#ughhhhhh i hate this i hate this i hate this

[crowbarhater]

I LOVE dick and damian but OMG they could do sooooooo much with these two, they are the two suns that came from the league, they were there at the same time and the two who find reasons to justify KILLING, one was the first one bruce chose ti adopt and the other the first son he would love without choosing. soooooo much could be done, and the hate relashionship btwn them but still its not as harsh as the others because he was nos in jasons past, dude it could be epic, brothers that dislike each other but were always link, were forjed by the same man but don't agree with his moral code and defy it for complete diferent reasons and in different ways, but still so similar ughhhhhh

sleepy...

[atlas7seo]

Sometimes I feel like people failed US History and this recent election and talks about tariffs really do prove that. I mean did literally everyone collectively forget about the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act and those major repercussions? Btw that act happened in 1930. There's a reason President Hoover's name was used to refer to Shanty Towns in the Great Depression. Or the fact that almost all tariff acts within the last 80 or so years have either been expanding negotiation for world trade or deliberately decreasing tariffs. And the one time in 2002 where steel had tariffs placed on it, it was repealed in under a year because the cost greatly outweighed any benefits.

Does anyone remember the last time Trump tried to make tariffs in 2018? How many people credit it to be one of the largest tax increases in US history!?

Are people really that stupid? Like it's literally a REQUIRED part of our general education. Why do you think it is!? So people can actually make smart decisions.

[cranberrymoons]

just watched buck get struck by lightning for the first time….. they really had eddie screaming his name like that. and i am supposed to believe they are not in love?

RAAAAAAA LITERALLY i know 😭 and running up the ladder without a harness and so out of his mind about it that he tries to pull buck’s dead body UP TOWARD HIM and being the one who is able to restart his heart. bobby making him drive because otherwise he would have gotten too in the way of chim trying to save his life. yelling at the er staff!!!!! ughhhhhh i hate them i hate them i hate them

[shoveitevil]

‘thank you avogado’ we all say in unison

[dinsbeskar]

I AM SCREAMING HE IS SO AWFUL OH GOD

“My gentle darling, you have a fever. You must have had a nightmare,” he told you sweetly. “I told you to stay in bed.”

Fuck's sake, the way I'd be like "yes babe you're right, I'll go back to bed" ughhhhhh he's so evil for this!!!

“No emissary of The Valar would do this,” you turned your face around to lay your eyes on your husband again as more tears streamed down your cheeks. He looked both – hurt to be accused and angry to be caught at the same time. The most confusing reaction you could expect. “My husband would not do this,” you added, nearly inaudibly.

At that, he snorted. And you only sobbed some more.

OOOOOHHHH THE AUDACITY, hurt to be accused???? Reign it in bro, you've been caught!!! It's the snorting for me though, the unnecessary hurt to the literal mother of his child, goddddd I hate him!!

“I have many names,” Annatar smirked at your question as if it was bringing him satisfaction that his silly and naive wife had finally realised the dreadful truth.

OUCH this fucking guy??? She's such a sweet soul and he's taking such pleasure in shattering her, I need to fight him 😂

“But you are my daddy,” Almárea tugged on his robe, waiting for confirmation.

“For all eternity, my darling one,” he caressed her hair lovingly and an empty hole in your chest grew and grew as it began to sink into your heart.

You had married Annatar but you had a child with Sauron.

Oh god this section had me in pieces, "for all eternity my darling one"??? Daddy Sauron is sending me, someone come get me off the floor, so much paaaain

You sobbed silently. Was it possible that this was the only kind of love you could ever count on? This twisted illusion, this mockery? You had been nothing but kind and gentle to him, giving him everything you had and more. And all you had ever wanted in return was to be loved back. To have a family.

My heart is shattered, she doesn't deserve this!!! This fucking guy!!!! It's okay babe, in a few millennia he'll end up destroyed by his own hubris, you'll get your revenge (I'm so upset for her, goddddd)

“Mummy is a twisted, treacherous little witch, so it seems,” Sauron drawled out and you turned your head around to lay your angry eyes upon him with tears streaming down your cheeks.

HORRIBLE MAN

EVIL

The absolute audacity to try and turn her daughter against her, the gall, the gumption??? Absolutely not!!!

“Daddy, it is not mummy’s fault that she is weak. You told me that yourself!”

Again, EVIL, TWISTED, TERRIBLE.

“Annatar,” you whispered softly. “Annatar, my love, come back to me. You bound yourself to me, too, dark spirit. Obey me. Release me,” you pleaded, desperately, feeling as if you were losing your sanity.

OH MY GOD

Hoo boy i wish that had worked but he is literally the worst!!! "Obey me, release me" absolutely sent me

Sauron did what you had done a while earlier and pressed Almárea’s face deeper into his robe as she was clinging to him. And when there was a guarantee she could not see anything, he twisted the wrist of his free hand and the Commander froze before turning the blade around and killing himself with it.

Daddy!Sauron appears again!!! Fuck this guy but also, oh my godddddd, like he's happy for her to do his dirty work, but she can't possibly see him kill a bunch of people, that would be too far!!

Holy shit, I'm in love with the way you write him, so deliciously evil, I cannot wait for the 3rd part, I will die!!!

— BLESSED (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You find out your husband's true identity when Eregion is under attack. It is hard to tell which one is worse – the betrayal that you feel or witnessing how influenced by his evil your daughter already is.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I said there would be a second part, so here it is. But as usual, I could not stop writing and... there will be a third part, too! 🤣 Basically, in this part, Sauron is walking inside the rooms rapidly nearly all the time, which is something I realised later while re-reading the fic but I couldn't edit it since it made sense for the plot (and he was doing that a lot in canon, too).

WARNINGS — Reader's father is dead (he was human, so she outlived him), manipulating, gaslighting, lowkey toxic and abusive marriage between the Reader and Annatar Sauron, he gets angry at his daughter once or twice but he is not violent towards her (should not trigger anyone but I wanted to mention it just in case) + he is manipulating his daughter a lot, Celebrimbor has gone mad-mad, Reader being put to sleep against her will, trigger warnings from S02E07 (Sauron murdering the guards etc.)

WORD COUNT — 5,240

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BLESSED (II)

You were sitting inside your chambers in the evening all alone and embroidering for your daughter. Your only company was a slowly burning candle as you focused on the beautiful gemstones that were appearing thanks to your needle. Almárea had always been interested in the craft of smithery and it was no surprise. Her grandfather had been an excellent smith and so was her father. Uncle Celebrimbor perhaps was not related to her but she had been growing up around him. And, recently, her new favourite thing to do was to spend time with him in the forge, learning everything she could about the craft. She was there at the moment, too.

And where Annatar was, you had no idea. Most likely with them or helping to run the city. Ever since Celebrimbor’s health had been getting worse, your husband was helping you with the administration matters around Eregion, for which you were the most grateful. He did not wish you to overwork yourself.

You heard a booming sound from the distance, which startled you slightly. However, you gave it no second thought. But when the sound began to repeat itself, you stood up and approached the window worryingly. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the fire burning in the distance and you spotted a cannonball coming closer and closer to Eregion.

You could see it all in slow-motion how it hit one of the towers of your city. You let out a scream and covered your mouth with a trembling hand. The very foundations of the tower you were in shook and made you hurry for the doors, desperate to find the ones you loved the most.

But before you could reach them, they opened widely and Annatar stood in them. He was oddly calm but oh, of course he was – an emissary of The Valar would not be ever scared and his calmness would bring nothing but peace in the times of trouble.

“We are under attack,” he announced and you grabbed his sleeve to squeeze the fabric and pull on it, holding onto him like a child. “Stay here.”

“But… Almárea… She’s in the forge with Celebrimbor…” You sobbed and yelped at the sound of another cannonball hitting Eregion.

“Do not be afraid,” Annatar put his arm around you and walked you back to your chair where he was trying to sit you down but you refused.

“Almárea and uncle Celebrimbor… I must go for them…”

“I shall go,” Annatar assured you and finally managed to sit you down by the table. “My love, stay here.”

“Should we not evacuate?” You asked, looking up at him with glistening eyes. Whatever he would say, you would listen, do and follow. You trusted him with your whole life.

“When the right time comes. Until then, stay here, so I do not lose you in the crowd,” Annatar instructed and left your chambers.

You wiped your tears with a shaky hand and felt the ground under your feet shaking once more. A while after his departure, you realised that his request was deeply concerning. Staying inside this tower could mean death to you, after all. There was no guarantee that the next cannonball would not hit your tower.

You moved up once more and ran to the doors but they were locked, which made you furrow your brows. You kept pulling the handle but without any success. Even when you used all of your force, they did not move an inch.

The sounds of cannonballs and people screaming in terror were reaching your ears from afar as your anxiety grew. How could your husband ask you to stay inside in a moment like this – especially with your daughter being far away from you? Your heart could not rest until you were sure that Almárea was safe.

You hurried to the balcony and looked up at the tower next to yours. The fire inside the forge was still on, you noticed. But you kept waiting and waiting for your husband’s return and there was nobody coming.

You were circling around the room nervously, trying to think of a way out. Almárea was all you could think of – your sweet daughter, your purpose in life, your little blessing. You had to be with her, you had to protect her.

And as you nearly broke down in tears of helplessness, you felt another cannonball hitting nearby. The force of that hit was so strong that you fell over, feeling the floor underneath you tilting slightly. When you dared to open your eyes, fearing what you would witness, you realised that half of the tower you were locked inside was in ruins now. Including the wall in front of you, which allowed you to run out without using the locked doors.

You did not think of anything else, leaving all your properties behind as you gathered your skirts and managed to get to the corridor, coughing heavily from all the dust.

The staircase was wobbly and you knew each step could cause you to fall down but you were too determined to overthink that. Step by step, as fast as you could, you ran downstairs and hurried across the courtyard, bumping into other screaming and terrified people, until you reached the doors to Celebrimbor’s forge.

What you witnessed, shocked you dearly. Because despite the siege around you, you spotted your uncle and daughter working on some design cheerfully.

“Almárea!” You called out for her, making them both turn around with widened eyes. “Uncle! What are you doing?!” You hurried to their side and put your arms around your daughter protectively. “Can’t you see and hear what is happening outside?! We must leave, this very moment!”

“What are you talking about, child?” Celebrimbor chuckled at you as if you were the crazy one. His eyes were full of joy but you also spotted a haze in them, a deep fog as if he had lost his mind. Your heart ached for him because his state had been worsening for weeks now.

“Uncle… Please, we must go,” you reached out to hold his wrists but he winced and pushed you away.

“No! I must not stop my work. What are you talking about, (Y/N)? Look at the state of you, you look like a slattern,” he pointed out and his words hurt you deeply. Of course you looked like a slattern. There was a siege happening and you crawled yourself out of the tower’s ruins to get here. “Almárea, your mother must be feverish,” he addressed your daughter.

“Almárea, my darling, we have to go and we have to take uncle with us,” you tried to explain it to her in the simplest way but she took a step back from you as she shook her head and the bow in her head bounced slightly.

“No. Daddy asked me to stay here and watch over uncle Celebrimbor,” she explained.

“Almárea, that is very noble but we are under attack,” you were trying to remain calm despite the noises reaching your ears from the outside. You knew that you had no time to argue. “Whatever your daddy asked you to do, it has no significance now.”

“But he has been here only recently,” she answered and you opened your mouth slightly, surprised. “He told me to keep up my work,” she added, proudly. “Uncle, go back to your craft. Mummy is sick indeed,” she addressed Celebrimbor and he nodded at her before giving you a dirty look and going back to his designs of the Rings.

“Almárea, it is not safe, we must leave. What are you doing to him?” You asked her, unsurely. You were scared to hear the answer as you crouched down to be on her level.

Your sweet, little daughter. Your blessing. Why was there so much malice in her eyes now?

The doors of the forge opened rapidly and you stood up at the sight of Annatar rushing inside. At first, you did not recognise him because his kind and loving face was twisted in anger as his soft eyes reminded you of nothing but black, empty abysses.

“What are you doing here?!” He barked at you. “I saw the cannonball hitting our tower, I rushed there and it was empty. Do you have any idea how worried I was?!” He raised his voice at you but you could not hear any concern in it – only fury.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and put your hands on Almárea’s shoulders.

“It is you who should explain yourself to me,” you tried to sound harshly but it was coming to you with great difficulty. After all, it was your husband, whom you loved and respected greatly. “Why is Almárea here and what is she doing to my uncle? You promised me you would come for them and we would evacuate together,” you pointed out.

“Not until the Rings are finished,” Annatar answered. “Almárea, are you keeping up the good work?” He addressed her softly.

“Yes, daddy,” she nodded her head with a grin and Annatar smiled before approaching Celebrimbor.

“How fares your progress?” He asked him.

“It would be better if your wife was not distracting me. She is feverish, you should take her back to your chambers and put her to bed. Call for a medic if you must,” Celebrimbor mumbled out.

“Is everyone going insane here?! We are under attack!” You exclaimed out of desperation.

“Almárea,” was all your husband said before she nodded and tilted her head

Suddenly, you felt dizzy. You let go of her arms and stumbled, grabbing the edge of Celebrimbor’s desk. You laid your free hand on your forehead and felt how hot the skin was.

“Oh, I… I… I do not feel well,” you whispered.

Annatar hurried to your side and slowly wrapped his arms around yours to help you move away.

“My gentle darling, you have a fever. You must have had a nightmare,” he told you sweetly. “I told you to stay in bed.”

“You… You did?” You asked but your mind was in a haze.

“Please, lay down,” Annatar helped you to get comfortable on a chaise longue in Celebrimbor’s study. He caressed your forehead and you could hear him walk away since your vision was too blurry to see anything. “Almárea, your mummy needs to rest,” you heard him whisper before your eyelids got too heavy to keep them open and you drifted off to the land of dreams.

You had no idea for how long you had been sleeping. Could be hours and could be days. When you opened your eyes again, you realised with terror that the forge was a mere shadow of its own glory. It was in ruins now and everything was dull, grey and full of dust. You stood up rapidly with your heart pounding inside your chest from the anxiety – Almárea and her safety were all you could think of.

And there she was, sitting boredly on top of Celebrimbor’s desk. They both had clothes and faces dirty from the ashes but he kept working cheerfully as your daughter was looking down at him and swinging her legs.

“Oh, mummy,” she smiled at the sight of you. “I am glad you woke up. I am so bored here and daddy keeps saying I must go on until uncle’s work is finished,” she sighed and jumped down onto the floor.

“What… What are you doing? What are you doing exactly?” You asked her, carefully. Your head was still heavy from the sleep induced upon you and your memories of what had happened were foggy.

“Daddy says uncle Celebrimbor must finish the Rings for men but he would be scared of what is going on outside, so while daddy helps to run Eregion, I am here, making sure uncle Celebrimbor has no idea about anything,” she revealed and you gasped.

At that moment, the doors opened and Annatar walked inside. His skin and robes were not dirty at all as if he was above the siege. For the first time in your life, you were scared at the sight of him as you swallowed thickly, so deeply confused.

“The Rings. Are they finished?” He asked and closed the doors behind him. Then, he spotted you being awake and turned around slowly with a puzzled expression. “Almárea, why is your mother awake?”

“I was bored, daddy,” Almárea whined and you watched Annatar’s face muscles twitching as he clenched his jaw and gave your daughter a look so scolding that she approached you to seek safety.

“She is only a child, what do you expect?” You asked him. “You have burdened her with a task that is too heavy for her. It would be too heavy for anyone. The measures you are taking to finish the creation are unholy,” you took a deep breath in and moved a little closer to your uncle with Almárea still clinging to you. You were trying to shield poor Celebrimbor from your husband. “Make it stop. Let us flee.”

Celebrimbor looked up at you, his eyes so full of fog and mist that it made you shed a tear of compassion as he smiled adoringly at you with nothing but pure joy. He had completely lost his mind now.

“No emissary of The Valar would do this,” you turned your face around to lay your eyes on your husband again as more tears streamed down your cheeks. He looked both – hurt to be accused and angry to be caught at the same time. The most confusing reaction you could expect. “My husband would not do this,” you added, nearly inaudibly.

At that, he snorted. And you only sobbed some more.

“Free my uncle’s mind, I beg of you,” you shook your head.

“He is not under my control,” Annatar smirked and looked down to meet your daughter’s gaze. He nodded and she squeezed her eyes tightly as she focused on something. When her eyes opened again, you looked back at your uncle but he remained working. “Her powers are too strong. He might be forever broken now,” Annatar pointed out with a glimpse of… pride. “Come to me, my child,” he opened his arms and Almárea tried to move but you tightened your grip around her.

“No. You will not go near that man ever again,” you said to her, harshly. Each word caused a pain, like a knife cutting your heart into pieces.

You loved Annatar but you had to protect your daughter from him because the man in front of you was… Was simply not the man you had married. Perhaps the burden of the Valar was too heavy for him. The task they had given to him had driven him and your uncle to madness.

Perhaps it was all your fault – by choosing to stay with you as your husband, he had to choose this form and stay in it, losing some of his godly powers. And his new flesh was simply too weak to handle all the power he had been blessed with by the gods.

His empty eyes glanced at you with so much hatred and fury that you felt smaller than a mouse at the moment.

“I am her father,” he reminded you, coldly. “Almárea, come here,” he ordered.

And you were simply too weak to fight it. Your limbs rebelled against your will as you felt your daughter leaving your grasp and running up to her father. You could only watch as your whole life was crumbling down just like Eregion around it.

“You are her father. But you are not my husband,” you said. “Who are you… truly?”

“I am the one keeping the storm at bay,” he answered, putting his hands on Almárea’s shoulders as she kept looking up at him with admiration. “Balancing the very sun above your head. All to heal Middle-earth and give your weak and pathetic uncle one chance to prove his worth. I want the Nine!” He yelled, making you flinch.

Celebrimbor did not, however. He only looked up at the mention of his name and smiled kindly at the monster you had to call your husband.

“I am working, my friend,” he assured him before going back to work.

You moved slightly to cover him from Annatar’s stare. But you were not sure if Annatar was truly his name.

To heal Middle-earth. You knew that story. You knew who had been the man with such a dream. Annatar had been mentioning it before but never in this way. But now it all made sense. It all made a terrible sense and you had been nothing but a blind fool. It should had alarmed you the very first time Annatar had used this phrase. But the tone of his voice had been sweet then; concerned. Now, he had revealed his true intentions.

“You are He,” you realised out loud with a trembling voice. In fact, your whole body was trembling. The waves of aftershocks coming over your body after finding out such a dreadful thing about the person with whom you had shared your chambers, your bed, your body, your heart and your soul… Your bloodline. “You are Sauron,” the name rolled off of your tongue like something filthy and dirty – the most disgusting. The Abhorred.

All those I love yous you had whispered to him, all those nights you had spent on whimpering his name lost in pleasure, all those breakfasts you had served him, all those hours spent on brushing his hair with your fingers and peppering his face with tiny kisses. All this time you had been doing nothing but pampering the monster. And all this time you had been living in an illusion – not much better than the one your uncle was living in at the moment.

“I have many names,” Annatar smirked at your question as if it was bringing him satisfaction that his silly and naive wife had finally realised the dreadful truth.

“But you are my daddy,” Almárea tugged on his robe, waiting for confirmation.

“For all eternity, my darling one,” he caressed her hair lovingly and an empty hole in your chest grew and grew as it began to sink into your heart.

You had married Annatar but you had a child with Sauron.

You were sitting on the floor, with your back pressed to the wall and your knees brought all the way up to be able to rest your head on them. You had no chains but you did not have to. Annatar – or rather Sauron – knew very well that you would not leave Celebrimbor’s forge as long as Almárea was inside.

So, you just kept sitting there and staring at her as she was standing above your uncle and watching carefully as he crafted the Rings. She was studying him and you smiled sadly at that because under different circumstances it would be lovely to watch her learning from Celebrimbor.

His mind was far too gone to know anything happening around him. The only thing he could focus on was forging the Rings as you kept overthinking your whole marriage.

All those little things you had been ignoring about Annatar until now – all those excuses you had been making up for him. Gods, you were such a fool. And you loved your daughter more than anything but you could not help a feeling that your womb had borne a seed of Middle-earth’s demise.

Why had Annatar chosen you? Now it all made sense – you were the most useful in his schemes. You were close to the man he had wanted wrapped around his finger. And you were half-human, which could push Celebrimbor into agreeing to craft such powerful items even for the kin considered to be weak and unworthy by many Elves.

You sobbed silently. Was it possible that this was the only kind of love you could ever count on? This twisted illusion, this mockery? You had been nothing but kind and gentle to him, giving him everything you had and more. And all you had ever wanted in return was to be loved back. To have a family.

“You are done now! Daddy will be so proud, uncle!” Almárea clapped her hands and it made you look up. She kissed Celebrimbor’s cheek and he smiled at her, watching her put the rings inside a pouch.

“Almárea,” you called out for her and she laid her eyes on you. “Give them to me,” you ordered.

“But daddy–” She started, unsurely.

“I just want to see,” you extended your hand and she walked up to you, hesitantly. She handed you the pouch and you grabbed it from her. “Mummy!” She whined.

“Undo what you have done to uncle Celebrimbor’s mind. Right now,” your voice was harsh but not too much because she was still your daughter and you could never hurt or abandon her even if the darkness was the path she would descend into.

She was still a child, though. And she was half you – there was the same amount of light inside of her as of darkness.

“I can only try,” Almárea told you and you nodded at her, encouragingly. 

You held her hands to help her and she squeezed them, closing her eyes and tilting her head as she furrowed her brows, causing a small wrinkle to appear on her smooth forehead.

When she was done, you knew that it had thankfully worked. Because Celebrimbor yelped out of fear as you kissed the top of your daughter’s head and ran up to him immediately.

“Uncle… Uncle, calm down, please, shh, you are alright now,” you put your hands on his arms and his scared eyes found yours with relief.

“Oh, my darling (Y/N), I have been in such a haze… He… He made me…” Celebrimbor tried to find the right words.

“I know, I am so sorry…” You whispered, your voice full of pain and regret.

“No. It is me who is sorry, my sweet child. I have given you to him so easily, so freely,” he caressed your face with his trembling hands.

“And I am glad that you did,” you sobbed and he furrowed his brows. “And I cannot ever say that I regret it for he has given me my daughter,” you confessed.

“He might never get The Nine,” Celebrimbor changed the subject and you nodded, agreeing with him as you sniffed your tears back. You handed him the pouch with the Rings and glanced upon the doors.

“Go,” you pressed your forehead to his. “Take them away from him,” you whispered. “As far away as you can. Quick, we do not have much time. Use the opportunity that he still thinks you are under Almárea’s control.”

Your uncle nodded at you sadly. He kissed your forehead and squeezed the pouch inside his hand before looking at your daughter with a sigh. There was no hatred in his eyes but a glimpse of sadness, disappointment and fear mixed altogether. 

You watched him leave and Almárea reached her hand out after him but you stopped her.

“Daddy will get angry,” she looked up at you, surprised to witness what you had just done.

“Believe me, it is for the better,” you told her and held her hand. “We must leave now, too.”

“No,” she stood still and shook her head. “Not without daddy.”

“Almárea, we must go. We must leave, far away from here. We must go to your grandmother in Mithlond,” you tried to lure her in by the mention of your mother.

But she had seen her once in her life and the meeting had been brief. They shared no bond, therefore Almárea was not easily convinced.

“Not without daddy,” she repeated.

“Almárea, I beg of you…” Your eyes filled with tears again. You knew Sauron would be back any moment to check on Celebrimbor’s progress and you did not want to be there when he would see that your uncle was gone with The Rings.

But what you did not want even more was to abandon your daughter.

So, you stayed with her and waited. You did not even know what you were waiting for – was it your death? Would he get rid of you now when you were not useful to him anymore and after you had betrayed him in such a way; convincing your daughter to release Celebrimbor from her control and letting him flee?

You would find out very soon because the doors of the forge opened and there he was, walking confidently inside with a smirk upon his face.

“Daddy, I am so sorry!” Almárea cried out immediately and ran up to him while you looked away, wincing from the ache you felt in your heart. Your eyes filled tears at her words. You only hoped he would not lash out at her. “I trusted mummy and she tricked me! She gave The Rings back to uncle Celebrimbor and let him go!” Almárea explained and cried.

Long silence occurred and even though you were not looking in their direction, you could feel the atmosphere changing in an instant. Thickening.

“Mummy is a twisted, treacherous little witch, so it seems,” Sauron drawled out and you turned your head around to lay your angry eyes upon him with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“How dare you!” You snapped. Who was he to call you twisted or treacherous? “I swore no loyalty to you, shadow of Morgoth!”

“Yes, you have!” He yelled at you and Almárea flinched, taking a step back. He walked past her to approach you angrily but you could not move away because there was a wall behind you. “You bound yourself to me on the day of our wedding!” Sauron pushed you, causing your back to hit the wall. “Where is he?! Where are The Rings?!”

“Daddy, we do not know!” Almárea ran up to you two and tugged on his robe. You avoided her gaze because you did not want her to see the fear and pain in your eyes. It would only scare her more. “Daddy, it is not mummy’s fault that she is weak. You told me that yourself!”

Sauron’s face was so close to yours that your noses nearly brushed against each other. His breath was heavy and hot, full of anger. You remained cold and still with tears streaming down your cheeks. And even though you did not recognise your husband and his eyes were dark and empty now, you dared to reach out to his cheeks gently. You cupped his face delicately, which caused his brows to furrow and his eyes to widen slightly out of surprise.

“Annatar,” you whispered softly. “Annatar, my love, come back to me. You bound yourself to me, too, dark spirit. Obey me. Release me,” you pleaded, desperately, feeling as if you were losing your sanity.

There was pure confusion on Sauron’s face at that moment. He took a step back, away from you and away from your hands but as they were falling down, you tried to extend them further and reach him once more.

“You are pathetic,” he pointed out, coldly. “I shall find those Rings sooner or later. The only thing you did was to slow me down but you will never stop me.”

“Let it be then… Whatever I can do, I shall,” you whispered.

He opened his mouth to say something but you were interrupted by a group of people walking inside the forge. It was Celebrimbor with a few guards. For one, foolish moment, you sighed with relief, expecting rescue.

He nodded at you softly to let you know that The Rings were safe and far away from your husband. You reached your hands out to grab Almárea and pull her closer to you. She let you and wrapped her arms around you to comfort you after her father’s anger.

“Where are The Rings?!” Sauron abandoned your side to walk down the stairs from Celebrimbor’s study into the ruins of the forge.

“Far from your reach by now,” your uncle answered.

“Then you are going to bring them to me and place them in my hand,” Sauron said, trying to remain calm. 

“Your hand will never touch another Ring again,” Celebrimbor assured him.

You moved closer to the railing with Almárea still clinging to you, so you both could see better whatever was happening downstairs.

The Commander of the City Guard ordered the rest to arrest your husband. Almárea sobbed and hid her face in the fabric of your gown as you caressed her back, soothingly.

You watched the soldiers stand in a circle around Sauron and point their swords at him. You put your hand on the back of your daughter’s head, making sure to press her face a bit deeper into your gown to avoid her seeing any glimpse of the scene underneath you by accident.

“By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron, are hereby–” the Commander began before freezing.

In fact, they all froze. They all froze and trembled, whimpering slightly because they had absolutely no idea what was happening to them.

“You think it was only you and your weak fosterling who put themselves in my power?” Sauron asked with contempt as he addressed your uncle.

He raised his hands slightly and all the soldiers surrounding him killed one another instead of him. You watched in terror as their blades cut through their bodies and then they fell down, lifeless, onto the ground.

Almárea sobbed and yelped, managing to get out of your grasp due to your moment of weakness.

“Daddy!” She cried out for him. She was scared that the sound she had heard was of their blades cutting through him.

But it was not. And you watched her run down the stairs and ignore the lifeless bodies, as if they meant nothing to her, only to cling to Sauron’s waist. He wrapped one of his hands around her to pull her closer as he raised an eyebrow at Celebrimbor in a challenging manner.

The Commander tried to approach your husband carefully, extending his sword.

“Do not hurt the child,” your uncle ordered but there was no need.

Sauron did what you had done a while earlier and pressed Almárea’s face deeper into his robe as she was clinging to him. And when there was a guarantee she could not see anything, he twisted the wrist of his free hand and the Commander froze before turning the blade around and killing himself with it.

Only when his body hit the floor, Sauron let go of your daughter and allowed her to move. She looked up at him as if she was waiting for an order or a task to be given.

“You shall take control over him again and tell me where The Nine are,” your husband said.

“Almárea, no!” You screamed from the top of the stairs. “Almárea, please!”

“Are you sleepy again, my love?” Sauron looked up to ask you with irony.

You chose to be silent. To be put to sleep for gods know how long, to lose control of your own body and to be unaware of your surroundings was not what you wanted to happen once again.

MASTERLIST

[polarspaz]

Ughhhh, I have nasty cold and feel like shiet. (ಠ_ಠ )

All I can offer right now is a quick doodle of Drake Tim.

[clownsuu]

YOU!!- IT WAS YOU WHO HURT ME WITH MOTH HOWDY!!!- YOUUUUUUU!!!!!-

.....CAN I AT LEAST HUG HIM???-

His hands look spikey, but they are actually just very fluffy

Lil bonus doodles just because

[yeyinde]

WICKER PYRE | Dragon!Price x Reader

All things considered, you should have expected it. You know better than to make deals with dragons.

WARNINGS: 18+ | light smut—no descriptions of anatomy used for the reader; possessive undertones; dragon trickery; blink and you'll miss it Celtic Dragon mythology and folklore WORD COUNT: 1,5K NOTES: They tempted me with hellfire and pretty imagery, so. Here we are.

It smells of biochar, pyrolysis. The incendiary heat sparks to life around you; a thick, impenetrable wall of stifling warmth, and you blink through the haze, the heat mirage, that swims in front of your eyes, trying to clear the clouds from your vision. 

It's hot. 

Hellfire. Inferno. Absolute. 

Paradoxically, it edges into dry heat—wildfires: burning forests, charred logs, crumbling charcoal, ashes—but your skin is drenched in sweat; sticky, tacky. Hot springs. Lavascape. 

You're drowning in Phlegethon, hands clawing at molten skin to stay afloat. 

"Shush, shush—"

It's a wheezing rasp. A rumble that rebounds against the carverous, limestone walls and echoes in your ears. The vibrations of it rattle through your chest and dislodge the panic from between your ribs. 

"Easy, now."

Despite the smoked-cured softness of the voice above you, around you, in you, it booms through your marrow; the sudden shift of the plates. A tectonic shockwave that bludgeons into you. 

"Can't—" you start, words a desperate, aching whine. "Can't—John—it's so hot—!"

His answer is a grunt; a rolling, monstrous sound that shivers across your skin. It's easy, with his front pressed against your back, his words hissed into your crown, to forget that he isn't a man. That his body is made of the valleys: carved from chiselled andesite, graphite, and limestone. Coursing through his veins is ichor and brimstone, fed from the burning pyre inside his chest that blooms tuffs of smoke, and reeks of ash. 

He quiets you with another low pur, and feeds the tips of his steel claws into your flesh, anchoring you tight to his body.

And then you hear the fire-painted voice speak from between his nicotine fangs: "I know." 

And you suppose he would. 

Molten blood. Igneous skin. His voice is Pyroclastic: tephra falling from his heaving chest. 

With the exception of his pointed, angular claws, his hands almost look human. Almost. 

But when they grip your hips tight, the skin of his palms feels too thick. Too velveteen. Like the soft underbelly of a reptile.

Those claws hold you steady as he slides the full, burning length of himself into you. The blunt press of his cock splitting you apart, and the rasp of his knuckles, rough with blackened osteoderms protruding from his thick skin, makes you shiver. It feels like sandpaper when it prickles over your flesh. 

You try to gasp but the oxygen in the room is swallowed by the flames. Try to move but his weight on your body is a plutonic ash bed. A prison. 

Jewels and gems nip at your skin when you ramble to find purchase on the treasure trove of his nest, to find something to hold onto while your body is slowly consumed by the unrelenting heat of him stretching you into a shape you do not recognise. 

"Tryna run?" He mocks. "Thought you could handle it, mm? Wasn't that our deal? Do you know what happens to little humans who try to break their promises?"

You want to bite back something scathing, something dripping in venom and cruelty, but the words are ground into peat salt when he presses the full weight of himself onto you, using the momentum to snap his hips harder, faster, than he was before. 

(You swear, swear, you feel the white-hot tip of him digging harshly into your sternum.)

But he's merciful—to a degree—and his hand lifts, drops in front of your nose, claws gleaming in the flames that surround his den, his prison, his home. 

You take in the sight of his heat-scorched skin—a chromosphere of living magma: blistering red dusted with fine ash. It's pretty. Stunning. You're mesmerised by the ripples of fire running in thick rivulets beneath his carbonised pelt, and you know, then, why he's so sought after. Respected. Feared. 

(Who would try and run afoul around a man, a being, a beast, who has hellfire burning in his veins?)

The brief respite splinters when he shifts forward, pushing himself as deep into your body as he can possibly go, and the world around you lists sharply on its axis when he pulses, branding you from the inside out, turning your body into a magma chamber that only fits him—

You can't breathe—haven't been able to since you rocked up to the smouldering cavern on the side of a mountain, and demanded he make a deal with you. It's hard to acclimate to the carbon-rich air that thrums around you like a thick curtain of plasma, threatening to consume you whole. 

"Easy, now, pretty thing," he purrs again and the deep rumble that spills from his expansive chest seems to glue to each bone in your body, reverberating deep within your liquifying marrow.

His elbow falls, chin presses into your crown. He breathes you in, and the world around you shudders, and ripples like the glimmering sea of a heat haze. An optical illusion. A mirage. But one that flexes around you like water; moulding to your body, and filling in all the crevasses and canyons until the plasmic air clings to your skin. 

Smoke billows with his exhale. You scent charred tobacco leaves, brimstone, crushed granite, and burning rock—sharp and acrid. The smell sticks to the back of your throat and colours your lungs in a fine layer of rock dust.

The world around you shakes when he growls into your crown, nose pressed tight to your sweat-slicked skin. 

It feels like an earthquake rattling inside of you, shaking loose the paper-thin threads of sanity that keep you still beneath his bulk.

"Ah, John—"

His forearm slides closer to your gasping mouth, and you scent guncotton on his skin. Thick. Heady. It makes your head swim, and a fever bloom in your veins. 

"There," he huffs into your hair, and the plume of his voice heats the world around you by several degrees. "Now you have something to hold on to, love." 

His voice is pinched with something that sounds mockingly cruel, mordant, but there's a softness in the way he holds you close; a tenderness that biles the roughness of his hands, the sharp drag of his claws against your flesh. 

"Now," he continues, hand tightening on your skin hard enough to bruise your tremulous bones. "Be good, and let me fuck you." 

With that, he snaps forward until he's once buried to the hilt. Fangs prickle across your shoulder blade when he lowers his maw to your skin. Each heavy exhale through his nose leaves a scorching mark over your flesh until it's blistered and raw. 

He sets a brutal pace, and each time he sinks in deep, you feel something inside of you splinter, break. It's unlike anything, anything, you'd ever felt before—a liquid pleasure and pain that melts together into burning heat. It feels like euphoria and punishment in the same breath: an equilibrium of salvation and condemnation.   

Each growl that leaves his heaving chest shakes the cobwebs from between your ribs, and fills them with ash and smoke. It seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning you with each harsh stroke. 

(You forgot that he was poisonous—)

But it's too late. 

Lost in the delirious cloud of heat, ozone, and John, all you can do is wrap your tiny hands around the thick of his forearm, nails barely leaving a mark on his thick pelt, and cling to him as he takes what you offered with greedy claws, and gluttonous eyes, pounding you into his bed of furs, and stolen gems and gold. Treasure toppled to the ceiling of the cavern they warned you to stay away from. The precious clutch of a monster who protects his wares with fire and madness. Raining wrath and fury, white-hot rage and red-hot desperation, down on anyone who dares to get close. 

It's too much, too much, but you knew what you were getting into when you tried to barter with him.

("Let's make a deal—"

And he'd said, "you must be desperate. Don't you know what I am—"

His noctilucent eyes burned in the dark. 

Mocking. Cruel. Hungry.)

All you can do now is hope, somehow, that you make out in a single piece. That all your vibrating atoms stay whole; intact. That you don't lose yourself inside the madness of heat, and burning fire. 

That you'll make it out, alive.

—if, of course, he lets you go—

But those hopes are dashed when his molten tongue flickers out, laving a burning path across your neck. 

"You'll look so good in all my gold," he snarls, a thundershock right into your core. 

And then he sinks his fangs into your neck. 

You should have known from the start when he looked at you with hunger, rapacious greed in his keen, sharp eyes that you were not leaving his den again. 

(The most precious piece in his hoard.)

Your body is a wicker pyre made to be burned. From the charred ashes, something new will rise. A phoenix trapped in the paws of a beast who likes pretty, shiny things, and will never let go. 

(And really, what else did you expect when you decided to tempt a dragon?)

[that-butch-archivist]

"Lesbian Rights March, September 1995, People's Republic of China" (Photographed by Ann Meredith)

source: The Wild Good: Lesbian Photographs and Writings on Love, edited by Beatrix Gates

[simandy]

WhatsApp simply forced an AI inside of it's app and the thing is SO UGLY. Literally ugly! There's a hovering button and it's colors aren't even in the WhatsApp colors so now the main page makes me feel so overwhelmed..... i hate it so much

[thranduel]

astarion, the man who was dying and offered eternal life, but had no idea that it meant becoming a slave to a sadistic master.

astarion, the man who had his freedom and bodily autonomy ripped away from him.

astarion, the man who was forced to befriend, seduce and sleep with people to lure them back to his master, resulting in severe sexual trauma and the struggle to form any sort of intimate relationship.

astarion, the man who was horribly punished whenever he refused his master’s orders (one punishment being sealed away in a dusty tomb, starving, for an entire year. he scratched his hands raw trying to carve his way out).

astarion, the man who was forced to eat rats.

astarion, the man who hasn’t even been able to see his own face since he turned.

astarion, the man who had his body mutilated as cazador carved scars onto his back, which he later found out was to bind him to a ritual.

astarion, the man who is so severely traumatised that he admitted he doesn’t know how to say “no” or ask for help (and he feels guilty when he does).

astarion, the man who waited two centuries to be helped and freed from torture, but no one came.

astarion, the man who was always treated like a monster when all he wanted was to be treated like a person.

astarion, the man who came up to you in the middle of the night just to thank you for defending him and allowing him to make his own decisions.

astarion, the man who said that no one ever looked out for him or showed him kindness, and that you’re the only one. “other people don’t have a heart like you. you’re you. no one is like that.”

astarion, the man who broke the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago thanks to the love, care and compassion that you showed him when no one else did.

astarion, the man who confessed that he loves you and feels safe with you; something he has never felt with anyone before.

[portrait-of-a-moron]

Stupid space boyfriends I want to hit them with rocks.

[anxiouslowercase]

i'm sorry i'm the one you love no one will ever love me like you again so, when you leave me, i should die i deserve it, don't i?

SAS:RH x I'm Your Man - Mitski

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[fishymom-art]

oh god oh no i'm falling for more and more sentient computers lord help me

[trensu]

Have an itty bitty tiny piece of stasis in darkness, just so you all have an idea of where the story is going after the godly reveal. and also have proof that i am, in fact, still toiling away at this (as well as hawkins halfway house.)

A week and a half later, Steve entered a town he’d never seen before. He wore simple traveling clothes and carried no weapons aside from a couple of carefully hidden knives. He’d left his armor and shield behind. His satchel held only the essentials one needed for travel and a single stone as large as his fist. The stone was wrapped in layers of cloth to keep it safe during the journey. 

I need you to find someone. 

He felt very bare but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Speed was of the essence for his quest, and little no-name towns tended to be wary of strangers in plain clothes, even more so around strangers decked out for battle. Steve wasn’t sure this place could be called a town. It was so small it hadn’t been on any official map. It didn’t even have an inn. Hopefully, Steve wouldn’t be needing an inn once he found who he was looking for.

He’s too far from me to reach.

He asked around, laying on the charm generously. He explained he had been a friend of a friend and had been trusted to deliver something. Eventually, he was told where to go. The house he found far beyond the village’s boundary was small. It looked like it had once been well cared for but it was old and had fallen to disrepair. Steve took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A sallow old man opened the door. He was bald but had some scruff on his face still. His shoulders, stooped from age, trembled. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so tired.

He’s my very last worshiper in all the world.

“Wayne Munson?” Steve asked.

“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice was phlegmy and rough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow almost before he could finish speaking. 

“I’m Steve. Ser Steve Harrington, pledged to the Lord of Night.”

Wayne’s eyes widened. His grip on the open door weakened and slipped. Steve caught the door before it could hit Wayne.

“He sent me to you,” Steve explained. “May I come in?”

yep, that's it for now. i told you it was small. i'm not even gonna bother with a read-more here.