poopsiekitten

[poopsiekitten]

Salt of the sea and iron smoke

Chapter 7: Like real people do

As the city awakens, louder noises drown the rhythmic drum of his pulse, and she stares into the water until the glittering glare of the rising sun makes her eyes sting. She is torn between mortification for how she’d behaved the night before and the gnawing hunger still deep within her. It dawns on her that he did tease her—and is actively doing so. Delaying the consummation of whatever has been simmering between them and making her confront what lies hidden under her lust for a mortal. How articulate of him to deny her even a touch when he’s had her, an elf, panting and coating his face in her pleasure. To say she is restless would be an understatement. If he intended to give her time to think and reconsider, then she is squandering it in a state of fevered limbo. It is not many elves that have been in her situation, to be bound in marriage and then have their desires awakened by another–at least not amongst the Noldor. She thinks back to the beginning of her marriage with Celeborn. They had been so young, so innocent, but he had been a patient lover, and she had been ravenous to discover what their bodies could do together, and she did so with delight.

This guilt may end her.

Read on AO3

[poopsiekitten]

I came here to cackle about this because you cannot make this up.

[poopsiekitten]

[poopsiekitten]

Agora sim gente!!! Concluído e usando as referencias do filme (TROIA) de fato, que da outra fiz de cabeça e FICOU HORRIVEL. Agora usei as refs corretas 😩🤌 ✨💋🔪🎀💍✨

[poopsiekitten]

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

The world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

Doesn’t make any sense.” - Rumi

My first attempt at a comic-style page. Mostly done with watercolor brushes. It was inspired by the scene at the end of Crimson Peak, when Thomas’s ghost appears one last time and disintegrates when Edith touches him.

My idea was that right before the tower of Barad-Dûr collapses. after the One Ring is destroyed, Sauron (in a Halbrand-like form) appears one last time in front of Galadriel. Without the burden of the ring, he is able to show true remorse for the first and last time. Similar to Thomas, he disintegrates once Galadriel touches him.

[poopsiekitten]

I’m new to Tumblr but I’ve been a lurker for a while, and @apoloadonisandnarcissus metas have always been my faves and inspired me to write some of my stories. Her dedication to put together such extensive and thoughtful posts was amazing. She gave so much to the Saurondriel fandom. I’m gutted to see her go.

I reached out to Apolo days ago because I want to write a fanfic about tentgate theory Sauron POV (I have two WIP so it hasn’t happened yet, but it will), She explained the theory to me, and how it could work. She was very nice and helpful. We both joined the fandom after s2, but I went straight to ao3 to write about my new OTP and interacted there, and only browsed the fandom on social media to shamelessly self-promote my fanfics lol

From our chat I got the idea Apolo might delete sooner or later, I didn’t think it would be this soon. She told me she often thought about leaving the fandom for good, she didn’t want to be a part of it anymore, and there was no joy in it. It sucks. She wished me good luck.

I don’t know if she’ll read this, but Apolo: I’ll write that fanfic, and I’ll dedicate it to you and your contributions to the Saurondriel fandom! 

[poopsiekitten]

🥲for me this is the end of story so I paint this(so much pain(didn't expect this when i started reading

[poopsiekitten]

"For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so."

[poopsiekitten]

The jar after one week

the golden trio has a “malfoy jar”, every time harry mentions the draco malfoy he must put a dollar in the jar

[poopsiekitten]

Yeah it’s called the Harry Potter series by one JK Rowling but why would you like to read that?

no, no i don’t

[poopsiekitten]

The Creation of Hextech, because they belong on the Sistine Chapel.

[poopsiekitten]

The Rings of Power S2.

[poopsiekitten]

Part 1/10 of an epistolary series of unsent letters from Celeborn to Celebrían after her departure, chronicling the construction of a memorial garden in Lothlorien.

[poopsiekitten]

It’s Nosferatu weekend!

“𝔅𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴 𝔡𝔬𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰.”

It’s Nosferatu season and we would all like to see a vampire!Sauron, right?

This is by far the longest I have ever spent on a drawing, but I really wanted to play more with the oil brushes. So 36 hours later…here we are

[poopsiekitten]

“You are their slave. Sauron, Lord of the Rings.”

I never saw the forging of The One Ring as a triumphant moment for Sauron, but a gross miscalculation and a moment of humiliation. He splits himself and maims his fëa for power, and in return he gains the ultimate Achilles heel.

[poopsiekitten]

Fever Halbrand/Morgoth

After the fall of her.

After her fall, he returns to the orc camp, buries himself away in Adar’s tent. Sits upon the dead orc-father’s throne, not-quite-throne, makeshift thing a makeshift king believes is a throne. He sits there for hours, shadows splitting the sun’s pale hand as it moves through the sky, ever-searching.

His throat is dry. His tongue sticks in his mouth, parched and weighted with iron. It is night. Moonless and smothering. Eyes rimmed in red, in the darkness he absently fondles the Nine, gazing over the table into a badly tarnished mirror, palm trails slick through the dust.

Awake.

He moves to sit upon the table before it, warped reflection caged and wild-eyed. There was a name for this form. For this chess piece.

Since before the breaking of the first silence.

Halbrand.

He takes a knife and cuts a neat line down the center of his palm, like a master of the brush, a stroke of deep wet black seeps from his skin. He presses it to the glass of the mirror. His lungs ache with a familiar want. His breath becomes frost and a fever takes hold of him.

He sees a creature there. Not Halbrand, but the makings of him. Long dark hair curls and rivers its way down mountainous shoulders, and eyes, set in a pit of scars, look out at him with a light only the most starving of gods could devour.

“Mairon.” Smoke to the sky.

He growls. “No, but I—”

“Took my face.” Lyrical. “Reformed it to your beauty.”

“I’ve done so much,” he says, “since your fall.”

The fall of you.

There is no response.

“I am,” he tries again. A word goes missing, “without you. Not a crown, but rings. Rings.”

“I am,” the reflection echoes, “not here. This is only a fantasy. What do you want me to say?”

He feels the fever spread between his teeth. His skin is hot, his bleed is steam. “You know.”

You know.

A sigh. Escaping in on itself. A candle flickering. “I would have.”

“Say it!” He barks suddenly, the sheerness of it ripping through the silence. A tear burns upon his cheek. He raises a shaking hand to his face. “I need to hear it.”

The mirror is perfectly still. A mouth opens around a void, and eyes of fire, light under the earth, sear his very bones.

I would have.

He presses himself against the glass, forehead leaning into its cold surface. Sweat like ice. A moth inside a flame.

And for a single moment and no longer, he feels warm breath, rough lips against his neck.

“I would have placed a crown upon your head.”

One by perfect one, the rings in his hand fall to the floor.

[poopsiekitten]

Come to me you little wh*ore. Lestat de Lioncohohohourt because it’s the season for—something.