#Sauron fic

[pursuitseternal]

Hello my partner-in-crime!

Could I pretty please have Sauron x Reader with prompt number 7: "Can you feel how much I want you?"

Love you! ❤️😘

“𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊…”

First Age Sauron x f!Reader | Dead Dove | 3.7K

Summary: There is no hope in Angband, in the dungeons of the Dark Vala…. But there is the Servant. Sauron.

A master craftsman and artist, forever seeking perfection, obsessed with creating his own beauty, and yet a victim of torment by his master that twists his sense of creativity to something vile and precious only to him.

CW: Dead dove: Do Not Eat, graphic violence, torture porn, bondage, temperature play, forge sex, corruption, marking branding biting, mind breaking, mind control, body worship, First Age Sauron, if evil why (literally) hot

Ao3 link | Tolkien Masterlist

You can see your breath, hear your heart beating slower and slower with each passing hour. Languishing. A slow death. A painful death. A merciless one that meant to break you without hope.

There is no hope in Angband.

Even the floors here are ice. Not even prison rats scurry around your cell. Your pointed ears have long grown deaf to the noises of the dungeon, numb from the icy chill of this evil frozen North. The chains on your neck and wrists have long since frozen to your skin. Death will be a relief, you sigh, when once again you’ll see the shores of Valinor and find comfort in the Halls of Mandos.

That thought makes your heart warm just enough to last a few more beats. But then you hear them—footsteps—lighter than Orc, more graceful than Balrog… and your body stiffens as you hear that sound on the icy air.

Humming. Music. Means one thing. Ainur.

Please not the Dark Lord, you beg to divine forces too far away to hear you. Your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. But you hope not this time.

“Do not fear,” that voice croons from the shadows. His presence seems to instantly thaw your extremities, warmth seeping in where there had only been cold for so, so long. You see eyes and movement in the darkness, but from his stature and bearing, you know it’s not the Lord of Angband…

It is the Servant.

His gaze is sharp, eyes darting over your crumpled mess of a body nearly frozen to the floor. His hair is bright; reds like blood and oranges like flames hang in long waves down his back and shoulders. His voice seems to tickle right in your ear, even at this distance, even as he stalks closer towards the bars of your cell. “Do not fear, I’m here to free you.”

“Wh-what?” You croak, the truth of those words do not deceive you, no matter how much you long for them to be true.

Those lips twitch as with a wave of his hand, the iron door swings open, the groaning hinges echoing against stone. “Well,” he suddenly sounds sharp, exacting, “free you from your cell, Elf. You are by no means free, not in body or in will, nor will you ever be again.”

Reality smacks you, your chest constricting.

“The Dark Lord has no need of such a small, frail Elf like you,” he strides in, grasping your chin in fingers impossibly hot. His touch sears like the fires of the forge, the stink of brimstone and smoke fill your nose. “You’d make a weak, pathetic Orc.” Then he shoves you by your face back to the ground at his feet. Your manacled hands catch yourself just in time to keep your nose from smashing against stone.

“Fortunately, what is unfit to serve the Master is deemed worthy of his Servant,” that voice returns to such silken, lilting tones, and you look into his face. His bright brown eyes rake over you, assessing and evaluating your worth, as if you were a precious gem examined for the flaws in your cut.

Those eyes, the more you stare into them, the brighter they seem to shine, a mix of golden browns that bubble and simmer with flame. You see them, the ripples of his power that creep beneath this disguise of a mortal form. “Come,” he orders you, those frozen irons and chains melting from your skin to clatter on the floor around you. “There is much work to be done.”

His grip on your wrist tightens, and you realize with certainty that his skin is hot… flushed and searing you by touch alone. It would frighten you, if it wasn’t for the sense of reprieve it gives from the biting cold that has settled in your bones from your imprisonment. If anything, you draw your scantily clad body closer to his, seeking that thawing sensation…his black robes barely brush your flesh, The bared skin of your arms, even patches of your torso where your gown has shredded to rags with violence and time crave to be nearer.

It feels so… good. After so long in the cold alone, to feel another’s touch, it makes you melt. He guides you through the dark, and even though your jaw aches from that fleeting ferocity in your cell, you can’t help but wish for more warmth shared against your skin.

The memory should terrify you but… it doesn’t. Your mind only remembers how good those fingers felt, their warmth, their command…

And you crave more against your better judgment. You would call it hope, but there is no hope in Angband. No hope. Only craving. As if you know that the only thing that awaits you is fire and blissful burning.

Shadows deepen as you walk, those brown-orange eyes flicker at you beside him as you both ascend the darkened stairs. That scent of smoke and ashen stone that clings to his skin suffocates you. Your frail lungs burn with every inhale, and as you reach the ascent, you see why.

No ice prison, he’s brought you to a massive forge. Torches burn and flicker, but no light is brighter than the gaping maw of a furnace. Orange flame reflects in his eye as he scans you. Grip deathly tight on your wrist, he leads you with graceful movements… lithe and sinuous. Like a snake.

Like a predator stalking his prey.

The faintest of smiles turns his full lips, and he stops you beside a great metal anvil… wide and long and big enough for any great creation. You recall the tales of such things from those of your kind who had come from Valinor, from the workshops of Aulë himself, or of Fëanor and his descendants.

It is on this warm, dark metal that he effortlessly lifts you up to seat you. Its surface is roughened with divets and grooves, the scars of the Servant’s work spanning its face. That relaxing heat creeps through the skin of your ass and climbs your spine until you feel a smile stretch on your cracked lips.

His fingers wander their soothing touch over your collarbone, the slightest push guides you to lay back on the heated anvil. You stare into the ceiling, seeing only the gathering darkness offset by rippling steam and flickering light. His touch continues to dance on your chest, tracing the parts of you where starvation has prodded your bones towards the surface.

And that sharp face, that handsome face, smiles… so warmly. “The Dark Lord insists that we each are forged in the shadows, that what has once been bathed in the light is made anew in the dark. Morgoth’s way is to maim… to ruin and torture and kill the light of beings he drafts into his service…”

You see a flicker behind his eyes, a memory of his own past perhaps, you surmise. A recollection none too pleasant as it darkens his gaze and stiffens the corners of his smiling lips.

Then, he turns that smile down upon you, spread so perfectly on his anvil. “But such is not my way. I am no jailer or executioner. I am an artisan, a craftsman of greatest skill, and I shall make you anew, my treasure.”

His fingers trace your gaunt face, warming it, caressing the spots that have grown stiff and lined with fear. His voice is dulcet, sweet and singsong as he purrs down, and you want nothing more than to feel those full, smirking lips on your skin and taste the sweet promises that drip from his tongue. Before you even realize your need, before you can name your inner burning as desire, two words fall from your panting mouth. “My Lord…” you whisper.

And the Servant smiles. It’s radiant, a flash of brightness in his eye and a brilliance to his grin. But he tuts his tongue, chiding you for the youthful creation you are. “Tsk, none of that. I am no Dark Lord. I am called many things… Admirable, Abominable… Gorthaur… Sauron…”

His hands come to rest at the top of your throat, a slight pressure around your neck as his thumb traces your lower lip.

“But you, my treasure, you shall call me by one simple word…. Hîr.”

Master.

Your breath catches in your burning lungs, your tongue already noiselessly testing out the syllable as it dances at its tip.

His reddish brows arch, pleased at your submission as he can see every little twitch of your mouth.

“You are a rare beauty,” he whispers, “the undiluted blessing of the One shines in the skin of the Elves, their eyes still bright with the memory of the Two Trees…”

He peers into yours, almost wistful, as if he longs to catch a glimpse of that Starlight to capture for his own. Sauron lowers his mouth, hovering just out of reach of your own lips. The scent of his forge is so strong, you can taste it, you are lost in the wash of his singeing breath on your face. “Hîr,” you obediently rasp, arching off the anvil to catch his lips.

And he lets you, lips and tongue so overwhelmingly warm, there is no sensation in your body other than his mouth as he devours.

Wave after wave of his mouth on yours, you fail to sense the snaking of chains around your arms and legs until they have chinched themselves bitingly hard into your flesh. Then you panic, your heart thundering no longer from pure arousal, but that wild rhythm of racing fear. You tug at them, fight them, and with one last desperate plea, you beg for Manwë, Varda… Eru himself to hear you.

But there is no rescue, no whisper of a reply to your prayers.

There is only Sauron’s shimmering toothy smile in the dark as his eyes dance over your form… spread so perfectly for him to work with. “Do you know, my treasure, why I’ve loathed the beauty of the Elves? Eru chose to bless you, to gift your kind the wisdom and graces first given only to me, to my kind… and you squander them. You cannot fathom, cannot see the greater purpose such power could serve.”

He’s pacing between your body and his tools, spread so evenly and orderly beside him. A long iron brand in his grip, he sticks it in the opening of the furnace.

The hissing of metal heating makes you shiver. Makes your skin crawl.

Fingers pull away the rest of your rags, baring every bit of your taut skin to his flickering gaze. “You are beautiful, but it is shallow, it is false. And I, my treasure, will purify you. I’ll remake you in my image and likeness, a thing of incomparable radiance ....” You whine as his hands wrap their warmth around your breasts. “You now are a thing to be admired… as I once was,” he croons down at you, pulling your ass to the edge of the anvil, your chain impossibly tight around your arms, breaking you in their unyielding hold as your legs hang down precariously.

Those lips press searing kisses down your neck, over the places where your mortal heart is thundering. His eyes flash up at you, and in that moment, you swear you see the reflection of the furnace beside you. Or perhaps it is more… the power that lies barely concealed in this handsome, sensual form. Those full lips wrap around one nipple, then the other, an inferno drummed up at his call races through your veins.

It is agony, hot and wild, that courses in your flesh. Never would one of your kind be so… wanton. Lust feeds your form, every bit of your skin wants to be touched… and the more he caresses your breasts and trails his mouth lower over the hollow of your belly, the less you care if that contact is pleasure… or pain.

They are one under his command, your mind purrs to your reason. Every thought reduces to the mere sensation of his mouth, his hands that press now between your spread thighs. The moment his tongue touches you, parting your folds to taste you, an unholy sound tears from your lips. Flames pulse through your veins, every lick and swirl of his tongue draws ungodly ecstacy. You weep for the feeling, the overwhelming waves of pleasure he coaxes from your nearly-broken body as if he drew your very soul, your fëa, to the surface.

Words tumble from your lips, nonsensical and varied in language until it is one word over and over again. You rasp it, cry it, scream it as he brings you right to the edge of your climax… Hîr… Hîr… Master.

His laughter tickles your flesh and your mind all at once, the sensation of his presence in your skull and his tongue in your walls throws you into oblivion. Your climax slams into you, all fire and heat and tension as he withdraws from you in that moment of bliss. Your chain grows impossibly tighter as you convulse on the metal beneath you, and for a split second, you wonder where he has gone….

At first you think it’s the ice of your prison again that slices through the warm pool of pleasure in your belly. But then, you open your eyes… it is not ice but white hot fire on your skin as his brand marks your inner thigh. The hissing, the steam, the scent of charming flesh takes over your pleasure, stealing it from your body. And all the while, he smirks down from between your soaked thighs. Orange hair catches the glow of the brand as he lifts it, a satisfied glint in the flames of his own gaze.

Fear races down your nerves, every corner of your being screams at you to fight, to run and resist… the pain almost breaks through those tendrils of shadow that have woven into your senses. And now, as you inhale, you can smell it.

Death. Ashen and purifying. You see him, eyes ringed in flame and breath blackened like smoke… your heart could burst from your need to resist…

Until you feel his hands on your skin again, that warmth somehow driving the dread back into the recesses of your mind.

That teasing touch traces the prongs of his mark, three of them, ugly and deformed, a perversion of the pronged crown that rests on the Dark Lord, the Dark Vala’s head.

Your body shakes with the shock of pain, even as he presses his lips to kiss that angry flesh. “Ninya,” he whispers against it. Mine.

The pain intensifies as he removes his touch, the euphoria of your climax dulling to leave you with only the searing agony he’s caused in its wake. “Mine, and like me, you shall be remade from admirable to abominable… and I will always possess you.”

The sound of liquid swirls in glass, the soft tapping of a brush against its rim… he stands over you, eyes roaming your bared form and lingering on the places he deems most worthy… or is it unworthy?

“The light of the Valar still shines too brightly on your skin, so soft almost like pearls of the Sea… it too shall have to be remade,” he rasps. The black bottle in his hand coming closer, the wooden brush wiping the excess fluid before he brings it to your legs.

The bite of acid eats at your skin, burning you, tearing you inside out. That music in his voice invades your mind, warping the pain into a warm sort of pleasure. Every drip of acid on your flesh as he paints higher and higher… your thighs, your belly… it shifts into that hot coil of need roiling behind your navel.

He doesn’t slather you, he’s not destroying you… it’s painstaking and exact the way he draws into your skin, making it burn and hiss and bubble anew. Remaking. Whirls and swirls and swipes in the precise places his critical eye deems worthy.

It’s agony… blissful agony… Every scream from your throat breaks into a moan. The perversion of your pain into bliss brings a drugged sort of grin to your face. The grin of a fool.

He sets the brush back inside the bottle, his hand tracing the rises and valleys of your face, your sharpened cheekbones, the hollows of your cheeks. His fingers dance on your wincing face, warm and burning, a herald of the pain you know he’s about to inflict. Your heart will surely explode, and your death might just be the final offering you make… But then, he cups your cheek, fingers laced in the mess of your long and knotted hair.

“Don’t be afraid, my treasure. You are being oh so brave… oh so valiant as you are remade.” His kiss instantly numbs your pain and slows your heart, the torture of resistance in your mind instantly silenced. That coil of need flames anew as his hand wanders back over your mound, dipping that addictive touch into your slick.

You gasp, eyes rolled back, spine arching off the anvil’s metal. Then you look into his face, the abyss of fire and darkness behind his eyes sucks you inside, lost to anything but the sensations of his fingers that tease you and torture you in a different way. A more pleasing way.

His fingers slide so easily, playing you like an instrument in his grasp. Your moans are the melody of his composing, the bucking of your hips keeps a steady rhythm, one perfectly timed to the thrust of his fingers. His mouth on yours once more, the biting of his teeth on your lips, the growls of his own pleasure in his throat form a counterpoint so intoxicating, there is nothing left but the music of him finger fucking you.

All that pain that is bound in your nerves and coiled in your belly bursts… white hot and violent as you come. Then, you scream until your voice cracks, until your vocal chords are fried from the force and volume he demands from your spent form.

“Good, my treasure…” he rasps against your lips as they fall silent. “Ninya… you’ve done so well,” he purrs into your pointed ear as the world grows dark to your vision, as your body gives in and falls unconscious. Those little praises bring a twisted smile to your face as you drift into oblivion. “When you wake, you’ll be mine alone, mine forever… the most beautiful abomination I have yet crafted…”

And the final sensation to pierce through the veil of your slumber is the sting of acid on your forehead and cheek… the flicker of pain plunging you completely into the darkness at long last.

There is no hope in Angband… There is also no time. Only darkness and craving. Hunger and satisfaction.

Pain. And pleasure.

It’s a lesson you are taught nightly, at least you assume it’s nightly… whenever it is that Sauron returns to his chambers where you are kept sequestered away. The chains from his forge are gone, replaced with elegant links of gold and gem-entrusted trappings that hang on your frame. Your hands fiddle with them, where they drape down your arms in layers, where they sweep over your bare skin to your middle.

You’ve long forgotten the feeling of clothes. There is only the bed and your elegant chains, the heat of his touch and the sting of his biting teeth and burning brand and lashing whips.

You wish that your memories would dim… that the burden of your elven heritage would forsake you as easily as that fair, starkissed body you once called your own. Tears prick your eyes, your own fingers steadily tracing your once soft skin, touch dancing over blade scars and the rough ridges of his burning… the brands of his possession forever glaring at you from your thighs, not unlike those ghostly flickering eyes that haunt you each day… whether Sauron visits you or not.

“Mairaza…” the whisper brushes your mind before it settles in your ear. “My precious…” you’ve learned his new tongue… this speech he’s created for his servants, for you.

The warmth of his body seeps into you from behind, that scent of fire, of ash and smoke and forge excites you now… it conjures that swirl of damp heat in your cunt. Already you grit your teeth, craving in excess, hungering for more. The thin chains of gold and jewels clink and jingle as those calloused hands caress your body. He lingers over his marks, the scars of his pleasure-pain that have molded you into his own creation.

“Can you feel it, Mairaza, can you feel how much I want you?”

You clench around nothingness, hoping beyond hope that he fills you soon and grants you release this time.

Soft words of his own invented tongue purr inside your brain, praising your scars, the healed-over bubbles of flesh from that day he claimed you…

Sauron turns you, your attention lost in the bottomless depth of his eyes as those magical fingers caress the scars that curve in serpentine shapes over your cheeks. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasps. “Can you feel how much I want you, body and soul?” his lips whisper against your own. “Can you feel how much you are mine, Ninya?”

The words do not come to you outloud; they flood your very being, racing to your awareness down the tether that binds you to him.

That taste of his mouth swallows you whole, and there is nothing left of hope and peace. All that remains is the fire of lust and the darkness of desire. You cannot escape, nor would you seek to anymore. No lies or deception are required any longer, for you feel his want and crave his attentions…

He is always in your mind, his marks always on your body… his greatest creation. For now.

A gift to @myfavouritelunatic for her ask, for @marimosalad for betaing and inspired by @ogyscrypt and his masterpiece of a nsfw audio you should totally check out… Link on Reddit

[honeyfarts666]

An Ocean of Tears

A Sauron Redemption Fic

Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Animal Friends, Secret Child

Chapter 1: Prolog: A Begining Centuries in the Making  Chapter 2: Odd Companions Chapter 3: A Young Adventurer Chapter 4: The Wanderer Child  Chapter 5: A Procession of Elves Chapter 6: A Great Adversary Chapter 7: The Last Day in Rivendell Chapter 8: The Arrow Chapter 9: Don't Let Go

New! Chapter 10: A Brief Reunion on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Torture Before the Sublime a smutty "deleted scene" (Also I made a mood board for Halbrand’s Garden)

Chapter Excerpt:

Halbrand rose slowly. He had no desire to startle her but the two of them were too far away to have a proper conversation. And that was what he needed to happen: a proper conversation. It was impossible to avoid now.

With slow, cautious steps, he walked toward them. At that moment, part of him wished he had fled before Galadriel woke. He had saved her life but, knowing her, that would do nothing to improve her mood.

@helenvader @rebelrebelwrites @coraleethroughthelookingglass @restless-tides @ringsofpowerfans @starladyy @perplecta @shia-the-buff @klynnvakarian @eowyn7023 @ringsofpowersource

Halbrand had imagined his reunion with Galadriel thousands of times in thousands of ways. Sometimes in a deep forest, the golden leaves of autumn falling around them like stars burning with enough passion to match their own. Sometimes it was on a battlefield in the Land of Ash, smoke twisting and concealing until they finally found each other. Sometimes in his home in the Greenwood where she would find him toiling away for the good of everyone but himself. And sometimes in the little garden where they last parted ways, the babbling stream soothing their hurts and time mending their hearts. He yearned for their reunion. But, in his soul, he couldn’t escape the reality that she would never trust him, even if she did love him.

In all his years of longing, he had never once dreamed it would be like this.

He watched as Estion ran to Galadriel and threw his arms around her. She tenderly brushed the hair from his face and held him gently. He didn’t dare breathe lest he disturb their reunion. The sight was more powerful and moving than anything he had ever witnessed. More lovely than Telperion and Laurelin. More brilliant than the Silmarills. More divine than even Luthien herself! This beautiful, radiant woman had given him a child as beautiful as she. He had never felt more unworthy but he never wanted the sight before him to end.

The moment shattered when Galadriel saw him. Her body language instantly changed. Her eyes grew wide with fear. She pulled Estion closer and wrapped her arms around him protectively. Estion also noticed the change in her. He glanced between Galadriel and Halbrand, failing to see the danger that she saw. “Mother!” Estion said with annoyance as he attempted to free himself from Galadriel’s iron grip. “It’s okay! He’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” Galadriel asked incredulously.

Halbrand rose slowly. He had no desire to startle her but the two of them were too far away to have a proper conversation. And that was what he needed to happen: a proper conversation. It was impossible to avoid now.

With slow, cautious steps, he walked toward them. At that moment, part of him wished he had fled before Galadriel woke. He had saved her life but, knowing her, that would do nothing to improve her mood. He sat down again a few feet away from them, his heart pounding and his mind racing. He folded his too-long limbs, cursing every choice he made when forming his body. Curse his pride! Curse his naivety! Curse his panging heart! He had no idea what he was going to say. What could he say that wouldn’t instantly set off the fire that also burned in her? He managed to mutter, “How is your shoulder?” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Stiff,” was Galadriel’s hoarse response. Her wide eyes were glued to him, never leaving him even for an instant.

It was too much for Halbrand. He could barely meet her eye for a second let alone hold her gaze. He took a shuddering breath, “So…”

“So…” Galadriel replied.

He managed to look at her for a moment. There was a soft blush spreading down her cheeks. It seemed that she was embarrassed too. That at least was a small comfort to Halbrand. Though his shame was certainly much deeper than hers. He was the one who had left her. He was the one who abandoned her and their child. He scratched his neck, anything to fill the awful silence that stretched on like the void.

Estion wouldn’t stop glancing between them. He had sat with Estion all night until the boy had fallen asleep. He couldn’t believe how easily Estion trusted him. The boy didn’t hesitate at all when he curled up in Halbrand’s arms and drifted into the world of dreams. He had imagined such a moment. The weight of his child resting against his chest. Feeling his breath come in and out in that steady rhythm. He hadn’t slept a wink. He didn’t dare. Only Eru knew if he would ever have the chance to hold Estion again. He didn’t think it was likely. Not with Manwë’s judgment looming ever nearer.

A thought occurred to him in the dark of the night. A vision came into his mind of a glorious palace, glowing with the light of the sun. He stood in the grand hall adorned in robes of gold and white. And next to him, stood Estion, a few years older and a few inches taller. He could not hear any words spoken, but in the vision, Estion looked at him with rapturous devotion. As any son would regard his beloved father.

At least, so he imagined. He had no idea what the relationship between fathers and sons was supposed to be. He recalled a distant memory, from his days in Valenor, when he had spied upon Fëanor and Finwë. The affection Finwë had for Fëanor was plain to see. Jealousy had run deep in his veins that day. Not only was Fëanor’s feeble smith work prized above his own, but he also had the bond of family guarding him, caring for him, loving him.

Illuvatar framed himself as the father of the Maia and Valar. But Illuvatar was a higher being. A being more unfathomable to him than the Valar were to mortal men. He had never felt loved by Eru. Only favored or, more often, unfavored. It was a cold relationship if it even existed at all. And the Valar’s complete ban on sexual relations between Maia only made matters worse. Marriages were only permitted upon approval. The Valar preferred for their servants to be available to them, not tending to their own families. Aulë, in particular, rarely allowed his acolytes to wed. It was a solemn existence driven by lonely, stoic devotion. Never building for himself, but only for the glory of a god who didn’t even recognize his personhood.

Morgoth reveled in fornication. He loved to assign who was to fuck whom. He particularly loved to breed new, unspeakable creatures. The Valar would have never guessed but Angband was filled to the brim with children. From orcs to dragons to werewolves, all servants of the Dark Lord spawned new generations of slaves. But Morgoth had never allowed a child to take root in any of Sauron’s partners. No, he would not allow such a child. Perhaps Morgoth was worried it would have inspired notions of grandeur in Sauron. More likely, he thought, it was Morgoth’s unrelenting fear of Luthien. Half-Maia. Half-Elf. Luthien was unlike any other creature in Arda. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be so powerful and neither had Morgoth. After the theft of the Silmarill, the Dark Lord performed his anger but in his heart, he became terrified of what the half-breeds could wreak upon him.

Now, after so many centuries of solitude, Halbrand had a family. A child and a woman who, though she wasn’t his wife, depended on him. The heavy burden of this new position weighed on him. He felt a drive to provide for them everything they needed or could ever want. He had told Galadriel he would make her a queen. No she-elf would have been so radiant in a crown of light. Nor any of them so deserving as she. And he would make their son a prince. They would never sleep in the dirt again. Nor would anyone dare whisper against them.

In his heart, he was tempted. It would be so easy. He wouldn’t even have to take the ring. He could guide Estion to do everything. It would be his kingdom, after all. The boy had already proved himself a natural magician. With him to guide Estion and Galadriel to temper them, they would rule Middle Earth with grace and dignity, ushering in a new age of peace and enlightenment.

Halbrand’s grip around Estion’s arm tightened and he swallowed hard. He wanted that future. He wanted his family to be safe and secure. He wanted them to have the high positions they so deserved. Halbrand released a shuddering breath. It was all he could do to stop the sob that threatened to ring out from his soul. He knew that future could never be. Galadriel had made that clear long ago. His constant quest for power was what frightened her the most. She would never allow their son to be pulled into any plot of his. Estion looked so much like him. Maybe there were other similarities between them. Maybe Estion was also susceptible to the sway of darkness. Maybe Galadriel was right to keep his terrible influence away from their son.

None of it mattered; Manwë would find him soon.

Estion had woken with the first light of dawn. He seemed startled at first like he didn’t remember where he was. But when they met eyes, Estion smiled and relaxed. He stretched and twisted. And then he was up and ready for the new day. He had an unrelenting spirit. The boy had been through so much hardship yet he was the most joyful and curious creature Halbrand had ever known. They spent much of the early morning watching a procession of ants carry food to their hill. Estion cheered them on and left them bits of his meager breakfast. When Halbrand gave the ants some of his own food, Estion gave him a smile that could have melted all the snow in the frozen north.

Halbrand wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth. To pull the boy into his embrace and say the words, “You are my son!” But he restrained himself. What for, he couldn’t say. Manwë would arrive at any moment and then he would never see Estion again. Yet, each time he looked at Galadriel, still asleep on the clearing floor, he knew he could not betray her. Not again. He would abide by her wishes even to his own doom.

Yet, now that she was awake, he doubted she would give him his heart’s desire.

Estion glanced between them, turning his head back and forth to study each of them. Eventually, he said, “I met him in the Greenwood. When… I used your ring.” With that, he pulled Nenya from his finger and placed it in Galadriel’s hand. As he did, it seemed to Halbrand that an imperceptible ringing ceased. Whatever unintentional magic Estion had used to guard the grove had ended. It sent a shiver through Halbrand and made him feel exposed.

Galadriel examined the ring before slipping it back onto her finger. “Yes, that’s right,” she murmured. “You’ve been playing with things that are not toys.”

“I know! I’m sorry!” Estion cried. “I didn’t mean to. I just put it on and it took me to the Greenwood and then I found Halbrand.”

Galadriel paused for a moment, clearly thinking through her words carefully. “And what did you talk about in the Greenwood?” She glanced back to Halbrand. She was trying to figure out how much Estion knew. Halbrand felt his cheeks warming into a blush. Just as he suspected, no trust remained between them.

“Mostly about Teonwer the cat,” Estion quickly replied, not picking up on Galadriel’s subtle tones. “And then Halbrand told me about being a Maia.”

Galadriel’s eyebrows raised in alarm. But before she could say anything, Estion cut in, “He’s a different Halbrand! I think the ring must have mixed them up. Because, when I put the ring on, I was thinking about how I wanted to find my father. But the ring brought me to this Halbrand instead.”

Halbrand didn’t know what to make of Estion’s words. A different Halbrand? Unless… He glanced back to Galadriel. Her cheeks burned bright red, and her eyes glistened with a sensation that he was all too familiar with: shame. And then the realization hit him. This stubborn elf had only told their son half of the truth! She told Estion that his father was a mortal man. To be fair, she had believed he was a mortal when Estion was conceived. But it did not erase her lie.

“I had no idea there were so many Halbrands walking Arda,” Halbrand laughed. “If I had known, perhaps I would have chosen a different name.”

Galadriel stiffened at his tone and pulled Estion close again. “You have many names,” she said harshly. “I believe Deciever is one.”

Halbrand set his jaw. She was testing him. Pushing him. Punishing him. She wanted him to snap, to shout, and show his anger. To show what he truly was. She wanted her worst suspicions confirmed so she could be done with him for good. She would have to try harder.

“The same could be said of you, Galadriel,” he murmured.

Galadriel lifted her chin and straightened her back. “What else was I to do?” She shot at him, “You left me with little choice.”

Halbrand took a heavy breath. He needed to release his pride or she would never forgive him. He looked to the heavens. Through all the long years of his solitude, he had come to believe that Eru had not abandoned him. That the light of the One may yet favor him again. He was not one for prayers but with his soul, he cried out for guidance. Then he looked at Estion. The boy’s face was turned into a frown, clearly perplexed by the conversation happening around him. He looked confused and unsure and perhaps a bit frightened. A mirror image of his mother.

Halbrand sighed, “Well, what do you choose now?”

Galadriel furrowed her brow. “What?”

“What do you choose now?” he repeated. “What do you wish me to do?”

Galadriel just stared at him. Her jaw opened and then shut again quickly, thinking better of whatever she nearly said.

“If you wish for me to leave now, I will,” Halbrand continued.

Still, she said nothing. She only stared at him with her piercing blue eyes. She may as well have been a witch for how her look enchanted him. He had forgotten what an astounding physical effect her eyes had on him.

“Tell me how you came to be here,” She demanded as she directed her burning gaze upon him. Estion too turned to him with a quizzical brow.

He cleared his throat again. By Eru, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been nervous. Yet, here he was, with his stomach churning and sweat dripping from his palms. “I uh… flew here.”

Galadriel frowned but Estion’s eyes lit up. “Maia can fly?” He asked with eagerness.

Halbrand couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Not without help,” he answered, “I met a Great Eagle a week ago.”

Estion gasped, “A Great Eagle?”

Halbrand nodded. He looked at Galadriel and saw her pursed lips and judgmental stare. She didn’t need to say anything. She didn’t believe him. “Galadriel?” he asked softly.

Her jaw tightened as he said her name. He instantly wished he had remained silent but there was no taking it back now. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” she asked with spite lacing each word.

Halbrand didn’t know how to respond. Of course, she had no right to trust him. The last time they spoke, he had nearly drowned her and left her for dead. He knew she wouldn’t die. He hadn’t ever wanted that. He had been hurt by her rejection and he reacted like a spoiled child. And then there was the matter of his deceit. His lie of omission. His careful words designed to make her believe he was mortal. Now, she would never believe any word that came out of his mouth and it was his own fault. He sighed, “No, I didn’t think you would even let me talk this much.”

The hard frown on her face softened slightly but didn’t relent. Estion’s face twisted into a mess of confusion. He glanced back and forth between them constantly as if he couldn’t decide whose reaction he was more interested in.

“I never intended to disturb you,” Halbrand continued, “Either of you. I only came because you were at death’s door. I couldn’t let that happen. Not when it was in my power to stop it.”

Galadriel nodded as she touched the wound on her shoulder. “So, what now?”

Halbrand furrowed his brow. “What now?”

“Yes,” Galadriel replied, clearly losing patience, “What now?”

“I, uh… I haven’t thought about it,” he muttered, cursing himself and his lack of foresight. It was completely unlike him to be unprepared. Yet, here he was, sounding like an idiot. Or worse, like he was trying to manipulate his way into their lives. He cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to ask, why are you on the run? What happened?”

Galadriel took a breath to steady herself. She took her time, calculating her words carefully. Finally, she replied, “Gil-Galad knows who you truly are.”

Halbrand furrowed his brow. Why would that affect them? Unless… He glanced at Estion again, taking in the truly striking resemblance between them: high cheekbones, light brown hair falling in gentle curls, and those unusual green eyes. The horrible realization hit him in the chest like a hammer. “Gil-Galad persecutes you… because I… because of me?” he asked.

Galadriel nodded solemnly.

Anger filled him. A seething, white-hot rage simmered just below the surface of his skin. The only thing keeping it contained was his desperate need to show Galadriel how much he had changed. Neither she nor Estion deserved to experience his anger. He wouldn’t allow his short temper to come between them again. He swallowed his anger, forcing it down. But he wouldn’t let it go. He would save it for when he met Gil-Galad face to face.

So far, Galadriel seemed intent not to mention the family ties that bound the three of them together. He couldn’t blame her. Her priority was protecting Estion, as was his. But now, having to dance around the subject was more than he could bear.

The whole time, Estion rested his head against his mother’s shoulder and studied Halbrand. It was like the boy could see past his skin and peer at his soul. Halbrand wondered what the boy saw. What lay beneath? Was it anything worthwhile? Anything that could be saved? Someone worth saving? Someone who could be a good father?

Silence settled again with only the babbling of the stream and birds chirping to break it until Teonwer started screeching from the bushes. Halbrand had nearly forgotten the cat. He had been so focused on Estion and Galadriel, that he hadn’t given a thought to his other companion at all.

In an instant, the blurred form of Teonwer emerged from the undergrowth. And with him, was another cat with white fur. They tumbled out into the daylight, hissing and clawing at the other. It was a fierce battle. The other cat tried to run back to the tree line but Teonwer pounced and pinned him down. The other cat let out a mournful yowl.

“Teonwer!” Halbrand shouted to his friend.

Teonwer looked up with a viciousness Halbrand had never seen before. Teonwer meowed aggressively.

“What do you mean ‘an enemy?’” He asked.

Before Teonwer could reply, Estion said, “That’s Ruorul! He’s Gil-Galad’s cat.”

Halbrand raised his brow, “I see.” He leaned over and picked up Ruorul by the scruff of his neck. Ruorul yowled and tried to shake himself free from Halbrand’s grip. “We can’t have any servant of Gil-Galad running free in our midst,” Halbrand said.

“Don’t hurt him!” Estion exclaimed. The boy jumped to his feet, grabbed Ruorul, and held him tightly. Instantly, Ruorul calmed and turned into the gentlest creature in all of Arda. He tucked his head against Estion’s shoulder and meowed pathetically.

Teonwer meowed three times quite seriously. Halbrand shooshed him. This was no time for Teonwer’s petty dispute with another feline.

“What is he saying?” Galadriel asked.

Halbrand was momentarily stunned that Galadriel trusted him enough to interpret but he cleared his throat and replied, “He says that Ruorul cannot be trusted.”

Teonwer meowed three more times, continuing his earlier complaint.

Halbrand interpreted, “He says, Ruorul was trying to alert Gil-Galad’s men.”

Galadriel instantly became alarmed, “Are they near?”

Teonwer meowed once.

Halbrand’s heart dropped into his stomach. “He says, yes,” Halbrand confirmed. He swallowed hard. If Teonwer was correct, then they were all in grave danger.

Ruorul hissed venemously at Tenower.

“Stop it!” Estion told Ruorul firmly.

Ruorul turned to Estion and hissed again. He lashed out with his claws extended and swiped at Estion’s face, leaving a scratch on his chin.

Estion yelped and dropped Ruorul. The cat ran into the trees at lightning speed. Tenower made to chase him down but Halbrand stopped him. “Let him go, Tenower. The damage is done.”

“What did he say?” Galadriel asked again, fear growing in her eyes.

Halbrand didn’t dare waste time and told her bluntly, “Ruorul did alert Gil-Galad’s men. They will be here any moment.”

Galadriel gazed at him with a frightening intensity. “We are not safe here,” she said softly.

Halbrand nodded. “We need to leave.” He glanced around the clearing. They had only one horse. Galadriel and Estion could ride but he would have to walk or run if need be. “Estion,” he called to the boy, “Go to the stream and fill the water skins. We must hurry!” Estion nodded and raced to the stream.

Halbrand turned to Galadriel, “Can you ride?”

“If I must,” Galadriel murmured. She started to stand but lost her footing and slipped back to the ground. Halbrand leaned forward and offered her his hand. She looked at his hand and then at his eyes. “You truly love him, don’t you?”

Halbrand’s heart stuttered. “How could I not?” he asked in turn.

With a nod, Galadriel took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him, her hand still in his. Her lips nearly turned up into a smile as she looked upon him. He could see the fondness she still felt for him as well as the gratefulness for what he had done. She opened her mouth to speak but her eyes suddenly glanced to the trees. And then he heard the sound of a dozen swords being drawn.

Notes:

Hey all!! I'm back with another cliffhanger!

I was struggling with this chapter for months because I just couldn't decide how I wanted this to go down. Eventually, I got most of it down but I was still unsure of where to take Halbrand's mental state. Fortunately, the new season has revived me and made me remember what I find so compelling about his character: his struggle of wanting to be loved but also craving power and control. I hope you enjoyed the temptation sequence as much as I did!

I felt like I was getting a little too ooc with him in some previous chapters and I wanted to get back to basics: struggle, temptation, heartache, yerning, angst, etc. You know, the shit we are all here for!

As always, this fic is open to criticism of the literary variety. And all comments are encouraged! I love hearing from all of you! It really makes my day to know that y'all enjoy my little story.

[fannyspammy]

I neeeeed an Isildur x Reader x Halbrand love triangle fic rnnnn 😭😭😭

[keferon]

“Mistakes on mistakes until” ch 69 spoilers below!

Ahahahahahahah here I go again

Mistakes on mistakes until until I can draw Jazz with my eyes closed

I woke up, checked my phone, woke up for real and decided that whatever plans I had for this day yeah no they can wait a little bit kfkgnfk

Also. Consider listening this while reading. Or don't who am I to tell you what to do~

[ylieke]

"And Melkor entered his realm. And the Dark bowed before its Lord, and came apart in the light of Silmarilli. The creatures of the night prostrated themselves on the ground in hopes that they would be spared and his heavy gaze wouldn’t fall on them. Sauron bowed low, pinned down by the terror that like a cape was draped over the Fallen Vala. He relinquished all the power he held in his absence and laid it for him, as a servant must." An illistraion for the "Play with fire" fanfic by @eternal-fear

[sauronxgaladriel]

Haladriel Library

Saurondriel/Haladriel Fanfic Recommendations. Some of these stories could fit into multiple categories. If you have any more recommendations feel free to add them!

Marriage

Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

Bridesprice by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks 

Poison & Wine by Coraleeveritas

Galadriel takes longer to discover Sauron's identity

no matter how many skies have fallen by stitchingatthecircuitboard

A man is a god in ruins by eye_of_a_cat

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR

Galadriel Says Yes

The House That Fire Built by Ready_For_The_Laughing_Gas

dig up the bones (but leave the soul alone) by Wyrd_Syster

Gilded by eye_of_a_cat

And white winter, on its knees by eye_of_a_cat

The Trials of Mairon by EllieCarina

Mortal Laws by Helholden

Canon Divergence/Reimagining of S1 and onwards

I could be your king by cliffdiving

The Tides of Fate by fireheart321

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed by eye_of_a_cat

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Instruments of Salvation by Scriberated

a fair form by properhaunt

Autocorrelation by EisforEverything

The Return of the Queen by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

A Feast of Starlight by TheLightofArwyn

Supernatural Creature AU

should have known better by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo) (Witch/Demon AU)

Storm Tides & Weaving Threads by elssiie (Siren AU)

just a taste by stardustspell (Vampire AU)

Haladriel meet before TROP

Spark, Ignite, Burn by cliffdiving

our souls were made from the stars by silverwing12 (Deleted)

Necessity's Bargain by Scriberated

Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be by Helholden

determination is the cure (for longing) by downtheroadandupthehill

where the spirit meets the bones by kangaroopaws

people throw rocks at things that shine by ophidion

Hades Persephone Vibes

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by Helholden

a dust like thine by mortaltemples

One-Shots

Unsired by shady-swan-jones (sweetleaf), sweetleaf 

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

now dark, now glittering by mortaltemples

In the Shadow of Your Heart by mzladybird

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

we could just kiss, like real people do by justatinycollector 

a millstone around my neck by mortaltemples

the nameless by bimmyou

Pregnancy/Parenthood

Light and Power by chronicallyexhaustedwriter

shining like a fiery beacon by ophidion

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

Smut

A Stressed Tiding by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

Buried in Bone by Invisible_Hand

Riptide by makeshiftdraco

Perfection by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

like magnets work, only drawn to thee by audreystark

To Follow the Light by Thrill_of_hope

A Moment of Honesty by Draconic_Grace

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

bind yourself to me by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Lady of the Seas by eye_of_a_cat

Dark/Dead Dove

all your pain will end here by poeticmemory

Land of Enchantment by EisforEverything

perle by emphemeron

Glanduin Kiss by Anonymous

[ayaosguqin]

This illustrations was made for TRSB 2024 ( @tolkienrsb )! The gifted @strung-by-fate has vividly depicted a captivating tale that explores the intricate dynamic between Annatar and Celebrimbor. This endeavor has been an exhilarating adventure, and I’m eager for all of you to dive into this intense narrative!

You can explore the beautiful and captivating story titled " Homophily” by NIQtraust ( @strung-by-fate ) AO3.

Link of the story

“PROLOGUE: LETTERS”

To: Celebrimbor

From: Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor

My dear cousin,

Might I remind you that much of the beauty of Middle-Earth is fleeting? At times, that fleeting beauty includes friendships, such as the one you have formed with Lord Annatar. I strongly urge you once again to sever ties with him, for as the Lady Galadriel and myself have discussed with you, he is ill news.

Your friend, liege, and well-wisher,

Gil-Galad

To: Gil-Galad

From: Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion

Cousin, I think not.

-Celebrimbor

[deus-sema]

The (obvious) Haladriel agenda is spreading and it pleases me so much.

[interdimensionaltales]

Drifting back to you

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x reader

Word Count: 981

Warnings: besides not having been beta, for now, none. (this will probably change in the future)

Summary: What if you were on a quest to figure out why you're so different from your kind and ended up stranded at sea with Sauron himself disguised as a mortal Southlander? What is it that sets you apart? Can you find the answers and accept yourself? Why is Sauron, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, pretending to be a commoner? Trying to forget? Binding his time? Pretending nothing happened? On top of that, there's a force that brings you two together and keeps you both drifting back to each other again and again no matter how much he, or you both, try to deny it. And the power that he feels coming from you may be it or it may be love. That's what you both need to figure out.

PS: This probably has been done before, the idea is not revolutionary. I read a lot of fic, but my ship is Haladriel and other fandoms so I've never read anything like this and I'm a little bitch for someone powerful meeting their equal and questioning everything so... Here we are.

This is the first time I'm trying to write my own, please be kind, but feedback and advice are welcomed. English is not my first language. This fic is intended to be multichaptered, but I figured I'd post what I came up with first to see if I could get a boost or the very least some feedback that would help me to get to a full fic. Anyway, let me know if you guys think it has potential! Thanks for reading!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

There wasn't much that could bring you comfort in a strange land, with strange people and their customs. After what you have been through, one would think that any comfort would do. Being stranded at sea has a way of making people seek out the best that life has to offer once back on land, but for you, there wasn't much to find beside the company of the one you were stranded with. Halbrand. The tall brunette, with his calm stance and inquisitive eyes that came to be so familiar now. No matter what wonders you would find on this so-called island of Númenor, you always ended up drifting back to him. So there you were again at his shores.

''It's been a fortnight now, Halbrand,'' you said, pulling out a stool at one of the bar's table, sitting in defeat.'' A fortnight, they said we would be given a chance to get into a guild. What are they waiting for? What's taking so long? What are we supposed to do meanwhile?''

''Enjoy our stay.'' he replied, amusement plastered on his face when he saw the look on yours.

''I have, and now I'm ready to do something more meaningful. '' You sighed. You were so tired of this aimless days filled with ale and idle time. You couldn't wait anymore, you needed answers, you needed to understand what was happening to you and the only way to do that was to get into that tower, the library. ''There has to be a way to speed things up.'' you said and rested your face on your hands.

He looked at you with those lazy eyes, a soft gaze but ever inquisitive. Why were you so set on getting a job? It couldn't be just boredom, otherwise, you would have taken on any other jobs available. It has to be the tower, but what do you want to find there? You were rubbing your face in frustration but that didn't tell him any more than he already knew so he drank the rest of the content in his cup and spoke again.

''There are many ways,'' he said standing up, ''You just need to know how far are you willing to go.''

He gestured to you ''Let's go for a walk.''

Halbrand knew. He knew that whatever it was that he was feeling didn't have space in his life or in him right now. It never had, it couldn't have. He was given a second chance at peace if you could call it given. He should have just left, he should have started putting some distance between you two a while ago, nothing good comes from wanting more than you can have, even worse, deserve it. But there he was, walking around with you, listening to you, being captivated by you, and far worse, wanting to help you get what you want. So he stayed, just a while longer, he did indeed tell you to enjoy things a bit more, he was just following his own advice and basking in your presence while he could ignore that gnawing feeling in him. The one that kept telling him how starved he was of something only you could give him.

''Where are we going?'' You asked taking him out of his reverie. He looked at you and licked his lips, a reminiscence of those unwanted feelings still lingering in his mind and the thought of where you both could go flooded him making it harder to shove those feelings down.

''We are going to speed things up'' He said making his way into the busy streets. ''More often than not, life is nothing but a trade, ''he continued. ''If you want something you need to know what to give in return.''

''Halbrand,'' you called struggling to keep up, ''We can't buy our crest, there's nothing we can give in re-- Sorry.'' you said bumping into a stranger, which made you fall behind a bit so you rushed to catch up with him. ''Even if we could,'' you continued zigzagging your way into the crowd so you were just a couple steps behind him, ''We don't have any-'' when he turned around and you ran into him, your face right into his chest. ''-money.'' He held you in place by your arms, balancing you. People going around you both in the crowd. You were never this close to him before. Sure, on the raft, you had to sleep side by side for the lack of space, but nothing like this. You were so close you could taste the salt on his skin, he smelled of smoke, leather, and iron. You were just about to evaporate into smoke too if it wasn't for the feeling of those callous hands on your skin, condensing you into form. Taking a sharp breath, you looked at him. He was looking down, his gaze fixed on your face. A battle raging in his hazy eyes

The way you were pressed against him made him never want to let you go, he had barely managed to shove those feelings down, and with one touch of you, he was lost in it again. What was this? All he could think about was how he wanted to keep touching you. The softness of your skin was a foreign concept to him, nothing in his later life has ever felt like this. It made him think of before, of the beginning. Enough! This is madness. There's no going back and no way this could work. It took all the strength in him to let go of you. It's a waste of time, he thought, there's no way I deserve this. ''Let's go'' he said, but took your hand nonetheless, guiding you through the crowd.

[rey-jake-therapist]

Since we have our tin foil hats on, I’ll reach for the stars here: what if Galadriel was the one Eru meant for Mairon, but he chose to side with Morgoth before he ever got the chance to meet her in Valinor? And now, Eru is giving Sauron the ultimate “f*ck you, your evil b*tch!” and had them cross paths, knowing full well they could never ever be together? This would go hand in hand with the theory “sea monster was actually Ossë”, sent by Ulmo, the Vala of the sea, to force Galadriel and Sauron’s encounter. Galadriel also seems to acknowledge their meeting wasn’t random, but the work of something greater (= the Gods?). And, so, Sauron did face the judgement of the Valar, after all; by having his true love delivered to him but forever doomed to never be with her, because she’s already bound to another (Celeborn) in the eyes of the Eldar and the Valar. And that’s his punishment/sentence for joining Morgoth and betraying Aman.

Oh my god, I absolutely love it. And it would make sense, I guess ?! Worse, it would be a punishment for her as well, though in a lesser degree because she would at least get a few thousands of years of happiness with Celeborn...

Seriously, if they don't write it for the show, someone needs to write it in a fanfic ! 🙏🏼

[pursuitseternal]

“The Eighth Day” 💐 S3x Pollen and political meetings in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”💐

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader| E |3.7K

🎨 by @lirotation [Full version under the cut]

For monthly prompt in the Creative Corner discord

Summary: The Netherbrain has fallen, and the Vampire Ascendant seeks to rise. Overtures of political workings are derailed for the new Ascendant when his Consort falls under the influence of some untimely pollen.

CW: sex pollen, secondhand embarrassment, uncontrollable urges, public sex, feral/needy Consort, A!Astarion is aroused and uncomfortable all at once.

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐

“I still don’t understand why you insisted I attend too, Astarion,” you grumble as his light-touched fingers remove your cloak for you from behind.

“Well, this is my first official meeting as Vampire Ascendant,” he purrs into your ear as the fabric falls into his arms, “if I have to suffer through having some mortal Grand Duke flaunt his inferior status in my face, you’re sure as the hells are going to suffer too, darling.” He pats you on the shoulder and places a warm, breathy kiss on the scars in your neck. “Besides, I think Ulder liked you better after we saved his arse.” That soft pad of his thumbs runs over your lip as he smirks. “Wait here, I’ll be right back, my darling.” He gathers your cloak and his together to find a servant. Astarion grumbles under his voice as he walks away about how Wyll wouldn’t have let the Vampire Ascendant put up his own cloak, but his father…

His voice was audible only to your ears, even then, barely. You take in the foyer of the grand Ravenguard estate. Turquoise and blues and golds, the colors of the sea cover every wall and surface. You scan the room, the walls hung with paintings of maritime history. Portraits of the Ravenguard line span out towards the halls. And you think you even see Wyll’s from a distance. It makes you smile, if sadly.

How long had it been since you had seen him… any of them? You sigh. Looking for distraction, you note the strange looking arrangement of flowers on the entryway table. Such curious colors and shapes of blossoms, blues and teals that seem to glow. It brings your memories right back to those days in the Underdark. Thoughts turn wistful; those days on the road when your heart pounded with the thrill of oadventure, the memory of aching for the man you now call yours for eternity. You can’t help it, you cross over to those tantalizing blooms and inhale deeply.

It tingles your nose, deadens your other senses, and something burns at the back of your sinuses and throat.

And then you sneeze.

“Gods bless you, my consort,” Astarion purrs as he takes your arm in his and leads you deeper into the mansion. “I’m so glad you’re here at my side, I know that your smiling face and smoothe wit will undoubtedly leave a good first impression,” he smirks.

Your throat starts to go dry, but you swallow and simper at him. “So glad I can be of such service, Astarion,” you rasp as you wipe your nose on the back of your sleeve.

He places a finger over your lips and draws you to a quick, forceful halt. “Pet,” he chides with a tut of his tongue, “what has slipped your mind?” His eyes narrow with a hint of mischief.

“Sorry, Lord Astarion,” you croon as he nods and gives you that fanged smile in approval.

“Good girl,” he replies, “we have to keep up appearances, you know, put our best foot forward, turn every head in the room.”

Your hand laces into his, and as he leads you into the grand room before you, you realize his hand grows colder and colder by the second.

Or, perhaps you are growing hotter and hotter still.

But Astarion only marches forward with focused determination, his voice pure gold and refinement as he greets the Grand Duke with all his well-practiced pleasantries.

You glide to stand at his side, a smile on your face, but your cheeks are decidedly growing warmer to the touch. Then you hear your name from the Grand Duke. “And you, Lady Ancunìn, I trust you don’t miss your days on the battlefield?”

“Oh no,” you smile after you swallow, “there is far more excitement to my liking now as Consort of the Crimson Palace. And my Lord takes such attentive care to my… every need.”

Was that your voice, dipping into dulcet tones of seduction? It must be you, and Astarion must not approve, his hand gripping yours like a vice. You roll your shoulders and smile. “Those days of adventure and rescue do remain fondly in my heart, like our fortuitous timing when we broke that Iron Prison apart.”

Ulder’s bald brow lifts in good humor. “A fact for which I am forever indebted to you and your Lord.”

You flash him a fanged smile, trying your best to look demure and powerful, but drool collects and drips from the corner of your lips.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, suave as ever, even as he pulls you to face him, eyes dark and brows furrowed in disapproval. “Have we forgotten to feed properly today? I suppose you’ll have to wait for a decent nibble until our affairs here are concluded,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb to clean the streak of drool from your chin. “Apologies for my Consort, Grand Duke, she is still new to the sort of hunger and power that comes from being a vampire, let alone being the creation of the Vampire Ascendant.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the way he says his own title. You barely manage to hold your polite smile. Astarion grabs hold of your upper arm, guiding you to sit next to him on the couch beside the fire, the Grand Duke and some of his associates sit opposite. The conversation turns to politics, to the remaining vestiges of the cults of Bhaal and Bane, to the Guild and the criminal aspects of the City…

But your blood boils, your body keens to be touched. Slowly, you scoot across the velvet upholstery of the couch until your side presses against your love.

Better, your body groans, but not enough.

You slowly bring his hand in yours from his lap to wind his arm behind you, a caress along the top of your shoulder, the heat of his skin through his embroidered silk jacket calling to you.

It’s still not enough. You need to smell him to taste him… the droning of his voice is a siren song, and it pulls you until your face presses against the veins of his neck. At last, your mouth waters as you take a loud and deep inhale.

Sniiiiiiff…. “Ahhhh…” you sigh.

“What in the hells are you doing?” he hisses from his mind into yours. “Ten seconds into public power, and you’re already a freak?”

“It burns, my love,” you reply down your bond. “I burn.”

“From embarrassment, certainly,” he grunts at you, settling you back a space from him on the couch. “My apologies, Grand Duke,” he purrs aloud, “newborn spawn can be utterly voracious. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he shifts in his seat, confidently crossing one ankle over his knee, a perfected air of nonchalance.

But for you, all you can see is the way his trousers cling to that outline of his beloved cock, a flawless sack to cradle his manhood so perfectly, a neat little package for his package….

“I need you,” your voice purrs, caressing his mind with your own, “now, I need you now.” Even your inner voice sounds deranged, it makes his crimson eyes flicker at you as Ulder drones on about the cost of the repairs to the City from the Illithid attacks.

“Pull yourself together, my darling. Is this all because we were in a hurry this morning?”

Nerves flood with heat, and sweat gathers on your forehead.

Astarion sniffs loudly, scenting your inexplicable arousal. “What’s gotten into you?”

Moisture pools between your thighs, soaking your small clothes and petticoats. You bite your lip, feeling more gathering as you shift your seat, sliding one foot beneath you as you lounge casually against the couch. The pressure against your folds lets you catch your breath for a moment and think. Only once have you felt something similar, though not nearly this perverse or profound. You close your eyes, instantly recalling the same fever in your blood and crying need in your sex from your travels… you picture blue-glowing mushrooms and pervasive darkness. The Underdark. “Spores…” you whimper into his mind. “Spores,” you repeat, your tongue thick in your mouth with the need to lick and suck and bite.

You look at him with pure, abject longing. Desire incarnate. And then you shift yourself over your foot beneath you. A little grind of your hips on your own appendage only makes you long for more friction…

And you whimper.

“I must apologize, Grand Duke, but my Consort is just not herself. Perhaps politics is too much for her to bear.” Then, he snaps your name at you inwardly. “Get up, and get outside,” he snarls, “now.”

You head back into the hall without further question, though you throw a glance at him, the biggest set of bedroom eyes you can muster.

“I believe she needs some air, Grand Duke, a chance for her to regain control of her hunger. Might you have a garden?” He pauses, turning his head and grimacing, “preferably once a bit more… isolated?”

Ulder quirks a brow. “Back out the doors and to the right,” he replies, “a good idea. It should give you enough privacy. Wouldn’t want blood on the antiques you know.”

Astarion maintains that veneer of politesse just long enough to leave the room, his brown darkens and fangs glint the moment he locks that crimson, predatory gaze on you. You shiver, head to toe, to have his full attention at last. Lips locked shut, you just send him your incoherent babble of need from your mind to his; a string of “please, gods, fuck me,” and “I want that perfect cock inside me,” and “ravish me, my love,” surrounded by pants and whimpers.

His eyes look you up and down. “You’re quivering and shaking, you look rabid, sick, deranged,” he shakes his head, leading you into the darkening light of the sunset as your feet skate along behind him down the pebbled path.

A few turns between the shrubbery and he pulls you up to a wide granite bench. He releases your hand, but the absence of his touch makes you whimper and whine with increasing force, just his name over and over again. “Astarion… please…”

“What in the hells has gotten into you?” he snarls under his breath, pulling out a handkerchief to ball up. “I haven’t seen you this bad off since—”

“Spores!” you mewl, collapsing to your knees at his feet, hands raking up the fine fabric of his trousers.

“Precisely, but how could you ever have gotten your nose into Underdark sex spores here?” He shakes his head, “It’s not as if this place is overrun with bright blue glowing mushrooms.”

Lips parting, tongue licking, your eyes are feral and your gaze is wanton as you drop to your knees, your hands on his waist to slam his ass down on the bench. “Hells,” he snaps in pain and surprise. “What the fuck…”

“Yes, yes, fuck,” the word sounds like music on your hungry tongue. “Please, fuck me,” you whine, your hands tugging hard at the fasteners at the side of his hip.

“Easy, easy,” he cajoles you, glancing around once to ensure enough coverage in this spot of the gardens. The bushes are thick, the roses are in bloom, and the fencing here separated the grounds and the manor. A wicked smirk on his full lips, he obliges you, freeing his cock to have you almost swallow it whole. “Gods, darling,” he grunts as he slams into the back of your throat and scrapes against your teeth and fangs. “How in the hells or in this realm did you get like this?”

A valid question, but one that faded mutedly from his mind as you started to suck him more. Logic seemed to elude him, as if drawn out by your lips and tongue until he knew the only way to unravel this puzzle was to fuck some sense back into you both. Wet, lewd sounds come from your lips, your mouth working furiously to consume him, craving his seed, knowing it’ll extinguish the fire in your veins. This suffering has wracked you before, a blind drive to purge the instant swell of lust that dictates your body’s every pulse.

And he’s recognized it, reveling in it as you bob your head with reckless abandon. Until you release him with a loud pop and whine at him from the garden path. “Not enough,” your voice cracks. “I need you, need you…” your hands shake as you scramble to your feet, hiking up your skirts.

“For fucks sake, darling,” Astarion chides you, embarrassed and aroused in equal measure. “Alright, alright,” he blocks your hands from tearing off his clothes… or his face, he’s not quite sure which. “Be a good girl,” he hisses, breath hot down your neck as he backs you up against the fencing, “and hold on tightly.”

He takes your half-bunched skirts from your shaking hands as he hushes you. “It’s going to be alright,” he consoles you. “At least we’ve endured this sort of suffering before. You are in really rough shape, my dear. Thank goodness you have me to fuck it all away, darling?”

You nod, eagerly grinding against him, wrought iron bars pressed into your back, your hand and nails gripped hard into his perfect ass.

“Oh, I’ve missed this, how needy this magic makes you. What a glorious little mishap… although you could have timed it better,” he levels those crimson eyes at you, teasing the flushed, hot head of his cock up and down your entrance. “If we didn’t need to attend to business, I’d draw this out for you, just to teach you when you shouldn’t be sticking that nose of yours into Underdark spore magic.”

Embarrassingly high pitched whimpers flutter at your lips, tears in your eyes at the thought of being left so unsatisfied. “Please, please, I’m being so good. I need you… need you,” you start to keen louder and louder.

Astarion’s warm palm covers your mouth, a laugh in his throat. “A good thing Ulder is an idiot and thinks you’re just hungry for my blood,” he sniggers more to himself than for your benefit.

“Hungry; yes, starving for your cock, my love,” you pant, salivating again, missing its hard length and warm pulse in between your lips.

“It’s alright, I’ll take good care of you… if you can keep quiet.” His hand presses against your neck teasingly as he reaches for the bars above you for leverage. “And if you can’t be quiet, then I have to resort to other measures of silence, you understand, my pet?”

You bite your bottom lip, nodding vigorously, sweat dripping from your brow to feel his cock pressed hard against your belly. Your own hand tears at your neck line, your skin too hot and flushed and needing to be caressed, a single breast loosens from your neckline. Those crimson eyes devour the sight of your swaying breast and its peaked nipple, almost as if he’s the one possessed by magic and lust.

“Gods, you’re so hot again, burning and thrumming, a warm, living body with undead power,” his eyes dilate to nearly black to feel your slit warm once more as he grinds his cock against it. Those dexterous fingers lift your thigh, and he thrusts inside you in one swift shove of his body. The iron gate creaks under the force, but its volume is nothing compared to the way your undead heart thumps in your ears, slow but hard.

“Astarion,” you whine louder, “I need more…”

“Then more you shall have my pet,” he hisses in your ear. He groans at the now unfamiliar warmth, the dripping, blistering heat that rages in your body. “Just like old times,” his voice barely audible, so husky and rough as he slams into you. Every thrust makes the gate behind you rattle, stealing gasp after gasp from your mouth, even as you try to swallow them back into silence.

His hands grip your ass in warning the moment your noises seem to crescendo. “Ah, ah,” he chides. But as those hips snap harder against you, it grows difficult to be good, to be silent and careful as he asked.

The heat is too much, the pulsing fire in your veins too demanding…. “More,” you whine. “I need it, your delicious self.” His hand flies to cover your mouth, muting your pants and stifling your noises.

“That’s it, my love,” he groans right in your ear, feeling your legs beginning to shake and your knee buckle. “Come for me, burn up that magic and purge that heat all… over… me.”

You throw your head back, banging it on the bars, hissing in pain and yet groaning in relief as your orgasm builds to bursting. You bite into his gagging hand, fangs sinking into the sides of his fingers and palm. He hisses in pain, a sound quickly overtaken by the rapid grunts of his own climax. Face pressing against your neck, he mutes the roar of his own shaking bliss, warmth dripping down your one standing leg.

The air feels cool in your lungs, your pulse slowing back to its undead dirge of a tempo in your chest. You taste blood on your tongue, and you sweep its tip to lap along the edge of his hands where it protrudes into your mouth.

Astarion musters enough strength to lift his head, his curls looking a bit well-tossed. “How’s that, my darling? Are you decent enough to make it home?” He purrs the questions in your ear, his voice partly laced with concern, equally rippling with hope to the contrary.

You give a more steady smile, master of yourself once more, for now. Your thoughts still elude you, but your body doesn’t burn with boiling lust, more of a simmer. A whine escapes as he slips from your folds, his hands adjusting your dress and stuffing his cock back inside his own trousers. “What, for the life of me, brought this on you? What have you been sticking your nose into, darling?”

“Spores,” you repeat as before. “Blue!” You add. Muttering the words again, thighs starting to clench and rub on themselves already.

“I’ll get you out of here,” his mind racing, “image is everything, and right now this… image… isn’t quite our best foot forward.” A scan of you both, and he pauses, less than satisfied. “You need more blood,” he assesses, “or they’ll never believe you were just feeding…” A swift bite to his own wrist, and he smears your chin, your lips in his scarlet essence.

Hustling you into the mansion again, he practically carries you, arm threaded behind your back. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but my newborn Consort must retire…” he stops you both in the entrance hall, his voice muted as your mind pounds, the magic in your bloodstream calling to its source as you stand near the door.

Astarions wraps your cloak around you, feeling your skin flushing again under his touch. He follows your gaze, honed in like an eagle on those blue flowers, a soft glow beginning to emanate from them as the shadows lengthen in the day…

“My dearest Consort, why don’t you wait for me in the carriage,” he bids you.

You nod, meeting Ulder’s dark eyes, wide in shock at the state of your blood streaked face. He mumbles some prayers, probably wards against the undead, such as yourself. You hear his deep voice speaking with Astarion once more.

“Oh, these flowers? Just a gift from the Myconid colony’s ambassador, a token for me and my wife…”

A low chuckle sounds from your lover’s throat. “Oh, no doubt it is, I have never seen such rare blossoms, though they do make me recall some rather fond memories of the Underdark…” your love’s voice trails off the further you walk, his purr drowned out by the increasing thumping of your cold heart against your ribs. Waves of need build once more, rapid and consuming, and you groan to haul yourself into the carriage so you can wait for more…

By the time you make it home, you’re aching… sore… and you’ve had him on almost every surface between your carriage and your bed at last. But that was yesterday. Now, knowing yourself once more, you wake to a new day. Sunlight warms your bed, your skin absorbing it now that you are corpse cold again.

As cold as the rest of your sheets, you realize. He’s gone already, smug bastard, probably with his hair extra curled from your rigorous activities and a satisfied smirk on his full lips.

Groggy and cursing, you manage to sit yourself up against the pillows, and you ring for your maid. She enters quickly, hands outstretched with a message from the Master, she tells you, who left that morning to resume acquaintances with the Grand Duke.

Your cheeks would flame red if they still drew on the heat of that aphrodisiac magic. The note is penned in his immaculate hand: “Ulder was far too easy to convince you were merely a victim of sanguine hunger. And he was far too eager to agree to my offer of coin in exchange for your gift. Don’t indulge or inhale too deeply without me.”

His signature was almost as elegant and impressive as he himself.

“A gift?” you ask, warrily, knowing all too well the sorts of gifts Astarion tends to bestow.

With a snap of her fingers, your servant calls in another, a scarf tied tightly over her nose and mouth, a silver tray between her hands. Adorning the silver lies a beautiful bouquet of glowing sapphire flowers. The very same from the Grand Duke’s manor. The source of your follies and cause for all your most embarrassing thoughts to ponder when you can’t sleep.

“My Lord is so…. Thoughtful,” you reply, abstaining from adding, ‘and selfish and arousing and cheeky and…’ You pinch your nose, just in case. “Set it carefully over there,” you flail your exhausted arm in the direction of a table and groan, seeking the rest you will inevitably require. And you smile.

[honeyfarts666]

Halbrand’s Garden - Hidden somewhere in the Greenwood

A moodboard I made for the latest chapter of An Ocean of Tears. All vibes for Redeemed!SauronAU included.

Read the fic on Ao3

[general-illyrin]

Crack fic idea inspired by this post:

At his death, Boromir gets transported to First Age Beleriand, and upon finding out Sauron -what do you mean, "Mairon"? why does everyone have so many names?!- is around, he promptly joins the Feanorians in attacking Morgoth. His reasons?

No one, especially not some god who doesn't even have the courage to show his face is going to stop him from killing Sauron himself and saving his friends. He'll march in there alone if he has to.

The Feanorians have an eight-pointed star just like Gondor, so they are definitely trustworthy (also to him it seems like they're the only ones doing anything)

Someone responsible needs to take care of this disaster of a family, and he will adopt them if that's what it takes (what do you mean, of course it is absolutely not because he's missing his brother)

[likesdoodling]

So. I read a really cool fic recently called The Harrowing by Chthonion which I would highly highly recommend-

I absolutely love it so much-

:D:D

I'm gonna go with how my sister recommended it to me, since that was what got me excited about it-

Imagine~ Sauron trying to be a good person. And having a very hard time of it because he has these things... I've heard they're called 'feelings'... Anyway. He's finding it a bit hard to deal with, but long story short, think Sauron getting a second chance and go from there.

And if you have read it-

Then you probably know exactly which moments I'm referencing here, but just in case,

No. 1 is Finrod, just before Annatar is about to have his first full on emotional breakdown, and the No.2 is Maedhros saying thank you. Which is fairly obvious. But still.

I love this fic so much!!!

(this is definitely not the last fanart I'm gonna do from this. Chapter 39 has some amazing moments that I am so gonna draw when I next have time~)

[eri-pl]

So, Sauron surrendered (well, tried to) to Eonwe after the war was over, right?

You know what also happened with Eonwe in this time period? M&M came to demand the Silmarils (and probably leave E&E there?).

Just imagine them bumping into each other, just in front of Eonwe's tent. Or face.

[chopper-witch]

*shakes tumblr violently* where are all my rings of power sauron fics!!!