tangerineliqu0r

[tangerineliqu0r]

Lately, I’ve been thinking about stars and Astarion. What if he is a Pale Star? Dim — from wounds, from the hunger that gnaws at him day and night — this is his suffering. That’s why his light is faint. He yearns for light — for the days when he was truly alive.

What if stars are vampire spawn? Their time is the night — always and only. He is one among a thousand stars in the night.

Dawn often symbolizes life, a new beginning. And when the sun rises, the stars vanish. The image of the color red in a ritual can resemble the rays of dawn. So who could be The Sun?

The colour of the ritual is of course red for a number of reasons. What other colour would an infernal ritual involving blood sacrifice be? Turquoise? Of course red.

And when you put it all together it looks curious.

Themes of "power and freedom" are central for Astarion. And I love finding additional symbols — when a character, say, draws attention to something. Like red dragons, for example. It's all part of the artistic detail and aesthetic.

Astarion mentions the stars in Act 1, when he starts his "simple plan" — but that line is much deeper than it seems. Only later do we understand why.

I can see the stars from Baldur's Gate, of course, but not with such clarity.

He associates with the star. His name fits. In the evil ending, he chooses the symbol of the sun. Astarion Original can do it at any point, if you take the power of the absolute. Well, the sun is also a star, \yellow dwarf XD\ but it's the only one that can be seen during the day.

I have several thoughts as to why Astarion chose the solar symbol. One — is because he was impressed by the concentrated power of the sun.

The sun — once something he fled from, yet longed for — now lies within his grasp, to revel in.

The overarching symbolism — dawn, rebirth of the heart, stars fading into sunlight — it's beautifully cohesive.

The sun's light eclipses all others.

[tangerineliqu0r]

ovulating, need him to bend me tf over 🤤🫠

[tangerineliqu0r]

that angle i love to doodle from

[tangerineliqu0r]

anything jamie and roy please ☺️

Jamie living his childhood dream scenario nr. [???] VS Roy fighting for his life

[tangerineliqu0r]

reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

[tangerineliqu0r]

me and Microsoft word are fighting (I didn’t save my document or log in and it already recovered the document once and it’s my fault the whole thing is gone)

[tangerineliqu0r]

officially turning this into a little 3-5 part mini fic because ideas for this are eating me alive

Then It is a Good Dream

(Gil-Galad x reader)/(Sauron/Annatar x reader)

You were the only member of the envoy sent to warn Lord Celebrimbor of Sauron's disguise to make it to Eregion. Unfortunately, Sauron beat you there. You feel bound to Eregion by duty and find a welcome reprieve from the darkness in your dreams.

if you prefer reading on ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v, breeding, oral f receiving, dream sex?), noncon, manipulation bc its Annatar, Sauron is evil so so evil, reader is not winning

authors note: I definitely have more of an ending in mind for this if anyone is interested in a second or third part, it did end rather abruptly but I wanted to keep it under 5k

You arrived in Eregion on what felt like the hundredth day of rain. You were wounded and sopping wet, and your long hair stuck to your sallow cheeks. The journey from Lindon had not been easy. Orcs had slain the other elves with you, and you had managed to escape, though not without damage. You had been sent along as a guard for those carrying the message because you knew the truth of Halbrand’s identity. Now, you had one arm wrapped around your torso, holding yourself together, but just barely.

You stumbled in through the gates, searching for a familiar face among the guards who had run to you in alarm. Of course, you and the others had been warned of dangers on the roads, with orcs becoming ever stronger and present in the lands. The warning did not matter now, though, only the information you carried. Beyond the fear of death, you worried more that Sauron had already reached Lord Celebrimbor, in one form or another, to convince him to forge more rings.

You could not focus on the guard hauling you inside, your mind still swimming with worry for Lord Celebrimbor. Your mind was hazy with blood loss and the reminder of your duty.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the thick bandages wrapped around your torso. The second was that someone had washed and brushed the muddy mats out of your hair. Their efforts to return you to some semblance of care brought life you didn’t know you still carried back into your body. You had believed the wound would be fatal and had tirelessly traveled with no thoughts of your health and only of delivering your message.

“She should be awake now my Lord.” The sound of voices draws your attention to the door.

When the door opens, the kind face of Lord Celebrimbor graces your vision. He looks at you rather pityingly before your attention is drawn to an unfamiliar elf behind him. Golden hair drapes his shoulders, and he is dressed in dark robes. His face is unsettlingly calm. He stands behind Lord Celebrimbor with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the Lord with a blank gaze.

“My Lord Celebrimbor,” you greet him, attempting to sit up, though your weak body is wracked with a cough as you do.

“Be still, child; rest. Our healers have tended to your wounds. You are safe now.” He approaches your bed, resting a calming hand on your shoulder, though you know it is to prevent you from trying to rise again.

“I come from Lindon, bearing news, my Lord.” You start again, this time steadying your voice. “The rings have been successful; the great tree is healing.” Your eyes flit between the unnamed elf and Lord Celebrimbor, and you sink deeper into the heavy sheets as you speak, letting the weight dissipate from your body. You hope that to all present, it conveys your relief at telling them the news.

Lord Celebrimbor lights up at the news. His soft smile turns broad, and you cannot help the soft quirk of your lips in response. The unnamed elf with him smirks slightly before schooling his features. Lord Celebrimbor seems to notice your gaze and clears his throat before speaking. “This is Lord Annatar, my lady. He is a messenger of the Valar, a maia here to grant us his wisdom in the times to come.” He smiles at the elf looking at him with a deep kinship.

“The Lord of Gifts.” You speak slowly and your eyes flit back to the tall, fair-faced elf. Yes, this was him. You were sure of it. His eyes were cool, empty, and unsettling, his features too perfect. He was not the Lord of this Kingdom, yet he seemed to command the very air in which he breathed. Yes, you were sure that this pretender Annatar was Halbrand and, in turn, Sauron. And unluckily, it looked like he had Lord Celebrimbor wrapped around his pretty finger. The High King Gil-Galad had been right to send you along with those who had carried the message.

“Rest now, my child. Heal.” Celebrimbor is happy with the news you have delivered. Neither man notices the wariness in your voice. The two of them chat together softly as they leave your room. They speak of the forge, and Celebrimbor seems especially excited about your news and its prospects for his future work.

You lay in your bed alone when they are gone, finally able to breathe and think freely. You knew, based on the few observations of the interactions between the Lord Celebrimbor and Annatar, that you would not be able to free Lord Celebrimbor from him. His trust had been freely given. He had no reason to mistrust Annatar, and you feared that convincing him otherwise would be impossible. You worried for the Lord of Eregion, but you pushed him from your mind.

Instead, you thought of kinder things. You thought of Lindon and your King there. While Galadriel commanded the Northern armies, you commanded those of the South. You had entered his service before the second age had begun and had not left since. Your closeness with the High King was uncommon, though you were grateful for it. You were thankful for the comfort and security he provided. Now, you missed that closeness more than ever. You longed to be back in Lindon, wrapped in his sheets rather than locked in Eregion, in such close proximity to evil.

You missed him more than ever. You missed the sweet taste of his lips against your own and the feeling of his silken hair woven between your fingers. You longed to feel his skin against yours once more. And yet if he could advise you now, you knew he would encourage you to stay steadfast. He would implore you to stay in Eregion and keep a quiet watch over Lord Celebrimbor and Eregion’s other inhabitants, for it would not be safe as long as the deceiver walked its halls wearing a kind face. And so you would stay.

You rested for a week before the healers permitted you to move about Eregion freely again. Once you were allowed, though, you were readily invited by Lord Celebrimbor into the forge. Long had you known the Lord of Eregion, and even he knew you would grow restless quickly. You wished for nothing more than to return to training, return to the wilds, return to killing orcs, but the healers had forbade you from training for another week at the least, and you were now bound to Eregion by both duty and honor. So you assisted Lord Celebrimbor in the forge, little as you could.

“Fetch me my hammer, would you my Lady?” Lord Celebrimbor’s voice carries through the forge from his workbench to you. You follow his instructions with an easy demeanor. You were glad to be helpful in doing anything, and even more so to the Lord. You handed him the tool with a soft smile, glancing over his shoulder as he worked. You tried to be discreet but he noticed anyway.

“These are the latest designs for the rings, Lord Annatar has been helping me perfect them.” He sends you a soft smile, seemingly searching for approval. For an elf of such esteem, you understood how Annatar had so easily wormed his way into the man’s heart.

Your eyes flit over the pages, seven of them, you note. “They are beautiful, my Lord.” And they were. His work, despite being tainted by Annatar’s hand, was still one to marvel at. You look in awe at the pages, leaning over his shoulder. “May I?” You ask, reaching out a hand, wishing to examine them in greater detail.

He smiles brightly and stands ushering you to the seat, which you readily accept. You finger through the pages of work slowly, admiring both the beautiful strokes of charcoal and the designs they make up.

A sickly sweet voice reached your ears, though it was not Lord Celebrimbors. “Do you have much experience in smithing, Commander?” It is Annatar, the deceiver.

You look away from the pages, your fingers stilling as you glance over your shoulder to the man who has approached you and Lord Celebrimbor. “No, my Lord Annatar. I have not. But Lord Celebrimbor’s designs are beautiful all the same.” Your vision is drawn back to the pages.

“Who will carry these rings, my Lord?” You question Lord Celebrimbor. You see a glance pass between the two lords. “I apologize, my Lords, I do not mean to intrude upon your work. I will take my leave.” You stand from the table abruptly, suddenly aware that you are the other, not Lord Annatar.

“No, no, my dear child,” Lord Celebrimbor stills you with a soft word, “These are for the Dwarf Lords.” You are shocked at his admittance, and by a quick glance towards Annatar, you determine he is equally surprised, though he quickly schools his features.

You nod and consider your words carefully, knowing that they will likely determine if you are welcomed back into the forge. “If they are anything like the Elven rings, they will bring strength and security to the Dwarven cities.” You thumb through the pages again as you speak, doing so slowly as if to display awe.

Even Lord Annatar smiles softly at your words, and from that you know you’ve spoken well. Celebrimbor laughs heartily and clasps your shoulder with an excited smile.

“Yes, yes, exactly! We can give them the same ward against the darkness as we have found.” You are almost saddened by his joy. You know these rings cannot be true. To see such a great smith, so admirable a person, yet unknowing of what he would create, wracked your heart with pangs.

Lord Celebrimbor does not request your help again while you are in the forge. Instead, he lets you observe him as he works, and you notice, that Annatar observes you. He was rightfully wary of your presence. He had revealed himself to Galadriel and you had come from Lindon carrying a message from the High King himself. By all truths, he should be suspicious of you.

You are broken from your thoughts by Lord Celebrimbor’s voice. “Tomorrow we will begin forging them. But! Tonight we will celebrate the finishing of the designs.” Lord Celebrimbor is talking excitedly to Annatar, and both men are smiling.

Annatar looks away from Lord Celebrimbor to you, and you try not to shrink under his scrutiny. He speaks before you can question his observation of you. “Will you join us, Commander?” His tone is easy, but you do not trust it. Though you cannot deny him either.

“If the healers permit it.” You bow your head slightly to them.

“Nonsense! You will be under no great strain, and some wine and laughter will do you good child.” Lord Celebrimbor cuts in, quickly dismissing the only excuse you had to avoid their celebrations.

Later that night you had somehow been convinced to partake in both laughter and wine. You had more of both than you should have, given the circumstances. However, Lord Celebrimbor had refused to give you an easy night. Instead, he roped you into all the smith’s celebrations.

You had stuck to Lord Celebrimbor’s side for most of the night, watching the way the other smiths fawned over Annatar and listening to the great smith speak about whatever he wished. When he disappeared from your side and was replaced by Annatar, you were less than pleased.

“Why do you linger alone?” He sat next to you with a composure that none other in the room possessed, for they were all taken by the copious amounts of wine they’d been drinking.

“I do not belong here.” You realize, too late, that you have also had too much to drink to be speaking to the deceiver. You stiffen at your own words, your face blank if not a little sad.

He raises a brow at you but nods. “You are from Lindon, yes.” You think for a moment while he speaks. Perhaps you could gain his trust after all. You had watched him speak to each and every elf in the room tonight, charming them with pretty words, and they were all too welcome to it, due to his fair features and the wine they consumed. You knew he was gaining their trust and surely making sure none of them were threats to him. And now, he was trying to do the same to you.

You take a long drink of your wine, before letting your eyes turn to him. You understood why the others had fallen for it, his disguise, for it was a pretty one. An endearing smile graces your lips when you speak, “Ah yes, I do miss Lindon, though it is the people I miss much more.” Your mind flits to your High King and your cheeks burn red easily.

A slight smirk graces his features and with that, you are sure that your feigned drunken honesty is beginning to work. “Ah- someone waits for you in Lindon, anticipating your return.”

“Yes, I am bound to Lindon, by more than duty, my Lord.” You look down and reach for your wine glass, taking another sip before returning your eyes to his empty ones.

His eyes go to your hands, which fidget in your lap as if to draw his attention. “Though, you are unwed, are you not?” He raises a slender brow once more.

Your blush deepens further, and this time it is not due to your design. Even the tips of your ears burned red. “I am unwed. Though I am bound to another.” You clasp your hands together tightly, fiddling with your fingers to steady yourself. Elves were not known to bind themselves to partners and remain unwed. Yours would be a scandal should it be known. You knew you would never wed the High King Gil-Galad, nor did you wish to. Both of your perspectives on the matter were a rarity, and yet the two of you were content on finding comfort in each other and remaining each other’s closest friends.

He hums contemplatively and per your glance, he looks shocked. Your revelation has silenced the deceiver, though you are sure his silver tongue will not be stayed for long.

“Such devotion is admirable, Commander.” He replies and you know he is appeasing you. No true messenger of the Valar would support such a union. Any further reply he may have is halted by Lord Celebrimbor’s return.

“Ah, I am glad to see my two closest friends conversing so happily.” His cheeks are flush from the wine, and you cannot help but be amused, laughing as he joins the two of you. The three of you converse late into the night, and all the other smiths have retired when you stand and bid the men goodnight.

When you return to your rooms, you slip into your cool sheets with a lightness you have not felt in moons. You, for once, do not worry about Lord Celebrimbor or exposing your true intentions for being in Eregion. Rather, you think of Gil-Galad. You fall asleep with kind thoughts of your king dancing in your mind.

When you wake, you’re shocked, first, by the radiant light shining into your room, and second, by the realization you are in Lindon. A familiar, regal voice fills your ears and your fëa sings at the realization. Gil-Galad.

“Commander.” Your eyes find him, bathed in sunlight, his hair shining chocolate in the morning light. You spring from your bed at a speed you only possessed prior to your near-fatal injury, wrapping him in a tight hug. You bury your face in his hair, breathing in his scent, your fingers tightening in his robes.

The rumble of his chest, as he laughs, warms you in a way you did not know you craved. “What have I done to deserve such a greeting my Lady?” A large hand under your chin tilts your head back and brushes through your hair before gently cupping the side of your face.

You lean into his hand, turning so that you may kiss his palm. You press tender kisses to his hand, speaking softly against the soft skin as you do. “You have granted me a kindness and visited my dreams. I am far away and yet you are here, in my mind.”

He smiles softly, wistfully. “It is a good dream, is it not? I have long hoped I would wake in Eregion with you. It seems you have wished the same of Lindon and of me.”

You cup his cheeks softly as he speaks, your eyes searching his face. You try to account for every line and freckle gracing his cheeks, tracing them with feather-light touches as you do. “I would recount your every feature so that they are ever present in my waking mind.”

He smiles with a gentleness he is not usually graced with. You speak again, knowing your time is limited. “Come to bed, let us rest in the sunlight. We cannot be dragged away by duty here.” You take his hand, pulling him into the soft sheets with a practiced ease. He allows it, intertwining his fingers with yours.

He responds as he climbs into bed, following you, and giving you all of his attention. “You speak the truth, my love. Duty will not take us here.” You were glad for that. In Lindon, neither of you was ever indisposed for long. There were always duties to be upheld, whether they were kingly or those of a commander. Now, you were free from interruptions, save waking.

No sooner than both of you are settled in bed, does he have you atop him, pressed tightly against his chest, as he presses kisses into your hair. “You… the halls of Lindon feel empty without you gracing them.”

You sit up to observe him as he speaks, and the way he looks upon you, with such reverence, sets you alight. As does the gentle weight of his hands upon your hips. He follows your ascent though and captures your lips in a kiss. It conveys that which a thousand pretty words cannot, the longing, yearning for the closeness you once shared. You gasp into his mouth as his grip on your hips tightens, letting his tongue mingle with your own. He tastes of honey and pears, and you wonder if you taste of the deep red wine you had drunk so late into the night.

When the two of you part, your lips are but a breath from touching again, and the two of you pant, breathless from your unwillingness to part. You whisper, your words ghosting over his lips. “Gil- you feel so real. Your light shines so brightly, even here locked away within our dreams. My fëa sings at our reunion. I-”

He cups your face tenderly, affection clouding his eyes, as he gazes into yours. “Speak to me, dearest, what do you want.”

You consider him for a moment, before speaking. “I know this is only a dream. Yet, I cannot help but want you. I wish to feel your closeness, Gil. In this time, more than ever, I need you.”

He smiles again, brushing your hair from your face as he does. “You need only ask, dearest. I know this is only a dream, but I cannot fault you for that which I crave as well.”

You kiss him then, this time though, the two of you do not part at breathlessness. When your lips part, his find your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses and bites to it, that are sure to leave marks on you. When he finds the most sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder join he sucks and bites at the tender skin there, marking you as his. Your eyes close and your mouth falls open in a heady gasp. You do not feel his hands leave your hips until they are in your hair and closing around the tips of your ears, rubbing gentle teasing stokes down their points.

“Gil!” You gasp at the touch. He was usually reserved in touching that erogenous zone, as it was seen as very intimate to all elves. Despite the two of you sharing a bed often, he had only twice before felt so strongly as to breach that intimacy.

“You are so beautiful, even more so when you are gasping my name.” He smiles and his hands still for a moment before they go to your sleep shift. Sheer as it was, he wanted you bare. He looks to you for your consent though. “I want to see you. May I?”

“Please.” Your voice is thick as he pulls it from your form, baring you to him. You are quickly pulling at the ties of his robes, wishing at this moment for nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin against yours. And once his robe is discarded with your shift in a heap on the floor, you feel it. He is burning hot, and the fire of his skin sets you alight.

You roll your hips against his tentatively, testing the waters. Your thighs bracket his hips tightly, squeezing him, as you try to contain your need. His hands go to your hips and begin to guide you, moving you against his quickly hardening cock. A groan escapes his lips as your folds catch on him, making his cock shine with your wetness.

In one quick movement, he has you beneath him. You lay on your back and he sits on his haunches between your thighs, spreading your legs with his thighs, pressing them open wider, until you are completely open to him.

“So beautiful…” He trails off as his fingers ghost over your stomach and then your thighs, avoiding the place he knows you want him more than ever. He caresses down your thigh and your calf and repeats the same over the other leg, at an agonizingly slow pace. When he drags his hands back up to your center, you consider begging and he knows it. “Use your words for me, dearest, tell me what you want.”

A whine escapes your lips before you find your words, “I need you to stretch me out on your fingers, my king, please.” The plea in your voice is enough for him and when he begins by slipping two large fingers inside you with ease your back arches off the bed. He curls them inside you, reaching for the spot he knows will make you drip wetness for him.

When he finds it, he grins. He watches the way you move underneath him, writhing in pleasure, begging for more. “Gil- please- I cannot wait any longer. I need you. I need you inside me.”

“So impatient, dearest. Do you crave the feel of my cock inside you that badly?” He teases you gently, slipping his fingers out of you. You reach up and capture his wrist between your slender fingers before bringing his hand to your mouth. You lick and then suck your wetness off his fingers. He is quick to lean down and capture your lips, tasting your cunt on your lips with a groan. With that, he pushes into you, slowly, tortuously. The stretch is as straining as you remember if not more and you’re suddenly reminded of why he usually took his time opening you up. His cock was much like his stature, imposing. He did not lack in girth or length and the stretch was bordering painful every time.

You rest your forehead against his, and he waits watching your eyes carefully as you focus on relaxing to accommodate him. When it seems like you have regained your composure he begins to move. He rolls his hips, driving his cock even deeper into you, leaving both of you gasping in pleasure. He starts slowly, kissing your throat as he opens you up. You gasp and whine at the intrusion, in near bliss at the feeling of being joined with him once more. Your eyes stay locked on his as you speak, your hands clutched in his hair. “Gil- you are- by the Valar Gil.”

He takes your broken words as encouragement and picks up his pace, lifting your legs over his shoulders, sending him impossibly deeper into you. Your head falls back now, and you babble incoherently as he plows into you. Your eyes finally snap, open when one of his hands slips between the two of your to rub rough circles on your clit. He is unrelenting and your babbling has morphed into loud moans. “Gil- My King- Please-.”

“Fuck- so tight- so wet, you’re driving me mad.” He begins to speak in broken sentences, and you know he is close. He does not let up though, pounding into you relentlessly.

“Please- please- fill me with your seed, my king. Gil- please.” You know the words that will drive him over the edge and your cunt clenches tightly around him as you speak. You feel the hot spurts of his seed coating your womb as he finishes inside you with a drawn-out moan. He pumps into you a few more uneven times, making sure you’ve taken all he can give. He pulls out of you but does not let your legs down, instead lowering himself to your cunt.

His hot breath on your folds, makes you clench and tremble with anticipation. A little breathless he looks up, meeting your eyes before speaking, “I’m sorry dearest, I can’t help myself when you speak such enticing words.” He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before he dives in like a man starved. His tongue begins a steady rhythm on your clit and his fingers are back inside you before you can anticipate them. Your gasps and moans of his name fill the room.

He keeps a steady pace, each curl of his finger punctuated by his name on your lips. Your vision goes white hot when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, his fingers never letting up. You finish with a cry of his name, your legs trembling over his shoulders. He continues sucking on your swollen bud until you put a hand on his shoulder to push him away.

“Ah- Gil, please, I cannot take any more, please.” He relents, letting your legs down from his shoulders and coming up to capture your lips in a deep kiss, collapsing on top of you, as if he has suddenly lost all strength.

“Gil!” You laugh as he lays his head on your chest. You can see his feet dangling off the end of the bed. Your fingers trace intricate patterns on his back before you wind them back in his hair.

“You are incredible.” He speaks, and you find his eyes upon yours once more.

“As are you, you have no idea how much I have missed this, how much I have missed you.” You speak with a wistfulness that is only made by separation.

“Don’t I?” He speaks and it is punctuated with a poorly concealed yawn. You are sharply reminded that your time remaining is limited when you feel a yawn bubbling in your throat.

“Come up here, let us fall asleep in each other’s arms. We can pretend, if only for a moment, that this is our reality and not only a dream.” He smiles gently before crawling up and wrapping you in his hold. His strong arms cage you against his chest and his long hair drapes over your shoulder tangling with your own. You do not know how long the two of you lay like that, breathing together until you drift off.

You are woken by sunlight streaming into your room. This time, though, the first thing you notice is that you are in Eregion, in a bed that is not quite yours, with the wound on your stomach screaming in pain. You sit up in bed with a sigh, memories from your dream still fresh. The second thing you notice is the undeniable dampness between your legs. You were not surprised by this but rather how wet you seemed to be. Your hand dips under the sheets and you slip two fingers between your folds, gathering some of the wetness before bringing your hand back up. You are shocked at the blackness that coats them. Pitch black seed coats your fingers and you feel the bile rise in your throat immediately.

You are out of bed and hunched over the nearest waste basket spitting up bile within seconds. Your wound screams at you as you wretch, unable to stop.

“Such a convincing visage was it not? Much like the one you’ve been putting on for the past week.” The honeyed voice of Annatar carries through your rooms.

Your eyes find him in horror and disgust. He stands at the end of your bed, watching you with a sick curiosity and a sadistic smirk. “You are foul. Deceiver.”

“Am I? Now, dearest, let us not be rude. I thought your fëa sung at our reunion.” He repeats your words to him with a wide smile gracing his cold face. You wretch into your wastebasket once more.

[tangerineliqu0r]

ok, because i just saw a terrible take, i feel compelled to say that there is no "fic market" to "oversaturate" in fandom. good gravy.

[tangerineliqu0r]

so soft it hurts

[tangerineliqu0r]

Then It is a Good Dream

(Gil-Galad x reader)/(Sauron/Annatar x reader)

You were the only member of the envoy sent to warn Lord Celebrimbor of Sauron's disguise to make it to Eregion. Unfortunately, Sauron beat you there. You feel bound to Eregion by duty and find a welcome reprieve from the darkness in your dreams.

if you prefer reading on ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v, breeding, oral f receiving, dream sex?), noncon, manipulation bc its Annatar, Sauron is evil so so evil, reader is not winning

authors note: I definitely have more of an ending in mind for this if anyone is interested in a second or third part, it did end rather abruptly but I wanted to keep it under 5k

You arrived in Eregion on what felt like the hundredth day of rain. You were wounded and sopping wet, and your long hair stuck to your sallow cheeks. The journey from Lindon had not been easy. Orcs had slain the other elves with you, and you had managed to escape, though not without damage. You had been sent along as a guard for those carrying the message because you knew the truth of Halbrand’s identity. Now, you had one arm wrapped around your torso, holding yourself together, but just barely.

You stumbled in through the gates, searching for a familiar face among the guards who had run to you in alarm. Of course, you and the others had been warned of dangers on the roads, with orcs becoming ever stronger and present in the lands. The warning did not matter now, though, only the information you carried. Beyond the fear of death, you worried more that Sauron had already reached Lord Celebrimbor, in one form or another, to convince him to forge more rings.

You could not focus on the guard hauling you inside, your mind still swimming with worry for Lord Celebrimbor. Your mind was hazy with blood loss and the reminder of your duty.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the thick bandages wrapped around your torso. The second was that someone had washed and brushed the muddy mats out of your hair. Their efforts to return you to some semblance of care brought life you didn’t know you still carried back into your body. You had believed the wound would be fatal and had tirelessly traveled with no thoughts of your health and only of delivering your message.

“She should be awake now my Lord.” The sound of voices draws your attention to the door.

When the door opens, the kind face of Lord Celebrimbor graces your vision. He looks at you rather pityingly before your attention is drawn to an unfamiliar elf behind him. Golden hair drapes his shoulders, and he is dressed in dark robes. His face is unsettlingly calm. He stands behind Lord Celebrimbor with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the Lord with a blank gaze.

“My Lord Celebrimbor,” you greet him, attempting to sit up, though your weak body is wracked with a cough as you do.

“Be still, child; rest. Our healers have tended to your wounds. You are safe now.” He approaches your bed, resting a calming hand on your shoulder, though you know it is to prevent you from trying to rise again.

“I come from Lindon, bearing news, my Lord.” You start again, this time steadying your voice. “The rings have been successful; the great tree is healing.” Your eyes flit between the unnamed elf and Lord Celebrimbor, and you sink deeper into the heavy sheets as you speak, letting the weight dissipate from your body. You hope that to all present, it conveys your relief at telling them the news.

Lord Celebrimbor lights up at the news. His soft smile turns broad, and you cannot help the soft quirk of your lips in response. The unnamed elf with him smirks slightly before schooling his features. Lord Celebrimbor seems to notice your gaze and clears his throat before speaking. “This is Lord Annatar, my lady. He is a messenger of the Valar, a maia here to grant us his wisdom in the times to come.” He smiles at the elf looking at him with a deep kinship.

“The Lord of Gifts.” You speak slowly and your eyes flit back to the tall, fair-faced elf. Yes, this was him. You were sure of it. His eyes were cool, empty, and unsettling, his features too perfect. He was not the Lord of this Kingdom, yet he seemed to command the very air in which he breathed. Yes, you were sure that this pretender Annatar was Halbrand and, in turn, Sauron. And unluckily, it looked like he had Lord Celebrimbor wrapped around his pretty finger. The High King Gil-Galad had been right to send you along with those who had carried the message.

“Rest now, my child. Heal.” Celebrimbor is happy with the news you have delivered. Neither man notices the wariness in your voice. The two of them chat together softly as they leave your room. They speak of the forge, and Celebrimbor seems especially excited about your news and its prospects for his future work.

You lay in your bed alone when they are gone, finally able to breathe and think freely. You knew, based on the few observations of the interactions between the Lord Celebrimbor and Annatar, that you would not be able to free Lord Celebrimbor from him. His trust had been freely given. He had no reason to mistrust Annatar, and you feared that convincing him otherwise would be impossible. You worried for the Lord of Eregion, but you pushed him from your mind.

Instead, you thought of kinder things. You thought of Lindon and your King there. While Galadriel commanded the Northern armies, you commanded those of the South. You had entered his service before the second age had begun and had not left since. Your closeness with the High King was uncommon, though you were grateful for it. You were thankful for the comfort and security he provided. Now, you missed that closeness more than ever. You longed to be back in Lindon, wrapped in his sheets rather than locked in Eregion, in such close proximity to evil.

You missed him more than ever. You missed the sweet taste of his lips against your own and the feeling of his silken hair woven between your fingers. You longed to feel his skin against yours once more. And yet if he could advise you now, you knew he would encourage you to stay steadfast. He would implore you to stay in Eregion and keep a quiet watch over Lord Celebrimbor and Eregion’s other inhabitants, for it would not be safe as long as the deceiver walked its halls wearing a kind face. And so you would stay.

You rested for a week before the healers permitted you to move about Eregion freely again. Once you were allowed, though, you were readily invited by Lord Celebrimbor into the forge. Long had you known the Lord of Eregion, and even he knew you would grow restless quickly. You wished for nothing more than to return to training, return to the wilds, return to killing orcs, but the healers had forbade you from training for another week at the least, and you were now bound to Eregion by both duty and honor. So you assisted Lord Celebrimbor in the forge, little as you could.

“Fetch me my hammer, would you my Lady?” Lord Celebrimbor’s voice carries through the forge from his workbench to you. You follow his instructions with an easy demeanor. You were glad to be helpful in doing anything, and even more so to the Lord. You handed him the tool with a soft smile, glancing over his shoulder as he worked. You tried to be discreet but he noticed anyway.

“These are the latest designs for the rings, Lord Annatar has been helping me perfect them.” He sends you a soft smile, seemingly searching for approval. For an elf of such esteem, you understood how Annatar had so easily wormed his way into the man’s heart.

Your eyes flit over the pages, seven of them, you note. “They are beautiful, my Lord.” And they were. His work, despite being tainted by Annatar’s hand, was still one to marvel at. You look in awe at the pages, leaning over his shoulder. “May I?” You ask, reaching out a hand, wishing to examine them in greater detail.

He smiles brightly and stands ushering you to the seat, which you readily accept. You finger through the pages of work slowly, admiring both the beautiful strokes of charcoal and the designs they make up.

A sickly sweet voice reached your ears, though it was not Lord Celebrimbors. “Do you have much experience in smithing, Commander?” It is Annatar, the deceiver.

You look away from the pages, your fingers stilling as you glance over your shoulder to the man who has approached you and Lord Celebrimbor. “No, my Lord Annatar. I have not. But Lord Celebrimbor’s designs are beautiful all the same.” Your vision is drawn back to the pages.

“Who will carry these rings, my Lord?” You question Lord Celebrimbor. You see a glance pass between the two lords. “I apologize, my Lords, I do not mean to intrude upon your work. I will take my leave.” You stand from the table abruptly, suddenly aware that you are the other, not Lord Annatar.

“No, no, my dear child,” Lord Celebrimbor stills you with a soft word, “These are for the Dwarf Lords.” You are shocked at his admittance, and by a quick glance towards Annatar, you determine he is equally surprised, though he quickly schools his features.

You nod and consider your words carefully, knowing that they will likely determine if you are welcomed back into the forge. “If they are anything like the Elven rings, they will bring strength and security to the Dwarven cities.” You thumb through the pages again as you speak, doing so slowly as if to display awe.

Even Lord Annatar smiles softly at your words, and from that you know you’ve spoken well. Celebrimbor laughs heartily and clasps your shoulder with an excited smile.

“Yes, yes, exactly! We can give them the same ward against the darkness as we have found.” You are almost saddened by his joy. You know these rings cannot be true. To see such a great smith, so admirable a person, yet unknowing of what he would create, wracked your heart with pangs.

Lord Celebrimbor does not request your help again while you are in the forge. Instead, he lets you observe him as he works, and you notice, that Annatar observes you. He was rightfully wary of your presence. He had revealed himself to Galadriel and you had come from Lindon carrying a message from the High King himself. By all truths, he should be suspicious of you.

You are broken from your thoughts by Lord Celebrimbor’s voice. “Tomorrow we will begin forging them. But! Tonight we will celebrate the finishing of the designs.” Lord Celebrimbor is talking excitedly to Annatar, and both men are smiling.

Annatar looks away from Lord Celebrimbor to you, and you try not to shrink under his scrutiny. He speaks before you can question his observation of you. “Will you join us, Commander?” His tone is easy, but you do not trust it. Though you cannot deny him either.

“If the healers permit it.” You bow your head slightly to them.

“Nonsense! You will be under no great strain, and some wine and laughter will do you good child.” Lord Celebrimbor cuts in, quickly dismissing the only excuse you had to avoid their celebrations.

Later that night you had somehow been convinced to partake in both laughter and wine. You had more of both than you should have, given the circumstances. However, Lord Celebrimbor had refused to give you an easy night. Instead, he roped you into all the smith’s celebrations.

You had stuck to Lord Celebrimbor’s side for most of the night, watching the way the other smiths fawned over Annatar and listening to the great smith speak about whatever he wished. When he disappeared from your side and was replaced by Annatar, you were less than pleased.

“Why do you linger alone?” He sat next to you with a composure that none other in the room possessed, for they were all taken by the copious amounts of wine they’d been drinking.

“I do not belong here.” You realize, too late, that you have also had too much to drink to be speaking to the deceiver. You stiffen at your own words, your face blank if not a little sad.

He raises a brow at you but nods. “You are from Lindon, yes.” You think for a moment while he speaks. Perhaps you could gain his trust after all. You had watched him speak to each and every elf in the room tonight, charming them with pretty words, and they were all too welcome to it, due to his fair features and the wine they consumed. You knew he was gaining their trust and surely making sure none of them were threats to him. And now, he was trying to do the same to you.

You take a long drink of your wine, before letting your eyes turn to him. You understood why the others had fallen for it, his disguise, for it was a pretty one. An endearing smile graces your lips when you speak, “Ah yes, I do miss Lindon, though it is the people I miss much more.” Your mind flits to your High King and your cheeks burn red easily.

A slight smirk graces his features and with that, you are sure that your feigned drunken honesty is beginning to work. “Ah- someone waits for you in Lindon, anticipating your return.”

“Yes, I am bound to Lindon, by more than duty, my Lord.” You look down and reach for your wine glass, taking another sip before returning your eyes to his empty ones.

His eyes go to your hands, which fidget in your lap as if to draw his attention. “Though, you are unwed, are you not?” He raises a slender brow once more.

Your blush deepens further, and this time it is not due to your design. Even the tips of your ears burned red. “I am unwed. Though I am bound to another.” You clasp your hands together tightly, fiddling with your fingers to steady yourself. Elves were not known to bind themselves to partners and remain unwed. Yours would be a scandal should it be known. You knew you would never wed the High King Gil-Galad, nor did you wish to. Both of your perspectives on the matter were a rarity, and yet the two of you were content on finding comfort in each other and remaining each other’s closest friends.

He hums contemplatively and per your glance, he looks shocked. Your revelation has silenced the deceiver, though you are sure his silver tongue will not be stayed for long.

“Such devotion is admirable, Commander.” He replies and you know he is appeasing you. No true messenger of the Valar would support such a union. Any further reply he may have is halted by Lord Celebrimbor’s return.

“Ah, I am glad to see my two closest friends conversing so happily.” His cheeks are flush from the wine, and you cannot help but be amused, laughing as he joins the two of you. The three of you converse late into the night, and all the other smiths have retired when you stand and bid the men goodnight.

When you return to your rooms, you slip into your cool sheets with a lightness you have not felt in moons. You, for once, do not worry about Lord Celebrimbor or exposing your true intentions for being in Eregion. Rather, you think of Gil-Galad. You fall asleep with kind thoughts of your king dancing in your mind.

When you wake, you’re shocked, first, by the radiant light shining into your room, and second, by the realization you are in Lindon. A familiar, regal voice fills your ears and your fëa sings at the realization. Gil-Galad.

“Commander.” Your eyes find him, bathed in sunlight, his hair shining chocolate in the morning light. You spring from your bed at a speed you only possessed prior to your near-fatal injury, wrapping him in a tight hug. You bury your face in his hair, breathing in his scent, your fingers tightening in his robes.

The rumble of his chest, as he laughs, warms you in a way you did not know you craved. “What have I done to deserve such a greeting my Lady?” A large hand under your chin tilts your head back and brushes through your hair before gently cupping the side of your face.

You lean into his hand, turning so that you may kiss his palm. You press tender kisses to his hand, speaking softly against the soft skin as you do. “You have granted me a kindness and visited my dreams. I am far away and yet you are here, in my mind.”

He smiles softly, wistfully. “It is a good dream, is it not? I have long hoped I would wake in Eregion with you. It seems you have wished the same of Lindon and of me.”

You cup his cheeks softly as he speaks, your eyes searching his face. You try to account for every line and freckle gracing his cheeks, tracing them with feather-light touches as you do. “I would recount your every feature so that they are ever present in my waking mind.”

He smiles with a gentleness he is not usually graced with. You speak again, knowing your time is limited. “Come to bed, let us rest in the sunlight. We cannot be dragged away by duty here.” You take his hand, pulling him into the soft sheets with a practiced ease. He allows it, intertwining his fingers with yours.

He responds as he climbs into bed, following you, and giving you all of his attention. “You speak the truth, my love. Duty will not take us here.” You were glad for that. In Lindon, neither of you was ever indisposed for long. There were always duties to be upheld, whether they were kingly or those of a commander. Now, you were free from interruptions, save waking.

No sooner than both of you are settled in bed, does he have you atop him, pressed tightly against his chest, as he presses kisses into your hair. “You… the halls of Lindon feel empty without you gracing them.”

You sit up to observe him as he speaks, and the way he looks upon you, with such reverence, sets you alight. As does the gentle weight of his hands upon your hips. He follows your ascent though and captures your lips in a kiss. It conveys that which a thousand pretty words cannot, the longing, yearning for the closeness you once shared. You gasp into his mouth as his grip on your hips tightens, letting his tongue mingle with your own. He tastes of honey and pears, and you wonder if you taste of the deep red wine you had drunk so late into the night.

When the two of you part, your lips are but a breath from touching again, and the two of you pant, breathless from your unwillingness to part. You whisper, your words ghosting over his lips. “Gil- you feel so real. Your light shines so brightly, even here locked away within our dreams. My fëa sings at our reunion. I-”

He cups your face tenderly, affection clouding his eyes, as he gazes into yours. “Speak to me, dearest, what do you want.”

You consider him for a moment, before speaking. “I know this is only a dream. Yet, I cannot help but want you. I wish to feel your closeness, Gil. In this time, more than ever, I need you.”

He smiles again, brushing your hair from your face as he does. “You need only ask, dearest. I know this is only a dream, but I cannot fault you for that which I crave as well.”

You kiss him then, this time though, the two of you do not part at breathlessness. When your lips part, his find your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses and bites to it, that are sure to leave marks on you. When he finds the most sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder join he sucks and bites at the tender skin there, marking you as his. Your eyes close and your mouth falls open in a heady gasp. You do not feel his hands leave your hips until they are in your hair and closing around the tips of your ears, rubbing gentle teasing stokes down their points.

“Gil!” You gasp at the touch. He was usually reserved in touching that erogenous zone, as it was seen as very intimate to all elves. Despite the two of you sharing a bed often, he had only twice before felt so strongly as to breach that intimacy.

“You are so beautiful, even more so when you are gasping my name.” He smiles and his hands still for a moment before they go to your sleep shift. Sheer as it was, he wanted you bare. He looks to you for your consent though. “I want to see you. May I?”

“Please.” Your voice is thick as he pulls it from your form, baring you to him. You are quickly pulling at the ties of his robes, wishing at this moment for nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin against yours. And once his robe is discarded with your shift in a heap on the floor, you feel it. He is burning hot, and the fire of his skin sets you alight.

You roll your hips against his tentatively, testing the waters. Your thighs bracket his hips tightly, squeezing him, as you try to contain your need. His hands go to your hips and begin to guide you, moving you against his quickly hardening cock. A groan escapes his lips as your folds catch on him, making his cock shine with your wetness.

In one quick movement, he has you beneath him. You lay on your back and he sits on his haunches between your thighs, spreading your legs with his thighs, pressing them open wider, until you are completely open to him.

“So beautiful…” He trails off as his fingers ghost over your stomach and then your thighs, avoiding the place he knows you want him more than ever. He caresses down your thigh and your calf and repeats the same over the other leg, at an agonizingly slow pace. When he drags his hands back up to your center, you consider begging and he knows it. “Use your words for me, dearest, tell me what you want.”

A whine escapes your lips before you find your words, “I need you to stretch me out on your fingers, my king, please.” The plea in your voice is enough for him and when he begins by slipping two large fingers inside you with ease your back arches off the bed. He curls them inside you, reaching for the spot he knows will make you drip wetness for him.

When he finds it, he grins. He watches the way you move underneath him, writhing in pleasure, begging for more. “Gil- please- I cannot wait any longer. I need you. I need you inside me.”

“So impatient, dearest. Do you crave the feel of my cock inside you that badly?” He teases you gently, slipping his fingers out of you. You reach up and capture his wrist between your slender fingers before bringing his hand to your mouth. You lick and then suck your wetness off his fingers. He is quick to lean down and capture your lips, tasting your cunt on your lips with a groan. With that, he pushes into you, slowly, tortuously. The stretch is as straining as you remember if not more and you’re suddenly reminded of why he usually took his time opening you up. His cock was much like his stature, imposing. He did not lack in girth or length and the stretch was bordering painful every time.

You rest your forehead against his, and he waits watching your eyes carefully as you focus on relaxing to accommodate him. When it seems like you have regained your composure he begins to move. He rolls his hips, driving his cock even deeper into you, leaving both of you gasping in pleasure. He starts slowly, kissing your throat as he opens you up. You gasp and whine at the intrusion, in near bliss at the feeling of being joined with him once more. Your eyes stay locked on his as you speak, your hands clutched in his hair. “Gil- you are- by the Valar Gil.”

He takes your broken words as encouragement and picks up his pace, lifting your legs over his shoulders, sending him impossibly deeper into you. Your head falls back now, and you babble incoherently as he plows into you. Your eyes finally snap, open when one of his hands slips between the two of your to rub rough circles on your clit. He is unrelenting and your babbling has morphed into loud moans. “Gil- My King- Please-.”

“Fuck- so tight- so wet, you’re driving me mad.” He begins to speak in broken sentences, and you know he is close. He does not let up though, pounding into you relentlessly.

“Please- please- fill me with your seed, my king. Gil- please.” You know the words that will drive him over the edge and your cunt clenches tightly around him as you speak. You feel the hot spurts of his seed coating your womb as he finishes inside you with a drawn-out moan. He pumps into you a few more uneven times, making sure you’ve taken all he can give. He pulls out of you but does not let your legs down, instead lowering himself to your cunt.

His hot breath on your folds, makes you clench and tremble with anticipation. A little breathless he looks up, meeting your eyes before speaking, “I’m sorry dearest, I can’t help myself when you speak such enticing words.” He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before he dives in like a man starved. His tongue begins a steady rhythm on your clit and his fingers are back inside you before you can anticipate them. Your gasps and moans of his name fill the room.

He keeps a steady pace, each curl of his finger punctuated by his name on your lips. Your vision goes white hot when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, his fingers never letting up. You finish with a cry of his name, your legs trembling over his shoulders. He continues sucking on your swollen bud until you put a hand on his shoulder to push him away.

“Ah- Gil, please, I cannot take any more, please.” He relents, letting your legs down from his shoulders and coming up to capture your lips in a deep kiss, collapsing on top of you, as if he has suddenly lost all strength.

“Gil!” You laugh as he lays his head on your chest. You can see his feet dangling off the end of the bed. Your fingers trace intricate patterns on his back before you wind them back in his hair.

“You are incredible.” He speaks, and you find his eyes upon yours once more.

“As are you, you have no idea how much I have missed this, how much I have missed you.” You speak with a wistfulness that is only made by separation.

“Don’t I?” He speaks and it is punctuated with a poorly concealed yawn. You are sharply reminded that your time remaining is limited when you feel a yawn bubbling in your throat.

“Come up here, let us fall asleep in each other’s arms. We can pretend, if only for a moment, that this is our reality and not only a dream.” He smiles gently before crawling up and wrapping you in his hold. His strong arms cage you against his chest and his long hair drapes over your shoulder tangling with your own. You do not know how long the two of you lay like that, breathing together until you drift off.

You are woken by sunlight streaming into your room. This time, though, the first thing you notice is that you are in Eregion, in a bed that is not quite yours, with the wound on your stomach screaming in pain. You sit up in bed with a sigh, memories from your dream still fresh. The second thing you notice is the undeniable dampness between your legs. You were not surprised by this but rather how wet you seemed to be. Your hand dips under the sheets and you slip two fingers between your folds, gathering some of the wetness before bringing your hand back up. You are shocked at the blackness that coats them. Pitch black seed coats your fingers and you feel the bile rise in your throat immediately.

You are out of bed and hunched over the nearest waste basket spitting up bile within seconds. Your wound screams at you as you wretch, unable to stop.

“Such a convincing visage was it not? Much like the one you’ve been putting on for the past week.” The honeyed voice of Annatar carries through your rooms.

Your eyes find him in horror and disgust. He stands at the end of your bed, watching you with a sick curiosity and a sadistic smirk. “You are foul. Deceiver.”

“Am I? Now, dearest, let us not be rude. I thought your fëa sung at our reunion.” He repeats your words to him with a wide smile gracing his cold face. You wretch into your wastebasket once more.

[tangerineliqu0r]

Time for some sweet sweet dreams of elven smiths and high kings

[tangerineliqu0r]

Please Request Stuff!

Requests are open because I'm desperate for prompts and I need to practice writing more so that I can get back into it. I'm down to do oneshots, blurbs, character ships, NSFW alphabet, and more just ask :)

There's nothing I won't write, so feel free to request whatever. I'm on a huge Rings of Power, Hobbit, and LOTR kick right now so I'd love requests for that, but I'm adding a list of fandoms below and specific characters I'm down for in the tags.

Request HERE!

Fandoms LOTR / Hobbit / ROP Game of Thrones Harry Potter Marvel Ted Lasso ^these are probably the ones I'm most familiar with but there's definitely more I'd be willing to write for!

[tangerineliqu0r]

How to show emotions

Part IV

How to show bitterness

tightness around their eyes

pinched mouth

sour expression on their face

crossed arms

snorting angrily

turning their eyes upward

shaking their head

How to show hysteria

fast breathing

chest heaving

trembling of their hands

weak knees, giving in

tears flowing down their face uncontrollably

laughing while crying

not being able to stand still

How to show awe

tension leaving their body

shoulders dropping

standing still

opening mouth

slack jaw

not being able to speak correctly

slowed down breathing

wide eyes open

softening their gaze

staring unabashingly

How to show shame

vacant stare

looking down

turning their head away

cannot look at another person

putting their head into their hands

shaking their head

How to show being flustered

blushing

looking down

nervous smile

sharp intake of breath

quickening of breath

blinking rapidly

breaking eye contact

trying to busy their hands

playing with their hair

fidgeting with their fingers

opening mouth without speaking

More: How to write emotions Masterpost

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[tangerineliqu0r]

100 Dialogue Tags You Can Use Instead of “Said”

For the writers struggling to rid themselves of the classic ‘said’. Some are repeated in different categories since they fit multiple ones (but those are counted once so it adds up to 100 new words). 

1. Neutral Tags 

Straightforward and unobtrusive dialogue tags: 

Added, Replied, Stated, Remarked, Responded, Observed, Acknowledged, Commented, Noted, Voiced, Expressed, Shared, Answered, Mentioned, Declared.

2. Questioning Tags 

Curious, interrogative dialogue tags:

Asked, Queried, Wondered, Probed, Inquired, Requested, Pondered, Demanded, Challenged, Interjected, Investigated, Countered, Snapped, Pleaded, Insisted.

3. Emotive Tags 

Emotional dialogue tags:

Exclaimed, Shouted, Sobbed, Whispered, Cried, Hissed, Gasped, Laughed, Screamed, Stammered, Wailed, Murmured, Snarled, Choked, Barked.

4. Descriptive Tags 

Insightful, tonal dialogue tags: 

Muttered, Mumbled, Yelled, Uttered, Roared, Bellowed, Drawled, Spoke, Shrieked, Boomed, Snapped, Groaned, Rasped, Purred, Croaked.

5. Action-Oriented Tags 

Movement-based dialogue tags: 

Announced, Admitted, Interrupted, Joked, Suggested, Offered, Explained, Repeated, Advised, Warned, Agreed, Confirmed, Ordered, Reassured, Stated.

6. Conflict Tags 

Argumentative, defiant dialogue tags:

Argued, Snapped, Retorted, Rebuked, Disputed, Objected, Contested, Barked, Protested, Countered, Growled, Scoffed, Sneered, Challenged, Huffed.

7. Agreement Tags 

Understanding, compliant dialogue tags: 

Agreed, Assented, Nodded, Confirmed, Replied, Conceded, Acknowledged, Accepted, Affirmed, Yielded, Supported, Echoed, Consented, Promised, Concurred.

8. Disagreement Tags 

Resistant, defiant dialogue tags: 

Denied, Disagreed, Refused, Argued, Contradicted, Insisted, Protested, Objected, Rejected, Declined, Countered, Challenged, Snubbed, Dismissed, Rebuked.

9. Confused Tags 

Hesitant, uncertain dialogue tags:

Stammered, Hesitated, Fumbled, Babbled, Mumbled, Faltered, Stumbled, Wondered, Pondered, Stuttered, Blurted, Doubted, Confessed, Vacillated.

10. Surprise Tags

Shock-inducing dialogue tags:

Gasped, Stunned, Exclaimed, Blurted, Wondered, Staggered, Marvelled, Breathed, Recoiled, Jumped, Yelped, Shrieked, Stammered.

Note: everyone is entitled to their own opinion. No I am NOT telling people to abandon said and use these. Yes I understand that said is often good enough, but sometimes you WANT to draw attention to how the character is speaking. If you think adding an action/movement to your dialogue is 'good enough' hate to break it to you but that ruins immersion much more than a casual 'mumbled'. And for the last time: this is just a resource list, CALM DOWN. Hope that covers all the annoyingly redundant replies :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[tangerineliqu0r]

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god

[tangerineliqu0r]

Trust Me

(Sauron/Annatar x reader)

You, an old friend of Celebrimbor, work on tending his forge. You don't trust his new ally, Annatar. He decides to make you trust him in one way or another.

if you prefer reading on ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v, choking, bathtub), manipulation bc its Annatar, dubious consent maybe?, death threats that neither of them know if they're keeping, they hate each other, even if he keeps a good guise

As you pause in your work, your lithe fingers brush fallen strands of hair from your damp forehead. Lord Celebrimbor had been working tirelessly, perhaps even maddeningly, as of late. Since Lord Annatar had come to stay in Eregion, Lord Celebrimbor had worked with a fervor you had not seen from him in ages. And with his renewed vigor came the necessity of your service.

You, an old friend of Lord Celebrimbor, had been called to assist in the forge many years ago, and with the arrival of Lord Annatar, he had called on you once again. You had answered, fetching him the supplies he needed, cleaning the forge, and primarily ensuring the coals were ever burning.

Now, your brow was heavy with sweat as you shoveled the still-burning coals in the fire, turning them to the back so that you could add more. Lord Celebrimbor had long retired, as had any of the smiths in his service. Any disturbances in the forge were ignored by you as you focused on your sole task of making sure the forge would burn increasingly hot when Lord Celebrimbor returned.

Your sensitive ears failed to recognize the door opening nor the quiet footsteps entering the forge as you continued to push your muscles to their limit, your arms burning from the effort or the flames, you were not sure which.

“My Lady, I did not know you worked so late into the night.” The refined words of Lord Annatar reach your ears.

You’re startled by his voice, though it does not show as you continue your work and respond over the roaring fire you have painstakingly built up.

“The fire must be tended, my Lord Annatar.” You speak loud and clear, working to push another shovel of coal into the forge.

A hand on your shoulder does visibly startle you though, and your shovel clangs against the forge as your hands slip down the handle. Your head whips around to face the Lord, though your face remains composed.

“How may I assist you my Lord?” Your gaze finds his and your voice, though hesitant is firm.

You search his face for some sign of malign, though you find nothing within his perfectly crafted composure. While Celebrimbor had graciously welcomed this servant of the Valar, you had not accepted him as readily. You had warned your friend against him even, his crafted visage and ambition raising your hackles.

“I only wished to speak with you, if you can abandon the flames for a moment.” He speaks with a gentle smile, one you had come to mistrust.

Your gaze flickers to the forge, where you and he knew the flames had reached an appropriate height already. His careful choice of words, something to pry you from your work, had already dragged your defensive walls up again. You did not trust the Lord of Gifts, no matter Lord Celebrimbor’s rapid acceptance of him.

You set your shovel down with little sound and a nod before following the Lord away from the fire. As he reached a workbench and sat, you begrudgingly did as well. Despite your mistrust of the man you did not wish for him to turn any ire to you, for fear of being expelled from the forge and thus separated further from your dear friend Lord Celebrimbor. You wished not to abandon him to this shrouded man’s hands and whims.

As you sit your muscles ache, yet ever weary of his presence your gaze lands on his face, his expression unreadable, despite your searching.

“I wished to inquire of our dear friend, Lord Celebrimbor. He seems rather frantic as of late, unsteady,” he inquires gently. His tone is smooth and kind, but your hackles are already raised from being alone in such close quarters with him, someone you believed to be manipulating your friend.

You cannot help the narrowing of your eyes on him. “I assure you, our friend is quite well. He only immerses himself in his work.”

A gentle hum leaves the man’s lips and he looks deep in thought for a moment. You cannot help but think it a ruse, a trick of some sort. Why was he suddenly asking you about Lord Celebrimbor? He had never sought you out before in this manner, and it worried you. You were fearful for your friend despite what you told Lord Annatar. He would not have approached you had he not sensed your mistrust. You were sure he was trying to weasel his way into your graces through some mock care for your friend.

“I only wondered if you had any insight into his state of mind, as you and he have been close friends for some time.” Lord Annatar smiles and speaks in a way you’re sure is meant to be reassuring, comforting even, but all it does is make the hair on your arms stand up.

You sigh and shake your head, “Celebrimbor will drown himself in this work before he sees it fail. And the two of you have begun the arduous task of crafting these rings. The fire of this forge has burned hotter in his time with you than it has in many a year,” you reply, your voice as tired as you look.

He inclines his head, much like a dog you think. “And how do you fare, my Lady?”

You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms, looking at him as if trying to read a language you do not speak, confusion and wariness etched across your tired features.

“I am well, I am glad my friend has rekindled his passion again,” you cautiously speak, unwilling to reveal any of your true thoughts to Annatar still. You knew he was not to be trusted, despite your lack of evidence.

You see him open his mouth as if to speak some other falsely kind words, intending to enchant you to him as he has done all the others in Eregion, but you cut him off.

“I’m afraid it is time for me to retire, my Lord, I have grown weary from my work.”

With a stiff bow and one last glance at his disguised face, you leave. Your feet carry you to the bathhouse, eager to wash the soot from your weary body. You longed for nothing more than to be finished with the crafting of the rings, though now the only thing on your mind was submerging your aching muscles in the steamy waters.

No sooner had you entered the bathhouse, had you stripped bare of your clothes and sunk into the hot water.

Your long hair pooled in the water and you submerged yourself before resting your head back and closing your eyes, intent on enjoying the scalding water for as long as your skin could endure it. Your thoughts of Celebrimbor and the rings and Lord Annatar begin to drift into nothingness as the hot steam invades your senses. The heat did nothing to deter you; your body was used to the high temperatures from tending the forge, your arms and hands already scarred with burns. You knew not how long you laid like that, the haze of the heat blurring your senses and emptying your mind.

The contact of a hand on your bare hot shoulder sent water splashing as you sat up. The hand did not attempt to hold you in place, though and you spun around in the water to confront the person disturbing you. Lord Annatar.

“I’m sorry to disturb you my Lady. It is not safe to sleep in the baths, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Annatar chided with a teasing lilt.

You are quiet for a beat, as your eyes are quickly distracted by the way he seems to be removing his robes. He was not here to bathe, surely. He was sure to have a personal bath in his rooms. And here you were, naked, your guard down. You were sure he had done this on purpose, followed you, and waited for the right time to intrude, seeking to entrap you as he had everyone else.

“I was not sleeping my Lord, just relaxing in the bath, alone.” Your voice comes out angrier than you intended, your last word little more than a hiss.

You do not avert your eyes as he continues to disrobe, instead scrutinizing him as though it will deter the man. Your eyes follow the hard planes of his body. Despite your mistrust, a man built as he was must have been sent by the Valar. Your cheeks burn a shameful pink, though you do not drag your eyes away as he continues to undress.

“Do you not have a personal bath within your rooms? I’m sure Lord Celebrimbor would not let an emissary of the Valar sully himself with the waters of a public bathhouse.” You’re almost shocked by more words snaking out of your lips. You’re more than sure that your own kind façade has been burnt away by the steam.

“I do not mind.” His voice is too kind to be trusted and before you can respond he is discarding the last of his clothes. You let your eyes trail over him, intent on running him off, and despite it he is slinking into the water, close enough to reach out and grasp your shoulder again, should he wish to.

Your sigh is heavy but you do not grant him any more words, instead returning to resting your head back, as if to show him that his unwelcome presence will not disturb you. Your brow is damp, and your throat bobs as you rest.

The bath is quiet, except for the sound of yours and now his breaths and the occasional splash as he submerges himself.

“You do not trust me.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and the honey-sweet tenor of his voice makes your skin crawl.

You crack open an eye to look at him. He had moved much closer, too close now, and his amber eyes were trained on you. They did not linger on your eyes though. They skirted down your face and neck, under the clear waters of the bath, and down your form. While you were unnerved by his unabashed staring, you did not let it silence you.

“You have done nothing to earn it.” Your voice is stiff and your words catch in your throat as you close your eyes again. You would not let him charm nor scare you into being his ally.

“Have I not given your friend a newfound purpose?” You can feel his breath on your face as he speaks his voice full of conviction, almost accusatory. “Have I not brought such vigor into him as of late?”

Your eyes snap open and you gasp in both shock and perhaps pain, when one of his hands finds purchase in your long hair, grasping at it tightly as he continues to speak, the other winding around your jaw.

“What have I done to deserve such ire from you, my Lady?” Your gasp is shamefully loud this time as his breath fans across your pointed ear.

“My Lord-” your voice is pitched up and you attempt to move against his hold, “Release me, at once!”

You can feel his lips on your ear when he speaks this time, “I will do no such thing unless you can dignify me with an explanation.”

After a beat of silence, you feel his tongue slipping up the point of your ear, unfortunately setting your skin ablaze and drawing yet another heady gasp from your lips.

“I-” You cannot give him a reasonable response. There is no response you can justify that does not make you seem mad.

It was not entirely unexpected when his soft lips close around the point of your ear and his teeth nip at it, though it does force a slight moan out of your lips.

The grip on your jaw is released and replaced by his lips, painting you with searing kisses  “I have done only good in my time here, gifting your people with such power.”

“You- you-” You cannot get your voice to work, his rough grip on your hair and the unrelenting press of his lips muddling your mind.

He draws back, this time moving his spare hand to your throat, wrenching your head as if to force you to look at him and speak. “Go on, my Lady.” His voice is teasing and sinister, and you know now that you have no chance of escaping his ire.

Your narrowed eyes meet his and find some trace of amusement, at the way he had been able to manipulate you already.

“You are not who you say you are. I- know it.” His tight grip on your throat makes it near impossible to grate your words out. “You are using Lord Celebrimbor- though I cannot say what for.”

At your words, you see an expression other than amusement or false nicety dance across his face for a moment, an expression mirroring your own, distrust.

“Am I?” He questions, in a way that makes you question yourself. Is he? Were you wrong? Was this charming man truly that and all he said he was?

Any response you may have had is swallowed by his lips as he kisses you, his hand tightening further around your throat. You’re sure there will be bruises if he doesn’t drown you in the baths. His lips are blazing against your own as he bites your lips forcing you to open your mouth and let his scorching tongue lap against your own.

And you do the only thing you know to do, return in kind. Your own teeth bite, not nip, at his lips as you kiss, and he strangles the life out of you. You’re not sure when he released his grip on your hair, but it doesn’t matter anymore as you begin to see dark spots in your vision and realize slowly that you cannot draw breath, be it from his hand or his lips.

He pulls back when you draw blood from his bottom lip, releasing your throat and eyeing you venomously. Finally, you had stripped him of the false mask he wore so often.

“Must you be so unwilling to accept the gifts I have brought Lord Celebrimbor? And you in turn?”

You draw a shaking gasp, fighting to draw in the breath you had been so brusquely deprived of.

“Will you not let me earn your trust, my lady?” His voice was honeyed again, and the contrast made your head spin.

“Earn my trust? I would sooner be drowned in these baths.” You hiss at him, an intoxicating amount of fear, anger, and arousal bubbling in your stomach.

“That can be arranged, sweetling. Though I think you’ll find letting me earn your trust much more pleasurable.” His silky words are combined with a disarmingly cunning face and you cannot help but scoff in response, the water splashing as you move further away from him.

“Though-” he trails off for a moment a smirk painting his face, “I think you forget about your dear friend. If I am as sinister as you imply, should you truly wish to leave him alone with me?”

Your eyes scan his face, which is easily composed into a kinder look as you study him.

You weigh your options. Despite your experience in battle and your hardened muscles, you could not overpower him, that had been made clear enough to you. He would drown you in this very bath should he wish to. And Lord Celebrimbor, your trusting fool of a friend, would be left to deal with the dark man on his own. The other option was to let him earn your trust. If his actions had been any indication as to how he would do so, he would defile you most pleasingly.

“Earn your trust then, though do not think it will be easy.” Your voice is ice, despite the heat of the baths. You wonder if the heat was getting to your head, driving you mad.

“I would expect not,” and there that smirk was again. This time he seemed rather pleased though.

You had no time to respond before he was upon you again, his hand finding your throat again and hauling you close to him. Your back was pressed against his damp chest and he used the hand on your throat to wrench your head to the side, teeth going to your ever-sensitive ear again.  

You kept your mouth shut, though your eyes rolled back in barely restrained pleasure as he nipped and tongued at the tip. You were going mad, you were sure of it now. He was all fire, and it was surely going to your head, melting away any semblance of reason.

His free hand dipped below the water and found your breasts. His almost gentle touches there were a sharp contrast to the way he handled your throat. You could not help the way you squeezed your thighs together in response. A gasp is finally torn from your lips as he quirks your stiff nipples and runs his hot tongue over the tip of your ear again. Your own body seemed to want nothing more than to betray the mistrust you held for him.

When his hand leaves your breasts and skirts down your stomach to your cunt, any resignation or protest dies on your lips. You arch your back into him needily, pressing your ass into his hard cock and squirming against him as his fingertips ghost over your inner thigh. His tantalizing fingers map your hips and thighs twice over before he ghosts over your cunt, barely touching you.

A needy whine slips out of your lips, the loudest sound you’ve made thus far, and a chuckle leaves his venomous lips, taunting you.

“Now mellon nin, I thought you promised a challenge?” That false kindness is ever present, despite the teasing tone he has taken with you and you despise it. Despite your resolve, you cannot find any words to answer him with, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

This seems to have spurred him on though and his grip on your throat tightens as he taunts you.

“I want to hear you beg mellon. Trust me and I will give you release, that I can promise.” His words were some mixture of sweetness and cunning, and it disarmed you. You finally understood how Lord Celebrimbor had fallen so easily into his clutches. His taunts remind you of the situation and against your better judgment, you begin to fight against his hold once more, struggling against his grasp on you. However, the more you fought, the tighter his grasp on your throat became.

Too fast, using the threatening hand on your throat, he has spun you around to face him, leaving your thighs bracketing his. “Beg. I want to hear your pretty voice.” He was back to cunning again, and his lips nearly brushed yours as he spoke, breathing the words onto your lips. His amber eyes bore into your own, and you could not help but feel that you must obey him. Your resolve is weakened further, and you find the words slipping through your lips before you can do otherwise.

“Please, my Lord Annatar. Please. I trust you. Please.” Your eyes are glassy with need and your words come out more of a desperate gasp than coherence. Your composure had been lost somewhere in his grasp.

The hand that has been firmly wrapped around your throat for too long skates up the side of your face to stroke your cheek, almost kindly, and you preen. Your mind is hazy with want and the heat from the bath, and you cannot make sense of your own actions or words anymore. Leaning into his touch, you tuned out the part of your mind that willed you not to trust him, the part that screamed he was dangerous.

His hands wind down your body again. This time to grip your hips and begin to guide you down on his cock. You let out another needy whine and begin to beg without his prompting. You knew not if your actions were out of fear or need anymore.

“Please, please, my lord. Fill me, please. I need- please,” you gasp out your voice barely over a whisper.

And when he thrusts up into you fully, your head falls back in ecstasy and you moan loud and intoxicating. He lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding and your hands go to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He gives you a moment, searching your eyes for pain before that dreadful hand wraps back around your throat and drags you to his lips for a scorching kiss. You focus on riding him, too drunk on the fullness of his cock to care about properness or your resolve anymore. He bites your lips and kisses you while fucking up into your willing cunt. You try to continue to match his pace but your muddled mind cannot keep up to control your body.

Despite you riding him, you knew who was in control really. He had maintained his composure so well and he was manipulating you as if you were some metal in the forge. His free hand slipped between the two of you and began to touch your clit for the first time. It only takes a few rough circles of his fingers before you’re gasping into his mouth and squeezing his cock like a vice.

You were almost ashamed at how fast you’d fallen apart at his touch, a man you had readily expressed your mistrust for time and time again. You hated him, that was certain, though your body wasn’t on the same page as you trembled around him.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you? So pliable. So trusting.” You barely hear the words as you rest your head on his shoulder, whining as he refuses to let up with either his finger or his cock. His pace was brutal, his cock stretching your needy cunt with each rough thrust of his hips.

“Annatar, please. Please. Please.” Tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks as he continues to rub the swollen bud and pound into you with the fervor of a beast.

He does not relent. Instead, increasing his pace. Your pleas have become sobs as you clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin and clutching at his honey-colored hair. He who has been mostly quiet save a few groans begins to moan into your ear. You know he’s getting close when his fingers stutter on your clit, losing their rhythm a bit. It’s not enough to stop another release being dragged from your needy body though and you cry out, cunt clenching tightly around his cock as you cum again. Your legs tremble and you sob into his shoulder as you ride it out, his punishing fingers never relenting.

With a few more brutally hard thrusts up into you, he moans, loud and long, and spills inside you, continuing to pump his seed deep into your cunt as he finishes. His breaths are hard, though he doesn’t slip out of you yet. Instead, he raises his head to look at you. His amber eyes burn as though they were the heart of the forge. And you, your judgment clouded by your still trembling body and the heat, kiss him. You’re gentle, seeking some reprieve from the punishing way he’d been fucking you and choking you. Your tears paint his cheeks but you do not care now.

“So sweet. So pretty the way you fall apart.” His voice is broken by his pants though it is no less charming.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just looking at you in that calculating, cunning way he does. Your face is tear-streaked and flushed, your eyes glassy, and you rest your head on his shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing in you, almost a threat, almost a promise. His hand finds your throat again, gently this time, as he makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Have I earned your trust now mellon nin?” That disguised, honeyed voice is back and plying you.

[tangerineliqu0r]

Computer. Iris by the goo goo dolls. Loud enough to kill.