torture tw – MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive

ashandbrine:

@misbehavingmaiar
Desolate.
That was what this place was. Maedhros has dimly thought that even
evil would have liked to dwell in paradise. Would have imagined the
maiar flitting in a garden even whilst covered in the blood and guts
of the recently slain. Lava pits were the only bloom of color that
marked the dark earth however. Just as well that their home be as
ugly as their souls. He wandered if his own stronghold was like his.
Impossibly cold but strong and unyielding. He had to get home, had to
protect what was left of his people, his brothers.

Yet
he was here.

In
a cell so small he couldn’t stand if he wanted to. He
didn’t really. The pads of his feet were cut up and oozing blood. He
was half convinced that there was poison pressed in to keep them from
clotting and scabbing over. That wasn’t really something to worry
about. They were only cut up from the walk up roughly hewn stones,
not from injury inflected upon his person by other hands. No- that
was still to come, he was certain.

This
was the land that bound his people to darkness, that twisted their
fea and their hroa to match. He smiled bitterly as he pressed his
forehead to his knees. Was that what was to become of him? An orc? If
Manwe gave any blessings to his family, to his kin, he hoped they
wouldn’t have to face against him on the battle field. Better he
bleed out here in this tiny cell alone and forgotten in the dark.

@ashandbrine
There was no shuffle of feet to announce his entrance, no entourage of Orcish guards to mark the arrival of an officer. When he came, he merely appeared, stepping from the lamp-black shadows into the furnace light of the volcanic cell.

“You.” The somber voice curled with disdain. “You’re the one He wanted so badly?” Sauron came forward, thrusting a hand between the bars of the cell to clamp the elf’s bruised jaw between his fingers. He seemed to be appraising a cut of meat, finding it inadequate. “So many sent to die, for this? You look nothing like him.” This was not addressed to Maedhros, and the lieutenant did not bother to clarify who or what he meant as he relinquished his grasp.

“Such a waste.”

The great maia’s back was turned as he examined structures obscured by the darkness of the chamber. Soft metallic sounds echoed amidst the rumbling of the subterranean pit; quiet clinks and clacks of some device turned in the hand, the creak and slither of leather, chilling in their ambiguity. A spray of distant magma illuminated briefly the walls lined with what seemed workman’s tools; racks and rows of hanging instruments, long empty tables, vials and troughs of liquid. He hummed a low note of satisfaction, selecting at last a tool that met with his approval.

“You are… Maedhros. First and eldest of the sons of Fëanor. Yes?” The maia asked, unhurried. He knelt, huge and graceful, before the iron cage, red-gold eyes searching out the prisoner’s. “I am Sauron, first lieutenant and forgemaster of Angband. My Master has given you to me for the purposes of breaking.” He unfurled the whip that had been coiled lazily in his hands, all black braid with many silver-tipped tails. “If you choose to be forthcoming with information that is useful to my Master, we may forgo many painful formalities, but not all. I myself hold no personal grudge against you… if it were in my power to break Lord Melkor’s fascination with those of your house, I would happily do so. To me, you are an enemy soldier, an irritant, worthy of no more attention or special effort than any other. But to my Master…”
The maia blinked slowly, lips touched with an expression of irony; “To my Master, you a most sought and toothsome prize.”

As he spoke, he unlocked the mechanism keeping shut the cage, springing it open. He looked not at all distressed that his prisoner might escape. With one hand he pulled the captive’s chain, forcing him out of the cell at the behest of his neck.

“I do as my Master bids– happily, unhesitatingly, exhaustively. And what He bids is that you shall have the memory of Him burned onto you forever, that His unsatisfied desires, His wrath, shall find satisfaction.”

Sauron tilted his head, eyes flashing in the gloom like an animal’s. “You are to be your father’s whipping boy, Noldo. You can thank Fëanor for what you will endure here; it was he my Master wanted, but He has you instead.”

doegred-main:

meme: jealous / possessive meme

@misbehavingmaiar

The grip on his hair was violent enough to pull locks from their very roots.
A sudden pain sprayed in a cascade of white hot embers behind Nelyafinwë’s eyes, soon joined by a jot of dark ache throbbing in his neck as his head was violently forced to bend backward.
His arms, still chained to the ceiling, were pulled tight enough to make muscles snap.
Still he did not scream. He didn’t allow himself to, swallowing back the sound in an open-mouthed gasp.
The rattle of iron was almost drowned in his ears by a white whistling nose as he panted in pain.
By now the manacle’s unforgiving bite on his numb and swollen wrists felt like a barely perceptible prickling.
Yet, despite the veil of tears falling over his eyes and blurring his sight, Nelyafinwë’ gaze remained brightly defiant as it moved to meet the Maia’s.

The only detail he could perceive through the opaque blur clouding his vision almost made him wish for blindness.
In the murky word of dark shadows opening before him the furious light falling from Thauron’s eyes seemed to burn its way into his very brain; the detailed image of fiery irises forming inside his mind rather than his eyes.
The Noldo’s heartbeat immediately sped up, the droplets of sweat and blood running down his back suddenly icy on his skin.
Nonetheless, such a blatant display of frustration, made the shiver that went through Neyafinwë’s body one of perverse satisfaction too.

When Thauron spoke the words falling from his lips felt commanding.
The deep bass of his voice ringing through the prisoner’s chest almost a compulsion on its own.
The Noldo’ pupils widened as he fought against the poison he felt trickling inside his mind. A deceptively sweet drop of colour that dissolved so easily tinting his memories in a haze of fire, trying to erase the memory of all other eyes, but the red ones staring down at him from his mind..
A throaty growl tore from the Fëanorion’s chest as he fought against the possessive caress grabbing at his very self with every last drop of strength he could muster.
Remembering the greys and green and a shining robin-blue.
Tasting the sweetish tang of blood seep from his bruised lips the Noldo snorted through his nose and clenched his teeth, never breaking eye contact.

“No.. I am not.”
His throat felt as if it were lined with sandpaper and, despite his efforts, what escaped his lips was barely more than a croaking murmur, yet his eyes were still open and shining with wilful defiance.
Nelyafinwë could already feel himself bleed for this, and still, even being able to say those words alone, was worth all that would come.

HIs lips bent in a smile, pained despite his best efforts, and his gaze burnt like a magnesium flame.
A single tear condensed in his right eye, partially clearing his sight before being trapped in his eyelashes.
“I … I will never be yours.”

oh, you.

Tag: torture tw

“ you’re mine. you hear me? ”