#Sauron Imagine

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine disliking the idea of Annatar (Sauron) aiding you in ring-making…

“Annatar is here to aid in the development of the rings.”

“Aid?” You frowned at your dear friend Celebrimbor. “This forge is exemplary. As are the elves who have perfected the craft.”

Annatar stepped forward. “True perfection lies in Valinor.” He said.

Your stare was cold and harsh towards strange elf who seemed to radiate from the heat of the forge. “Had I wanted to hear the words of Master Cirdan I would have ventured to the Grey Havens, Lord of Gifts. Truly, have you no original voice?”

Annatar said nothing. He merely smiled with the faintest twinkle in his eye. Celebrimbor, however, was struck with surprise at your tone of mockery.

“I do hope your manners return. Annatar is a guest in my realm and so he shall be yours.” He reprimanded. “Can I trust you to make temporary peace?”

Pulling away from the impossibly bright eyes of Annatar, you looked upon your friend.

“Of course, on the condition that the Lord of Gifts does not interfere with my work.”

“And what of collaboration?” Annatar finally asked. “All great works come about with harmonious hands.”

Grabbing your small hammer, you pointed it at the elf. “You will be collaborating from within the forge flames if you get in my way.” You snapped and then stormed off to another part of the large space.

Once out of earshot, Celebrimbor sighed. “My apologies. They have never been one to share with the unfamiliar.”

Annatar smiled, ever the face of calm. “I have no doubt that they will change their mind.”

~ More imagines here ~

[baby-dragons-art]

Sauron/ a really nice guy.

Follow for more art at the_baby_dragon

Imagine: Sauron saves you

you're lost among the wilder land, the moon rises full in the skies as chill seeps into your bones. You have been wandering for hours, lost from your traveling party by a storm. Now, surrounded by trees and darkness, you trudge through the tangled undergrowth. Eventually, you find refuge in the hollow of a decaying tree. Your only solace as you bundle yourself away in the carcas of this once mighty oak.

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In the dark, a steady, ominously heavy rhythm of foot steps draws your attention. Peeking from the hollow, you see a hooded figure off in the trees, melding in and out of shadow. A low glow like a lantern seems to emit from the cover of the hood.

Frightened but in need of help, you dare to move. At the slightest sound of your attempt, the figure stops and turns. All you can see are bright lamp like eyes cast in shrouds of darkness. Terrified you sink back into the hollow of the tree. A demon, you thoight. A night terror, some horrid beast come to finish me off. The heavy foot steps draw closer until the light of the eyes floods the dark nook.

And then… you recall no more, save for a strange warmth that seemed to stay with you through the night.

[samblackblog]

Mind Games [Halbrand/Sauron x Reader]

⎔ MASTERLIST ⎔ REQUESTS ⎔ LOTR/TROP ⎔

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, upsetting themes of stockholm syndrome, abuse, war

A/N: First attempt at a little bit of Halbrand/Sauron, might extend it past the one off. I'm never good at remembering all the warnings, so let me know if there's some I've missed that you feel would be on it.

-----

Shock spreads through you like poison, choking off the oxygen to your body as you stare into the all too familiar face of the man you’d loved, the face of dignity and grace, or so it had been until that fateful day. How different life might have been if she hadn’t told you, if he’d gotten to you first and spun his web of lies. If you were half as brave then as you are now, you would have put an end to him before he had time to hatch his plans. Love had made you weak and mercy had spared him. 

You hadn’t expected him to look like this, so unchanged. How could it be that the dark Lord looked so ordinary and innocent? Where was the evil being from the stories you’d been told, twisted and corrupted, tormented and who’s very being reeked of cruelty and malice. Surely this cannot be him. Galadriel was wrong. How can this man, who you’d let beneath your walls and who you’d trusted to love in the dark of the night, be the evil that everyone feared? He is no man. He’s been Mairon, Gorthaur the cruel, Halbrand and now Sauron the Deceiver. He’s never been a man. 

Your senses flood back as the memories subside. This would be the only chance you get. Here you are, two knees in the dirt, and here he is, at the helm of an army. The opportunity was too great. You kick out at the Orcs that have you restrained managing to free an arm and pull a dagger free. With one swift motion you slice through the throat of one, black blood oozing from the wound. You shove the body towards the second Orc, sending them both to the ground. The ruckus draws attention, you have but a few seconds to complete your mission. Turning you spy your target once again his full attention on you. His demeanour has changed, a smirk envelopes his features, beckoning you to carry on as your legs take you towards him. 

Pain shoots through your thigh causing you to stumble and fall to the floor. The impact jolts through your bones followed by more pain which splinters through your chest. Just in time you flip onto your back and instinctively thrust the dagger, you still clutch onto, upwards. It makes contact with the soft underbelly of an Orc who squeals as you withdraw the blade and thrust it up a second then third time. Blood gushes down, soaking you, as you lay in the dirt and watch as the body falls next to you. Patiently you wait a few seconds for the next assault, staring up at the dark clouds that are littered with traces of red, but it doesn’t come. 

Warmth tingles against your chest, oddly comforting until you taste that copper tang in your mouth. A cough rips through your throat as you try to suck air in, splatters of something wet hitting your lips. Despite the pain you force yourself to roll onto your front and catch a glimpse of the arrow that penetrates the flesh of your thigh. The head snaps off as you come into contact with the hard compact earth beneath you. For a second you lie there, face against the dirt, clouds of dust flying as your laboured breath forces its way out. A warm trickle seeps from the corner of your lips, lips which had once been full of colour and plump. They’d been one of his favourite features about you, or so you’d guessed after he struggled to stop kissing them for more than a few minutes at a time when alone with you. You smile as you remember the gentle touch of his mouth against yours, how it always started off innocent until you both felt the urgency in your desires. It was moments like that which would make your heart pound as if trying to escape, but now it pounds as you cling desperately onto the life you’d so passionately fought for. 

A groan escapes as you push up onto your knees and sit on your haunches, blood pooling from the thigh. All the while your eyes dart around as the enemy gathers, your fingers flexing around the handle of the dagger, reassured by the solidity of it in your fist. They stand, circling you, grim faced and shouting war cries in their dark speech. Nothing about the situation struck you as funny but despite this, a hysterical giggle claws its way out in a horrid gurgle as blood bubbles from your mouth. Your free hand shoots to your chest where you’d previously felt pain and your chin sinks forcing your head down. How easy it would be to give up now, to let your eyes shut and allow yourself to slip away. Giving up has never been in your nature. 

You spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, the colour a bright vibrant maroon against the pale brown of the dirt. Yours wasn’t the first to be spilled here nor would it be the last if you didn’t succeed. With renewed determination you force your gaze upwards and wipe your mouth on the back of your hand as your eyes make contact with his. Any warmth that they once contained is gone, replaced by intrigued. He holds his arms outstretched, signalling for his Orcs to stay back as he steps inside the ring. His gaze never falters, not once, as he strides over and towers above your kneeling form. 

“This is all I ever wanted,” he says, only loud enough for your ears “For you to kneel before me.”

You grimace at the sound of his voice, smooth and sweet, remembering how it has once sent shivers down your spine but now repulses you. Glaring up through your lashes you watch as he extends an arm down towards you, his eyes carrying the familiar emotion of days long gone. Is it possible he did care for you? Perhaps your love wasn’t a lie, but it certainly was poison. You watch his eyes grow cold again as a bloody smile pulls at your lips. Mustering the last of your strength you push to your feet ignoring his hand, hiding the pain to the best of your abilities. 

He cocks his head to the side and smiles in return. “A strong Queen you’ll make.” He turns his back on you. NOW. The voice inside screams. Won’t be another chance. Despite loving him, you had a tendency to be angered by him. He always knew which buttons to push and how to elicit a response. 

“I don’t kneel to anyone” you raise your chin higher “Especially not to you…” he turns in an instant, eyes full of anger equal to yours “...Sauron the Deceiver.” 

“You don’t know what you speak of.” Is that hurt you hear lacing his words? Eagerly you watch his hand travel to the hilt of his sword, desperately wanting him to initiate. Anything to make this easier for you. 

“I’ve not fallen to your lies previously.” You push at the threshold of his tolerance forcing him to shoot you a warning look as you take a step towards him. 

“All I ever wanted was to do good with you by my side.” He explains trying to get inside your mind. His fingers now grip the hilt so tight that the knuckles turn white. You both know time is running out. “Join me” he instructs, silently pleading with his eyes. 

“I will not succumb now.” You whisper, afraid your own words were a lie. Before having a chance to rethink you close the distance to him, not once thinking how odd it is he doesn’t move or draw his sword. His hands grasp yours as you slide the knife under the bottom rib and thrust up, not once does he try to stop you. He just holds your hands in his, savouring the last touch. It hurts but you force yourself to look into his eyes so you can say farewell to the monster who has tormented you for so long, but all you see is Halbrand. He stares back with sadness, reflecting back the image of his killer. 

“She is the monster who can kill her love.” He whispers to you, shock evident on his voice. You feel his grip on your hands tighten, as his knees buckle, using you for support. Instantly you regret what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter that you’re slowly dying; drowning in your own blood. Your heart hammers for another reason now, causing tears to swell in your eyes. Pulling your blade free of his body causes him to gasp, his head sinking down to your chest. The blade falls to the floor, his blood covering your hands. 

“Halbrand?” you whisper, almost choking on the name as the tears spill over. You crouch as he falls to his knees, a hand on his back to help him lay down. You hold his hands in yours, they feel much colder now. “No.” You cry, applying pressure to the wound you inflicted. This brings a smile to his pale lips. 

“At least I know…” he struggles to breathe “...how you truly feel.” 

A sob escapes you at his words. Why did this have to be the way? You bring your head down to his, tears falling onto his cheeks and plant a soft kiss upon his lips, leaving behind a trail of your own blood; a reminder of your own end. Comforted by the thought you’d join him after, you resign and lay your head upon his chest. You cling to one of his hands as his other finds its way to your head. Even in his final moments he cares more to comfort you than himself. Gently stroking your once shiny dark locks that are now blood spattered and crusted with mud. You listen to his wheezing breaths as his chest tries to inflate. 

“All I ever wanted,” he coughs. You don’t look but you know that blood is pouring out of his mouth by the sound of his voice struggling to break through. You rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “All I ever wanted…” he repeats, the end closing in on him “eternity with you, in a prosperous world…” he sucks air in through his gritted teeth, a sloshing sound coming from his chest beneath you. Desperately you fight your mind, trying to think of comforting words but instead the tears come on stronger so you remain silent as images of the two of you together are conjured. You torture yourself thinking maybe being his Queen wouldn’t have been as bad as you thought. Perhaps you could have reigned him in and curved his darkest impulses, together creating something beautiful. After all, good and evil cannot survive one without the other. You must have shared the same thought for he voiced what you were thinking. “Perhaps if the cards were dealt differently,” he gasps, fighting for breath “We might… if we created…” His chest starts to feel rock solid beneath you and the blood rushes from the wound by your head “I’d have liked a son.” 

His words stung. Moments before the idea of what he suggested would have repulsed you, a life with Sauron… never. But this is Halbrand, he’s real and still here underneath all the lies. Once upon a time you’d imagined your life together when he was a simple peasant and once more when he was the supposed King of the Southlands, in all of that you had not once considered a child. Now you can see all that has been stolen from you and it brings nothing but pain. You no longer conceal the tears that rip through you in body shaking quakes. You stay like this until you feel his chest steady and no breaths follow. Weakly you lift your head to look into the eyes of the man you love. The man you killed. 

You cry out while clinging to his body. You can’t see for all the tears that blur your vision but it doesn’t stop you screaming insults at the sky, hoping someone up there can hear your pain and feel the injustice that has been served to you on this day. All your words dry up as you return your gaze to the lifeless body in front of you, only eerie croaks can be heard as you struggle to breath as panic sets in. You hunch over the body, hands in your lap, feeling forsaken in this land. You wait for your own end, whether by your wounds or the Orcs but neither happen. You glance around to find it’s just the two of you.

“Please…” you beg, not fully knowing who you’re asking. You start rocking back and forth on your knees, holding your head in your bloody hands. His blood. Hysterical screams resonate from you as you hunch into a ball, driven mad by the situation. 

You barely hear it over your own noise but it makes you clench your eyes tightly shut. “It can’t be” you whisper while still rocking, bloody spittal falling from your mouth. “Go away!” You scream as you hear it again; a deep chuckle. “I’m going mad, I’m going mad,” you whisper over and over to yourself like a mantra. “You can’t be real…” you start crying again “...I killed you… please, leave me alone…” you sob. It’s almost heartbreaking to watch. You screw your eyes even tighter shut, if that's even at all possible, they start to ache with the force you use on them. 

“Open your eyes.” His voice is soft and enticing, but you’re sure it's a trick nonetheless. It can’t be real. “It’s okay, you can open them now.” he repeats, hoping this time you do as he says, but you’re always so obstinate and after all this time his patience wears thin. 

“Look at me!” he roars, causing you to flinch which sends you backwards onto your butt. As you do so your eyes fly open. You’re met with a dark dank stone cell. Iron bars close you in on three sides cutting you off from the rest of the room. The floor is freezing cold as you lay there adjusting to the new surroundings. 

“Are you going to do everything but look at me?” he chuckles again from behind you. “Surely I’ve not broken you, not after all this time?” His joy at the prospect was thick and heavy.

Slowly you turn your head and sit up. There’s a small candle on the opposite side of the bars that gives out little light, enough to show a figure propped against the far wall. Fear paralyses you at the realisation of what’s happening, he really is a master of deception. Footsteps echo and bounce off the stone as he approaches the bars of your cage. Tears start to fall upon your cheeks again as he crouches, bringing himself to your eye level. 

“How the mighty have fallen.” He teases as he eyes you with pity, not enjoying the sight before him. “Still, we’re here now.” He claps his hands together causing you to flinch.

“Please” you try to beg but it comes out a choked mumble as you pull your body into a huddled form. You bring your head to your knees trying to remember how you got here. The last thing you remember was killing him, but that can’t have happened not if he’s here. The jingle of metal brings your attention back to him as he pulls a skeleton key from a bunch hanging off his belt. He stands, eyes not straying from you once as he unlocks the gate to the cell. The metal clanks as the key turns, allowing him to pull the door open with a creak. Gingerly you stand, before backing up to the stone wall of the cell, expecting something bad. He knows it will take time for him to regain your trust but he’s just happy you’re no longer fighting him every step of the way. 

He places one foot inside your cell with hands raised and you try to put more distance between the two of you but trip as your foot is pulled back by a chain. Your head smacks down on the stone floor, blood oozes instantly from the graze on your forehead. Not caring about your injury you turn to him as he moves faster towards you. 

“Stay away” you yell, “No, stay away from me!” You kick out so he stops in his tracks and retreats until he’s back at the door.  

He lets out an exasperated sigh, “I thought we’d overcome this.” He turns to walk through the door but stops when you stand once more. 

“I know what you’re doing, it won’t work.” you spit through gritted teeth. With another sigh he closes the door and returns the key to his belt. His hand linger on the iron bars for a moment as he stares at you, mulling over the options. How long has it now been? He’d lost count and has begun to give up any hope of it ever working. He gives the bar a final grip before walking towards the exit, not giving you another look. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he shouts as he wonders how many times he has to subject you to pain before you fold. How much more can he endure? His form disappears down a dark corridor but you can still hear his footfalls as they fade. 

You race towards the bars of your prison, falling short as the chains restrict your movement. Panic erupts inside at the thought of being left alone here, before it's swept aside by confusement. You watched him die. You killed him. But I didn’t. You’re somewhat relieved he’s alive. The guilt and pain you’d felt washing away, only to be replaced with anger as you realised he’d been in your head. It all comes rushing back. How many days have you been here? You’d lost count, but far too many. Day after day you live out his scenarios in your head and everyday you fail to submit to him. This brings a wicked smile to your dry cracked lips.

“Stay out of my head!” you yell after him as you hear the last of his footfalls fade from range. “I will not succumb to you...” you scream louder to ensure he hears “...Sauron!” you add the name you know he hates you using for added measure so he knows how strong your will still is.

[ivfrankenstein]

got power over me; 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Halbrand/Sauron x fem!reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘:

“It's not an enviable fate they've given you. There’s s no mercy in tying you to me.” “It was you, not them, who did the tying. Wasn't it you who named me that precious word — lover? Aren't we bound by the same ties?”

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: maia!reader, angst/fluff here, guess it’s star-crossed lovers trope 𝐚/𝐧: seren — star [in welsh]. gif: @ladyhawke​; eng not my 1st language, so be merciful for mistakes, my stars 🫶🏻

𝕹𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖗 understood the purposes of the One so clearly as Manwë. With Manwë dwelt Varda, Lady of the Stars, and the light of Iluvatar still lived in her face. Melkor feared her more than all others whom Eru made. Back in the days when Melkor's misdeeds began, an idea was sent to Varda to summon a spirit she had created earlier from the Light of the Stars, capable of bringing back those of the good powers who had been seduced by Melkor's darkness.

That light of the combined creation of Manwë and Varda was to reveal the true path to those of Morgoth's devotees who were still capable of seeing it and hesitating.

By the time Serena was descended upon Arda, the Great Enemy had fallen, but his strongest and most loyal servant was still wandering among the living, bringing himself into voluntary exile. Only one and only once did he fall into the despair that led to his repentance. He was called by many names by those who suffered at his hand, but Sauron was his last. 

In those relatively early years of Y/N's life, a name Serena bore in Middle–earth, she lived by instinct rather than orders from above, the way she was able to. Left alone to face all the new things, Y/N was just at the stage of exploring the world that was to become her home for centuries when, along with the rest, she faced Mairon. Which is why, when the two met, it was more of an accident than a successful hunt. But that’s a different story from this one.

That one was about how it's not hard to stop a dagger when it's already so close to someone else's chest, and also how it's not hard to be penetrated by another. This story, on the other hand, is about what you have to deal with when trust isn’t your strong suit after all. 

“Even if it was me who did the tying, I won't let it be used against me.” 

Many days in this wilderness and in this hut overgrown with moss on the outside. No longer than usual, in fact. But apparently too little space, and in its absence, too palpable is the addiction into which he has driven himself and not even noticed. 

“Used? W-what do you think it is? The nets I cast to catch you?” 

Y/N always deftly handled his temperament — not fervent, but at times so chilling that it scorches better than any fire. But this time Halbrand noticed how her lower lip trembled slightly. He didn't care if it was caused by the anger he'd driven her to, or by resentment. All he wanted was to push her to the level of vulnerability to which he himself had reached, so it would be fair.  

“It could become them,” dense shadows ran across his face, dispersed by the warm light of the candles, as he stepped back to curtain the small window. “Have you forgotten what you were created for in the first place?” he looked at Y/N half-turned, just enough to see her reaction, but not enough for her to see his.

Such a typical move of his. Which, in context, is a silent acknowledgement that Sauron is almost defeated, and it touches those deep strings of Y/N's heart that make her cheeks blush. It was obvious that she shared this defeat with him, though to his eyes it remained hidden. 

“You don't think they're proud of what you've accomplished in this, do you?” he taunted Y/N on purpose, outwardly mocking the way she had missed, failed, and fallen, keeping quiet that it was actually him who did all of this. With an impenetrable grin on his face, Halbrand feared that Y\N would seriously back down, obey his deceptive speeches or voice of reason, or anything else that would raise doubts in her faith in him. 

He was seeking devotion, and that devotion was a treasure she would not give him so easily.

“Take off your cynical mask when it's me you're talking to.” Y/N said sternly and rose from her seat, “You wanted me to call you Halbrand,” she took a step toward him, keeping his provocative gaze on her, “so deign not to treat me as if it were Melkor's right hand that appeared before me.” 

“But it is.” Halbrand was gloomy, like an enraged sky before the onset of a rainstorm, and it was almost like he physically exhaled the flames he was diligently extinguishing somewhere in the depths. 

Yet, Y/N kept walking forward, “No, not anymore,” her palm reached his chest and he shuddered, “You were created like Mairon, and there wasn't a single trace on you of what torments you now,” she could feel how his heart pounded out of his ribcage through the thin fabric of his tunic, “The traces will go away if you let them.” She stared at the throbbing vein on Halbrand's neck for a long moment, then looked up at him, “Is it possible for you to let them?” 

Her lips were in such a pleasant, pampering closeness and it made him so angry. It was a desire... something, in this mortal form, that Halbrand had to get used to for quite a while. He ran his hand across Y/N cheekbone the way it was the blade of a knife, not his finger. 

“If all this turns out to be the intention they put in you, my Serena, just to punish me..” he grabbed her neat face, “It'd better not be, because I'm going to be dead pissed.” 

Y\N only laughed at it, “You should know me better than that.” she found his hand, only briefly averting her gaze from his eyes fixed on her, and wove their fingers together, “But instead, you choose to be blind.” 

Whether it was the sweetness inherent in a woman's nature or the the prodding effect of Maiar, Halbrand, yet, wanted to believe that this was how love was functioning. He had only basic notions of this curse, but even that was enough for him to classify himself as one of these poor doomed men as well. This weakness, seeping into him like poison, urged him to give in, to give more than he had, to the one he had chosen (or not chosen), but wanted to keep near him either way. 

He was holding Y/N by the chin when, for the first time, the crystals of tears gathered at the border of her fluttering lashes became obvious to him. Her soul languished in oppressive anticipation for at least a word, his word, to be spoken. 

“I will spend entire years needing you if you ever abandon me.” he said in a low voice, “Will your love be enough not to condemn me to such a fate?” 

Y\N gently moved her palm to Halbrand's neck, and softly drew him to her until their foreheads touched. To her relief, he followed easily. “I don't know what our fate is, Hal,” his breath was warm on her, and it reminded her that this was reality, a peaceful one, not that which she was accustomed to in all her chilling visions, “Is yours enough to keep us both from getting there?”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A step closer

Pairing: Sauron x Manwë

Warnings: none

Word count : 600+ words

Summary: Sauron is brought to Manwë after spending his allotted time in Lumbi, and makes his own choice known.

A/n: What started as an idea for LOTR20, turned into something else altogether

Divider by@saradika

Ilmarin had not changed since Sauron walked it last. The tapestries were exactly as they were, the stained glass windows were exactly as they were, and even the scrollwork on all those slender columns were exactly as they were. He would recognize them by touch alone, for it was he who aided his master when crafting them for the Elder King. 

Aulë was not my master, he corrected himself. He may have been my mentor, and taught me all that I knew, but he was never my master. My true master still waits for me in the Void. 

A hush lay upon the great throne room. The others had turned to face their king. Manwë leaned down from his lofty throne and regarded him with kindly eyes. 

"You have served your allotted time in Lumbi," he began, "and must now await my decision on where you will go from here. Before I make my decision, Mairon, I need to know if you wish to repent and sue for pardon?"

Mairon. That was his name once. And yet, it felt strange coming from the lips of the king. Manwë hurried his name a little, as if speaking it caused him pain. Sauron fought back the urge to radiate pure joy. It pleased him no end to see the Elder King so uncomfortable. 

"No, my lord," he replied without fear. "I will neither repent nor sue for pardon. I will not grovel, and I refuse to live out a miserable existence as another's servant in this staid realm again."

"But you were his servant as well. Pray how was that any different?"

"I may have been your brother's servant in name, but in deed, I was his equal in all things. He made me a lord in my own right. He never restrained me, as others would have. And he loves me. Truly. Does that satisfy you, my lord?"

The other Ainur had been whispering in hushed tones, scandalized by everything they heard. Sauron answered so boldly, his spirit radiating light like fired gold with each word he uttered. He studied some of those who had gathered to hear of his fate. Námo sat as if he had been hewn out of stone. His countenance, as always, was a perfect mask. Aulë and Yavanna looked pained, and Tulkas looked as if he yearned to throw hands. Sauron paid them no mind, for they meant nothing to him. He simply waited for the king to speak. 

"I see," Manwë replied, and sighed. "And do you accept the charges laid at your feet?"

"Yes," Sauron answered in return. 

"And do you still choose the Void?" The king asked.

"Better to rule by his side in the Void than to serve in paradise, my lord." 

More hushed whispers followed. Some of the other Ainur sounded appalled.

"Better to rule by his side in the Void than to serve here," Manwë echoed, as if saddened by what he heard. His brother had declared such in a similar vein before he left to forge a kingdom of his own. "Well, if that is your wish—"

"It is," Sauron interjected sharply. "My lord."

The king turned to Námo, and something unheard passed between them. Then he cleared his throat and addressed them all. 

"Then so it shall be, Mairon." Sauron listened carefully while the king issued his verdict. "You will be cast through the Door of Night and into the Void, and there you shall forever remain. May your decision bring you much peace."

It will, Sauron thought to himself, for it has brought me a step closer to being united with him once more. He voiced his pleasure with Manwë's judgment, and waited while the warriors escorting him to the Door of Night armed and armored themselves. 

 Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil

[venduri]

Only you could accomplish such art, Celebrimbor

Assad Zaman as Celebrimbor from JRR Tolkien's The Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales

[oldglitterstory]

I can’t write for shit but I had this idea stuck in my head.

Some sort of AU where Yennefer from The Witcher and Halbrand/Sauron somehow meet in Middle Earth.

[shady-swan-jones]

- You would make me a tyrant

- I would make you a Queen

Concept art by Julien Gauthier

[thesummerestsolstice]

Sauron has complexes about exactly two (2) beings. Feanor and Luthien. Feanor, the mere elf whose work bested his and drew the eyes of his Maiarin peers (and even his master Morgoth). The elf who, whether he knew it or not, had challenged the mighty Sauron's forging skill and had, whether Sauron could admit it or not, won. Luthien had also challenged him, and left him defeated and humiliated, and had done it all with a kind of disgusted scorn that Sauron could never stop thinking about. She, a half-bred girl, had dared to look at him, most admirable and powerful of Maia, like he'd been a nasty stain on one of her cloaks.

And he's an obsessive perfectionist with an unparalleled ability to hold grudges, so of course he can't let either of those slights go. One of his greatest frustrations is the fact that Luthien has moved beyond the world, out of his grasp– if rumors are to be believed, so has Feanor, sent to the Everlasting darkness. Sauron hates them all the more for being gone, all the more for being out of reach of his anger and vengeance. And that hatred only festers in the long, lonely years of the Second Age, as Sauron bides his time and starts planning his comeback.

And then he walks into Eregion, and what is the first thing he sees? Luthien and Feanor.

He's introduced to Lord Celebrimbor and his cousin, Lord Elrond. He knows who they are of course, but he'd never been told they were such perfect copies of their ancestors. He's told more about them, but he doesn't listen. All he can think is that he finally has a chance to get his revenge.

Luthien and Feanor are back, and this time, Sauron promises himself, he will claim his victory over them.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Halbrand (Sauron) visiting you in your dreams…

Your eye caught the split lip and swelling bruise on his cheek. The drying blood did very little to quell the unease growing in your chest.

You were warned not to speak with him. It was explicitly requested that you alert Galadriel or Elrond should Sauron venture into your dreams again… but your heart loved too fiercely. Maybe it was as Galadriel had feared, that you had fallen in love by the allure of his darkness but you had fallen.

“Are you in pain?” You asked.

Halbrand seemed surprised by the question. He had visited each night for the past week speaking of adventures, whispering apologies or reminiscing over stolen moments and you had not uttered a single word - until now. 

“Physical pain can be endured. The ache in my chest, however, echoes more greatly.” He answered.

You turned away briefly in an attempt to wash away his implication of lingering emotions. Instead, you focused on another thought that plagued your mind.

“You are a being of great power.” You stated and looked at him once more. “Why have you subjected yourself to this?”

“Perhaps it was the only way to have you speak to me again?” Halbrand teased. When you chose not to comment he continued. “Or perhaps it is my penance for causing you such hurt?”

“That is no answer.” You told him sternly.

Halbrand softened his gaze and smiled lovingly like he had on so many occasions. “It is not but there are some secrets that I must hold on to. Surely you understand?”

“I do not hold on to secrets as you would assume.”

“No? Then why have you not yet awoken and called for the guards to report my appearance? Why have you chosen to keep Galadriel in the dark about my visits?” He questioned.

You remained silent. He was right. But you had no desire to confess that to him and you had a feeling that he knew it too.

“The hour is growing late. I will leave you to your dreams.” Halbrand said. “I do hope we speak again soon.”

He waited for a few moments. You had wanted to tell him to stay safe but that was far too complicated with what has unfolded. So you said nothing and watched him vanish, leaving you to dream of an empty room.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Oh how I’ve missed writing for this show!

[baby-dragons-art]

True pain in the guise of lavish silks and gold. Agony speaking in a voice of strength and assurances. Arrogance playing as wisdom. The ultimate ruin and folly of Sauron. His eternal torment and condemnation for the world of men until the return of his one ring.

Follow me on Instagram for more art at the_baby_dragon

[mycaptainjones]

Just had a thought for next episode.

Adar could potentially going to be in a position where he has Sauron’s crown, Nenya (from Elrond) AND Galadriel as his prisoner lmaoooo

Adar: Yoo-hoo! Hi! Look what I’ve got! *points at the crown, the engagement ring & the fiancée enemy*

Sauron:

[likesdoodling]

>:)

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Modern AU where Annatar, Lord of Gifts, actually takes the role of Lord of Gifts seriously for Christmas.

And there's a niffler running loose in his workshop making off with all the shiny pretty things.

[cilil]

Ok, listen… what about Mairon taking dick for the first time…

I would prefer if the reader is gentle at first, but then Mairon demands him to go faster. The reader is a soft dom, but doesn’t talk too much during sex. (Bonus if he has a big dick)

If you’re uncomfortable doing this, I completely understand. No pressure :)

AN: Thank you for the prompt and apologies it took so long. I took some time to give this some thought because I wanted to (hopefully) make it good and when I was finally inspired I had to put the fic aside after a third or so due to exams. I hope you enjoy my take on this :)

Pairing: Mairon x male!reader (2nd person POV) Synopsis: Mairon has recently taken you as his lover and now has an unusual request - he wants you to take him Featuring: Soft dom/service top reader, pushy bottom Mairon, first time bottoming, sex toys (briefly), fingering, anal sex Warning(s): Smut, explicit Oneshot (~1.65k words)

"Are you sure you want to try this?" 

You look at him quizzically, resting next to him on his luxurious divan, propped up on your forearm. 

"Of course I am." Mairon smiles. His lilting, chuckling tone suggests that he finds your concern amusing. "Have you no faith in the strength and capability of my fána?" 

"I do," you reply without hesitation. It's the truth, you know well how powerful he is, yet when you look at his elegant, slender figure, you can't help thinking how awful it would feel to accidentally hurt him. 

Mairon traces the rim of the goblet of wine he's been holding with his index finger. Your eyes follow the movement. 

"I know what I want and how I want it," he says in a low voice. "So when I ask you to take me, I mean it." 

You nod. Your mouth suddenly feels dry and your tongue too clumsy to respond, but it's prickling excitement rather than paralysing fear or any other unpleasant emotion. The thought, now that you allow it to unfold in your mind, is tempting. 

"Will you do as I ask then?" 

You nod again. Of course you will. And you will do your best to ensure that he isn't displeased with you. 

"Good." Mairon leans forward to peck your lips, then pushes his goblet into your hand — a silent order. Dutifully, you take it and roll over to deposit it on the nearest table. 

You hear the sound of fabric. When you turn back around, he has already undone the sash holding his satin robes in place and is in the process of undressing himself. No need for frivolous pleasantries, no waste of time. 

Mairon leans on his forearms and lets his head fall back. In the flickering, warm light coming from the fireplace his skin looks like it's made of pure gold, as if he himself was a marvellous piece of art rather than a living, breathing being, and you take a moment to simply admire him. 

In spite of him not facing you, you feel his gaze on you. Maybe he placed his third eye in the fireplace or a candle flame somewhere, you can never be quite sure. 

"Well? Are you going to sit there and stare or..." Mairon trails off, spreading his legs invitingly. 

He has a way of maintaining control even when he puts himself in positions others might consider submissive. 

You clear your throat in an attempt to regain your ability to speak. "Do you have any oil on you? I need–" 

"Left pocket," he cuts you off. 

Bowing your head, you move to sit between his legs and search his half-discarded robe as you've been told. Indeed, there is a tiny flask of oil in his pocket, but when you bend down and push his legs back, you discover a fine ruby between his cheeks, decorating the end of what you presume to be a toy stuck inside him. 

"I did some preparations on my own," Mairon comments on your discovery. His voice is calm and casual, as if you were discussing minor business or idle gossip instead of sex toys. 

"I'll just make sure you're comfortable, if that's alright," you mumble in response. 

He lets you. When you pull out the toy, you notice that he's as tight as you suspected, but relaxed and well-oiled. Dutifully, you pour a little more oil on two fingers and push inside, finding little resistance. Still, he could use more stretching if he's going to take your cock. 

Mairon watches you, only letting out tiny noises of enjoyment as you go deeper and start scissoring him. You pay attention to the movements of his muscles and the way he clenches and unclenches around you, mindful of any tension you feel. Despite his inexperience with receiving his partner, his control over his fána is impeccable. 

"I should perhaps remind you that I am no fragile incarnate," Mairon says after a few minutes. 

"Sorry. It's just... you see..." You bite your lip and blush. The truth is that you are rather well endowed, something you have become aware of after past experiences and learned to pay attention to with your partners. 

"See what?" Mairon smirks. "Why not show me?" 

You get the feeling that he knows. Maybe it's precisely the reason he chose you as one of his lovers. Nevertheless, you obediently proceed to take off your clothes. Your cock is already hardening, reacting to the delightful sensation of your fingers knuckle-deep inside a gorgeous Maia. 

Mairon stares shamelessly. You even believe to see greed flaring up in his golden eyes. 

"Sorry if–" 

"I want it like that." He spreads his legs wider. "Now give it to me, precious." 

"Y-yes." 

You take a moment to breathe, yet don't dare delay any longer; not only because it's an order, but also because you are eager to do exactly what he's asking for. 

The first thing you feel is heat. For a moment you fear Mairon could burn you, but there is no pain. You begin to feel as though it could be pleasant once you adjust to it. 

"Go on." 

You nod. The second thing you feel is how tight he is, despite your best efforts, though it doesn't seem to cause him any discomfort. Mairon keeps his eyes on you when you push deeper, half-lidded and glowing with simmering pleasure. His lips part ever so slightly, but he makes no sound; you haven't earned it yet, you know. 

Wishing to please your lover, you kiss him instead — a promise, perhaps mixed with an apology. Mairon is not impossible to please, but not easily either. 

He wraps his legs around you and allows himself to sink into his pillows. What he wants is clear, and you don't even need the gentle pressure of his heel against your back to spur you on, though the gesture is welcome. When you lean forward, get on top of him, place your arms at his sides and sink both with and into him, you truly feel it. You are fucking this beautiful creature, and he wants you. The thought is exhilarating, maddening. Your hips begin to move before you know it. 

Mairon's eyelids flutter, and you observe him well, even as you give in to your growing desire. He's content with slow, careful thrusts for a while, enjoying the feeling of your cock filling him again and again, then he speaks up.

"Harder," he commands, "faster." 

You nod. You are no longer at a point where you have the focus or patience to ask if he's sure, and neither does he, you can sense it. Obediently, you increase the speed and vigour of your movements and marvel at how well he takes you, how good he feels, how hot and beautiful and perfect he is. Being taken by you for the first time doesn't prevent Mairon from performing well in his new role, from being as admirable as ever. 

He wraps his legs around you more tightly, pulling you in. You understand — deeper. Shifting your weight onto your knees, you reach for his hips and thighs, angle them to go deeper. Part of you briefly worries that it might cause discomfort, then you hear Mairon moan, long and indulgent. It encourages you to keep holding on to him like this and thrust as hard, fast and deep as you can. 

You intend to keep doing so even if your hips give out. The tight heat of his fána ever tempts you, burning away any exhaustion you may have felt. 

The greater challenge is to last. You wonder, for a second or so, if you are allowed to spill inside, but Mairon hasn't told you otherwise and says nothing whenever your cock twitches inside him — and you know he feels it, you can see him smile and hear him moan whenever it does. Proud and pleased with himself. Even his arrogance is sexy. 

The thought of filling him with your seed as you do with your cock pleases you. He is yours, for a few precious moments at least. But you know Mairon wants this to last, wants to enjoy himself thoroughly. He expects you to give him your best, like he has done for you; even if perfection seems almost effortless on him. 

You do your best to hold on. Focus on the flow of your movements instead of his voice, instead of the maddening pleasure, instead of him. You give it your all, and it works for a time, until exhaustion erodes your barriers and lust floods all your senses and you come with a small grunt. It feels as though Mairon clenches around you with feverish greed, taking all you have, not relenting before you have given it to him. 

Only then his fána lets you go. 

You sit back on your heels and attempt to catch your breath, lest you collapse on top of him like a stag with an arrow in its chest. 

Mairon has closed his eyes for a moment, looking almost peaceful. You see pearly droplets glistening all over his stomach; not even he managed to escape your climax and came with you. Pride makes your chest swell — you succeeded. You pleased him. 

His legs release your hips and drop to the bed. He keeps them spread, allowing you to watch as seed trickles out of him.

"Well done, precious," he purrs. "You may now leave."

"Shouldn't I take care of you first?" you ask. 

"My attendants will see to it." 

You bow your head, accepting his decision. Perhaps, you muse, his decision to let you take him was a first step, a sign of trust, and you will be allowed to care for him and spend the night if he has need for you again in the future. 

Perhaps it wouldn't be entirely foolish to look forward to it. 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[inthiskingdomwewillendure]

Sauron's armor + the one ring in 4k