiores ídolos. mas eu estou bem! e voltei. :)

• você e jeno se conheceram numa socialzinha na casa da sua melhor amiga, karina. karina estava namorando com jaemin e jaemin, por sua vez, tinha jeno como melhor amigo.

• você nem se importou com a presença dele, já que seus outros amigos estavam ali e você não estava no pique 'pra interagir com gente nova.

• só que por acaso, vocês formaram dupla num joguinho de estratégia – e se deram muito bem de primeira.

• o considerou uma nova amizade feita naquela noite e acabaram trocando números de telefone casualmente. honestamente, você não olhou 'pra ele de outra forma, e nem imaginou que iriam se aproximar de verdade.

• acontece que, de repente, a presença de jeno nos rolêzinhos começou a ser mais recorrente. agora, ele já fazia parte de todos os seus grupos no whatsapp também. é como se ele nunca tivesse sido um estranho. dessa forma, você acabou ficando mais próxima dele também.

• e realmente começaram a trocar muitas mensagens todos os dias. mensagens inocentes, sabe? como no dia que você acabou esquecendo sua jaqueta na casa do jaemin. ou aquele dia em que você demonstrou estar um pouco 'pra baixo e ele estranhou – ele esteve te olhando a noite inteira só 'pra ter certeza que estaria bem.

• uns três meses depois as coisas começaram a ficar meio esquisitas. é que, do absoluto nada, você percebeu que estava olhando para jeno de um jeito diferente. e foi através de karina; segundo ela, seus olhinhos brilhavam toda vez que via ele e abria um sorriso radiante quando ele estava perto.

• é óbvio que você se recusou a admitir que estava afim dele. que o achava lindo e trocar uns beijinhos aqui ou ali sem compromisso não seria de todo mal.

• um dia ele te chamou pra sair. você não estranhou porque, afinal, naquela altura do campeonato, vocês já eram quase melhores amigos.

• mas ele fez questão de dizer que ia ser diferente. era um date. você agiu plena, mas entrou em completo pânico.

• contou 'pra karina e fez ela prometer que ninguém mais saberia – como se não estivesse óbvio, né?

• o date foi incrível. você nunca havia parado para reparar que jeno é extremamente cavalheiro e doce contigo. ele te buscou, pagou tudinho para você, te deu o casaco dele durante o friozinho da sala de cinema e andou de mãos dadas a noite inteirinha. fez você se sentir a garota mais amada e admirada do mundo e se manteve o amigo engraçadão que você conhecia.

• e é claro que vocês nem sequer prestaram atenção no filme, já que, ele foi um mero cenário para o primeiro beijo de vocês.

• beijo esse que fez o seu coração bater mais rápido mesmo depois de acabar. ele foi carinhoso no início; acariciou seu rostinho e te beijou lentinho.

• óbvio que não foi o único beijo, né? foi assim durante todo o filme e, quando ele te deixou em casa, vocês se beijaram mais uma vez.

• depois disso, todo mundo ficou ciente de que vocês estavam ficando, se curtindo, se conhecendo além da amizade. a galera se acostumou a ver vocês grudados o tempo inteiro, se acariciando ou se pegando num cantinho.

• a coisa começou a ficar séria quando você foi dormir na casa dele pela primeira vez. jeno te chamou 'pra passar um fim de semana com ele porque seus pais iam viajar.

• você estava morrendo de vergonha de que algo pudesse rolar. não era mais virgem, mas tinha medo de estragar as coisas que estavam construindo.

• no fim das contas foi tudo ótimo; vocês assistiram filme, transaram pra caralho e ficaram de grude também.

• no fim da noite rolou uma declaração de amor e um pedido de namoro, para a sua surpresa. você disse sim imediatamente! e ficou muito feliz.

• jeno agora era seu namorado e permanecia sendo seu melhor amigo.

[edennill]

Namo headcanons since we seem to be doing an interrompu Namo week round here:

While the Ainur can obviously look like they want to so it's not a given, the chosen appearance of the Fëanturi (Nienna included) makes them easily recognisable as siblings. This is in part because there are certain patterns that a spirit might naturally gravitate to and none of them feel the need to make a conscious choice to diverge from that (i.e. it's also a mirror to some similarity on the primary level) and in part because they like it that way.

He doesn't have a scary "aura" or anything; most elves might feel certain unease around him because of his office (the disembodied are another matter yet because the soul perceives other beings differently), but at most he has a deep and serious one.

He can be scary if he goes all into a "wrath of the Valar" mode, and coincidentally he's also the Ainu that the largest number of Eldar have seen that way.

He does have a sense of humour; he doesn't really laugh often.

In so far as he does represent a "Dark Is Not Evil" vibe, it's not that his aesthetic is entirely black either. Clothing is something slightly different to the Ainur than to the Children, but in any case he always wears grey robes that look the same, with an alternative slightly fancier design of dark blue on the great feasts.

It's not that he doesn't understand wearing a fana, but he's pretty austere about it. He doesn't find any of it unpleasant or uncomfortable, but he will never eat or drink outside of a few drops of wine on the feasts, and rarely uses physical senses; he just doesn't feel the need to. It may have something to do with spending more time around the disincarnate Children than the living

Outside of the Fëanturi and Vairë, his closest relationship among the Valar is probably with Manwë. On his part, the other trusts him completely, enough to ask him to pronounce a judgement all will abide by without yet knowing what he thinks (this part is canon, cf. the statute).

Manwë being the only other person in the world to know where the souls of Men go has also become something that ties them together. They discuss from time to time.

...I have no idea how a certain Maia's certain... detour near the end of the Third Age (meaning there now are three such people, although their knowledge might be in different degrees of fullness) might impact this balance; Namo is certainly going to have thoughts about it.

It is my self-indulgent headcanon to imagine that however bothersome a bored philosopher king with copious theories on the one subject you're not allowed to discuss with him might be in the Halls, Finrod does still regularly talk philosophy with him after he is reembodied. In any case, those who have passed through the Halls tend to be less jumpy about the whole "Lord of the Dead" aspect as a general rule.

That post I reblogged recently has gotten me thinking: to be honest his "Judge" and "Prophet" personas are two facets of the same coin — he is the one who proclaims what shall without doubt be.

[eri-pl]

So I was thinking about the "Not the first" line (as you do)

and it occurred to me what Feanor must have been thinking.

He doesn't know Finwe is in any danger. He is in panic, the Valar want his Silmarils (as Melkor had said), the Trees are dead, allegedly killed by Melkor (yes, for Feanor it would be "allegedly"), Tulkas bullies him and then, when he explains why he cannot (in his opinion, but that's another thing) give up the Silmarils, Namo basically tells him:

You have slain your own mother by the very fact of your existence, you have no right to anything.

Because yes, that's how Feanor with all his trauma would probably understand this. And... we all know how this ended.

I don't think it's Namo's fault actually.

Namo is omniscient and has a hard time imagining how others think. He knows what happens. He doesn't know why people do things.

I suppose he thought he is clearly communicating to Feanor that Melkor killed Finwe (if you think this makes him really dumb: no. As a long-time GM and some-times writer I can tell you: the foreshadowing that seems blatant and enough is usually 3 times too small to give anyone any chance of guessing where the plot is going. It just looks widely different when you know.)

Also, being enigmatic and "style over clarity" is Namo's main character flaw as I see it.

So, as usually, everyone's at fault (mostly Melkor. As usually)