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dinsbeskar · 15 hours ago

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And In The Darkness Bind Them (Sauron/F!Reader)

A series of vignettes (smutty and angsty) chronicling S2 Rings of Power

Sequel to Homecoming // AO3 Link incoming

Soundtrack: Beautiful Things by Benson Boone, Replay by Lady Gaga, Hands of Gold by Peter Hollens (kudos to @missjadesfics for this one)

Warnings: 18+ only!! Little bit of fluff, mostly smut and angst! Sometimes together!! P in V sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, possessiveness/toxic relationship, overstimulation, public sex/exhibitionism, dom!Sauron (I know smh, what am I doing??), carry-fucking (y'all I am cooking here, like he is basically a god so no matter how light or heavy you are, he can definitely pick you up and fuck you stupid okay), cumplay (idk how to describe it any other way), praise/condescending/degradation (it's a wild ride lmao), so much angst, very (!!) dubious consent towards the end (sorry, Sauron really leaning into his villain era now)

A/N: Reader is mad in love with our boy in this one but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well good luck guys idk

rather than a bunch of actual chapters, I've written a few vignettes for S2 Rings of Power (maybe I'll go back and expand on them later), starting near the start where Sauron is more Annatar, finishing at the end where he is ... very much himself. Some of the smut gets very dark, please take note of the tags!!

The morning after Annatar climbs into your bed, you are momentarily confused to see long golden hair on the pillow next to you. Then you remember that Halbrand is no more.

“Good morning, love.” He props himself up on one arm, disentangling himself from your embrace.

You cannot help but stare at him a moment; this ethereal creature in front of you cannot be yours.

“Is it really you?” You ask him, eyes sparkling and fingers trailing over his high cheekbones, his broad firm chest, his sculpted lips.

“Always, darling.” He pulls you close, kissing your forehead.

He always smells the same, like salt and iron, smoke and musk. If your souls were to no longer recognise each other, you swear you could follow your nose to find him.

“You left so suddenly, I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You murmur into his chest, fingers entwined in his golden hair.

“I’m sorry, love, circumstances arose, I had matters to take care of, but I’m here now.”

He had set his plans in motion in Mordor, and waited for Galadriel to leave Eregion. He had a feeling that she would have told no-one there who he really was, her ego bruised and pride bleeding. He only had to wait for you to let him in. And with a little pleading, you had managed to convince Celebrimbor to open his gates.

“We should talk, properly, about what happened, the last time we saw each other. At Forodwaith.” You stutter and trip over your words, nervous to bring up the subject, but it has weighed heavily on your mind.

He sighs, running his fingers up and down your arm, unhurried and unphased.

Of course you had been angry with him when you’d found out about his plans to become Morgoth’s successor, and you stood by that anger. But knowing you had left him to die, to mourn the loss of your husband for centuries, your mind screamed at you to make it right, whatever you had to say.

“Some of the things I said were…unkind-”

“Cruel.” He interjects with a smirk; you purse your lips playfully and continue.

“But so were your deeds, and I have forgiven you. Mostly. So perhaps you should do me the same courtesy,” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger as you prop yourself up to search his gaze, “since we are… what are we again? Oh yes…”

You lean in and whisper in his ear, “Bound in flesh and soul.”

His smile this time is dangerous, threatening, promising.

“And to think, if I were not so ravenous in my lust for you-” he grasps your wrists, pins them to the headboard with one hand and wraps his other arm around you, nose in your hair as he breathes in deeply.

“-I might have spared myself this torment.” He grins into your neck as you try to catch his lips with yours. “Not that I would have it any other way.”

He bends his neck and kisses you softly, releasing you just enough to throw your arms around his neck, through his silky golden hair, pulling him closer.

The dread that had dogged you for centuries is gone. There is no such thing as chance, and he is sure that you were supposed to leave him, whatever the reason, to save you from the same evil fate he suffered. After a millennium as primordial ooze, he can’t bring himself to care, only grateful to have you in his arms again.

Celebrimbor had been rather taken aback when Annatar had walked into his forge with you on his arm. You had been a close friend for many years, having visited his city many times, even reinforced the defences with the ancient magic you’d learned from your lost kin. He knew you were married but had never met your lord husband; no one could have guessed he was an emissary of the Valar.

Indeed you were surprised by his cover story too, but dismissed it as your husband wanting to make the best impression as you introduced him to the world.

“Do they really need to know?” He had asked you one night, holding you close as the rest of the world slept.

“What do you mean, love? Oh, that you’re mine? Yes, absolutely, they must. If I don’t stake my claim now, all of Eregion’s eligible maidens will be vying for your hand, and I cannot possibly entertain a rival for your affections.” Your tone is light, your words spoken in jest, but he sees in you the same dark possessive streak that runs so deeply within him, and his heart can’t help but reach out for yours, dark tendrils of his power wrapping around you.

“How could I look at another soul the way I look at you? You are the other half of me, the reason my heart still beats. No one compares to my wife, and I would reduce anyone who argued otherwise to dust.”

You laugh a little, burying your face in his side, but he needs you to know just how serious he is, cupping and lifting your chin to hold your gaze.

“My love, if the sun were too bright or the moon offensive to your eyes or the stars were to outshine your radiance, I would tear it all down for you. Everything I do is for the love of you.” He means it, in his own way, and you know it, a thrill shooting through you, ending in butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

It amazes you that even after the eons you’ve loved each other, you still feel the same flutters of excitement you did when you first set eyes on him in that golden glade, millenia ago.

The trials you have endured only sweeten the moments of contentment, making you all the more grateful to hold each other.

He has a job to do, a forge to supervise, and rings to create. But with you in his arms and a gentle breeze cooling you both in the burgeoning warmth of spring, he could be persuaded to stay abed a little longer.

“Stay with me today.” You murmur into his chest, unwilling to let him go.

It’s as if you could hear his thoughts as he could hear yours.

He chuckles fondly, stroking your hair, considering the vaguest possibility of letting Celebrimbor work unattended for today. Surely one day couldn’t hurt?

“I have to oversee the rings, my love, their progress is precious in every sense of the word,” he says as he traces your arm, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumb.

You grumble with indignation, nestling closer to his side as if to keep him there with the sheer magnetism of your presence. He squeezes your arm softly before resting his chin on the top of your head.

“One day with my husband. Is that too much to ask?” Your tone is still a little petulant, but he can’t help but smile fondly at your yearning for him; after all, it is returned a hundredfold.

“Your husband is an emissary of the Valar, he has… important duties, what are you doing?”

You give him a mischievous smile, running your foot up and down his leg, hand reaching between his thighs.

“I am simply showing my husband what he is missing when he attends to these important duties, more important than keeping his wife satisfied, apparently.” Your smile grows wider as his eyes grow dark, pupils blowing wide as your hand finds its prize, his cock already half hard simply from lying next to you all morning, breathing you in.

“Are you implying I do not keep you satisfied, my lady? Oh, that simply will not do…” he growls, rolling you over and caging you beneath his iron frame.

You look up at him through your lashes, your breath hitching as arousal pools in your core and drips down your thighs.

The dark glint in his eye only intensifies as he catches the scent of you, needy for his touch, as he dips his fingers between your thighs, delicately tracing your entrance as you shiver beneath him.

His hard length juts against your hip as he greedily swallows your moans, not sated until he has wrung every note of pleasure from you. His tongue doesn’t need to fight for dominance in your mouth; he already has it, and you let him take whatever he needs from you.

His thrusts are lazy, languid, now that his plans for the day no longer involve leaving your bed, meaning to take his sweet time with you.

His index and middle fingers circle your entrance, dipping in and out, thrusting deeper each time until he is knuckle-deep inside you. He hooks his fingers in a come hither motion, watching your face soften through hooded eyes as he strokes the sweetest spot inside you. Your body shakes under his ministrations as you clench around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let him part from you in any way, shape, or form.

He kisses the tip of your nose before drawing back to take you in, spread out underneath him, hair across the pillow, lips parted and panting, eyes glassy with pleasure. He’d never tire of this sight.

When he first saw you, Sauron never thought he would end up here, with you so willingly his. His to hold close and torment with his loving words, torture with his lingering touch, to soothe with the lies that drip so easily from his tongue.

He covets you even when he has you pressed to him skin to skin, craves you even when he can’t breathe for his tongue inside you, wants to wrap himself around you when he can feel your soul entwined with his.

You are his, and today of all days, it is overwhelming him completely.

“So good for me, opening under my touch, I know what you need, darling, I have you, just let go.” He murmurs in your ear, aching for your release as much as his own; after all, they are the same thing.

He lowers himself to press his body against yours, needing to feel every inch of you against him, cunt clenching around his fingers as you give him your pleasure. You whine and pant against his neck as he refuses to give you a moment’s respite, stroking your inner walls, grinding his palm against your clit.

You shake through your orgasm, riding out your high on his fingers which relentlessly wring out every drop of pleasure from your body, until you’re breathless, pleasantly warm and tingly all over, and totally exhausted.

“So beautiful, my darling wife, wrung out and ruined for me. Is there a single thought in that pretty mind?” He can’t help but gaze at you fondly, slicked with sweat and writhing under his fingers.

Until this moment, he has had no thought of his own pleasure. Now he feels his cock ache to be inside you, and he rolls his hips against yours, sliding his cock between your thighs and rutting against your soft skin, his precum and your wetness soaking your thighs, easing his way. With every roll of his hips his cock grinds against your clit, rubbing against your lips, making you want him inside you where he belongs.

He throws his head back with a gasp, his golden hair falling over his shoulder, as the morning sun illuminates him from behind. You wonder, how could this ethereal being be yours? Giving into his carnal desires and binding himself to a mortal form for the love of you. It is too much to ponder, and you pull him down to your lips, desperate to taste him once more.

As you pull him down, he adjusts himself, teasing you with the promise of filling you up. He chuckles in your ear when you moan at the feeling of him thrusting deep inside you, his bare skin sliding against yours, as he makes himself at home between your thighs.

He slides his hand between you, his index and middle fingers parted to frame your clit as he rubs your cunt, occasionally tracing the swollen nub that begs for his attention. The whimpers that escape your lips only urge him to tease you further, forcing you to arch into his touch, chasing any semblance of release.

Your hips ache as you thrust to meet his hand, fighting the rolling of his hips as he takes what he wants from you. His cock driving into your wet heat, his hand between you teasing and caressing your clit, his forehead against yours as he holds himself over you with his free hand.

Before long, he feels his orgasm approach, too soon, but perhaps not for you, as you beg him to let you come, and how could he deny you when you plead so sweetly?

Not that he could ever deny any request made from your lips.

He pulls you close, torso to torso, and kisses you hard, a hungry clash of lips and tongues and teeth that leaves you both breathless, greedily swallowing your moans as if they were all he needed to survive.

It feels like a revelation every time, and this occasion is no different. When you both finally come down from the pleasurable peak he'd dragged you to, you still feel like you're floating, clinging to him just to stay grounded.

As you both lie there in your cozy bed, panting and nestling close, his large frame fitting around you so completely, he smoothes back flyaway tendrils of your hair from your face and regards you with a strange look, something akin to fondness but more hungry, more desperate, more obsessive.

As your breathing slows and you return to the mortal plain, you look up at him and smile.

“So. About today. I could show you the city? You haven’t seen beyond the forge, my love, and while it is no Gondolin, it has its charms, we’ve built something beautiful here. I want you to see it.” Your eyes sparkle at the idea of showing Sauron around your city, and he cannot help but give in, even as he wants to stay here with you as long as possible.

“Then I must let our friend know he shall have to do the work of the Valar himself today.” He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours.

Hand in hand with your husband, you cannot help but feel at peace as you stroll through the streets of Eregion.

Musicians fill the air with song, lively market stalls line the streets, and children run and play amongst the revellers.

Your fellow Elves are still a little in awe of him, the crowds parting as you make your way through the city.

“Do you never tire of this?” You ask, a blush creeping up your neck, gesturing at the people nodding and bowing and staring as he walks past with you.

His derisive snort should tell you everything you need to know as he smirks, casting a glance at you, squeezing your hand to soothe your discomfort. You were so used to serving the people of Eregion, that this sudden change in treatment was unsettling. You appreciated thanks for your work, but anything beyond that was too much; this nigh-worship was almost unbearable.

Sauron, however, was flourishing.

“It is what we deserve, my love, to be revered. We are more than them, after all.” He has always enjoyed your attentions, your worship, but he cannot deny that this satisfies his need to rule in a way that your love alone cannot touch.

“You might be, love, but I am merely one of them. So it feels strange…” You trail off as you regard him closely, noticing just how at ease he seems to be.

“Let’s go back.” You fight the growing dread in the pit of your stomach, wishing that you had just stayed in bed with him instead.

“Are you quite alright, love?” He turns to you, searching your gaze, only now noticing your concern.

“Yes, fine, darling, I just,” you search for an excuse, any excuse, “I’m just tired. Perhaps a lie down will do the trick, if you would join me?”

A flicker of irritation crosses his face; he might as well have gone to the forge today, if you were going to cut short your trip into the city.

“I might see how Lord Celebrimbor is coming along with the rings, and let you rest.” He gives you a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and your stomach flips.

“Of course, love, I’ll see you later then.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing into the crowd, a strange sense of trepidation filling you as he leaves.

You know him well enough, unfortunately, that you can immediately sense when he is up to something; an itching in the back of your mind and a dull ache in your heart. Nefarious or not, you have to know what it is.

You peer through the door, ajar enough to see your husband in his leather apron sitting at Celebrimbor’s work bench, the forge otherwise empty. He is hard at work, his back to the door, and you can't tell what is consuming all of his attention. Most of his attention.

"Love, why do you linger at the door?" He asks, raising his head and smirking, before turning and leaning with an arm over the back of the chair, beckoning you to him.

You smile hesitantly, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of your dress as you open the door and cross the room.

He pats his thigh, taking your hand and guiding you to sit in his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck. Leaning forward to nuzzle his nose in your neck, he soaks you up, breathing in your scent and relishing the feeling of you so close. Your anxiety melts, the knots in your stomach untying themselves.

"Are you feeling better, love?" He murmurs, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes, much." It is not a lie; simply being with him in his natural habitat soothes your nerves.

He hums in acknowledgement, nose still at your throat, the deep vibration rippling through you.

"I hate to worry about you, darling," he remarks as he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"You'll never have to." You reply softly, drawing back to meet his gaze, so intense, so focused on taking you in.

He smiles wide, his eyes creasing just how you love, a genuine expression that has become more and more rare as his stay in Eregion has gone on. It warms your heart and makes you reach for him once more, planting your lips on his, Sauron making an undignified "hmph" in surprised response.

He could stay there forever in your arms, kissing you softly and languidly, letting himself melt into you. But the reason for his visit to the forge today sits on the bench behind you both, and he cannot forget it.

"I have a gift for you." He pulls away to reach for something on the bench behind you.

“A gift, my love? You are gift enough, I need nothing from you.” You laugh, heat flushing your cheeks as your husband takes your hand.

“How can I call myself the Lord of Gifts if I cannot even gift my wife a small trinket for her devotion?” He teases you fondly, his broad smile reaching his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners in the way that makes you want to kiss every crease and wrinkle from his face just to make them multiply a hundredfold.

“Close your eyes, love,” he tells you, still holding your hand with his other hand behind his back.

You do so with a dramatic sigh, grinning and rolling your eyes.

You feel him slip something cool and smooth onto your finger, and you feel a rush of his power through you that you have not felt in such a long time. You can feel it course through your veins, the towering inferno that is your husband’s will, his might and determination in one tiny object.

“Open.” He commands you, his excitement unmistakable.

A slim golden band graces your finger, radiating your husband’s power. There is something about it, something that makes you never want to take it off.

“Do you like it? Say something,” he laughs nervously, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It is… quite something, my love. Beautiful.” You can’t stop staring at it, the plain golden ring catching the light and throwing off an inner radiance that captivates you.

His face lights up, a wide smile brightening his handsome features as he takes your hand in his once more.

“I wanted to forge us something worthy of our bond. Something to strengthen us, to fortify what we have. To bind us together.” He looks into your eyes hopefully, yearning for the eternal life together that you’ve been denied thus far.

“It is… precious, my love. And if it works, you shall never be rid of me.” You clasp his hand in yours, resting your forehead on his, breathing him in.

“I shall forge one of my own, but yours was more pressing. They shall be a pair when I am done.”

You cannot help but smile fondly at him; thinking of you before himself.

“Thank you, love, I shall never take it off.”

You raise your hand to admire his handiwork, always in such awe of his talents, and notice him eyeing you hungrily.

"Are you quite alright, darling?" You tease him, as he leans over you, a large hand tracing your neck, pushing your hair back over your shoulder.

“I need you,” he murmurs, kissing your neck as he presses you against Celebrimbor’s workbench.

“Not here, love, let’s go home,” you try to push him off, laughing but the thought of being discovered like this in the forge, where anyone could find you, sends a shiver down your spine and your stomach unexpectedly flutters.

“No. Right here.” He runs his hands over your curves, ravenous for what only you can provide him. “Right now. I have to have you.”

He rucks up your skirts, lifting you by your hips onto the bench behind you, baring you to his lustful gaze, and to anyone else who could walk in.

“Is the door locked at least?” You ask him, your stomach still tying itself in knots.

“Of course, love, do you think I want anyone bearing witness to the mere sight of you like this? You are mine, and mine alone.” He growls, deep in his chest, as he grips your thighs, digging into the soft flesh with his fingernails, leaving red crescent marks to mark you as his.

He can’t resist the sight of your wet cunt, has to taste you, flexing his tongue to delve into your entrance as he plays with your swollen clit. He pulls you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders, gripping your ass to keep your cunt against his face.

You can’t help but roll your hips, begging him for more, riding his face, taking full advantage of the fact that with his regained strength, Sauron doesn’t actually need to breathe.

His iron grip keeps you pinned against him as you arch your back and moan breathily for anyone who might be passing to hear.

He senses your orgasm approaching, and thrusts two long deft fingers inside your cunt, stroking your walls as he laps at your clit. Your body quakes as you give yourself to him, your peak crashing over you with no respite, Sauron drawing every ounce of pleasure he can from your aching cunt with a delicious gleam in his eye.

Finally he gives you some kind of reprieve, drawing back to admire his handiwork.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, smirking as he pulls himself up to meet your lips. You can taste yourself on him as he kisses you hard, teeth dragging on your bottom lip, hands kneading greedily at your thighs.

"Are you ready for me, love? Always ready for me, aren't you, always so good..." he gasps in your ear as he slams his cock inside you in one solid thrust, rolling his hips and relishing in the feeling of you, tight and hot around him.

He thinks he hears footsteps on the stairs. He slows his pace just a fraction to listen, not that you seem to notice.

The door swings open a little, but whoever it is does not immediately enter, startled by the noises coming from inside the forge.

Thankfully your back is to the door, and one glare from Sauron sends the smith at the door running back down the stairs, leaving the door ajar. He rolls his eyes and smirks against your lips, crashing his lips into yours with renewed vigour, bucking his hips and slamming his cock deep inside you.

The thought of the world having borne witness to the love you share, it sends him wild and obliterates any sane thought from his mind, the only notion in his head to ravage you senseless.

"So good for me, such a good girl," he murmurs as he takes you in your exhausted glory, your limbs shaking and your cunt quivering.

He leans down to take your nipple in his mouth, mouthing at your tender flesh before nipping with his sharp teeth, a loud moan escaping your throat.

Working his way up to your neck, he lavishes your bare skin with his tongue, sucking hard on the sensitive skin of your throat, making sure to leave a bruise no one will miss.

You whimper as he slips his cock from inside you, marvelling at the state of you, dripping with his cum.

"Always so appreciative, aren't you darling? Always so giving, so grateful to receive whatever I give you. And you've given me everything-"

He picks you up, your arms clinging to his neck as you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips.

"-but you can give me so much more."

He slams his cock inside you again, letting gravity do its work as you're stretched to your limit, moaning as he angles his hips just right so you see stars on every thrust.

"Oh, darling, is that too much?" He mocks you fondly before swallowing your whines, stealing the breath from your lungs in his need, no, greed for you.

With you balanced in his large hands, his muscles flexing with every thrust, he bounces you on his cock like you weigh nothing, as if you were merely a plaything for him to use and spoil and defile. His, and his alone.

He can't get enough of you, of the sight of you ruined and writhing at his touch, desperate for more even as he wrings another orgasm from your overstimulated cunt.

His own peak crashes into him like a wave on the shore, pulsing inside you as your walls clench around him.

"I love you, I love you, love you, love you..." he gasps over and over into your neck, shuddering against you as he leans you back against Celebrimbor’s work bench.

You can do nothing but kiss him, words beyond you, your tongue capable of nothing but kissing your husband.

"So good for me, beautiful girl, so good..." he murmurs softly into your neck as his cock twitches inside you, his seed dripping down your inner thighs.

When your legs stop shaking, he lets you stand, still leaning on him. He combs through your hair with his fingers, tucking it behind your ears. Then he glances down at the mess he's left between your legs and smirks.

"Leave it."

You raise an eyebrow at him, already reaching to clean yourself up before you leave the forge.

"I'll be home soon. I'll do it myself."

You finally realise what he's saying and squirm at the idea of trying to walk home in the state you're in. Defiled in all the ways that count. But the glint in his eye warns you not to argue.

True to his word, he arrives home not long after you, so you don't wait too long for his tongue to clean up the mess he made.

There are warning signs. You missed most, if not all of them. Or wilfully ignored them.

But when the siege horns blare, in your heart of hearts, you know it is Sauron’s doing.

The first place you think to find him is the forge, but instead you find Celebrimbor hunched over his bench, painstakingly at work.

"My lord? Do you not hear the horns? We need to leave!" You try to take his arm to hoist him to his feet, but he shudders and throws you off.

He catches you off balance and you stumble, throwing an arm out to steady yourself.

To your surprise, a large warm hand takes yours and keeps you upright.

"I told you not to come here, love." Sauron remarks, his tone eerily neutral, as if you haven't just stumbled into a nightmare.

"I was... I was looking for you." You mutter, still watching Celebrimbor, concerned for his state of mind as he rambles about mice and candles.

"I told you to stay at home where you'd be safe. Was that simple instruction so beyond you?"

Your head snaps toward him as the sharp knife of his words pierces you between the ribs.

A flurry of questions and indignant remarks fills your head but you merely stare at him, mouth agape, as he disregards you, stepping to the bench to inspect his precious rings.

"How much longer?" His impatience has always been dangerous, but it is in this moment you realise just how so.

"Soon... just the final touches, they are nearly complete." Celebrimbor flinches as Sauron places the ring back on the bench and takes his shoulder in hand.

"Do you hear that? I kept the storm at bay but you chose to peel back the curtain. Your city is falling, but the sooner you deliver the rings, the more of your city you save. Do not fail them."

He takes your hand and leads you out of sight, pushing you up against a wall. His large hand wraps around your neck with such ease, it startles you, and you can do nothing but whimper against him.

"I told you not to come here." He whispers in your ear, hot breath tickling your neck.

"I'm sorry-" you gasp as his thumb constricts a little around your throat, "Needed to know you were safe."

He loosens his grip and smiles fondly at you, though not quite letting it reach his eyes, as your hearts pound in unison.

"Oh darling. Aren't you just perfect?" Then he kisses you hard, before turning you around, pressing your face against the cold hard stone.

Your stomach drops as you realise what he's planning. Surely not, not as the city crumbles around you and the Lord of Eregion sits mere feet away?

"Love, no, not now-"

He enters you with a practised touch, knowing exactly how he has to please you to ease his way in. Your body betrays you as he fucks you without mercy, taking his pleasure from your needy moans and wanton gasps as you succumb to the feeling of him drilling into you from behind.

This is new, as usually he delights in studying your face for every microexpression, taking you in as he ravages you. Now it is solely about what he can take from you, the only thought in his head to come as quickly as inhumanly possible.

It leaves you breathless and panting, and when he peaks, you find yourself grinding into him to try and find some kind of release too.

He chuckles in your ear, thrusting his hand between your thighs.

"What's that, love? Weren't you saying no? Do you want me to let you come? Oh you do? You're lucky that your pleasure is mine, or I might not be so giving..."

His words fade to nothing as your ears ring with siege horns and explosions and the mind-bending sensation of orgasming around Sauron’s cock, even as you know what his plans have wrought.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” you murmur over and over, holding the Lord of Eregion in your lap, trying to heal his wounds well enough that he can finish his work.

The wounds inflicted by the man you call husband in a moment of cruel impatience.

“Amarië, I need him to work, the rings-”

“-will be finished when he can stand. A moment’s peace, for pity’s sake.” You interrupt your husband, turning to look at him to find no pity in his eyes, only jealous rage.

“Let me work, so he can work. This is your doing after all, you should know it will take time.”

Your tone wounds him, the acid in your words corroding his black heart, but he cannot let himself pause in the pursuit of his goal, not when the rings for Men are within such tantalisingly close reach.

The melody you sing over Celebrimbor to knit his flesh eventually soothes his pain and stems the bleeding enough that soon he is sat at his workbench, still wincing, but for your sake, presses on with finishing the rings.

“Watch him, I’ll be back shortly.” Never has Sauron spoken so abruptly with you, and after everything you’ve witnessed today, you’re loath to let him leave with no rebuke.

“After everything He did to you, you would inflict the same torture on someone who has only shown you kindness?”

He glares down at you, only the tiniest furrow of his brow giving anything away about his current train of thought.

"It is… necessary. If he had done what I’d asked, I wouldn’t have been forced to-"

"Absolutely not. Do not do this. Do not blame him for what you have done. That is exactly what Morgoth did to you, what I nursed you through, so don’t try that with me." You’ve never been stern with him before so you’re not sure how he will take it, and frankly neither is he.

“This is not you!”

“But it is me.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Your stomach drops as he smirks, stalking down the stairs. He looks back up at you a moment.

“Do not let him leave.” His tone cuts you like a knife, and when the door swings closed, you crumble to the floor, head in your arms.

"How long have you known?" Galadriel can barely look at you as your tears blind you.

It takes you a long time to answer.

"Too long. I thought he had changed! At first I thought him dead, then he came back so different, I wanted-"

"You wanted your husband." She looks you in the eye, and once again, you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.

“It is a twisted, evil fate, that I would take back in a heartbeat, but there is no earthly force that can break us apart. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Your voice breaks and Galadriel cannot help but embrace you; she knows how heavy the bond between couples is, and knows that to try to undo it is a fool’s errand.

“I just want to come home.” You sob into her shoulder, heart breaking for her that she must be the one to comfort you, after all your husband has done to hurt her and her family, and what he has done to your city.

"Are you with me?" She asks, hands on your shoulders as you pull away.

You don't even have to think. Your broken heart speaks for you.

"Whatever it takes."

You find him on a cliff's edge, surrounded by orcs that bow and simper as you pass.

"I knew you'd come." He greets you, though he doesn't turn from looking down over the cliff, as if his eye is trained on something no mortal being could see.

"Predictable as always." You quip, but your anger bleeds through and the edge in your voice finally makes him face you.

"You're upset-"

"Oh, really?" You interrupt him with a snort.

"I tried to save Eregion, but Adar-"

"Oh no, don't do that, we both know that was your plan all along. You have always played the long game, don't doubt your abilities now, dear husband."

He smirks, stepping closer, taking your hands in his.

“Tell me the truth, please, just for once.” Your anger and your grief battle for dominance, and even now he feels a tiny pang of guilt.

“You have always known my purpose, my love-”

You interrupt him with your fists, so angry with him now that words fail you. He holds your wrists calmly, impassively, speaking over your outburst as if it had not happened, as if you were merely taking tea on your balcony.

“You have always known that Middle Earth is sick, that it needs healing, and who better than I to do so? I alone have the power and the will to remake this land, and you, my Queen, you will help me fix this broken world.” He is so sincere, smiling down at you as if it is already decided.

You try to pull away, shaking your head and fighting his every movement to keep you in his arms.

“I will not. I cannot, Mairon, I won’t.” You catch yourself and gasp. “Even now, even now I call you by the name you do not deserve.”

The tic in his jaw is back, and he inclines his head slightly, daring you to continue, warning you not to.

“Do you want to hear me say it? The name my kin gave you eons ago? The name you swore was dead and buried, along with your designs to rule the world?”

“You make it sound so inelegant, ‘rule the world’, is it my fault that the peoples of Middle Earth need uniting under a strong leader, one who will bring them the order and balance they so desire?” He is still using that calm, condescending tone that drives you mad, that once soothed you but now feels like fingernails under your skin.

“Is it balance if it is by force? You cannot trick them into acceptance, Mairon.” You know that to reason with him is folly, but you have to try, against all odds, to make him see reason in his madness.

“You want to be worshipped as a god.” You whisper, unable to believe this is the man you married, that you loved. Love. Love, still, as you rail against the feeling, hopeless to break it.

“And you, my goddess. It is as it should be, the right way of things, the people need order, and we can give it to them. You and I.” He traces your face softly, making you shiver. “Only us.”

You fight to break free of his embrace, hands on his chest, but you’re damned if he will let you go, his grip like the iron crown he wishes to place on your head.

"There is no 'us’. Not anymore. There can be no "us", for as long as you are unrepentant, I cannot bear to look upon you." The words taste acrid in your mouth, betraying every feeling still plaguing you deep in your soul.

His face twists, biting back every poisonous word he wishes to fling at you.

"You want to heal Middle Earth? How can one so broken know anything of healing?"

Despite your venom, and the wrenching in your souls, he tenderly holds your chin, upturning your face to him; even now you know exactly who he is, his radiance blinds you. Every heartbeat, every slow exhale, it all seems to stop, as you study his face for what you hope is the last time.

“What makes it worse, what really hurts,” your voice is unsteady, betraying the maelstrom in your heart, “is that in another life, another time, we could have been really happy.” The dam breaks and you cannot help but let a hot tear fall, willing the rest to remain unshed until you are alone.

“Weren’t we?” He seems genuinely confused, crushed even, voice thick with all the things he wants to say, all the things he knows would break you.

The hard expression you’ve worked so hard to maintain cracks; yes, you were, you were so blissfully happy, in those golden days where it was just the two of you, no war, no suffering, just two lovers meeting.

“Do not make me say it,” you choke out, tears now falling freely; gods, you had been so happy, and you wish with all your might to be taken back to those days in your lover’s arms, all tender kisses and warm embraces.

Even in your absolute sorrow, he cannot help but claim you one last time, pressing his lips to yours like you are his last meal on this mortal plain. Unwilling in spirit, but your body melts into him, desperate to forget for just a second before you turn your back on him forever. You can feel the ebb and flow of your souls crackling and churning around you, becoming palpable in the very air you breathe.

You break away first, hesitant to allow this moment to end. But it must.

“Do not go where I cannot follow.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, as he grips your hair and pulls your head back. With a heavy sigh you press your lips to his forehead, and back away, his fingers trailing yours as you part.

“You can follow, any time you wish.” Your voice breaks, as does your heart, clean in two, as you turn your back and leave him on that accursed precipice.

The golden ring on your finger seems almost to pulsate with heat; indeed you had quite forgotten it was there. You raise your hand to inspect it, tiny engraved letters filling the band that you had never seen before.

You could feel Sauron’s power in the ring, its binding magic pulling your heart back to the comfort of his embrace.

“Read it.” His voice behind you is hard but pleading, wrenching your heart.

The script on the ring burns red like coals on the fire as you hold it up, trying to make out what he engraved there.

Two Rings to bind what Evil tried to rend,

Two Rings for a King and Queen, their bond none can transcend,

Two Rings to rule them all, a power with no end

A tiny part of you is touched that he poured so much of himself into a ring meant to soften Morgoth’s curse upon the pair of you. The rest of you is incensed that he would use your love to satisfy his craving for power.

“You simply cannot resist, can you?” Your voice shakes with anger as you turn back to face him, his face falling as he realises that perhaps you would not be so easily won.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he shakes his head as if he hasn’t an inkling what might have upset you.

“You know very well. A ring to bind me to you? Very well, you told me what it was when you gave it to me. But a ring to bring you the power you crave? To bind all the other rings of power to you, to dominate the free peoples of Middle Earth with a trinket? I cannot be a part of it!”

You stop for a moment, pausing in the realisation that your husband has not yet, to your knowledge, forged his own ring. Perhaps there is hope.

“I cannot be a part of it. But I will take it with me.” You say, holding up your hand. “For safekeeping.”

He does not argue. Instead he smirks and tells you, “I’d have it no other way.”

Perhaps you should be concerned, but surely it would do more harm in his hands than yours.

“You don’t want this.” For the first time in millennia, his voice shakes as he calls after you.

You turn on your heel and search his face for any sign at all that he might still come with you.

“You don’t know my heart.” It tastes a lie as it leaves your lips, but it’s the only retort you have.

With a soft smile, knowing and terrible, he replies, “Darling, I am your heart.”

The space where your heart used to be twists and shatters, leaving you breathless.

“Then you know how much this hurts. Please, don’t make it worse.” With that, you take your leave, refusing to turn around without him at your back, abandoning him to his chosen fate.

“Amarië,” you hear him softly behind you, as you refuse to look back.

“Amarië, do not foresake me!” It is an interesting choice of words, considering Morgoth’s curse that dooms you both to the other’s absence, and the irony is not lost on you.

“Do not let Him take you from me again!”

You stop in your tracks, turning on your heel.

“This is not His doing, my love.” You hold fast as he stalks towards you, trembling slightly as you take in your husband in all his fury.

He towers above you, taking your face in his hands.

“It is yours.” You whisper, your strength waning as he lowers himself to claim you in a crushing kiss, hands wrapping tightly around your neck and waist.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but kiss him back with abandon, feel his hands digging into your sides, the pain in your heart-

“Give up this madness. Come with me. Please, you said once you’d do anything for the love of me. So come with me.” You plead with him, grasping his hands tightly as if it were possible to change his mind simply by imbuing his flesh with your will.

After what feels like the longest pause of your life, Sauron gazing into your eyes with an inscrutable expression, he rests his forehead to yours.

“I must heal Middle Earth. And I will do it with or without you.” His voice breaks, like your heart.

You pull away and nod, refusing to look at him.

“Then know this is not your master’s doing, it is entirely your own.”

You turn and start walking, in desperate hope your people will forgive you, will take you in now you have nowhere else to turn.

He screams your name until he is hoarse, but he does not follow. He can always find you; time and space are no obstacles to the likes of your bond.

But that does not fill the hole in his arms where the world used to be, the space meant for you.

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #my fic #could not resist a hadestown reference!! (kudos if you spot it!!)#okay merry christmas lmfao enjoy!!#comments and reblogs always appreciated bc i love the feedback it really helps lmao

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cranberrybogmummy · 22 hours ago

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Arcane Nonsense ideas fics not sure....

Arcane season one Jayvik idea.

So Jayce, Viktor and Heimerdinger are celebrating some hextech type triumph with a few drinks. They are getting a bit buzzed with the in universe of sparkling wine. When Heimerdinger suggests they do shots (also he can really knock it back) it’s some Noxian (of course) liquor it’s the color of honey and smells like rubbing alcohol mixed with honey (not mead though) . Heinerdinger gets louder and more cheerful when he drinks, Viktor gets spacy, sloppy, but like contented, Jayce well he gets more reckless and kinds thinks he can drink the whole bar dry he wants to climb the walls literally. They are five deep and singing some stupid drinking song when Viktor turns green and throws up, then chuckles and falls over. That’s when they are asked to leave and Heimdinger who is the most ‘sober acting’ sighs. He gets Jayce to carry Viktor back to rooms, and says yo turn him on his side… also stay with him. And Jayvce spends the night sleeping next to Viktor sometimes in the middle of the night he forgets and is spooning the other man.

Arcane idea season 2 Zaundads fic tell no one.

It was after their first night together, when they were lying in each other’s arms exhausted and happy. Vander was on the edge of sleep when he saw Silco take out a small trinket from his nightstand look at it in the candle’s flickering light. Silco was running his finger over it. Vander knew he couldn’t see this, couldn’t know this. So he turned over and pretended to sleep. The next day Silco woke early, to shave and get ready for the day in the mine. Vander lazed in bed waiting ..until he was sure his lover wasn’t paying attention. He carefully opened the drawer and pulled out the object. It was a tarnished locket, made of some cheap shiny metal that long since lost it’s polish. He opened it, there was a lock of dark hair on the right side and on the left an old tintype of a fancy looking young woman with curls set in an old fashioned style. And then Silco was there snatching it out of Vander’s hand, cursing and glaring. He shoved Vander and sat down on the bed in a huff.

“I was a fool to trust you,” Silco said. “You were trying to steal it from me.”

“Whoa, no easy there,” Vander said tracing his hand over Silco’s undershirt back, he could feel the other man’s heart thumping like a mad drum. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I saw you looking at it and I got curious. Who was she?”

In truth the locket wouldn’t be worth much, at pawn shop. Whatever it was made of was cheap and it was old. Silco turned his hair falling over his face. “Couldn’t you tell? She was my mother.”

Vander hadn’t had time to examine the locket, but now he sat up and next to Silco. Of course the Silco didn’t trust him he’d had a suspicious nature since they met in childhood (not to mention they’d met shortly after Silco had been jumped and robbed by older kids). But now Silco held the locket out to Vander and he looked at the woman really looked: she was beautiful, and she had the same nose as Silco, the same smile and the same dark hair.

Vander brushed the hair off Silco’s face and said gently: “Tell me about her.”

Silco pulled away his lips curled in a snarl: “I don’t really her remember …much. “

Vander knew this wasn’t true but he wouldn’t push it. Maybe he’d never know, he wished it didn’t matter but it did, it was another thing he didn’t know about the man who he… loved? Yes, he did love Silco.

Vander sighed: “Fine, keep your secrets.”

He got off the bed and walked over to the wash basin to get ready for the mines.

The dirt from the mines, seemed to get under you skin in every crack and cranny a person had. The foreman a massive hulking thing, a race bigger ten even Vander didn’t allow slacking. so when Silco had a coughing fit at the end of his shift Vander and distracted the foreman by singing the bawdiest song from the lanes as loud as he could: Felicia, and Connol joined and soon everyone was singing it, before the Foreman yelled at them, It was a good distraction. Silco had stopped coughing and was back at work when the foreman glanced is way. He looked at Silco winked and smiled, Silco gave faint half smile back. Afterwards after they cleaned up in at a bathhouse (not that kind), in one of the various drinking holes in Zaun half in their cups maybe more then half.

“That was stupid Vander, we’ve both seen the foreman beat men to tar for less,” Silco said.

“I could handle him,” Vander said. “You couldn’t.”

“Hmmmph,” Silco shifted. “I can take more than you think.”

“Ah, really?” Vander teased. “Show me.”

Silco leaned over and they kissed full on the lips. “When you get back to my rooms I will.”

About an hour or so after making the mattress dance and the bed frame groan, as they lay shuddering in the aftermath, Silco began to cough again retching and shaking as he covered his mouth and ran for the basin.

“Are you alright?” Vander asked sitting up.

Silco looked up and said: “Yes, it’s just the dust from that place gets inside of you. It’ll kill me one day, like it killed her.”

“Who?” Vander asked.

“Mother,” Silco sighed.

“Tell me about her,” Vander asked again.

“If I do, if I tell you what I remember will you stop pestering me?” Silco said. “If I tell you will you tell no one else?”

“Yes,” Vander said.

“I was only eight when she died, when they came to take me from the hovel we’d ended up in to the orphanage. I escaped though, and that’s when those urchins—“ Silco began

“—I chased them off,” Vander said.

“You did, but before you could they took the locket,” Silco said. “Back then it looked like it was worth something other the sentimental value. The first time I had money, I tracked it down to a pawn shop and got it back.”

“Who was she though, she looks like…” Vander began.

“Her name or what they called her was Yinalika, she was plucked from the streets of Zaun, because of her voice, trained in opera and when she started coughing up blood they put her back in Zaun with her bastard, me,” Silco said.

“What about your father?” Vander asked. “Didn’t he—?””

“Ah,” Silco said. “I don’t know exactly which of her keepers was my father, there were about four of five of them, she was using all of them of course. She never told me though, she told me to call them all Daddy, because they’d give us so much more support.”

“Aaaah,” Vander trailed off. “

“She was vain and arrogant, frivolous and manipulative. She didn’t deserve to be used, discarded and die like she did. I still can recall her the way her perfume smell sometimes in dreams I can hear her doing vocal warm ups.” Silco continued. “But I can’t recall… what she sounded like when she spoke, it was a lifetime ago.”

“If she was living the good life in Piltover, keepers and money and nice things… what happened?” Vander asked.

“It wasn’t the opera didn’t actually give us that much, you see. She was never an opera star, she always was played the minor roles, she was a soubrette not a diva. We were dependent on the rich men who ‘kept’ her.” Silco said. “When she finally got a main part the stress killed her eating her from the inside out.”

“Consumption?” Vander hazarded.

“Of course, do keep up,” Silco said. “Now this is what I recall, she was cast as some important role, she was constantly practicing with her instructor pushing herself more and more. No time to amuse her keepers, no time to even look at me… She was spending her money to try and fight off the sickness, working to hard to practice for her big role. In the end when she fainted, blood clots still clinging to her chin. They took away the role, our keepers went away, so did the nice life. What I really recall about her, is seeing her lying in bed, drugged to the gills, sick and dying, in some dingy rooming house in Zaun.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Piltover? Find your Dad, I dunno blackmail him?” Vander asked.

“Because of you, the Overcity didn’t want me or my mum. It’s only been twelve years but they’ve forgotten her utterly. But you and Zaun took me in. I belong here and I belong by your side.” Silco said.

“Thank you.” Vander said. “I promise you, you won’t die like she did Silco, you are stronger than that.”

“Promise?” Silco asked with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, your a tough sly thing, don’t worry about it,” Vander said taking Silco in his arms and kissing him all over his face.

#arcane #Heimdinger #Jayce Talis #viktor arcane #Silco #Vander #Fanfic #my writing #Headcanon #TW: booze #TW: vomit #well the Heimdinger thing is headcanon #.

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jocelynscrazyideas · 3 days ago

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Frosty Night || ❄️☃️

John Marino x fem reader

-a ficsmas fic-

(Not proof read)

⋆❅⋆⍋⋆❅⋆ ⋆❅⋆⍋⋆❅⋆ ⋆❅⋆⍋⋆❅⋆ ⋆❅⋆⍋⋆❅⋆ ⋆❅⋆⍋⋆❅⋆

The warm breeze hits my face. I’ve lived up north all my life, I’ve never had a Christmas with no snow. It’s wierd to me now that I don’t have to shovel before I leave for work, or heat my house up before going to bed.

It’s never occurred to me that people live this way. Hot Christmas mornings, no hot chocolate to warm you up after a snowball fight, and most importantly there aren’t any snowmen.

John and I are still getting used to Utah. I think I liked New Jersey more, but I think I could get used to this.

“Hey y/n! Come down here please!” John calls for me from downstairs in the kitchen. I almost feel his excitement from upstairs in our room.

For your information, John and I have been dating for two years and six months. I can tell you what John is thinking about, or if he is mad/sad. He’s a pretty easy going guy. Not too difficult, not too easy, not too middle. He’s just right.

My footsteps get louder as I run down the stairs to meet the 6”2 man. He, of course he has his grey beanie on. I’m guessing he didn’t take care of his curls. John turns around from the kitchen island, his toothless smile glimmers from the overhead lights.

“Aw how cute!” I giggle, running up to John’s chest.

John has this cute white pj set in his hands, they have green Christmas trees printed on them, and have the words, “ho ho ho” on them. I take them and set them to the side. He must have matching ones in the room for later. I peak over at our small-empty room we call our living room. We haven’t lived in this home for a while, but it’s starting to feel lived in. Lots of memories-just not a lot of life. Even our Christmas tree is dead.

The small fake tree is shinning a warm yellow light, illuminating the darkened room. Only a few presents are visible under the tree, our kitchen is filled with Christmas decor, and secret unwrapped gifts for eachother.

Good thing our home is pretty empty, because John and I are hosting the team Christmas party. John bought alcohol, and ingredients to make eggnog, I baked a few delicious treats and made some homemade gift bags for everyone. I made sure the WAGs had personal hygiene products and my favorite picture of the women all together.

John helped me finish decorating the house, and we waited for the team to all make an appearance. The first couple ti show up were Sean Durzi and his girlfriend Sadie. They brought in a fresh apple pie and their gifts.

“I know you said no additional snacks, but I’m sure the other guys are bringing their favorite holiday food.” Sean walks over to me, he hugs me hard. He twirls me away from John. My back now facing my boyfriend and Durzi’s face is probably making a weird grin-trying to make John jealous.

John pulls Sean off of me, and holds me in his arms. John has rather large biceps, in fact they make me feral.

I hold onto John’s arm, “hey baby? Can we play some music. It’s too quiet in here for a party.” I look up at John and John kisses my forehead.

“Sure.” And he leaves me alone with Sadie and Sean. Within a few minutes we hear music flood the house.

The house has built in speakers, they run through almost every room, and we can even isolate the sounds. John played a classic Mariah Carey tune, and I greet the new incoming guests.

My cookies were a hit. Many people took them, and lots of people took John’s eggnog. Unfortunately, more people took Durzi’s apple pie.

The party is coming to a chill relaxing night. People are sharing stories, the ladies are getting to know eachother. The boys are being stupid and discussing crazy plays they’ve seen in their career.

Sadie mentioned Sean needing pre-game cuddles because he has bad anxiety, “yeah. His anxiety is super bad. Sometimes I have to calm him down by driving him to the rink, and if it gets worse I have to hold him down. I also have to cuddle him to bed for his pre-game naps.”

All of the girls giggle and stare at Sean. Honestly, I can’t see him the same. He just looks like a big cuddle bear now. Almost gives me the idea of cuddling John right now.

We exchange our Secret Santa gifts.

I had Sean. Sean had Keller, Keller had Nick abd Nick had John. John had Maverick, and Maverick had me.

I got a super cute camera and a bag of candy. Really affordable and practical. What a sweet kid Mav is.

John is getting pretty tipsy off of his alcohol he bought earlier. I told him I want to go to bed soon, and he needs to “kick them out” and John immediately kissed my cheek and grabbed the pj set he suprised me with. I ran to the bathroom to change into them. They feel so soft and comfortable. I come out to the living room expecting everyone to be there on the couch.

No one was there.

It’s not just an idea now, it’s a desire to cuddle my cuddle bear.

All of the cars were backing out of the driveway. Our porch light was off. The door was locked. Music off.

The only person in the living room was John. He’s wearing matching pajamas to my set. Cute!!

“Hey baby.” He walks up to me. Rapidly he pulls me close. We dance to no music. Just the sound of love. He laughs as he pulls me in for a kiss.

I stick my tounge in his mouth. As a joke I tickle the spot his tooth is supposed to be. Unfortunately he pulled away and slapped my ass. He walks to the kitchen to clean up. Watching him put the food and desserts away makes me feel so maternal.

“Johnny?” I sat down on the blue velvety couch. “I love you.” I smiled, not just sitting on the couch now, but laying on my back. I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.

*It’s not that big of a deal. We’ve been together for a while. It doesn’t matter. -I tell myself.*

“I love you back.” He drunkly answered. He smiled and sucked on his teeth. I see him trying push his lips together, pursing them forward- alsmot like he’s puckering up. He stops smiling, making it seem like he’s not getting butterflies.

I sit up and walk over to him. My pj shorts ride up my ass. I forgot to mention I don’t have anything on underneath.

I hug John from behind as he wiped the kitchen counter off. The house looks like it did from before.

Clean, empty, lifeless…. bland.

John walks to the trash. Throwing away the wipe he used, he waddles over to the sink, at a pace for me to follow behind him as I am still wrapped around him.

I kiss his back- because that’s as far as I can reach. He shakes his shoulders out as he gets tense. My hands trail lower, making a path to his cock. But I pass it. John washes his hands, and he starts to make a little noises, like he’s anticipating that I turn him around and starts sucking on him.

I don’t.

I get up from my position, and walk away. John runs after me, turning the lights off and double checking the door is locked. “Y/n!” He calls after me. I make my way up the stairs to our bedroom.

I flip the blanket over on our bed, and jump into it, “come lay with me.” I slap John’s side of the bed. John’s matching pajama pants flail all over the place while he makes and effort to jump over my legs.

My back is pressed up against our headboard, John’s head is laying in my lap. A pillow in his arms. He just wants to warm up. I play ‘Home Alone’ on the TV we have on our dresser. The room is dark. The house is empty. The only source of light that floods our room is the TV.

John’s beanie falls off. My lap catching his warm hat, I throw it over to his nightstand. He rubs his hands on my knee. He aligns to my sitting position. “I love you more.” He kissed my lap, he crawls to my chest as my back slides down the headboard. I lay horizontally across the bed. My feet hanging on my side of the bed and mh head at John’s side. Stretching across the bed too js my sweet boy. John crawls up to my chest, facing me.

My boobs fall out of the small pajama tank top. John forces his face into my chest, my boob as his weird pillow. I play with his hair. And he falls asleep first. His soft skin as precious lips melt in my hands. I kiss him and whisper how much i appreciate him.

“Goodnight my love. I love you to the moon and back.” I whisper while I turn the TV off. John rolls in closer to me. The blanket on John more than it is on me. For some reason I’m okay with that for tonight.

I fall asleep to his natural scent.

#jocelynscrazyideas #hockey #nhl #utah #utah hockey club #jm6 #john marino #new jersey devils #john marino x reader #fluff #Christmas #hockey fics #ficsmas

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panelshowsource · 1 day ago

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a year of my gifs in review

i struggled a lot with making gifs this year (｡╥_╥��) i always say that panel show content is never going to be 2160p, you know? we're dealing with youtube rips, 576p tvrips from 2008, compressed files, stupid set designs and abrasive lighting... but knowing all that — and having known it for the 7+ years i've been running this blog — i've been hyper critical of my gifs, how they're cropped and coloured and captioned (translating punchlines to gifs can be tricky), and it's been hurting my motivation to post... which makes me so mad!!! enjoying these shows, talking with you guys about comedy and tv, and making content for tumblr.com has always been sooooo therapeutic to me. i can't let my brain get in the way of that!!! it's actually literally truly honestly so not that serious –.–

so i took a little while to go through all of my gifs from 2024 and i'd like to shoutout the ones i think are particularly cute or fun (◕‿◕✿) it's funny — i have been feeling all of my hangups, but when i look back at what i've posted i really like so much of it! so my resolution in 2025 is to post even more!! to post without abandon!!

presenting my personal 2024 wrapped of my gifs ♡

a pair of tits

the soul of my cat could get reincarnated into my baby

sandi ♥‿♥

fries vs chips

david 🎩

victoria loves david too much to play taskmaster

humpty dumpty

ingrid and her gold cap

dimples

russell tovey ♥‿♥

That wasn't a porno. That was The English Patient.

if you're gonna take a picture take a nice one!

i'm a rabbit

babycakes

🟩🧍🟩

a saucer of milk for this bitch

how large is large?

poor ed

steve ♡ nick

worzel damn gummidge

susie ♥‿♥

hbd joe

diane morgan ♥‿♥

alex's special shirt

little things keep me going

team tokscett

jon without a h

out of context taskmaster 3

we kill this lot

out of context wilty 1

did you just inhale bubbles

hbd david

you're 40 points ahead

i could have had you as a slave

jimmy ♡ pedro

roisin's short term memory loss

alan 😈

i also want to marry mike wozniak

did you tell anthony that being "canonised" meant being fired out of a canon?

mwah

it's a mith, jimmy

halloween

you've changed!

out of context taskmaster 4

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karl-von-moor-official · 2 days ago

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Adding to this, here's some advice that actually helped ME and prioritised ME on how to deal with my tics:

try to sleep. Seriously. A good sleep schedule (and also regular meals) will go a long way. And I know that's fucking hard, I know it's hard to maintain a sleep schedule (I'm sleep deprived rn as I am writing this) and I know it can be hard to fall asleep with tics. But it helps when it works!

Get to know your triggers. Whether it be cold air, itchy fabrics, soft mattresses, prolonged sitting/standing, certain noise, it can be many things. But if you find out things that trigger your tics, you can actually actively work against these triggers. E.g. wearing warm clothes when it gets cool, avoiding certain loud areas/getting headphones, buying softer fabrics or a different mattress, taking breaks from long sitting whenever possible. These are just examples from my own experience, but getting to know your own triggers can really help manage everyday life!

Channelling tics into different tics. Now, this one's a little tricky (or should I say ticy) to explain. (Sorry for the pun.) But basically when I can't sleep because I keep getting tics in my back, I try to move my foot instead (which is a common tic of mine) and basically I try to shift a larger tic (such as clenching my back muscles and curling my whole body) into a smaller tic (such as moving my foot/ankles). This doesn't feel as horrible as suppressing tics and isn't as difficult imo, but it helps me fall asleep sometimes.

don't tear yourself up about them. Probably every person with tics knows that stress can influence tics, but we all know that "just relax" is stupid advice! Of course it's amazing if you can minimise stress or at least try to do so in your everyday life, but it's often not possible. What's super important though is to remember not to get mad with yourself for feeling stressed. When I'm stressed and my tics get more frequent, I often slip into a sense of self-resentment. But in the end, all that does is increase my stress! It's silly and I know it and when I can catch me beating myself up about it, I try to stop it. Don't make this harder on yourself than it already is. Be kind to yourself. Which brings me to my next point:

Self-soothing. This is maybe my MOST IMPORTANT ADIVCE because it does WONDERS for me! Find something that actually soothes your nervous system! For me, I rub my fist on my chest in a circular motion. The contact and the movement is soothing to me in a way that helps me relax which actually helps with my tics very often! If you need to have a smooth stone in your pocket at all times to self-soothe, then by all means - do it! Anything, as long as you're not hurting anyone. Literally anything you can do to make yourself feel more at peace will help. Again, don't make it harder on yourself than it already is!

Don't think about it so much. I admit, this advice sounds about as helpful as "just relax", but bear with me for a second. Firstly, tics are often increased by talking about them/thinking about them/giving them attention (I know, because mine are increasing while writing this post). It doesn't have to be like that for every person with tics, but if you are, like me, one of those people whose tics get worse when you talk about them, then don't! In many cases, you don't owe people an explanation. Don't put your tics at the centre of your thoughts. I know that's not easy when they are quite literally a disruption, but the more you can tell them "fuck off, I don't even care, I don't care what you do or what other people think" the less they might bother you. Again, not as simple as it sounds and I'm aware, but sometimes giving a thing too much attention actually makes the thing worse!

All of these are just my own experiences and might not work for you, but if this does reach even a single person who finds it helpful, I'd love that!

Much of the time I find the way that we’re told to manage tics very much prioritises others rather than the person with tics.

Oftentimes it’s about how to make us more palatable to those who don’t have tics, whether that is being in good humour and allowing them to laugh at us regardless of whether we are comfortable with that, locking ourselves up at home so people don’t have to see something “icky”, putting ourselves in the constant discomfort of suppressing tics for no reason but the fact that other people are ignorant.

Justifying ableism as “well what do you expect going out and yelling swear words?”. When my tics first developed my parents threatened to never let me leave the house, go to school or see friends saying that I have to “think of others”. It is always seen as my responsibility to educate and jump through hoops to be treated with basic decency. People make it very clear that their few seconds of discomfort are priority over my entire life.

#tic disorder #neurodivergent #disability #tics and tourettes #I have motor tics only so this might not apply to vocal tics in the same way #help #education

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 1 day ago

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🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

Let's get this one off the ground! I'm very excited for some Christmas angst!

You get the first Eddie POV sneak peak!

102 for 🐓:

---

It’s not all bad. He has to look at it that way. It’s not all bad. At least he’s able to be here, close to his son. At least things aren’t worse.

He didn’t end up buying a new place down here, before he moved. He didn’t want to miss Christmas. So he rented. Has a six month, short-term lease on a two bedroom apartment. First floor, for Chris. He did manage to sell the house back in Los Angeles. So he’s not hurting financially. He starts his new job with the El Paso Fire Department in January.

It’s all fine. He’s lucky. He’s near his son again.

Not that that’s all smooth sailing either. If anything, it’s been mostly choppy weather, with the occasional let up. Something that Eddie wishes wasn’t so discouraging for him. But he’ll admit it. He’s fucking discouraged.

At first, Chris had been happy to see him. Which felt amazing. He smiled and hugged him and told him he missed him, and for a moment, it just felt like Eddie had been gone on a long trip and was now home. Like maybe time really did heal all wounds and Chris was ready to be a family again.

Then Eddie told him he wasn’t leaving.

It hurts a little. Eddie really was honest and raw with him. Fair, he thought.

“I’m not expecting things to be changed overnight, I’m not expecting anything to be fixed,” he’d told Chris. “But I can’t continue to be where you aren’t. You’re my son. Home is where you are.”

“So you moved to El Paso? And got an apartment?” Chris had replied, face tight.

“I did. Yeah. At least now we’re close, and we can-”

“Why would you do that?” Chris had demanded.

“Why would I want to be in the same city, let alone the same state, as you?” Eddie replied, feeling frustration rising in his chest.

Christopher’s face had gone bright red. Like Eddie had said something to embarrass him. He hadn’t.

“I don’t want you to be in El Paso. I don’t want to spend time at your stupid, sad apartment. I don’t want to talk to you!” Chris had shouted in response.

And he hadn’t, for a bit, after that. Complete silent treatment, just like back in May and June, during the worst of it. Eddie panicked. Spiralled. Felt that he made things worse, all the while ruining what had still been good in his life. But after a brief pity party, Eddie remembered why he came here. To do whatever it takes to make sure the gap between himself and Christopher doesn’t get wider. So whatever. Chris can be mad. He can be silent. But Eddie is here.

So Eddie had kept seeing him anyway. Fought with his parents about, and came to the resolution that Eddie gets two evenings with him a week, minimum. More if Chris wants, which… Well, maybe he’ll start wanting. Hasn’t yet, but at least he’s no longer silent. Quiet and grumbly. But not silent.

Each dinner or forced quality time activity seems to be slowly making a difference. Like crack by crack Eddie is getting through to him. But he honestly doesn’t quite understand why he has to. They’d been doing so much better. Why is Eddie’s proximity such a problem? Maybe… Maybe Chris really doesn’t want him around. Maybe he was calling Eddie or answering Eddie’s calls out of obligation, but really, he was done. Maybe he’s happier the farther Eddie is from him. Maybe all Eddie is to his son is a source of pain.

So being near Chris again makes him happy. But… But it’s not an uncomplicated happiness. It’s tainted. Tainted with the knowledge he might just be being selfish. That he might not be the best thing for Christopher, after all.

And that is a sort of agony.

All this to say, Eddie spends five of seven days a week alone. And even the days he does see Chris, it’s not the full day. It’s a handful of hours at most. Sure, he manages to spend a lot of time visiting Abuela when he can. But other than that, he’s on his own. It’ll be better when he starts working, he thinks. He’ll have a team again. They won’t be the 118 - no one ever could be. But maybe they’ll at least care about him. Right now, other than Abuela - who is aging and doesn’t need Eddie’s stress - no one here really gives a shit about him. His parents have made that much clear.

As Christmas draws nearer and nearer, Eddie struggles with the loneliness. He knows, in his core, that he’s miserable. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. Can’t call Buck or Bobby or anyone to admit it. That he’s done the wrong thing for himself. Again. It’s too… It’s too shameful. He’s always filled with so much shame.

And honestly, maybe he could call Bobby. Bobby who is patient and full of grace and understands that shame better than anyone. Maybe he could even find a way to call Father Brian. He certainly can’t talk to the priests at his family’s church. He knows that from a childhood of bullshit. But… He really can’t call Buck. Not about this. Eddie knows Buck took him leaving hard, even if he tried not to show it. And now he sort of hardly communicates with Eddie at all.

#daisies and briars writes #you're far from home fic

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passthepittcola · 2 days ago

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wait no hold on. stancest but they both have a food/feeding kink. generally from a stan sort of POV bcus he's me🫶

in their early childhood, ford feels oddly warm watching stanley eat so much. he doesn't quite understand it, but keeps quiet and just pretends he likes goading his brother on (which, well. that isn't exactly a lie, is it?)

in their teens, stan fills out more and has been boxing now for a few years, and after a particularly big win, maybe stan scrounges up some money to take him and ford out to eat.

ford's face goes redder than the marinara sauce at that restaurant. stan briefly worries ford has somehow forgotten how to breathe.

so it goes like that for a while, and they hook up and play around. and maybe stan doesn't entirely get it just yet, but he knows ford likes his body, because pshh, yeah, of course he does! so he just rolls with it.

during stan's drifter years, i imagine he realizes he's into a lot of different things- praise, being degraded, getting his hair pulled too tight- yadda yadda. he's not super kinky, is what he thinks, just.. knowledgeable.

but the one thing that gives him pause.. is food. at first, he thinks maybe he's just hit his head one too many times, and now his hot meals that come with blowjobs just make him sweat a little. okay, whatever. stan can deal with that.

what he can't deal with is doing the tango with others who are unashamedly into feeding, into being fed. it.. he tells himself he hates it. and it definitely doesn't remind him of anyone.

he tries really hard to repeat those thoughts when he jacks off about it in his car on particularly lonely nights, when he doesn't want to waste quarters on a phonecall he knows he won't say anything on.

and, later, many years down the line, stan is stanford, in "his own" house, and he's definitely going to whatever hell is worse than the one he's currently in. because he's setting up a mirror as tall as his door, putting on his brother's glasses, his brother's clothes, and a hot plate of food is in front of him.

he's almost not guilty about it, with an orgasm that intense. almost. but, hey, it motivates him to start feeding himself, lets him work on the portal for another day, and he gets a new hobby out of it. so what the hell, right?

and it pays off. 40-some years, and finally, finally, his brother is here again. stan is.. weirdly upset about how thin ford is when he first comes back. how he seems to never eat. but he's also worried about how his brother never sleeps or practices safe hygiene, so maybe it's just that.

and there isn't time to think about it, because he's getting kicked out again, and ford isn't staying away from the kids like stan asked but how can he be mad when he's wanted ford to meet them for almost 13 years, and ford's in trouble and the kids are in trouble and that stupid triangle is here and the whole town is in trouble- and then he's... nobody. nothing. white, blank, black and grey, a soothing fog.

so it doesn't really come up again until much, much later, when his brain is mostly recovered from being swiss cheese and he and ford are on a boat (a boat!).

mabel had initially helped ford start eating real food again, and now it's up to stan. and he thinks he's a good cook. or, better than ford, at least. he's convinced mabel's glitter enchiladas she made once (with real, non-edible glitter) were better than anything ford could make.

so stan cooks. that warm feeling comes, as he watches ford eat. he thinks it's just sappy, mushy feelings, and then suddenly he makes something ford really likes and he's popping a boner over it.

thankfully, ford doesn't notice, but the next time they dock and eat out at a restaurant, ford is the one popping a stiffy and he's certainly not shy about it once they get in private, even if he doesn't realize why. stan certainly isn't complaining, but now he feels like there's a pattern. naturally, instead of just talking about it, he tests it. brings ford to a hotel or something, they get a shit ton of takeout, or maybe a fancy dinner served to their room.

stan would definitely play it up, eating noisily until ford complains. stan just grins and continues until ford pounces to get him to stop, and somehow play-fighting turns into feeding each other, and stan definitely remembers what food kinks are now.

they book their hotel room for one more night, stuffed full with more than just food at the end of it.

#suggestive #stancest #ptpc writes #ptpc post

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dykedvonte · 1 month ago

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I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

#this is my curly slander post ig #disclaimer i need you to understand i see all fictional men i like as like butches Curly is no exception #but like they didnt need to add that many polygons to his chest like its unnessary and honestly a little mean he already has so many things #to handle and you expect him to hold those boys up like that just aint right this is like something so stupid but i know you can tell im #having strong feelings about it cause like what was the point why did they survive the fucking crash it has to be a injoke at this point #with the devs it shouldnt make me this mad im turning into a misandrist but only towards large chested men #mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #shitpost #suggestive #ig because this is just about his chest but like also they made him objectively pretty for no reason like yeah like ideal man and work ig #but they went over the extra mile like i have a right to be mad they did that much for a model we see canonically for like two seconds its #crazy actually how little we see of curly pre crash because we also lose his physical movements to help characterize him the way we see #body language with the other characters and how it gives way to their struggles and personalities and sentiments in certain moments #like all he does and how he emotes is stifled by the fact we always play as him until the last moments where he takes over to try and save #the ship and crew and even right before that the scene is so wrought with tension we cant tell what that look he gave Jimmy meant due to #the limitations of the models and how stiff Curly is like was it fear acceptance denial we dont know enought about how he acts himself #to tell and then everything else is charaterized by what Jimmy had done to where we dont really just get to see Curly as himself like Anya #and Swansea and Daisuke we have no idea how theyd act in a regular moment outside of a few glimpses and even then it is them doing #their jobs like grrrr we hate an unreliable narrator but also its the fact jimmy clearly does not interact with them or try to outside of #his position as copilot and then captain harkening back to the entire capitlist view of utility and how he views all of them as useless eve #Curly which fandom tangent the fandom also tends to do to Curly as they base every trait on what they think he failed to do as Captain #between Jimmy and Anya when the QnAs kinda make him out to be a rather open and willing person but still someone who isnt like a push over #just thinking of QnA three where it mentions hes very open to trying new things and you need to be an open minded person to open urself up #to failure like that and ig this is just the weird view that Curly needs to learn that or that theres redemption he needs personality wise #verses healing and learning from trauma like idk its the idea that people assume he did abosultely nothing when the games points out direct #and throught parallels he was taking actions its just wasnt enough and an over focus on absolute inaction vs ineffective methods used to #tackle the issues and themes the game grapples with plus wanting someone to take the blame and have to make it up to Anya even tho #i think it would mean nothing from Curly because she saw his efforts and would be disappointed it wasnt enough but the idea she would #disregard the attempts or not acknoweldge Jimmy as the epicenter compared ot Curly is weird and too focused on someone

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the-greatest-magic-of-all · 21 hours ago

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“SIRE!” Ick shrieked as he practically threw himself out of the carriage’s window as soon as it stopped. Kicking up dust as he scrambled to Riz’s side, careful not to accidentally overshoot and fly through the portal.

“Ugh,” Riz couldn’t help but groan. Yeah, he should’ve expected a last-ditch effort to get him to stay. Turning to a bent-over, panting Ick, Riz crossed his arms and bluntly asked, “What now?”

Once he’d caught most of his breath, Ick pushed himself to stand upright. Readjusting his robes before settling his hands behind his back in tight fists. “Your Majesty, I implore you to listen to reason. You simply cannot leave us.”

“It’s actually very simple,” Riz shot back, trying not to let pure frustration drip from his every word. Unbeknownst to him, his frustrations were showing in other ways. Thanks to the chaotic, primal nature of the Feywild, the rulers of its vast and varied realms held sway over everything within their domains. Including the physical world. Far up above the village of Bugbarrow, dark clouds began to form and swirl. “My job here is done, so I am leaving. End of story.”

“B-but without a King present—”

Nope! That’s it! Riz is done playing nice. “Fine, Ick! I’ll give you a King!” He muttered as he set his briefcase down in order to yank the Sword of Shadows from it. Unsheathing it in one fluid movement, the shadows curled and twisted around his hand as Riz looked Ick dead in his eyes and said, “I challenge you to take the Crown from me.”

A wave of pure yet nigh invisible magic erupted from Riz’s form, surging out in a wave until it reached every corner of the Goblin Court. The King had declared a duel. The air buzzed with arcane anticipation. Every Goblin that wasn’t already outside and/or keeping an eye on the leaving brides quickly made their way out. None of them dared to go closer than needed, but none wanted to miss this.

Royal Advisor Sir Ick, for his part, flinched as The Sword of Shadows was drawn, but he stood his ground. “Sire,” He said slowly, his voice low and his face stony as he shook his head. “My answer is the same as it was several days ago. I will do no such thing.”

Almost all at once, the arcane energy of the duel was dispelled. Riz groaned. Fine! (The storm up above crackled with lightning.) He didn’t need this stubborn bastard to rid himself of this stupid title. “Well! Then—” Riz turned away from Ick and toward the audience that had gathered in the village’s square. Throwing his arms open, he raised his voice as he said, “—I challenge anyone here to take the Crown from me!”

Another duel declared, the magic surging out once again. Air buzzing with anticipation as thunder rumbled from the clouds overhead. Only… Not a single person spoke up. Riz’s eyes darted around the group of about hundred and twenty or so Goblins that all stared back at him with looks of amusement, defiance, or, worse yet, pity. There wasn’t even a foolish, spitfire teen that volunteered just for the hell of it. What in the actual—

“Seriously? Come on, folks! Free crown? Fancy castle? Ultimate power?” Riz asked, feeling like a cheap car salesman as he offered up things that people have literally killed for. “No one?!”

Fabian (who got his name back on the way here) could barely keep his laughter to himself. Slapping a hand over his mouth once, Riz picked up on it and whipped around to glare at him. “What? Don’t get mad at me!” Fabian whined from where he was posted up near the still-open portal. “Seems like everyone here is just as fond of all of that King business as you are.”

“You are not helping,” Riz hissed, even though he knew there wasn’t much Fabian could actually do. The best he could do would be to take the title from him. And there was no world where Riz would leave his friend behind in this place. No matter how much he’d love it. Dragging a hand down his face, Riz tightened his grip on his sword as he (reluctantly) tapped into the vast pool of magic the title of Goblin King provided him. To the end of making sure that his voice was heard all throughout the realm, “To the entirety of the Goblin Court and every Fey within it, I challenge any of you to take this Crown from me!”

A third duel declared, this time with enough magic sent out to the farthest reaches so that any who accepted Riz’s challenge could teleport to him as soon as they did so.

And yet…

Nothing.

You’ve got to be kidding.

How bad could the last Kings have possibly been that every last soul within the Court agreed that their best bet was a seventeen-year-old sleepless detective who regularly takes vitamin gummies and whose first best friend may very well be his client?

Surely, they could do better?!

Tiptoeing back over to where Riz had gone silent as he stared down at his feet, Ick quietly tried to begin with, “Sire—”

“Sir Ick,” Riz cut him off. Eyes still focused on his old, leather briefcase kid shoes, but his voice was as grim as a grave. His family had done their damndest to escape this place; there was no way in the Great Wheel that he was getting trapped here again. Lightning crackled overhead as he locked eyes with Ick and quietly said, “Unless someone in the next few moments challenges me for the Crown, I will call upon anyone in the Feywilds to come and take it from me.”

“Wait! Please,” Ick said, his hands fluttering about as if he wanted to grab Riz, but, unlike Drezza, he did not have the nonchalantness to do so. “Your Majesty, for not only our sake but I’m sure your Mother’s, who I would assume would not wish for you to die so brutally, don’t.”

“Is that what you’re all worried about?” Riz asked, lifting his head with furrowed brows, some of the clouds dissipating into rain somewhere else. By the Gods, why would they think—“I’m planning on conceding after a few rounds of combat. You don’t have to kill me. No one does.”

Ick shook his head. “Yes, they do. A living loser of a Crown Contest will not be tolerated.”

A bit less jovial now that death was on the table, Fabian pushed off of the hut he’d been leaning on to walk over. Grimacing, he raised his hand as he caught Ick’s gaze and asked, “Now, by ‘not be tolerated,�� you mean?”

“I mean that if his Majesty is revived after losing, the victor will likely not take kindly to it and will seek to kill him permanently,” Ick explained as a mumbly chorus of agreeance sounded from the audience of Goblins still around them. He turned back to Riz with a solemn look as he went on, “And I assure you, since no one within the Court is willing to fight you, the victor will want you dead and buried for good.”

Crouching down next to Riz’s sagging form, Fabian winced and muttered, “That’s a rough one, Detective.”

“Thanks for the fantastic colour commentary, Fabes,” Riz said tonelessly before he collapsed to sit on the ground. Yes, it was undignified, but he couldn’t give less of a shit about any of that. Sword across his lap, head in his hands, and words muffled, Riz asked, “If I die by other means, will the crown still belong to me?”

Clearing his throat, Ick did what he did best. “I assume you are planning to be revived promptly? If so, then yes, you will still be King since the title is linked to your soul. Of course, you could chance waiting for a usurper to come and take the title while you’re deceased, but you’d risk said usurper taking too long.” And having to find and pay someone to cast True Resurrection on him. Ugh, fuck all of this Fey bullshit! “See, you can’t leave, Sire. As I’ve said, we need a King or else—”

“The Court ceases to function,” Riz droned, imitating Ick’s precise and persnickety inflections. Scowling up at his Advisor with his chin in his hand, he asked, “Why is that exactly?”

“Oh, well, you see…” Ick began, adjusting his glasses, before he launched into what Riz had to assume was a complete and total list of all of the King’s bureaucratic, courtly, and arcane responsibilities. Riz managed to keep up while Fabian zoned out almost immediately. He couldn’t blame him.

The list Ick was laying out before him was mind-numbingly long and convoluted. Sure, there was stuff in there about governing and shit, but there was also his duty to host diplomats for as long as what felt right(?!) and the need to oversee and approve court appointments and new court members. It was all too much for one mortal to do! Hell, he’s not even sure an Archfey could pull this off!

Wait… If it’s too much for one person to do… But then how would he get them to agree to that…? Oh! Well… If Fey bullshit got him into this mess, then perhaps it could get him out of it.

The clouds began to slowly part.

“FINE!” Riz shouted, interrupting Ick’s absurdly long list as he shot to his feet. With a renewed energy, he sheathed and packed up the Sword of Shadows, stood up straight and asked, “How about a bargain?”

Riz could feel the pique of interest not only in Ick but also everyone around them, including Fabian. Who kept crouching as he smirked and arched a brow at him.

Ick, who’d been a bit put out for being interrupted, furrowed his brows in thought for a couple of moments before straightening up himself. A nod, “I’m listening.”

Perfect.

Hands kept loosely behind his back, Riz innocently asked, “How many boroughs would you say the Court has?”

“Twelve, your Majesty.”

Riz took a deep breath, settling himself the best he could before he began, “Perfect, each of them will hold a free and fair election to elect a leader of said borough, which we’ll call a Minister. They will lead and make decisions on behalf of everyone in their district and congregate… two seasons a year, let’s say Spring and Fall, in Hornhallow to discuss bureaucratic choices for the whole Court.”

Oh, yeah, baby!

Guess who’s getting democracy forced onto them!

The sounds of confused and slightly alarmed words and worry shared throughout the surrounding Goblins grew louder and louder the longer Riz went on. But no outright objections, so Riz would take it. Ick did attempt to raise a finger to interject, but Riz quickly shot him down. “I’m not done! All twelve of them will be led and managed by a Prime Minister, whose main job is to oversee the entire Court and bring up only the most important and pressing matters to the King. And guess what, Ick?”

“What?” Wide owlish eyes stared at him in… wonder? Horror? Both? Riz didn’t know, but it felt good to see all the same.

“I’m looking for an outstanding candidate for Prime Minister who already knows his way around the Court’s intricate bureaucracy,” Riz said with a crazed smile and wild eyes. “I hereby delegate all of my responsibilities and duties to be distributed between the Ministers and you, the Prime Minister. However, if need be, I will have the final say on any issue they bring to me and reserve the full right to veto anything or anyone I desire.” Sticking out a hand toward Ick as bright beams of sunlight burst through the cloud cover, revealing a beautiful blue sky, Riz asked, “Do we have a deal?”

Check fuckin’ mate!

Ick was left more than a bit stunned by his Majesty’s not-quite-trick. But he wasn’t ranting and raving at being forced to take on more work. Hell, stunned might not even be the right word now that Riz thought about it. He was just simply quiet. Head hung low, claws fidgeting, tail pensively swaying back and forth. Riz watched as thoughts raced through the Advisor’s mind, and the Goblins of Bugbarrow held their breath, all of them waiting for Ick’s answer.

After a few more moments of quiet, Ick raised his head, held up a finger and asked, “Will all arcane powers and responsibilities still entirely lie with you?”

Huh. Not a rebuttal. But a clarification.

Hope bloomed in Riz’s chest as he thought about Ick’s question. If he couldn’t give away all of his duties, there were worse ones than wielding the magic of this place and having to deal with defending the title from usurpers every so often. In addition to signing some papers and acting as a figurehead. Plus, that meant he got to keep the cool shadow sword! Perhaps this King thing wouldn’t be so bad.

A genuine smile growing on his face, Riz gave Ick a nod as he said, “Yes, I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Ick quickly clasped their hands together, “Deal!”

With that one word, the arcane foundations of the Goblin Court shook. From within their clasped hands, motes and streaks of light and colours erupted out in nigh blinding brilliance. And just like that, the world was different.

As Riz, who felt instantly lighter and freer than he had in a couple of days, caught Ick’s gaze and asked, “You gonna be alright?”

Ick smiled at him and shrugged, “What’s a little more hard work?”

Shaking on it one last time, Prime Minister Ick gave Riz a bow before he bid the people of Bugbarrow good day and left in the carriage in a hurry to get those elections up and running. Riz gave him a little salute as the carriage passed him by before turning to Fabian and sighing with relief.

“Well done, Detective,” Fabian said, smiling (what Riz would later look back on and realize was a lovestruck smile) as he ruffled Riz’s curls. “Ready to go home?”

Leaving a mini offering for when you awaken - Thanks for chatting with me while work has been boring me to death :3

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Fae Wilds

Fabian flinched his hand away when Riz swatted at his fingers, the goblins hand connecting with his knuckles with a stinging crack since he wasn’t pulling his punches. Not anymore. The creature that had tried to hand Fabian a strange piece of fruit snarling at the goblin and earning a venomous hiss from the detective in response before it skuttled up the tree and out of sight into the canopy.

“Just because someone is handing you something doesn’t mean you have to take it.” Riz took a calming breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose under his glasses before resettling them on his face properly. “In fact, put your hands in your pockets. Please.”

The goblin had needed to explain this to Fabian six times already but the Fae Wilds tended to make most people who weren’t native a little vague at the best of times. He wasn’t mad at his friend, not really, he was just kind of wishing he hadn’t let the half elf invite himself on this little mission in the name of ‘watching Riz’s back’ for him. Sure, adventuring with a partner was much more enjoyable than going solo like he usually did but gods was it stressful when he had to keep an eye on Fabian the entire time. If he’d known Fabians human heritage would cause this much of a handicap on his resistance to the confusing influence of this realm he wouldn’t have let him come at all.

This excursion wasn’t in relation to Fabians case anyway, the leads on that one having run dry a while ago, but Riz still had bills to pay and the half elf was fine with him taking other clients in the meantime. They were in the Fae Wilds searching for information, the detectives current client swearing that his daughter had run off with a member of some fairy court and wanting to know where they’d gone. When Riz had gone through his daughters things he’d had to agree, some of the items and letters she’d left behind faintly humming with traces of magic from this realm when he’d checked them over.

So here they were, just the two of them, trying to find someone they could get information out of without trading away something irreplaceable. Riz had gotten a few leads from some of the less dangerous creatures in the area and had been verifying some of it with another when he heard Fabian speaking with someone behind him. The goblin having to whirl around quickly to smack Fabian on the leg to stop him from saying his name to a beautiful, naked woman that looked like they were carved out of a still living tree. Riz narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth when they ran a flirty finger under Fabian’s chin before giggling and wandering away into the forest around them.

“Oh, sorry The Ball. You were trying to get my attention?” Fabian had stared wistfully after the retreating figure until they were impossible to spot among the foliage, the half elf making a choked noise when Riz reached up to grab him by the collar of his jacket and yank him down to the goblins eye level.

“Stop. Saying. Your. Name. and REALLY stop saying your FULL name. Even if they don’t want to steal it they can do some pretty horrible stuff to you if you’re not careful.”

“Ah. Right. Sorry. Force of habit.” Fabian grinned, happy to let the goblin manhandle him around if he wanted to even though it would be very easy to resist. It meant he got to look at his face up close, even if his brows were knitted together in a frown and his ears were pinned back in a way he knew meant he was upset or worried.

“Fuck, okay. I know you’re having issues remembering all this because of-“ Riz let go of his collar with one hand to gesture vaguely around the pair of them, indicating the fae wild at large. “-but it’s going to cause problems if you keep doing that. So. Give me your name.”

“Hmm? Okay, It’s…” The half elf frowned, his own ears drooping slightly while his eye darted, unfocused, from side to side as he tried to think. “I don’t… why can’t I remember?”

“Oh, good. Excellent. I still remember it so that worked.” Riz let go of his collar, pressing their foreheads together in a brief nuzzle before stepping way from him. “You gave me your name. I’ll give it back once we go home but at least I can keep it safe for you until we do. For now you’ll just have to go by… I dunno. Maximum Legend until we leave.”

Now that a creature of this realm had control of the half-elfs name hopefully it would have the duel effect of helping to clear his mind somewhat. Maximum Legend, for his part, was doing an excellent impression of a stunned fish. Mouth hanging open slightly as he stayed crouched in the position Riz had left him in.

“That’s…. what the fuck The Ball? How in the Nine Hells did you even do that?”

“I am a creature of many talents.”

The half-elf scoffed in response but didn’t argue, standing back up to his full height and following along behind Riz as he started walking again.

It's always a delight to chat with you, and it's one of my favourite things to do! Thank you for this gift. Here's a little something in return, pulled from some of our recent chats.

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Maximum Legend—ugh, he couldn’t believe Riz was throwing that one drunken night on Leviathan in his face—kept a hand on the hilt of his blade as he stood back to back with Riz as several masked goblins surrounded them. They’d been on their way through a forest of trees as tall as skyscrapers with thick and colourful underbrush. Following their only lead regarding the location of Riz’s client’s daughter, Sarah. Up until they’d been ambushed, of course.

He’d been ready for a fight, but he felt Riz hesitate at the same time he did, thanks to giving their attackers a second look over. Rusty pitchforks, worn sickles, and recently repaired spears. Masks made up of ripped fabric and threadbare work clothes covered with patchwork leather armour. If they were bandits, they had only just started out, but something told them that these people weren’t even that.

Riz glanced at Maximum Legend to make sure they were on the same page before he called out to one of the goblins in Gukliak. Maximum could only follow parts of the back and forth that occurred. He could surmise that Riz had asked the troupe if they’d seen a Halfling girl running around with a member of one of the nearby Courts.

For a moment, the goblins looked shifty about it, but Riz… insisted that her father only wanted to know that she was safe and bring her home if she wasn’t. A bit of conferring between the troupe and another quick exchange with Riz before they lowered their weapons. Giving them both a nod to follow.

The troupe of goblins kept them close as they led them through the forest toward a small village by a winding creek. Small farms on the outskirts of it with farmers tending to strange beasts and even stranger crops. Little houses and shops were built into the massive ivied tree trunks or carved out of giant moss-covered boulders. A village square with a tall pole wrapped in colourful ribbons and flowers that goblin villagers pass by and congregate at to stare at him and Riz as they’re led deeper into the settlement.

Eventually they are led to a hollowed out giant tree stump where the missing daughter, Sarah, a young ravenhaired Halfling woman sat in a garden of tall grass and wildflowers, playing a guitar for a hoard of young goblins. It was a sweet sight to watch for a moment or two. But sooner than later, one of the kits noticed their and their guides’ presences and a whirlwind of chaos erupted.

Sarah stopped strumming, sitting up alarmed as some of the kits raced towards a couple of the goblins who guided them here—their parents, obviously. While others, the ones on the older side stayed and began to swarm Sarah as if they could hide her with their bodies. And that is nothing to say of a matronly Goblin woman bursting out of the stump and rushing to put herself in front of Sarah and the kits as she hissed at the guides and the outsiders.

Maximum watched as Riz lowered his ears in submission to her obvious authority in this place as he began to speak to her slowly in Gukliak. At first, she wasn’t having it; not even some nudging from their guides was enough for her to let them come any closer. But luckily, Sarah was far more willing to humour them.

Slithering out of the pile of kits, she threw her guitar over her shoulder as she walked over to the Goblin matron to put a hand on her shoulder. Telling her that they most likely weren’t here on the Goblin King’s orders. She recognized their clothing; they were from her home plane. Here to rescue her. Sarah smiles at them and tells them that Drezza is just worried about her because she sees her stolen daughter in her, that’s all. She’s happy to talk to them and explain what happened to her.

You see, Sarah Timbersage had been having a really tough time at college, at her dead-end job and at home and… she’d met a guy. Handsome, almost too good-looking for words. Elven, she’d guessed at first, but he’d been light on the details. They’d exchanged letters, back and forth; old fashioned, but she’d liked it. He’d said that she could come live with him, that he’d take care of her, and she’d want for nothing…

As the fifth daughter of eight children, it was an enticing offer. Believable, too, he’d given her a beautiful necklace as if it were nothing. She hadn’t even realized she’d been enthralled until she was deep in the Feywild, within the Castle of the Goblin King. Who, she’d quickly realized, was only going to add her to a collection of “brides” he kept as a testament to his power. Including Drezza’s daughter, Pollina, though Sarah hadn't known that then. Only by pure luck did she manage to escape the fortress and disappear into the forest surrounding it.

Sarah doesn’t know how long she wandered, but one morning, after spending the night hidden in a rotted log, she was found by some of Drezza’s children. The sweet things had realized that she was not only hungry and thirsty, but also the mortal woman the Goblin King had sent scouts to find.

Now, you have to understand. Within the Goblin Court, you’d be hard-pressed to find a soul that actually revered or even liked their King. Hell, they hadn’t particularly liked their last dozen Kings! Might makes Right in the Court of Goblins, so one of the most popular ways for anyone to gain power is to kill a more powerful being than themselves and assume their title.

The worst thing is? It's an arcane issue. It doesn't matter if the courtiers and subjects of the Court despise whoever holds the title of Goblin King, no matter how this so-called King drags their Court’s reputation through the mud unless one of them can defeat him? There's nothing they can do to strip the Court-given powers from him. As much as they hated to admit it, the current Goblin King was very powerful.

And if the smoke signal from the outermost of the village's farms was correct, he was on his way here.

#:3 #Brave and Loyal Knight AU

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