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Irmo advanced a few steps forward to bow before the King, graceful in the distinctively ethereal manner of the Fëanturi, yet silent and unusually solemn, almost grievously so. His lips parted, but nothing was said and only a long pause ensued. A sudden smile, then the Vala's pale figure vanished like it had never existed. "Did I manage to trick you?" The voice came from behind, slender arms wrapping around Manwë's waste while a rather playful kiss was pressed to his cheek.

Within quiet step was a small, albeit sharp bounce which marked bothstartle and realisation. Manwë knew the very moment Irmo smiled upat them that they'd been played and tried to turn to look for thetrickster but slender arms wound around their form before it was managed. Theyclutched their own chest to calm themself down. "Irmo, youtease!" Manwë complained, mildly upset.

It was the kiss that stole that tone from their voice, though theyflinched a little, and twisted finally in the smaller Vala's grasp to take hold of him. How mean, that was mean! "You did; Ithought something was wrong!" They checked his face with a hand; fingers pushing white hair away from such pale skin then brushing thebacks of them over a cheek. "Are you all right?"

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Left on their own Manwë often allowed problems to snowball beyond their control without the intention of doing so, while hoping for a peaceful resolution that would result in the happiness of all sides. Usually that's where Námo and Tulkas had to come in to fix things. Rather, Námo to say what they could not and Tulkas to kick things (they honestly rather he didn't).

This was likely one of those times. Mairon once sought redemption, though he fled and Manwë? After that news Manwë regretted it every day that they had not pursued him when they had the chance. They often wondered if they could have drew him from what had so tightly bound him to their brother, whether they could have saved him along with all they had lost. Yet they hesitated. They hesitated because they were afraid. Were they being deceived? With always speaking the truth came expecting everyone else to do the same but Melkórë had taught them to doubt, showed them distrust. Manwë may still not understand but they certainly acknowledged the existence of lies. Before they could bring themself to act Mairon rose in power, and when it came time for him to fall Manwë had been the one to clear the skies.

For ages that would haunt them; they considered their action as violent. Even to battle Manwë was never on the offensive; the bow they used created a burst of air and nothing more, but they had cast Mairon down with that same wind. A warning, they tried to tell themself, it had been something necessary. He would return with his brother and he needed to know that they were tired. That they wouldn't tolerate it any longer. It never settled. Námo always, wordlessly, declined offering his knowledge, yet when Melkórë fulfilled the Prophecy without their lieutenant at their side Manwë knew that something had gone very wrong.

So they acted.

They had left to seek out Mairon and had searched long; for all that they could perceive being there physically always seemed so different, so disorienting. Finally in their wandering the sound of small ornamental bells died out as Manwë stilled a few paces before the soft glow they'd discovered sheltering itself beneath the ferns, watching silently a moment longer before making a move. "Mairon?" they inquired in a soft whisper as they knelt carefully down, choosing his true name over the one the Ñoldor had given him. A cold hand reached for the weak, fluttering light and drew up beneath it. "Mairon, come out."

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Other things to remember: write a bloody headcanon explaining the headdress in place of a staff before you seriously confuse people.

3mo/ago 

yeah i still never did that

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Tip: I likely will avoid using demonstrative pronouns for specific gender [s/he] when referring to Manwe.

Thought I should throw that out there since people in the past have had issues with it when I was writing The Omnipresent; Dayo, and Lord Serenade.

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corporeal headcanon_i

Manwë’s personality will only ever be consistent in their true form, acting accordingly with the personality they designed for each vessel.

If assuming elven form the gender of it does not matter, and will often switch between.

When taking a human form, however, the preferred is that of an elderly man’s. This is rarer.

Although these vessels can be harmed and destroyed, the damage done does not directly affect Manwë. These shells did not belong to anyone prior—as they are created in that moment there and dissipate when not in use there’s no need to wonder whether it was someone’s mother or trying to figure out what to do with random bodies laying around in the grass which refuse to decompose.

originally posted Tue, 26 Feb 2013 16:57:00

Still moving old shit to the new blog. Will make updates or clarification later if needed.

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March 05, 2013 and earlier, a few examples.

„Do not fear me, young one, I mean you no harm,” Manwë’s voice lilted not unlike the air, an otherworldly slur of two entirely separate octaves, one light and cheerful, the other low and smooth.

Hands, lifeless in their touch without pulse or warmth, remained against soft skin even as the prince questioned them.

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Originally posted Sun, 10 Mar 2013 09:24:00, a snippet from an rp.

Manwë, though clothed to be visible to worldly forces, had not concealed their form save flowing cloth of blue and silver. True to their design without personal alteration their hair was that of a deep brown, golden in hue where light struck upon the strands which never ceased movement as they walked, drifting against and beyond porcelain skin in a manner that resembled a veil crafted only from downy. They moved unlike those that walked the earth, smooth and lacking sound in step, kneeling beside the woman once they drew close to her side. „...Mandos does not desire you,“ they spoke, lifting a hand slowly above her brow. There was no scent upon them to mark them as any different from the air she breathed which had become cool with their approach. „Rest little one; your part in this story is not yet over.“

Apparently prior to deciding his hairline was actual feathers, and that his skin had a sun kissed colour.

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( Lays in bed, imagining 'marriage' between Ainur to involve twirling balls of colourful light dancing around one another and meshing to literally join the spiritual beings together because I also picture their true forms to look like the phenomenon known as Orbs and for some reason except glowballs this is stupidly adorable to me.

Shit you're not supposed to read: mairon redeems himself and varda adopts him into their union after some time and they got this three-way marriage thing going on )

"Tagged with: of run on sentences" pffft. 

MORE OLD SHIT.

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corporeal headcanon compile

Behind the King, Manwë is overtly affectionate. Although gentle and loving toward everyone, it is not unusual for them to seek attention from the other Ainur when duty allows. If hugs or kisses are offered they will expect them and be upset if they are not received whether or not they outwardly display it.

Manwë dislikes resting alone but squirms and clings, which often leaves them without a choice as their spouse is a light sleeper. That said, they may become childishly excited when someone accompanies them to bed.

During the earlier periods of adapting to their physical forms and staying close, Varda had once become fed up and rolled them out onto the floor without waking them. Manwë still doesn’t understand how.

Normally cold to the touch their body tends to warm to the other’s temperature once contact has been maintained for a short while.

Manwë is very sexually active.

Although very flexible with dominance, and not at all against submitting, they tend to try for the leading role as with Varda they do not normally get the opportunity.

While intimacy with males usually involves one of two drives, whether attraction is the source or Varda is leaning him out as self-gratification (this is consensual), Manwë will not often turn down an offering if approached.

When attraction of sorts is involved they tend to be the one to seek out the other.

Unless for show they do not masturbate; they keep themself more than content between their wife and casual partners.

Manwë is unwilling to bed one and will take offence to the suggestion. However, they do enjoy taking the form of an Elf for sexual activities. This is better when their partner does the same.

Used to hearing ‘Manwë’, and although they prefer it (because Elves) normally, using their real name during intimate moments is one of their favourite things.

Hand feeding is a thing even when it isn’t intended to be sexual.

Do not pull hard, but grabbing toward their hairline just under where feathers trim their scalp will drive them insane. This is also a good way to gain control of them.

Originally posted Sun, 16 Jun 2013 03:52:00. Some things have changed since then, more in that he will actively pursue interest in others and so forth and will be updated at a later time. However, I wanted to keep the original so here you go.

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Manwe must be shown to have his own inherent fault (though not sin): he has become engrossed (partly out of sheer fear of Melkor, partly out of desire to control him) in amendment, healing, re-ordering - even ‘keeping the status quo’ - to the loss of all creative power and even to weakness in dealing with difficult and perilous situations.

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Just as a reminder to myself, screencapping the archive saved from my old blog!

Other things to remember: write a bloody headcanon explaining the headdress in place of a staff before you seriously confuse people.

This is not the one I was looking for. Expect this not to be the last thing I post in this manner. 

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/repost from backup so that i can reply to Varda later

Alone they thought to be as that day drew to an end, they sought nothing but the gentle, spring winds they drew into open halls. Within dance they hopped delicately over shadows cast by towering pillars of marble, feet bringing them into small circles or sway as they followed glittering white stone, rutilant in the fire of the sun setting across the sea.

Manwë’s was a voice usually gallant and resounding, and they were not shy though they sang soft and warm to themself. Lining their garments were tiny chimes that rang today with the movements of their body rather than the air. It was this melody they followed, this which they desired not to drown out with their own music and though dance may not be an art they were talented, unlike Nessa, they had built well enough a tempo to sing to. Soon it drew to an end and returned to the small, cheerful hops as the king started down a white staircase.

Alone they never were for long, yet they continued on as though they would not be seen, heard or minded. That no one would be standing concealed by that wall as they twirled around the circular end of the banister to toss themself out into the walkway.

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Repost without art and tags, because it got reblogged as "fanfiction". .-. It is not fanfiction.

Enough of this.

"Manwë," she pressed irritably. "Calm down," how long would this keep up for? How many times now has she repeated those three things and failed to catch the lord’s attention? It had been on and off ever since earlier, ever since Fëanor’s reply had been delivered. Worse earlier, that’s for sure. And poor Námo having absolutely no idea how to handle the crying king! There was part of her that felt worse for him than Manwë, if only for his complete and utter confusion, the awkwardness which he tried to comfort the higher being with, the attempt at avoiding contact that resulted in useless pawing at the air.

"Manwë, stop." It were as though she were invisible. Manwë did acknowledge her, though the harangue this time just went on. "Manwë," tried Varda once more, now trailing after the pacing Vala.

Eventually she captured her husband’s clothing in a firm grip and spun them to face her and just as quick her hands instead found their hips, pushing them onto the floor. It was easier to move them when they were so distracted. “That’s enough,” she scolded, coming down between their legs in a flourish of lace, gold and glass beads clattering with the movement.

A hand came to cover their mouth as they bent forward to protest, Varda settling astride a leg and one of her own roughly hitting the floor a little too close to the other’s body. “Be still,” she commanded as her free hand began working loose Manwë’s clothing…

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Reboot. Figured that since I did the others, I should do it here too.

This one because it actually has a reason; the blog was made for Manwe though I would write both he and Varda from it, and follow headcanons that distinctly revolved around my own muse for her. The name works for them both so it is not changing, but it will be specified this time around.