Please Never Stop - Tumblr Posts

the final member of the merry thieves - christopher lightwood! 🧪

characters by @cassandraclare

I love love love people who talk during movies/shows!!! Oh, you have a theory about what is going to happen?! You want to do a character breakdown?! Please do!!! I can read subtitles and listen to you ranting at the same time!!! Better yet, let's pause the movie!!! You hate this character, why do you hate them?! You love this character, why do you love them?! Tell me!!! I don't tend to rewatch movies/shows but I will if you want to watch it with me and tell me what you think about it!!! You think this show is boring?! Tell me why?! How would you make it better?! You love this show?! Tell me why!! I want to know!!! (This rant may have been inspired by me reading @respectthepetty part-by-part reaction to LITA's prapaisky. Whoops. 😂)

One more Egon Schiele study feat my blorbaux :D

OH THANKS GOODNESS THAT WAS JUST AN ILLUSION 😭

My poor boi Mugman is having a hell of an emotional ride.

oh my god, i love it 😫 her reaction to who he is, is just priceless – and yeah, i think i would accept it as same as the reader, i mean who could resist him?? 🤭

Decision (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Warning: angst, implied smut, reader isn’t plain evil but she’s not saying no to touching Sauron the darkness either

Note: sequel to Choice but what happens there is explained here too

If you still had doubts before, now you’re absolutely certain. Halbrand has been avoiding you on purpose ever since you’ve reached Eregion and his lance wound has been healed.

Your pride would like you to pretend that it doesn’t hurt, but you cannot deny the pang in your chest each time you catch his eye only for him to look away. Or when, on the rare occasion that you do speak these days, he finds a way to cut the conversation short. But what hurts the most is that you are unable to discern the reason why.

Sometimes, you remember the night of passion you had shared in Númenor, trying to recall if there had been any misinterpretation on your part. You had met him in the smithy after he had refused Galadriel’s request to follow you to Middle-Earth and claim the title she believed was his as king of the Southlanders. You had told him his past deeds were of no consequence to you, that you believed he was worthy of leading regardless of whether or not it was his birthright. He had asked you, repeatedly, whether you were certain you could disregard his past as he had made his desire for you known.

And you had returned it. You’d had your fill of one another right there, on a table, utterly unable to restrain yourselves until you might have reached a more appropriate place for such activities. To say it was pleasurable would be an understatement. What Halbrand lacked in familiarity of your body, he made up in enthusiasm for discovering it, and becoming acquainted with his had been equally delightful for you. There had been no grand declaration of love, no spoken promises—but there had been unmistakable sentiment shared between you, during the deed as well as after. You had gently aided one another in redressing yourselves, and parted with a lingering kiss and a cheeky grin fron him whose memory still makes your heart flutter.

The following morning, you had sailed for Middle-Earth. Whether because of you or not, Halbrand had decided to make the journey after all, and that was all that mattered. And while your accommodations on the ship hardly allowed for privacy, you sought each other out more often than before, and spoke more freely. Although you shared few kisses, only in brief moments when you were away from prying eyes, and his past still remained much of a mystery to you, you figured it was simply not the right time or place for anything further.

The battlefield in the Southlands was even less ideal. The chaos unfolded quickly, a great eruption separated you, and you were only reunited with Halbrand at the survivors’ camp, where you’d found him wounded half to death by an enemy lance.

You had kissed him, then—when you were left alone in his tent, awaiting Galadriel to bring the horses that would take the three of you to Eregion, where his wound may be mended. You had found yourself pressing your lips to his with a different kind of urgency than before, struck by such powerful relief tears slipped from your eyes and fell onto his cheek as you pulled away.

“I thought you were dead,” you had whispered in anguish.

“I’ve been worse,” he had quipped, as if it were some kind of game. But this time, you had no witty comeback in return.

“No, Halbrand, I...” you’d said gravely, caressing his sweat-slicked cheek. “I realized, if that were the case... there were things I should have said to you—”

“Please,” he’d cut you off then, gently but decidedly pulling your hand away from his face. “Not yet.”

You had frowned, more than a little hurt by his dismissal, but didn’t insist. He was in a great deal of pain, and too exhausted to handle such a heavy conversation. You could understand that.

But once his wound had been healed, he only seemed less inclined to speak with you. In Eregion, there had been many occasions when he might have sought you out, visited your chamber. You could have, of course, visited his, but the few and brief interactions between you didn’t exactly encourage you to do so. He had begun to work with Celebrimbor, and whatever little time remained after their long hours together, he hardly ever chose to spend with you. You could tell he was in his element by Celebrimbor’s side, his eyes brightening beautifully with each new idea and small progress, yet a shadow passed over them when they met yours from across the forge room.

A week passed like this, then two—and you were beginning to question whether the thread of fate you’d once felt connecting you to him had been only a figment of your imagination after all.

It hurts. You do your best not to feel it. You know the few matches attempted between Elves and humans ended in loss and tragedy, but not from lack of care on the part of the lovers. If that is what you and Halbrand ever were.

Perhaps it is your pride that prevents you from confronting him yourself, or from revealing what is ailing you to anyone at all. On the few times Galadriel has attempted to broach the subject, you had insisted that there was nothing to discuss. Though with a look that told you she knew better, she had left you in peace. So, when a knock comes at the door of your chamber one late evening, you suspect it is her on the other side.

With a sigh, you go to greet her, but begin to speak even before the door is fully opened.

“Galadriel, I am quite tired—”

The words die in your throat—for it isn’t Galadriel at your door. It’s Halbrand.

“Might we speak?” he asks. As if it were perfectly natural. As if he has every right to be here. The first few days in Eregion, you would have been more than glad to receive him, had stared at door in anticipation of his visit, even. Now, your heart twists in your chest with rage, even as it aches at the sight of him.

“You avoid me like the plague for days on end,” you say harshly, “and now you wish to be allowed into my personal chamber at this late hour?”

He crosses his arms, nowhere near as repentant as he should be looking. In fact, a light smirk tugs at his mouth. “Surely my boldness does not come as a surprise to you.”

“Your boldness? No,” you retort. “Your lack of honor, however—that is both surprising and irritating. Not to mention disappointing. Should I continue?”

He sighs then, and uncrosses his arms to lean one hand against the doorframe, finally having the decency to look somewhat awkward as he surmises, “You are cross with me.”

“Do I not have cause to be?” You glance down the corridor to find it empty, but still lower your voice. “You bedded me—”

“It was a table, as I recall—”

“And now you mock me.”

You go to slam the door in his face.

“That was not my—” He hastily grabs the door, holding it open. “All right,” he relents, raising a hand in surrender. “All right. Forgive me.” This time, he is perfectly serious. You contemplate locking him out either way, but in the end resolve to make that decision based on what next comes out of his mouth. “I bedded you,” he admits, taking care to lower his voice as well, “then allowed acts of affection to pass between us, such as those between lovers. Yet my intentions went undeclared, and of late I have acted as though none of that ever happened. Indeed, I have not behaved as a... man of honor should. For that, I apologize. Truly.”

His gaze never leaves yours as he says it. There is no teasing lilt to his voice, no trace of playfulness or misdirection. If you are being honest with yourself, you believe him.

There is a part of you that still wants to give him a taste of his own medicine, turn him away at the moment he most wishes to be able to speak with you. But that would mean denying yourself the answers as well. So, with a sigh, you step out of the way in silent invitation. He gives you a slight, grateful smile as he takes it.

“I know what you did, Halbrand,” you say, shutting the door behind him once he is inside your chamber. “What I wish to know is why.”

“And I did wish to tell you,” he reassures you. “Only...”

It’s you who crosses your arms now, looking at him expectantly.

“It was for your sake that I have refrained from any further... closeness between us,” he goes on, somewhat hesitant. “I felt it would be unfair to receive your sincere confession when I was yet unable to make mine.”

“And why were you unable, pray tell?” you ask, skeptical. “Why is it now that you seek me out?”

When he next speaks, his voice is laced with frustration, as though it is only now seeping through after simmering for too long within him.

“Because with each glance cast my way, you have stripped me of the patience to deny us both of what we desire any longer, despite my reasons for doing so.” He steps closer to you, looking into your eyes intently. “You see, before I asked even more of you than what you had already granted me, I meant to prove myself to you. To show you, beyond doubt, that the purpose of my craft is not one of destruction, but of healing.”

“Speak plainly, Halbrand,” you urge impatiently. You cannot fathom where this train of thought leads. He takes a breath as though to make a grand confession, but what he says is, vexingly, nothing you haven’t heard before.

“I am not a king—”

“I told you, I don’t care—”

“...or a mortal,” he finishes.

That does work to silence you. Your brow knits, silently questioning what in the world he means by that. A grimness lurks in his eyes as he speaks, each word measured and heavy.

“I have been awake since before the breaking of the first silence. In that time, I’ve had many names.” After a pause, he adds with finality, “I am the one you call Sauron.”

You search his face for any sign that he is jesting. Lying. There is none. The silence stretches as his words sink in, and you finally understand what is happening.

Then, you do the only thing there is to do in such a predicament.

You laugh. Hand covering your mouth, belly shaking, you laugh in the face of Halbrand’s furrowed brow at your reaction.

“Oh, that is... pathetic. Truly,” you say as your mirthless laughter dies down, leaving behind nothing but the burning indignation in your chest. “I might have thought you brazen or uncouth, at times, but I never once took you for a coward, Halbrand. If all you wanted was a quick tumble in the sheets—or, to be accurate as you prefer, on a table—and nothing more, you can simply say you wish for me to leave you alone, instead of conjuring such a ridiculous excuse—”

He’s gone. Everything is gone—as if between blinks, you are no longer standing in your chamber, but in a different room altogether. Your mind is slow to catch up as panic grips you, eyes darting around your new surroundings. It’s a place you know well, one that has been at the forefront of your mind of late.

You are standing in the smithy in Númenor.

“I am no slave to such base urges,” Halbrand says, and you whip around, startled to find that he is suddenly beside you, drinking you in with his gaze in the very same hungered manner he had done the last time you were here. “If I feel desire, carnal or otherwise, it is because the object of it has truly, undeniably captivated me. So do not insult the intimacy we shared in this place by assuming it held no greater meaning.”

“End this,” you breathe out, too shaken to process his words. “End this, now!” you cry out.

He clenches his jaw, displeased—but in the next heartbeat, you are back in your chamber.

Your hand flies to your heaving chest as if that would tame your rampant heart. It’s as though you never left, and in truth, you suppose you didn’t. Halbrand is still standing before you.

But he is not Halbrand anymore. He never was.

“You...” you say, voice trembling as you stagger back until you bump into your writing table. The swirl of emotions within you is too great for you to even know where to begin. Your face twists in rage, even as your heart crumbles in pain. “You lied to me—”

“Lied to you? Not once,” Halbrand says in earnest, coming towards you with slow, careful steps. “I called myself a new name, that much is true, but I have had so many, given by others—why should one I give myself be of any less value?” You shake your head, open your mouth, but no words come out. You are glued on the spot, leaning back against the table for support as he stops at a reasonable distance, close enough to touch if you reach out but far enough that he is not crowding you.

“I told you I had done evil,” he goes on. “I asked you, over and over, whether you would have me regardless of the past, whatever that may be...” He brings a hand to his heart as he steps ever so slightly closer. “...and you accepted me as I was. As I am.”

He wears a soft smile as he says it, as if in awe that such a thing was true. And in truth... it is. You remember exactly what you had thought at the time. You knew he had suffered through a war, that the ‘evil’ of which he spoke must have meant some kind of death or betrayal. But over the years, through all the battles and the horrors you had endured yourself, those sins were part of your past as well. You wanted to believe they could be forgiven, that they had not been for nothing—and so you had forgiven his.

But you’d never imagined... You’d never suspected...

“Why me, then?” you ask quietly. In the end, those are the only words you find within yourself.

“Galadriel only asked me to fight at her side because she convinced herself I was the true king of the Southlands. But you...” Halbrand says, and you can tell when he means to reach out and touch you, but restrains himself. “You encouraged me to fulfill that role not because you believed it to be my birthright, but because you believed I was worthy of it, even if a lie was needed to unite the Southlanders. Because you know that what is right is not always what is considered good. Where others see black and white, you see the grey, and embrace it. There is light in you as well as darkness. Balance. That is what I seek for Middle-Earth as well. Harmony, perfection... lasting peace.”

You eye him warily. His words ring true within you, they resonate with parts of you which you rarely let show. Whether or not he means it when he says he wants peace, of one thing you are certain—he sees you.

“What you are crafting with Celebrimbor,” you ask, unable to withhold the curiosity he has sparked within you. “It’s meant to accomplish that? Peace?”

“It will,” he vows. But then his gaze shifts, uncertain. “Unless Celebrimbor learns of my identity, and refuses to proceed.”

“He surely would,” you agree wryly. “He would sooner let all of Elvendome abandon these shores forever than carry out the design of... one such as you.” You find yourself hesitating to call him by the name your people have given him. Somehow, despite everything, ‘the abhorred’ does not easily roll off your tongue when you look at him.

“That is why I meant to wait until the work was complete to reveal the truth to you, or to anyone else,” Halbrand confesses further. “But perhaps this is how I regain your trust—by leaving the fate of your own people in your hands, rather than decide it myself.”

His searing gaze, his words, the truth of what he is—it’s so much to take in all at once. You turn your back towards him, leaning against the table as you shut your eyes briefly so you can think.

“You would have me become a deceiver,” you say, staring outside your window at the lights of Eregion, “for the good of my people?”

There is a small silence, broken only by the sound of Halbrand’s soft steps towards you.

“The same as you once asked of me,” he reminds you. You feel how much closer he has come, enough that you feel the heat of his breath on your neck, yet you don’t feel compelled to move away. “The middle path between light and dark.” His fingers brush one of yours wrists, grazing your skin without wrapping around it. “I chose it,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Will you?”

Your gaze drifts to where he is touching you, and you remain staring as your heart rages in your chest.

The part of you that knows what is moral and good tells you to turn and run. To warn all Elves who cross your path that they have been deceived, that a great foe has been living amongst them in fair form, carrying out his plans unhindered.

But are those plans evil indeed, if they are meant to preserve the very light of the Elves? They would not even stop to consider such a question. His name alone would be too great a threat. It should, by all means, threaten you as well.

Yet his touch at your wrist does not feel threatening. Nor does his breath falling softly on the back of your neck. You’ve felt him close before in body as well as spirit, in ways that went beyond the words spoken or not between you, and you had never once sensed wrongness. Only a perfect, most fulfilling fit.

“If I do...” you ask quietly, feeling as though your world is tilting on its axis, “what happens then?”

He closes the last of the distance between you, and your eyes flutter shut as you allow him to press his front to your back. You hear his smile in his voice as he murmurs in your ear, “We end all wars.” The hand on your wrist slips downward to lace your fingers together, the other coming to rest on your waist. “We bring balance.” His lips brush your neck, and you tilt your head to grant him better access. “We heal Middle-Earth,” he vows as you shudder. “Together.”

His arm is coiling around your stomach, then, aiming to pull you more tightly against him—but you take a breath and turn around sharply to face him. There is desire in his eyes, the same kind that thrums beneath your skin. Still, you plant a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. Or to touch him. Both.

“You deceived me,” you say firmly. Regardless of what happens next, that is a grievance you still carry.

“I know,” Halbrand admits. “And I intend to make it up to you. Starting now...” His gaze drifts to your lips, voice lowering to a suggestive whisper, “...if you would allow it.”

You don’t think. You’ve done enough of that in your long life. It may be madness, but one thing is certain—for once, you decide to act upon what you feel.

So, you fist your hand in his shirt and pull him into a kiss, moaning softly as he grabs your waist to press you flush against him. You feel his deep satisfaction, mingled with relief in the way he greedily tastes your mouth once more. You only now realize how subdued his kisses after your night in the smithy had been. He has held himself back from you so as not to deceive you further, confessed his identity of his own free will. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

You’d like to think so, at the very least, as you swallow the groan he makes into your mouth. He hoists you up onto your table, and it feels as though you are back in the smithy again—not within an illusion this time, but in the urgency and abandon of your embrace, in the way you wrap your legs around him and the fervent sounds of desire you pant out into each other’s mouths.

It’s almost the same, but everything has changed.

“This is not an answer,” you breathe out as his lips release yours, only to trail a line of bone-melting kisses down your neck. Your words, however determined you mean for them to sound, are but a soft moan as you sink your fingers in his hair and hold him to you. “I am only... exploring my options.”

He hums, understanding but not entirely pleased—perhaps that is why he briefly catches the sensitive skin of your neck between his teeth, drawing a whimper from you with the pleasurable sting. When he lifts his head to meet your gaze, however, he seems anything but discouraged.

“Well, since tables are a trodden path...” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “let us explore the bed this time.”

Worrying less about what is good, and choosing what feels right, you make no protest as he carries you into that particular uncharted territory.