An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
written for @droidofmay, as a part of the @voicesfortheblade event!
- c!techno fairy-tale inspired AU
- wc: 4.3k
- in which Technoblade thinks he needs to be a brave prince but acutally succeeds because of his Good Heart
“You may retrieve your family’s scepter once you have located and done something for me. It shouldn’t be much of a problem for a prince with your capabilities,” the Crow cawed.
Technoblade scoffed. “You’re sendin’ me on a treasure hunt?”
I forgot that other people do trick or treat too, because idk, somehow it didn't occur to me??
Anyway, please, surprise me!
Apologies for responding so late! It’s been quite a week lol
Here’s Sauron discovering what a car is, from an AU that I really need to start writing again.
As they strode across the gravel parking lot, Sauron suddenly perked up.
“What in Melkor’s name is that?” He said, demanding an answer. It took Rowan a minute to realize he was talking about their car.
“Oh, this?” They answered, “It's a car. It’s kind of like a modern-day wagon.”
Sauron wrinkled his nose in confusion.
“You used those where you come from, right? Like, you would have a horse pull a carriage with wheels? “Cause it’s like that but without the horse.”
Sauron stood up in their pocket to get a closer look, prompting Rowan to unzip their jacket ever so slightly.
“How do you ride it?” he asked. “Is it a machine or some sort of sorcery?”
His tone was judgemental, but Rowan could see that his interest had been piqued. They opened the passenger door and tossed their bag into the seat, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Sauron.
As they slipped into the driver’s side, Rowan chanced to set Sauron down on the console while they answered his questions.
“It’s a machine,” they said, watching as Sauron fixed his hair and began exploring parts of the car. “Most of humanity travels like this nowadays, at least where we are. I’m not the best with car knowledge, but I know some people can get really into them.”
Sauron kicked part of the cupholder, which sprang back with a resonating snap!
Rowan continued. “I can probably find more info on them, if you’re interested.”
“Oh no, that’s quite alright.” Sauron muttered. They could tell he wasn’t listening, though, by the way his eyes were fixated on the gauges up front. “I can find my own information, thank you very much.”
Rowan shook their head and turned back to the dash. As they turned the key in the ignition, Sauron jumped, and almost darted down underneath the seat before he got a hold of himself.
“Atanahíno!” He shouted. “I should have you drawn and quartered for that!”
Rowan snorted. “Sorry,” they laughed, “that was the ignition. I should have warned you it made noise.”
Sauron sat down in the cupholder, like an angry, redhead drink, glaring dangerously at Rowan.
More low-effort angbang doodles (and snippets too :)
I have. So may of these lying around. Usually I make them when my mood and energy are pretty low, so they’re not the best. But hey, if they can cheer me up, why not put em out there to cheer others up too?
Long post under cut: (cw: old art lol)
Doodles:
Drabbles:
~~
Mairon brushed Melkor’s hand, lingering for just a little moment with his fingertips lighted on his wrist.
“Do rest for a moment, Milord,” he asked, pressing Melkor’s hand lightly into his own. “Even your strength needs rebuilding from time to time.”
Melkor scoffed, shaking his head. “And where was this wisdom when I asked you to sleep once in a century? I find no reason to entertain a hypocrite.”
He gently removed his hand from Mairon’s grasp, but not without sqeezing the Lieutenant’s own first.
“Let me finish my drawing, bright one, then I will rest.”
But Mairon did not leave, nor did he mean to let Melkor finish the sketch he had erased time and time again.
“Nay, Milord,” he said, sliding his hands along Melkor’s sleeve and on into his hair. “Finish it later. I am quite almost ready to take my own advice.”
Melkor drew a deep breath, conceding just enough to lean back into Mairon’s unapologetic touch.
“And so? Why do you stay?” Melkor asked, closing his eyes just enough to blur the cold sharpness of the room. Not that he needed an answer. In truth, Mairon’s warm hands and his smooth voice were quite enough. Melkor did want to hear that voice again, soft as soot over commanding ground.
“Oh, you know why well enough, Lord,” he returned, deepening the massage on Melkor’s scalp. Melkor let out an involuntary groan as he felt years of stress fade into the background, taken away by Mairon’s deft hands.
“I do hate to heed my own advice alone.”
Melkor turned to the side, meaning to face him, but found his cheek sinking into the soft wool over his chest instead. Melkor could not deny that it was much more pleasant than re-working that sketch again.
“Ah, in that case, Lieutenant, bring me along.”
~~
There really is something beautiful, in destruction.
Mairon stared, watching Melkor do his work on a mighty mountain, so tall and unendingly vast. Melkor swung his arms high over his head, great hammer in hand, and rent its peak in twain. Sparks and shards of stone flew, embedding themelves in the unsoilt ground below.
Melkor stood up, leaning one arm causually against the haft of his hammer, planted firmly on the ground. A certain gleam was about him, a kind of unearthly glow mixed with firelight that sang for every act of destruction he did.
A Vala, so mighty and grand, in his element.
Flame, Mairon could get used to this. He could get used to seeing this quite often.
Melkor looked around, his hair effortlessly billowing in the starlit wind. Mairon sighed, something in his chest melting at the sight.
(Hm, that was strange. Perhaps Mairon ought to try to re-create it. For research).
Mairon watched giddily as the great Vala spotted him, bounding across new-formed hills and valleys to meet him where he sat, among the rocks atop a distant clime. That glow was still around him, bright and hazy, and oh, what Mairon wouldn’t give to have that in his sight through every note of time.
Melkor beamed at him, face-to-face with Mairon from the sheer, giant height he took on to crush mountains and spill seas. Mairon’s heart raced, and his fana flushed as he looked Melkor in the eye. (Yet another thing he must look into for his research). His hand wandered to a stray pebble, melting and re-melting it between his fingers as Melkor leaned on a nearby cliff, the weight of his arms cracking the granite.
~~
Melkor arose, glittering in blood-soaked might. Fell voices and cries still filled the air, but to Mairon they seemed so silent, muffled behind that great, dark tower before him.
“How was that for an ambush?” Melkor grinned, hair spilling wildly out the side of his helmet. How it had come undone under all that metal, Mairon could only guess.
“Impressive.” Mairon hummed. “I’m even willing to forgive the mess.”
Mairon gazed at Melkor, wearing armor black as night and heavy as the nearest mountain. Little rivulets of godly blood spilled through the chinks and channels, sparkling beneath the new Eä’s auroras.
To be truthful, Mairon was much more than willing to forgive that mess. Such a being as his Lord, arrayed like this? Half of him would mourn when that beauty was cleaned away. Only half, mind you, for the other half was already thinking of every excuse possible to be the one doing the cleaning.
~~
“M’Lord,” Sauron said, gesturing with one deceptively graceful hand. “get that book for me, will you?”
Morgoth, considerably taller, grunted an affirmative and silently reached up the high shelves for the book in question. It was thick, bound in soft, red leather that felt rather unique.
“Many thanks,” Sauron responded, reaching out to take the book from his Lord’s hand. He stumbled, only a little, at the sheer weight of it, before scoffing dismissively and setting it down on the dark table of pilfered wood.
Morgoth chuckled, if such a sound could even be called such a thing.
“Heavy?” He asked his Lieutenant, half-masked amusement in his voice.
“Not at all.” Sauron responded, coolly, as was his wont. “Now why would you think that?”
Morgoth smiled, even rarer a sight, even to his closest ally. “You seemed flustered.”
Sauron eyed him over the rusty pages, mock offense in his gaze. “I’ll have you know I was not! I am perfectly capable of handling a mere book, mind you.”
“Never said you weren’t,” Morgoth replied. “Just that your armor was slipping, that’s all.”
He pulled out a book from the shelf, rather normal-sized this time, and went to sit by Sauron.
“Hm. Your sight must be what’s slipping, then.” Sauron poked, though not unfondly. “My armor cracks for no one nor no thing, much less a book. It,” he gestured to himself, “is my greatest pride.”
Morgoth hummed, thumbing through the pages of his own book, this one bound in what was most certainly mortal skin.
“Now if that be true,” he mused, “then your armor must have at least slipped now. You’ve told me a truth.”
Sauron scoffed, flipping his hair to one side.
“Please. I tell at least some truths.”
He paged through his book, taking care not to tear the flimsy pages. Each leaf was covered in what seemed to be entirely foreign symbols.
“Such as?” Morgoth inquired, watching his Lieutenant jot down a swooping mathematical equation in the margins.
“Well, My Lord, I have never betrayed you.” He said, finishing the tail of a nine with a flourish. “have my head on a platter if that’s ever deceit.”
“You?” Morgoth responded, a hint of indignation in his voice. “I’d sooner cut off my own. Better chance of our winning, that way.”
Sauron smiled, possibly even rarer than Morgoth’s, at least without some kind of carnage to look at. His teeth were arrayed in rows, all needlelike and sharp.
“I’m glad you think logically, My Lord,” he laughed. “My head is where all our best plans lie.”
Morgoth shook his head at Sauron.
“Insolent Maia. Privileged, insolent Maia.” He declared. “Alas for you being so useful as to cloud my better judgement.”
Sauron put his hand to his mouth, as if to mask a greater smile.
“As always, My Lord. Privileged and insolent, but Lieutenant nonetheless.”
He returned to his equation, watching it intently as he tapped the end of his quill against the ink jar. He resumed writing with a start, as if the solution had just hit him.
“Insolent you may be,” Morgoth muttered, returning to his book, “but untalented you are not. How you comprehend those scribblings of yours, I’ll never know.”
Sauron snorted, hardly looking up from his pen.
“How you don’t, I won’t either. It’s simple, really, just a collection of patterns and rhythms. Like music, only there is no conductor.”
He dipped his pen in the well.
“Unless you count in logic and reason, of course. But those are from the keenness of your own mind and the fabric of the world, not the minds of others. You, of all, should be familiar with music.”
~~
Morgoth kissed the top of Sauron’s head, letting his hand linger a little on the Lieutenant’s shoulder.
“Far too dear to me. A wretched day that brought you into my court.”
Sauron leaned back, if only a little, into Morgoth’s arm.
put the link in the text bc it wasn’t working for whatever reason 😭
It’s also crossposted here under the cut! Short and sweet, and rather intimate, but not explicit.
Melkor lay in his bed, arms spread out in exhaustion.
“Today has been too long,” he remarked to Mairon, who sat polishing the last inch on his helmet. “I could rest for a century.”
Mairon hummed, a quiet agreement as he worked, his blacksmith’s fana rippling rhythmically as he buffed the metal with a thick cloth.
“Are you willing to take that time?” he asked, a little slyly, flashing a glinting eye in his direction.
“I’m in if you are.” Melkor replied, and the longing inside him made the last word strained. Of course, Mairon heard, and he couldn’t help but unleash a snicker.
“I can tell, my Lord.”
He got up to put the helmet away, bowing dramatically as he did so. Rivers of his hair flowed down his carved shoulders, framing the sharpness and steadiness of him in fire.
Melkor stared, as if his eyes could pull him back to bed. This only made Mairon cackle, and turn around to finish arranging his armor.
“You ought to wear that outfit more often, my Lord. It suits you.” Mairon said, walking up to his bedside at long, long last.
“I’m wearing a blanket and a nightgown.” Melkor replied.
“Like I said,” the Lieutenant returned, leaning down to slide his fingers under Melkor’s chin. “Perfect.”
Melkor had never flushed so furiously, his entire face darkening to a burning sort of gray.
“You flatter me too much.” he barely choked out.
“And you are so very fun to flatter.”
Mairon swung onto the bed, woolen sheets wrinkling under the weight of his knees as he settled just close enough to Melkor.
“Perfect,” he said, beginning to trace his hands along the edge of Melkor’s jaw, down the lines of his neck, as if his Vala were a marble statue he was studying.
“Mighty,” he continued, “Beloved.”
Melkor involuntarily shuddered, and he wasn’t sure whether his own eyes were trying to close and take it all in, or stay staring in awe.
“Look at you,” Mairon laughed, moving on to his shoulders now, “look at how pretty you are.”
“Mmph, no. You can’t just say….”
Melkor’s words were forced to fade into mumbles as his dearest dug his fingers into his muscles, finding exactly where the ever-present tension lay.
“Humility doesn’t suit you, my most radiant.” this Maia breathed, leaning ever-closer to Melkor’s lips, as he lay helpless beneath him.
“My Melkor.”
Those hands sliding down his chest, brushing his collarbone and softly cradling his waist. Those eyes sly and mischievous, unbearably close to his own.
“Mairon. If you keep this up my face is going to set this room on fire.”
It was true, that Melkor’s cheeks were starting to glow a dull iron-red.
Mairon’s thumbs brushed against his stomach, where he was most vulnerable.
“I enjoy fire. I think I’ll kiss every inch of your skin.”
Mairon pressed an ear into Melkor’s chest, grinning with sharp-toothed satisfaction as he heard his Vala’s heartbeat, steady and low beneath his ribs.
“Mairon.” Melkor breathed, after a long, quiet moment. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable?”
Mairon sniffed, blearily switching to another side to gaze up at his Lord. His other ear was smushed into Melkor’s torso now, and Mairon could hear his own blood rushing over the sound of the other’s heart.
“Now why would you ask that?” he hummed, slowly blinking.
“Because,” Melkor sang, “you are.”
Mairon felt the jagged tips of his claws whisper, so lightly, against his skin as Melkor gathered his filament hair into soft locks, arranging them around his face to perfectly frame his jewel-like eyes. He let a fanged smile slip through, as Melkor went on to draw those points along his jaw, down along his neck on to his bare shoulder and his arm.
“Adorable.” came Melkor’s singsong voice again, quiet and hazy. Mairon couldn’t help but laugh when his hands came back to his face, just to run lines down the bridge of his nose like it was some famed sculptor’s work. the tips of his nails were chipped and broken, but Mairon had become used to this. Melkor’s hands would always remain Melkor’s hands, after all.
“I cannot believe it.” Mairon murmured, just loud enough for Melkor to hear over his humming, now a framework melody droning in the background. A quick kiss to his chin was all that it took to make Melkor’s song catch in his throat. “I’ve snared a Vala.”
Morgoth, Dark Lord of Arda, was quite terrible at sleeping.
He had not needed to, at first, when the first notes of Eä came into being. But many long years had passed, since then, and many long battles had made him weary. Wearier than Time.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when his scarred hands and mind alike kept him from falling to rest, he heard a chant.
Slow, steady, singular. As were all things made by this melodious voice that sang.
Sometimes it was harsh, loud and long. Sometimes it was quiet, droning on in gentle waves. But always, always it came, from the voice he had known since the days before days.
He would drift off to that voice, humming cruel word after word. Those sharp sounds filled his mind, and left room for no thought else. In them, waves of gold, waves of crushing stone. Blood and jewels and the hazy thoughts of a newborn weapon, finery whose gorgeous spell would go on to trap and bind and control.
And sometimes, a moment before all went silent, and his hands and his feet were nothing more than an outcropping ache in the fog, he would hear quiet letters, words etched into the metered lullaby his accompanist sang.
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sauron & Original Human Character
Characters: Sauron (Tolkien), Original Human Character(s), Nienna (Tolkien), Eönwë (Tolkien)
Additional Tags: The Valar (Tolkien), Nonbinary Character, Post-War of the Ring (Tolkien), Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Enemies to Friends, smol sauron, in the most literal sense, unfortunate situation to "ehh it's complicated", Melkor haunts the narrative but shhh we're not there yet
Series: Part 1 of Rowan's House (the Smol Sauron AU)
Summary:
In one last stand against the Valar, Sauron makes an unwitting deal with Nienna.
Nienna, as it turns out, may just be 1/4th trickster goddess, if his unfortunate new fana is anything to go by.
Oh. And then there's Rowan. They are... something, if "something" is an accurate way of saying "weird, mortal, and annoyingly similar to Olorin."
(though, to be fair, Sauron isn't much better).
Hello I have been writing this silly little thing over the past year or so and NOW ITS FINALLY GETTING POSTED AAA
Headcanon (+ mini fic, oops) that Melkor and Mairon proposed to each other on the same day, at the same time, without either of them knowing the other was going to do it too.
Both of them made the rings. Both of them made arrangements to go somewhere special with the other (read: top of a volcano), secretly snickering because oh, he's going to be so surprised. Both of them spent the days and weeks before stressing, wondering if the other would even say yes at all, worrying that they would slip and lose the ring, internally panicking because what if they mess something up and ruin everything they've done to build this relationship in the first place? What if they're going too far? Too soon? What if he doesn't even LIKE volcanoes or gold or what if the ring is the wrong size or what if--
And then both of them show up. And then both of them say they have a question for the other, going back and forth about who should ask first. (Because really, neither of them want to ask first. Neither of them want to take this risk without knowing that they have the other's support. Without hearing the other's voice secretly encourage them first).
And then they finally settle on Mairon asking first, because Melkor insists that he can wait. Besides, whatever Mairon has to say must be more pressing, right? (Or maybe Melkor's fear won out. Maybe Melkor feels that it'll be easier to hear Mairon say no after they've broken the ice).
But Mairon doesn't ask him about strategies or Utumno's floor plan. Mairon doesn't ask him what he thinks on this new chemical he found. He asks him to marry him. Mairon. Who Melkor was planning on asking the exact same question to. Asks him to marry him.
Melkor is somewhere in between ecstatic and frozen in time, and all he can think to do is squeak out a "yes" and pull out the ring he had made, with his own hands, for Mairon. Mairon sees it and starts laughing, then Melkor starts laughing, then Melkor is laughing and crying and Mairon is holding him so very close. Close enough to feel his breath, certainly. His heartbeat, too. His Fëa, as they slip their rings onto each other's fingers and find themselves unable to let go once they're intertwined.
Neither can look back on that day without laughing, because how could they not? It was a hilarious story to tell at their wedding, and may or may not have sparked some local traditions and epic retellings from the orcs. But that was also the day both of them realized just how in sync they were, nearly incapable of playing through their own themes without calling back to the other's own.
