#sauron pov

[aeviagreenleaf]

Chapters 3 and 4 of my Saurondriel fic are live! The fic starts with missing and expanded seasons from season 1 episode 5 and beyond, and then the story will gradually diverge more and more from the show. Please mind the ratings and tags!

Chapter 1, Complete Bliss: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61356892/chapters/156829444

Chapter 2, Unbearable Longing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61356892/chapters/157345807

Chapter 3, Duty Calls: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61356892/chapters/158524033

Chapter 4, Ashes and Rubble:

[mirroringdust]

A christmas carol inspired story

Prologue

When the winds are safe

we sail to distant shores.

Beyond the hollow walls

there’s a longing for celebration.

We may find peace

and a raft to guide us

with its light towards home.

~

There’s this vision in his mind, pushing him on, keeping him going, allowing him to fulfil his purpose.

It’s a field of dark clouds and a rainy substance falling down on lost, lonely ruins, remnants of all the fights and battles. He stands there and stares at it all, his face a bitter façade. But there was no other way to reach this end, no other way to ultimate peace and order.

To rebuild on something without hope, set it on fire with a new one.

He had to bend them to his rule, he had to lead them from the darkness into the light. He had known the light once, but he had suffered so much pain to reach it again. One must go through suffering, he thinks, as the vision settles and the schemes become clearer.

There is only smoke covering the land, only plain mountain peaks and a desert of destruction, but he knows that is not all. He is not a destroyer, he is a creator, and beyond this destruction there rises something: a new life. People guided by his knowledge, by his plan, people with the will to build a better future and rise to the light.

It has been the hardest path ever for him to walk, but as he stands there, surrounded only by shadows, he can still see it, that this peace is beyond the horizon for them.

When there’s this vision, the music that surrounds the world is silent.

It does not matter that he sees only darkness, it does not matter that his path is a lonely one.

It is a sacrifice he is willing to make.

A path he will always walk.

STAVE 1 - A familiar visitor

When they pray to the Valar, he is more full of hate than ever. It’s these celebrations of Mettarë that take place on the remaining days of every year. He has witnessed them a few times since he stayed on this island full of despicable life, flashing of colours and deceitful enchantments around every corner. He had to tolerate some of the remaining festivities last year, but he has more power now and by this time in his plan he is powerful enough not to hide his resentment of these celebrations. Even more so, he has the power to suppress them.

He is the admirable one, and all will admire him, not the deceitful folk who are the faithless gods. They do not deserve such worship. Tar-Mairon does.

Continue on AO3

[mirroringdust]

So happy to see these beautiful gifs here that showcase the depth of the character and his decision so well.

Recently fell in love with his storyline and Haladriel. I was thinking a lot about his twisted history and him having to face it. So my take is now that he did not trick Galadriel all along but that he really needed her to decide to return to the southlands and get back on his dark track and the goal he ultimately had, which carries a lot irony and makes this whole story so incredible fascinating, angsty and also sad. I reflected on the moment of his decision in episode 5 in this fanfic. I'm really late to the party but happy to find more people wo enjoy haladriel or saurondriel as much!

But what was he supposed to do with what had just happened? What to make of this encounter with this passionate elf who would not let him go, who was determined to fight all the horrors that had come and would come upon Middle-earth in her long lifetime? A reflection of red and yellow flames  from the fire burning in the fireplace behind Halbrand fell like a shadow over his face. One of those horrors had been…  was him.

[tolkien-povs]

Again, about how the Legendarium begins and ends in fire...

Melkor being drawn to the Flame Imperishable started a whole story. The One Ring perished in the fire, and new beginning was made.

Fëanáro born in fire started a compilation of his actions. As he died in fire, a new era was made.

Maedhros coming back as fire provoked a flipping of narratives. Dying in fire started a new Age.

However, Nerdanel, while starting in fire, did not end in fire. She ended in water, where her story will remain to be written and mourned, and never ended and never started anew.

The same goes for her son, Maglor, who held fire in his soul, and did not end in fire, instead walking along the shores that separate him and his kindred.

In Tolkien, fire is of endings turning into new beginnings.

In Tolkien, water is of a story that never quite ends and that never quite begins afresh, forever haunting the timeline.

[dinsbeskar]

Evil Will Find Her (Sauron/F!Reader)

He has waited so long to have you again, he cannot wait until you reunite in the flesh; or:

Sauron gets off on thinking of you thinking of him, despite the distance in time and space between you

Sequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Through Glass by Stone Sour, Closer by Nine Inch Nails

I'm looking at you through the glass Don't know how much time has passed Oh God, it feels like forever But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home Sitting all alone inside your head

Warnings: smut! goo!Sauron, male masturbation, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), finger/P in V sex, biting, kinda rough sex, praise kink and degradation (only a little, he calls you a slut, sorry, he is Sauron though, man idk), Sauron POV, he is super down bad and also recovering from being literal goo

A/N: I tried so hard not to use the word 'goo' lmfao, considering that's what Sauron is for half the fic! So this is the sequel to In the Dark of the Night, the scenes will mirror each other but not quite... you'll see.

Word Count: 2.8k!

After centuries in the caverns beneath Forodwaith, he had finally escaped. Not that he was any closer to reclaiming you, not in his current state, a seething mass of something dark and primordial, but he could at last seek you out. The only thing he knew was hunger, consuming everything in his path; the only discernable notion in his mind, clouded and murky, was to find you. He had only an inkling that some time had passed since you'd been in his arms, and even less of an idea of where you would be, but he was patient. He could wait, as he had waited many times before for you.

Creature after pathetic creature he gathered and consumed, slowly regaining shreds of his former self, piece by tiny piece, until he was able to drag himself, formless and near-liquid, across the frozen wastelands of the North. The only guiding light in his current unfeeling state was the vague grasping notion of you, waiting for him, yearning and enduring for him, and it pushed him on, gave him strength to endure when all hope was lost.

His mind reaches out for you, across plains and rivers, over mountains and into the halls you now call home. The first time he does this, he has not the strength to make himself known to you, and can only regard you from afar. It takes all of his efforts to merely behold you for a second before you vanish in his mind's eye. If he was capable of sound, all of Middle Earth would have heard his guttural scream of frustration. However, in his current form, he emitted barely a weak gasp masquerading as an exasperated sigh, before falling still and unmoving for at least a week, unable to drag himself any further after weakening himself for just a glance at you. It was worth it. When he awakens, he tries again, and again, the effort lessening every time, but it still feels like forever until he finally regains enough power to reach out and touch you, a tingle across your lips, a tendril of his will wrapping around you.

You're seemingly unaware of his presence, though you react to the stimuli he provides. Your thoughts turn more and more to him, even as you try to push them away, heart shattered after so much time apart, the heartache he caused you in simply being himself. The more you push them away, the more they come unbidden, in your dreams and waking thoughts, until you can no longer ignore them.

This makes it easier for him, you leaving the door ajar, to slither into your mind and wrap himself around your heart once more. You thought you had moved on from his betrayal, the knowledge of his true self having shattered your desire to have him close. Your need for him however was not so easily undone; no matter how much you told yourself you were better off free of him and his inevitable path of destruction, your souls were inextricably bound together, and no earthly power could sunder you. In his primordial oozing state, the terrible ache deep in your souls, yearning for the touch of the other, was all he could feel, and he neither knew nor cared from whom it originated. It was all he could do, limbless and liquid, to revel unthinking in this torment, to bask and rot in the empty void between you; for to suffer in your absence was sweeter than never having known you at all.

The only salve for your unceasing ache was his touch on your skin, his words in your ear, his fëa wrapped around yours as your fervent light battles with his blazing darkness. And you would have it. He swore to you eons ago that you would never be without him; you cursed him for that promise a thousand times, and yet the thought of his desertion was a knife between the ribs.

~

He awakes in a freezing wooden wagon, lying on his back surrounded by bloody detritus as the pale morning light greets his rebirth. For a moment, he has no idea where he is, who he is, or how he came to be here. It is only by looking around, as he takes in the visceral scene before him, that it all comes flooding back.

White hot pain in his shoulders, between his ribs, daggers twisting in his gut.

Darkness, pitch black nothingness.

Hunger.

Centuries of freezing cold, leagues of endless empty wasteland.

You.

He can't catch his breath as he remembers the last time he saw you, guilt flooding through him in nauseous waves, the cruel twisted things he had said to you and the malice you had thrown back in return. He can't even conjure his wrath, grateful that you had abandoned Forodwaith in your fit of temper when you had, lest you'd been caught up in the events of his coronation.

Coronation. He inhales harshly, revelling in the cold air in his sinuses; the tiny sensations for which he must be thankful, he thought bitterly.

Weak with the effort of reconstituting himself, he slowly pushes himself to sit, idly rifling through the possessions of the unfortunate peasant who had so graciously provided him with the sustenance he needed. He begins to root through the sacks and chests, looking for anything to protect himself from the persistent chill outside. He gathers some clothes from a sack in the corner, pulling on a cloak haphazardly; in doing so, he knocks a stack of letters that cascade across the floor. One catches his attention.

He skims the contents and realises it is an old love letter, the page discoloured and brittle with age. The scrawled, pretty words are trifles in comparison to everything you have shared, but the way it is signed lingers in his memory.

Forever devoted, your Halbrand.

He does need a name after all.

With a smirk, he tosses the letter aside and makes his way towards the sunlit back of the wagon. The moment his bare feet touch the ground, he can't help but grin with relief.

In fact, to say he is relieved is an understatement. He is a Maia, one of the greatest of all beings in creation, reduced to crawling in the dirt for centuries. To regain any kind of fair form is a blessing, and it is with appreciation now that he regards his limbs, feels the cold hard ground beneath his bare feet, and finds clarity in the brisk northerly wind on his face. His first thought, as ever, is of you. Where are you, are you well, are you thinking of him? He senses that you are leagues away, but senses you he does. Satisfaction takes him over and he laughs, uplifted now that he finally knows for sure that he is on your mind.

~

Day becomes night, and he eventually stops to rest, unused to needing to do so; he muses over his small fire how you'll greet him when he returns. How he longs for your sweet kisses, however they'll feel in this strange form. He clings to the memory of your breath on his face, your laugh in his ear, the scent of your sweat-slicked skin beneath his. His longing turns to rage before long; the time you both had lost would never be regained. Your long lives would give you every chance to do so, but he cherished whatever time he spent with you, and this wasted time would not be forgotten.

He would have his revenge on the Uruk who dared defy him, who must have assumed merely destroying his physical form would kill him. More's the pity, for Sauron's wrath was great and his will greater. It might take a hundred years or a thousand, but his revenge would be as sweet as the memories he had of you, of the time together that had been stolen from you.

Usually he has no need for sleep, but in dreams, he can join you, so he lays down on the frozen ground next to the dying embers of his fire and waits for you. It's not long before he finds himself in your chambers, breathing in your scent. He has been here before, tried to make contact with you, but in his weakened state he could do nothing but watch you, every night feeling like forever without your touch. Now he can make himself known, and he does just that.

You're lying on your bed, and he thinks to lie down next to you, as he has so many times before, and stroke your hair and tell you he'll be with you soon, that he is counting the seconds until you're in his arms again.

However you surprise him, as you often do, even after all this time. It's what he loves most about you.

You're clearly focused on something, brow furrowed, and before he can slip into your mind further, you cast off the sheets, and trail a hand down to between your thighs. He can't help but grin as he realises what he is witness to. You used to become so flustered when he asked you to do this for him, to touch yourself and think of him, and even now your cheeks are red. His previous attempts to touch you have been in vain, like catching smoke in the wind, the veil between you thwarting his every effort. He brushes a finger over your face adoringly and you sigh contentedly. Did you feel that? He wonders, because as happy as he is to watch you chase your pleasure, he would much rather join in.

Watching you sweat and pant his name always does something delicious to him, satisfying that dark ever-present urge to defile and corrupt you. Savouring every filthy noise he elicits from you, the whines in your throat, the wet sounds of his cock inside you, dragging over every sensitive inch of flesh until there is no thought in your head but of him and your lovemaking.

Your tiny whimpers become moans as he delves between your thighs, delighting in how wet you are. It used to fascinate him, when he first bedded you, just how needy and slick you would get, and he can't deny that fascination never faded. He can't get enough of the taste of you, would happily subsist on you for the rest of his days, and you would probably let him, given the unearthly sounds currently escaping your lips.

His attention wanders to his own pleasure as he realises he is so fucking hard, and he is leagues away from being able to fuck you until you can't stand the next day. He hasn't explored this new form yet, and briefly wonders if you would approve. The peasant who revived him was mortal, and so he seems to have taken the form of a mortal man; would that repulse or thrill you? If you knew it was him, you wouldn't care, he knows this, but he still wonders.

He pulls out his cock and regards it, not having paid it much attention until now. It looks like any other, perhaps thicker than his last, a little longer maybe, but he doesn’t have much with which to compare. You would be the ultimate judge in that regard, and the only one that matters. Most importantly, it feels just as good in his fist as he dreams of you, fingers inside your needy cunt as you moan his name. How long it has been since he heard it, his breath hitches and he strokes faster, keeping in time with the thrusts he makes into you, using all his regained powers to satisfy you like only he knows.

"Are you my good girl, love?" He moans out loud as he has so many times before, not expecting a response but-

"Yes, for you, only you..." You whimper, arching your back, reaching for his touch, and he melts, forehead pressed against yours as he moans your name into the dark. How fucking perfect you are, how eager you are to be his, so ready and willing to fuck the shadows for him.

How times had changed since you saw each other last. It thrilled him to know you still wanted him, needed him, had put any thought of abandoning him from your mind, had embraced him as your husband, your lover, your protector, of course you had, and he arched into his fist as you keened under his attentions, leagues away in your bed.

How could you think for a second that you were not his, wholly and completely? That he could not simply find and have his way with you whenever he cared to? You must know that he would rather be your undoing than let you leave him.

He wants only to ravage you, to pin you down and leave your skin painted with bruises, marking you as his, trails of purple and blue leading to your aching cunt. To possess you, body and soul, chained to him for all eternity.

He would build a temple to your flesh, no, of your flesh, and desecrate it with his seed, worship you as his equal, pray to you with tender kisses and the blood of your enemies, if only to feel your skin on his, your light on his face once more.

He wraps a hand around your throat and groans, running his thumb across your skin and collecting your sweat.

"So good for me, so needy, so fucking perfect, waiting for me to fill you over and over," he moans as he leans down, phantom tongue swiping your throat, the salt of your sweat inflaming his senses all the more.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself within you, to climb inside you and never leave, if that is what it would take to never be parted from you again. He wonders how much of him you could take before your screams of pleasure turn to pain.

You're both so lost in your lust, he has no idea if you're here with him or he's there with you, but he'll take it greedily and without question.

He bites the shell of your ear, nipping just hard enough that you react, hand flying to your face. He grabs it and kisses your palm, rutting into you like an animal.

"Always so good for me," he whispers in your ear, willing you to hear him more than ever, "look how you take my cock so well, the way you stretch around me, always such a good little slut for me."

You asked him once how he could worship and degrade you in a single breath; he'd told you they were the same thing.

Whether the timing of his words is a coincidence, he is unsure; you come hard, orgasm wracking your body while you moan and keen under his spectral touch.

Your walls tighten around him, you both hiss with pleasure, and he can't hold back any longer, pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo. He lets loose a string of curses, spilling himself on his thighs, christening his new mortal form and gasping your name.

His tenuous link to your pleasure is broken, and he curses once more, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around you, to fuck you through your orgasm until you're whining and overstimulated, too sensitive under his flaming touch.

~

There is no such thing as a chance meeting, every passing encounter preordained to fulfil a purpose, and he thanks the Valar every day that despite all he had suffered that they had put you in his path. Fate was no small thing and it had bound you all this time, unwavering in the face of defeat and suffering and war and Morgoth, all of which wanted to sunder you from him. It is with that thought that he presses on.

He meets a group of Men who are bound for a ship to take them across the sea for a new life. At first he wants nothing to do with it; he knows where he is going, finally going home, wherever you are. But the old man is insistent, that perhaps his path lays in the West.

There are no chance meetings. If the old man advises Numenor, then perhaps it is his destiny to seek the descendants of men who had destroyed his aspirations centuries ago; the long road of revenge will lead him back to you, of that he was certain.

[teawithtrop]

“It was the Sea that put her in my path, and the Sea is always right.”

[likesdoodling]

Just randomly sketching stuff and had The Harrowing on the brain~ This is from chapter 35, post nightmare, after the whole 'are your eyes normal now?' thing.

@chthonion

:)

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Mairon, Gothmog, Eönwë, Tilion & Ossë; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: 2nd person POV, vampire!Mairon, werewolf!Mairon, monsterfucking, Balrog anatomy, avian Ainu, merman, some Dom/sub dynamics, bit of predator/prey and other kinks, penetrative sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk

Warnings: Possessive themes, smut, tiny bit of degradation branding/burn marks, blood drinking/vampirism, mentions of impact play (whipping, spanking), swords/blades, bit of blood, biting, scratching

AN: Thanks to everyone who voted on my poll (back in the day). Sorry for the delay and here are your top choices plus our favorite birdy boy - hope you enjoy!

Mairon

𓂀 Once your heart is his, Mairon makes sure to live up to his reputation as the Lord of Gifts and the Lord of the Rings. Whether it is to seal a bond of marriage, asking for your hand or a promise of love and courtship, he crafts a beautiful ring just for you - showing everyone that you are now his and possibly also enhancing said ring with a few spells so he can watch over you.

𓂀 Yet gold is not the only way for him to mark your body; he also loves to use his fire to ensure neither you nor anyone else will ever forget where you belong. Mairon's preferred symbol to draw on your skin is The Eye, and he loves to place it right on your neck or chest so he can see it every time he takes you.

𓂀 His love and desire for you take many forms, as does he; when in the shape of a vampire, he enjoys biting you and drinking your blood while he makes love to you, strengthening the bond between you. He may sing to you to keep you calm while he feeds, and his song causes the wound and the vein he drank from to appear golden for a time until it slowly fades. Mairon expects you to wear those marks with pride and not cover them up.

𓂀 Whenever his form has more wolfish attributes, he also likes leaving bite marks, but his favorite feature is his knot. He loves how it swells inside you and stretches you out while he breeds you and how it keeps his seed inside until he decides he's done with you for the night.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Do you think you can take it?" 

Mairon slams into you with the full strength of his fána, making sure you can feel every inch of his hot, hard cock stretching you out without mercy. 

"Do you think you can take my knot, my precious little slut?" 

You barely manage to nod before a searing hot sensation makes you cry out in pain and pleasure alike. The eye symbol, proudly adorning your chest, glows in response to his words, like on the day when you were first marked by his hand. 

Satisfied with your obedience, Mairon stops moving and allows his seed to fill you. His knot swells proudly, binding you to him, and you try to muffle another scream — only for him to deter you with a quick slap on your thigh. 

"No," he says firmly, "let me hear it. I want to hear how much you love this, and you will not deny me."

Gothmog

☄ Contrary to popular belief, Gothmog can be affectionate and isn't afraid to show it. He likes to keep you close in public and holds you like a pretty little doll, making it clear to everyone that you belong to him and no one else may come close to you, let alone touch you. Even when he isn't around, the scent of fire and heat of his touch seems to surround you everywhere you go.

☄ Yet make no mistake: The Lord of Balrogs is incredibly strong and likes it rough. He may use his claws and fangs to as part of passionate love making and leave bite and scratch marks in strategic spots to ensure that everyone knows he has claimed you. Carry your marks with pride: To Balrogs, they are a symbol of strength and a sign that you belong.

☄ Gothmog's favorite way to claim and mark you, however, is fire - but he won't use his whip unless you ask him to. Instead, he may opt to simply use his hands to leave a nice and warm hand print on your skin; the same applies to any sort of impact play where he uses his hands instead of any tools. The touch of a Balrog leaves a lingering feeling of either cosy warmth or searing heat, and which one it will be is his choice to make.

☄ Aside from horns that you can hold on to, Gothmog also has a tail - and yes, he can and will use it. Not only is it a convenient as an additional limb to wrap around you and pull you close when his hands and arms are occupied and to keep others away from you, but he can also use it to fuck you if he so chooses, be it to tease you or for double penetration. He loves to test your limits.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"What a pretty little thing you are." Gothmog pats your head with his large hand while he continues to effortlessly bounce you on his lap as if you weigh nothing. 

You would have cried out from the intensity of his massive cock thrusting in and out of you rapidly, but all you manage is a muffled moan; your mouth is currently occupied by the tip of his tail. 

"We don't need the entire fortress to hear you," Gothmog said beforehand, and you agreed. 

He is — for his standards — gentle with you, but you also know that there isn't much mercy to be had in Angband. You consider yourself lucky to be with him. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when Gothmog rakes the claws of his free hand down your back and chuckles when he feels your throat vibrate with muted screams. 

"And so good for me too," he adds to his previous statement. "Keep taking me so nicely and I might even let you rest after this round."

Eönwë

⚔ As sweet and affectionate as Eönwë is with you in private, he's not exactly fond of others trying to compete, particularly during avian mating season. He stays with you whenever he can, guarding you like a precious treasure, and watches the people who approach you, both when's nearby and when he's somewhere else. Should another suitor be so foolish as to approach you anyway, they will soon notice a very irate Maia glaring at them and posturing aggressively, every single feather fluffed up.

⚔ While you two are still courting and not quite ready for marriage yet, Eönwë presents you with a lovely promise bracelet or anklet (your choice), made of his favorite materials that he gathered himself. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you wear it, and conveniently enough it also serves as a reminder to other suitors that you are very much taken - by the chief of the Maiar, no less.

⚔ When Eönwë makes love to you, he can be gentle, but he can also be feral. Sometimes his desire simply overwhelms him. Depending on his current form, he has talons on his hands and will make use of them to mark you, even drawing ancient patterns on you to show everyone who claimed you. You can also expect to find yourself covered in love bites, with his favorite area being your neck.

⚔ If you enjoy rough sex and agree to try out some more "extreme" kinks, Eönwë would love to make use of his sword - the song of steel and battle is ingrained in his very being, after all. As much as the rational part of him hates to see you hurt, the feral part of him is fascinated by the way you shiver when a cold blade is pressed against you or when it leaves beautiful lines of red on your skin and draws a few droplets of blood.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cold steel bites into your skin as the blade touches your throat, but you only have eyes for Eönwë. He's breathing heavily, and his fána glows with barely contained lust. 

"I want you," he breathes. 

You spread your legs in silent invitation. Surely he must know that you are already his; even if you decided to fight back now, which is the last thing on your mind, he would be too strong for you. 

"Exactly like this," Eönwë says then, and you understand. He wants to take you with his sword at your throat, utterly at his mercy, and your skin prickles with excitement. 

The prospect of submitting to the greatest warrior of the Maiar so completely is thrilling. 

Eönwë enters you with one swift thrust, his free hand reaching for your hip. You make sure not to move, as you know he wants from you, and welcome him inside. The blade presses against your skin, but only lightly; his hold is steady, his posture impeccable, no blood is drawn. 

You surrender. 

Tilion

☽ Tilion loves antlers, his pride and joy when it comes to his fána, and wants to share that with you. If you yourself are an Ainu and grow your own pair, he will paint them silver with moonlight. If not, he will gladly hunt beasts of your choosing for you to claim their horns or antlers as a prize for you to wear and paint them as well. Nothing makes him more proud than everyone seeing that you belong to him.

☽ In order to make sure you are always safe, even when he isn't around, Tilion also crafts protective moon charms, infused with the light of Telperion's fruit. These are designed to keep creatures of darkness away, fearing his wrath, and may also glow to alert you to nearby danger. Not least of all they come with the additional benefit of letting everyone know that Tilion is only ever one call away.

☽ He loves to be intimate with you whenever he can, worshiping your body to his heart's content. Like his own hunt and war paint, Tilion enjoys painting your skin with matching patterns. These are expressions of love and companionship, glowing hymns to your beauty, but also marks of ownership and desire.

☽ For as hopelessly romantic as Tilion is, never forget that he's also a hunter. When lust overwhelms him, he is a passionate and wild lover, and sex with him can get rough. He enjoys chasing you, catching you and holding you down while he takes you, as well as leaving bite marks all over your body. Rest assured though that he will take good care of you after and do anything to ensure that you're comfortable and at ease.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"You are too beautiful for your own good," Tilion sighs, smiling as he kisses you on the lips. 

You are both naked, lying together on a bed of moss in the woods of Oromë, and panting heavily after a wild and lengthy chase. Of course your lover has caught you in the end and carried you to a comfortable hidden spot to enjoy his prey. 

Tilion trails his hand down your chest, your stomach, your lower body, and you spread your legs in anticipation. He wants you, you can see it; his midnight blue eyes darken with desire. 

"There you go, little deer," whispers gentle praise against your lips before pushing two fingers inside of you. "You will be all nice and wet for me soon, won't you?" 

You nod. Of course you will be; how could you not when you are with your beloved hunter, chasing your love and your pleasure with no less determination and ferocity than he chases his prey. 

Ossë

⚡︎ Ossë is a capricious and jealous lover. His feelings for you are strong and passionate, and he will fight anyone who wishes you ill - or comes closer than he would like. The storms he conjures are mighty, and even if Ulmo and Uinen stop him from giving in to his jealousy, Ossë is also a mischievous Maia who will find other ways to mess with those who have wronged you or him.

⚡︎ You will find yourself getting showered with gifts from him, various trinkets that he picks up in the oceans of Arda: Pearls, seashells, items and parts from sunken ships, bones, teeth and also all sorts of fish and sea creatures he caught for you. Ossë delights in swimming, diving and hunting to his heart's content, but most importantly coming home to you with something new to show you.

⚡︎ Just like he himself is wild and fierce, so is intimacy with him. You will find yourself completely soaked, regardless of whether he takes you in the water (as he prefers) or outside, and covered in bite and scratch marks; Ossë simply can't resist taking a bite out of something as beautiful as you are. He also loves the thought that everyone can tell what you two have done afterwards.

⚡︎ Ossë enjoys being on top of you, all around you and inside you, having his tail wrapped tightly around you. After he's done making love to you, he likes carrying you around like a precious little pearl and singing to you in ancient tongues until you fall asleep. You may also notice that, whenever you've been with him, the scent of seawater sticks with you for days.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

The sand feels warm against your skin, but Ossë's form is cool and smooth. He rolls over so he's lying on top of you, his tail wrapping around your legs, and flashes you a toothy grin, like a hungry sea monster about to devour its unfortunate prey. 

"Should I take you here, marilla? Or should I drag you to the bottom of the ocean first?" he teases. 

Clawed, webbed fingers hold onto you possessively, and Ossë wastes no time nibbling on the side of your neck as you writhe underneath him. 

"Please have mercy, o lord of storms," you gasp, entertaining his little game to entice him to go on. 

You know your words had the intended effect when you feel something hard pressing against your thigh. 

"Perhaps I will," Ossë muses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

His tail keeps its grip on your legs, and he pushes his now-exposed cock between your thighs to rut against you.

"We will even start slowly," he whispers, "but worry not. You shall feel my full strength soon enough."

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

marilla (Quenya) - pearl

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii

[minubell]

The Nyannatar brainrot is real

[greenleaf4stuff]

TROP x social media text posts (screenshots via cap-that.com) (my other trop memes)

[aeviagreenleaf]

Chapters 1 and 2 for my Saurondriel fanfiction are live and you can read them here:

Please note the rating and tags~

[mirroringdust]

Gifs // sorry for reposting this because I can seem to figure tumblr out and did it wrong the last time, bear with me

It was an illusion, crafted by his own design, forged with his own power, controlled by his ingrained will. And yet, sometimes his own will could deceive and defy him, or, however one might see it, do exactly as the heart desired. 

He realises it when he hears them speak the words, beings of his own construction and of his own doom. The words he has felt so often in his mind that hearing them being spoken out in his own vision feels like an honest storm wrapping him in. For a moment he finds himself lingering in the truth of it and feels the idea gnawing on his senses. 

His whole life he had grown used to darkness. He had turned his head away from any light that shone in the direction of his abyss. And he had thrived in it, he had gained strength, he had gained power and he had served. He had defeated enemies and pushed away every threat that had dared to knock at his impregnable fortress. It had been a blessing, not a curse.

He had felt appreciated for once, when his craft had never been appreciated by his old master. After that, he had not crafted much, but he was influencing minds and creatures of all kinds and somehow this was all his empty heart needed. It was a blessing, but it was a cruel, blackened dwelling of existence. It was not life. He had grown used to it over centuries and centuries of practising the demises of this path. Never would he have imagined to hope that there was more to experience.

But then, he had not known how the fates could turn in the matter of a moment. Losing a master had given him new opportunities instead of loss. Betrayal had given him a new life and the possibility to strive for something good at last, to fill his soul with a new essence.

They say once you have seen beauty and the world lit in colours, you see dusk over everything that was before and everything that follows thereafter. You realise what you have missed your whole, long eternity.

And he does. 

It will linger forever. The smile on her face, troubled and shattered like his own, has brightened his entire being with unforeseen sparks of breath and new vitality. The sensation of seeing everything in streaming colours. The kindred of her soul, clinging to his. Her darkness likened to his. Fighting at her side… Understanding of a kind he had never felt once before and would never thereafter.

<continue on AO3>

[tolkien-povs]

Just something about how the Legendarium started and ended in fire.

Just something about Melkor's obsession with the Flame Imperishable was the introduction to the entire story, and the destruction of the One Ring was in fire.

Just something about how Fëanáro was born in fire (as in, he stole most of his mother's fire), and ended in fire.

Just something about how Maedhros after Thangorodrim arose as a fire, and ended himself in fire.

And then something about how Nerdanel ended her fire by standing by the water her family left by.

And something about Maglor ending his fire by walking along the shores that separate him and his family.

[dinsbeskar]

In the Dark of the Night (Sauron/F!Reader)

Reader is long starved of her lover, after centuries apart, these are the fantasies that plague her in the night

Prequel: Wicked Game // Sequel: Evil Will Find Her

AO3 Link

Warnings: smut! 18+, female masturbation (reader), unprotected P in V sex, Sauron likes eating you out apparently?? Begging, praise kink, biting (only a little), kinda rough sex?? Lots of yearning, he absolutely adores you

A/N: I wrote this at 3am instead of sleeping, it is very much a "bashed it out and now I'm running away" type of fic. Is he there or isn't he?? Idk, it's up to you!! I imagined him as Annatar in this, but you're welcome to imagine any face you fancy, he is a shapeshifter after all!

There is an unending, seeking void in Middle Earth. You know it well, for it resides deep in your own being, hungry and desperate and vicious like a starved dog. It hadn't always plagued you, but after an age without your lover at your side, the void has filled the aching hole in your heart, tendrils of heavy nothing reaching out into the gloom of your bedchamber and threatening to engulf you whole.

It is in the black of night, when the darkest sky is overhead before dawn begins to break, that the void fills you the most. Sobbing has long ceased to ease your emptiness, so you lie in your feather bed, high in the elven city, and think of him, your lover's phantom figure nestled into you, fingers tracing your sides while whispers of sweet nothings pass between you. At least for a moment, you are not alone. Sometimes you swear you can hear him plain as day, your mind soothing your aching heart with memories of his scent pricking your nose as if he were right there beside you, holding you close as he used to, centuries ago. It is with those memories, those fantasies, that you think of him and touch yourself as he loved to, hand between your thighs, dancing across your chest, on your lips, needy for more.

He was quick to anger, and his wrath was nigh unchallenged, but never had you suffered it. The most gentle words and soft touches were reserved for you alone, revered and exalted in his bed, protected from the carnage his master had wrought on your kind. His soft hair grazing your face as he held himself over your trembling form, caressing every inch of you for the thousandth time as if it were the first.

You feel him next to you, on top of you, surrounding you, the smoky metallic smell of the forge permeating your bedsheets as if he'd spent these long, lonely centuries ravishing you. Your hand moves faster as you near your peak, biting back the deep moan in your throat as you picture him at the apex of your thighs, wicked tongue bringing you closer to your pleasure, tugging at your swollen clit and delving into your wet folds.

"All this for me?" You feel his smile against your mound as real as the pillow under your head. "My good girl, so ready for me, always so willing and waiting and wanting..."

His murmurs are lost to even your sensitive ears as he resumes his task, long fingers digging into your thighs so deliciously, nails dragging on your soft skin as you pull him closer, deeper, knowing he'd only beg if you refused him. Not that you ever would, at least not in jest, as you had many times before, just to see his hungry gaze grow dark and desperate. The games you used to play.

You slide a finger inside yourself, then another, always feeling him and only him, hearing him tease you as you whine for his cock.

"Good girls beg for it, my love. Are you my good girl?" You keen at his words and nod your head frantically, his fingers tracing your slit, dipping in and out at his pleasure, as he holds your gaze and fuels the fire pooling deep in your abdomen.

"Please... only yours, only for you..." Your words tumble from your lips, as a wolfish grin spreads across his handsome face.

His hands knead your flesh as he grasps your thighs to pull them apart, reverently taking in your dishevelled state, your blown pupils and swollen lips a masterpiece even Eru himself could not have imagined. His perfect creation, soft and pliant and oh so needy for him; any semblance of self control is lost as he takes his cock in hand and drives deep inside you with one thrust.

He steals every breath from your body with ravenous kisses that leave you clawing at his back, filthy wet sounds filling the air as he ruts into you, claiming every moan and whimper as a victory to his cause. You cry out his name, his real name, chanting it like a prayer, as he purrs in your ear. He pulls you apart with every touch, fingers raking through your hair, cursing in Black Speech as his orgasm approaches.

"I want to hear you, love, I need to hear you as I make you mine," he growls in your ear, low and deep, reverberating through you as he buries himself within you as if he means to never resurface.

You're only too happy to oblige, your moans unleashed from your throat as you no longer attempt to stay quiet, uncaring if anyone should hear you now. His name falls from your lips over and over as you plead for your release.

"I will make you my Queen, my love, and all Middle Earth will worship at your feet as I do," he praises you, his promises falling on deaf ears as you edge closer to what you crave.

He bites at the soft skin of your throat, licking the sheen of sweat that has collected thanks to his efforts, like a man starved of water at a desert oasis. The stretch of his cock inside you is almost too much but you take it so well for him, and he is a loving lord after all, one must be rewarded.

With one hand behind your head supporting his weight, his other hand travels from your swollen nipple downwards to your clit, circling the nub before pressing and stroking just as he has so many times before. He picks up the pace and slams his hips into yours, almost brutal in his all-consuming lust for his Queen.

You see stars and the world falls away, your walls clenching around him as he collapses onto you, the two of you entwined in body and enjoined in soul as you dissolve into pleasure, the spring that had so deliciously coiled deep in your belly finally releases, and he kisses you so sweetly you forget your own name.

As the first rays of sunlight peek through your window, you gasp, the spell broken. The bedsheets are rumpled and your fingers are wet, but the warm body that had encompassed your own only moments ago had vanished into the ether. The scent of the forge lingered long after in your nostrils, filling your heart once more with longing that could not be satisfied with one night's pleasure.

The yearning of the void was always present, and its black embrace was oh so tempting.

[love-and-doom]

What exactly Sauron thought (back in Númenor) when the white tree cried ? Did this also weighted on his decision to joing Galadriel's campaign in the southlands ? Because if you are of the mind that Halbrand!sauron was truly in his repetence journey this may have been interpreted by him as a sign that he was right after all In this case, even his relapse can be said to have been nudged by the Valar and this brings me back to him telling Prince Durin that fixing his father's realm was the way to earn back his father's respect/love

[bluetiefling]

interesting how often the ones claiming that galadriel's season 2 arc was perfect and everyone who doesn't think so is just too haladriel brainrotted or something are the same folks who openly say it's fine if she were to just... fade into the background in season 3 or disappear outright. sorry I actually do think it's sexist for galadriel to be introduced as the central protagonist only for her to be gradually phased out so that gil-galad and elendil or elrond or whichever legendarium dude can have more to do.