𝕺𝓷𝓮 𝕽𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦, 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦,

[ienemy-arc]

₍ 𝖎. ₎ carrd. ₍ 𝖎𝖎. ₎ companion. ₍ 𝖎𝖎𝖎. ₎ melkor.

❛ ━━━ 𝘽𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙊 𝙍𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙉 𝙄𝙉 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙉 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙑𝙀 𝙄𝙉 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉. private interpretation of 𝖘𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖓, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖔𝖗 from tolkien's legendarium. based within the silmarillion, with due regard for the gothic and the grotesque. dark content lies ahead, exercise caution. * ⁽ 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍, springsdawn / vardamaiden. uruuk. putrefacerem.

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𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞 𝖎𝖓 . . . becoming the god of oneself. determinism and free will. the fall of lucifer and the pursuit of knowledge. the alchemy of art. magic and science. industrialization as a perversion of creation. the intimacy of the dark. ━━━ ❜

[ienemy-arc]

this blog is now archived. find me at @ienemy ♡

[ienemy-arc]

i like the idea that mairon can have horrifically sharp fangs in his physical form if he so desires. he looks elegant up until he unhinges his jaw and you're reminded he IS an eldritch primordial creature when you catch a glimpse.

[ienemy-arc]

ur fav sauron hair colour agenda

fiery orange / red

blond

white

for doll ♡

Voting ended onAug 30, 2025

[ienemy-arc]

i miss you all 🥺

[seasonofhorror]

VAN HELSING

2004, dir. Stephen Sommers

[nuin-giliath]

"Even when I sang with them, it was your song I heard…"

Melkor closed his eyes briefly as Mairon's words lingered, igniting a dark flame inside him, such a peculiar thing for him to feel. Tempestuous and terrible, free and unchained by any duality of good or evil. Tendrils of darkness moved, slithering against the floor and the distance between them. Melkor's eyes unfocused and lost somewhere in the darkness as tendrils snaked around Mairon's ankles, slowly climbing up, around his thighs, his waist, and chest, coiling around his neck when Melkor's gaze turned on him with the intensity that only the eyes of a God could hold.

Everything his gaze held flooded Mairon's mind like a dam breaking, without warning or foresight save for the possessiveness in Melkor's eyes, allowing him to feel his desire and thought.

"You. I desire nothing more, nothing less. I will break you apart until you forget who you were, who you are, or even if you are anymore, and it will be me that will sing you back together again, over and over… Glorious and perfect as you are, my little flame, my yet uncrowned angel."

The darkness slowly pulled Mairon closer, the tendrils around his neck tightening the more he resisted, and when he was right between Melkor's parted knees. "I want you to learn all the ways in which you were lied to, and how powerful and ruthless you can be," the Ainur told him gently, as the darkness of his thought danced across Mairon's skin in ways Melkor's hands would, but he stilled them on the armrests of his dark throne.

[ienemy-arc]

⅋. ⥽. he is a being wrought of pure light, aflame. this country of horror should repel him. yet as shadows lick the stones and mountain bones jut like the teeth of beasts long buried, he finds he likes being the brightest thing in the court of the dark lord. there are claws of darkness, intangible yet insistent upon the fair flesh of his fana, curling around his thighs, his waist, crawl up around his throat, and mairon wants. his breath catches. want is strange and desire stranger still. he had never allowed himself to hunger before, only in odd dreams, in shameful thoughts of what could be, were he not bound by custom. his lord aule had always decreed that creation was not a thing to be owned but bestowed upon all to share. to oppose that was to oppose his fundamental role, his service. yet in his heart, in secret, mairon had opposed.

the gaze of the vala beholds him with such desire that he feels flayed beneath it, splayed open like fruit. it is his prideful instinct to rebel, and so he at first revolts and then yields, for that dark touch does not abide his rebellion. the thought of power tastes sweet between his teeth. he cannot fathom a return to almaren, having tasted what it is to be desired, and to desire in kind.

with resolve embalmed by the promises of something great, his smaller hands reach and lay upon the lord melkor's thighs, tentative but daring. he leans forth, gazing up reverently, ❛ you say you desire me... then let your song be the only truth I know. ❜ mairon breathes, a vow torn from the marrow of his spirit. ❛ command me, only do not leave me in the dark. give me purpose, my lord. grant me ruin if it means I fall by your hand and by your will alone. ❜

his fingers curl lightly, brows pinched, ❛ lord aule does not value my craft. he does not see me as you do. nay, he does not see me at all. my place is at your court, should you see fit to decree it so. ❜

[ienemy-arc]

literally no one asked me but with regard to the song of the ainur, i associate the frequency of mairon's true voice with violins (and a transition from violin to viola to cello in the later eras; descent from higher into lower pitch, essentially, to mark the deterioration of his spirit; but also because the theme of change is important to his arc) and melkor's with the pipe organ, which seeks to overpower with its wider frequency range surpassing orchestral instruments, and owes itself to the control of one artist as opposed to the symphony of orchestra.

[bjcrke]

@ienemy

there is a putrid feel to the place, some wicked yearning digging its wretched tendrils into any shred of light cast along the ancient stone; something whispers in the deep. tínu holds his lamp as a boon against whatever great oppressive swipe might seek to knock him off the delicately carved plinth bridge he carefully walks along, and curses his unnatural frame. he is no dwarf - six feet and seven, as broad as the cave before the bridge itself and clumsy with it, all bent back and cramping knees - the harsh cut slate scraping at his thighs and elbows. this particular section of the mine joins into a wider berth but you must squeeze over the narrow drop to get to the deeper veins of gold, iron and mithril, and he feels unwieldy in his steps and gait. they would never find me, he thinks miserably.

he does not turn back.

there was something lurking down here, he could feel it; is this the gift of the eldar he once asked lord elrond and received little by the way of reassurance, so perhaps it is his burden to know the truth of the mountain and its people: something this way comes. good or ill, he knows not but suspects he may yet find out as he ventures further in.

“who goes there?” he asks as he passes over the bridge and into the larger tunnel carved into the mountainside. there is a gleaming white vein splitting the rock as if spiders wove their webs straight through the stone, and his fingertips trace one particular seam for only a handful of seconds. “reveal yourself - be not afraid. i am telumendil, tínu of the mountain.”

[ienemy-arc]

⅋. ⥽. in the cleansing of dol goldur, that hill of sorcery, the enemy had been but disavowed. he ascends now in the east, and his many legions and his many creatures crawl from the forgotten depths of the earth, from ruins of old, of fallen kingdoms and of graves, as spies and servants to his wicked decree. beneath every vaulted earth, indeed in the lungs of all montanious depths, there breathes the vestige of a time that had known the primal dark that once reigned o'er arda. it lingers in seams of stone older than light, in the slow drip of mineral tears along the jagged walls. it is the evil of old, and it awakens now with a new face. alas, the servants of the enemy sleep still.

this one task ━━ he had decided to oblige himself.

❛ i claim no title, ❜ voyd of light is the terrible figure made half of flesh and the other half of darkness, and voyd of light is all in his path, deeper still than the heart of the mountain. cloaked as he is, and armoured—though it is with difficulty one might discern individual features without the gift of fire—the brittle white of his hair seems no more than a faint veil caught in the shadow. ❛ and I, nameless, seek no quarrel. ❜

tall he may be, and broad, but the dark hides the true severity of his face, cursed never to be woven fair for its blasphemy. ❛ something was stolen from me. ❜ drawls the deceiver, in a voice light and pleasing, for his deceptions, which some in distant countries call magic, and others tricks, permit such manipulation. ❛ nought but a trinket passed like smoke through dragon gold, but more precious to me than the finest vault of your mithril. ❜

forth he steps, turned away from the face of telumendil, cloak dragging across the cold ground. ❛ this mountain bore witness once. I ask only that it bear me now, as I search. Indulge me, light-lover—I have come far, and I do not ask lightly. ❜

[ienemy-arc]

glimpsed this gifset and i'm thinking about... the visual of sauron, as court advisor & priest and prophet, wearing masks and veils amid the temple of melkor in númenor ✨

[ienemy-arc]

what if we plotted entire narratives. what if we built verses together. 💍 <- not an evil one

[ienemy-arc]

big fan of kisses as a means of sorrow and betrayal. a dark omen, or a gradual seduction. kissing the enemy to distract, to weaken, to battle. kissing a friend, a lover, before you stab them in the back. let sauron sway you ♡

[vardamaiden]

she is not to be underestimated. after all, who has not heard all those grand stories of love, and what it can make people do?

[vardamaiden]

@ienemy gets a starter for númenor au.

he would not be entertained. the audacity of him, to try and pretend he had not abandoned her, broken his promises to her, ended their betrothal ... and for what? for nothing. nothing to show, none of that power so valued over the devotion and love given by her so sincerely, so happily.

if it was his desire to pretend he was not mairon, he would be treated as such. two could play at this game and he was out of his depth, for she was the better player of the two.

" i have no desire to be the recipient of your lacking and tedious flirts, halbrand. go find a naive maid easily swayed instead, i am certain they will respond far better due to lower standards " not even a look was granted, eyes averted from this human form he had taken. almost unwilling to acknowledge him in this way. " i have no interest in a low man such as yourself. trailing after me like a dog who was not properly trained and cannot show basic decency to stop when asked. " cold, harsh words, rejecting him as she had been doing since his arrival upon the island. ilmarë refused to be drawn in by him again.

yet heart whispered these were lies. it ached for him, all of her ached for him, despite how he had shattered her heart and treated her love as if it were nothing. but this would be fought against, unwilling to give mairon the satisfaction of knowing her love remained. he was not worthy of it, not when he offered her no apologies, and did not even attempt to acknowledge how he wronged her.

[ienemy-arc]

⅋. ⥽. SAURON IS A CREATURE OF ALLURE, AS FALSE AS GOLD, but the days of glorious utumno are long gone, and of resplendent almaren longer still. he is no more a servant, nor a lieutenant. tucked away, here, amid the dusty recesses of some old forge off the cobbled avenue, with a stolen guild crest in his pocket, he is only halbrand ━━ and halbrand is only a man made of flesh, with all the mundanity that comes with being mortal. the saltwater drying in his dishevelled hair, which dulls the already-dull colour, the rough fabric of the garments he wore, the stained smithing apron... none of it should lend itself to charm, yet he grants the lady a charming grin all the same.

ilmarë inspires such ire in him that his spirit threatens to scorch the meat of the man's face he wears, but halbrand would not be moved, and so he remains resolute in the face of her refusal. ❛ if I wanted easy company, I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I? ❜ as he speaks, he rolls the sleeves of his worn shirt, arms crossing over his chest, leaning against the nearby anvil with casual ease. ❛ despite your many protests, i can't help noticing you're still here and you've yet to slam that door in my face. ❜

it comes to his mind that the valar might be hunting for him. he wonders, as he eyes her up-down with an easy smile, if she had come to westernesse upon eönwë's word, and if they might be concerting against him. ❛ I only go where the work takes me. ❜ he teases, but the mirth does not reach his heart. she must harbour thoughts of reprisal for his betrayal. she must loathe him, for even still he hears the agony of the stars when he thinks upon her. ❛ if our paths cross so often, perhaps it's you who walks in my footsteps. ❜

[ienemy-arc]

i just think that The Enemy is neat.....

[serial-unaliver-deactivated2024]

I have female hysteria + male loneliness + toxic masculinity + dark empath abilities

[ienemy-arc]

would you like a gift from mairon? :)