March 30th, 2010


I blame the jetlag.

The internet is the only place I know where one can write Sauron/Voldemort assbaby fic as commentary on a recurrent social interaction management problem and doing so makes sense.

From the depths of Cofax's comment section (she says it's easier to link to if I repost, ha ha), and via an inspiring remark from [personal profile] legionseagle:


"It's, well, it's very..." Lucius Malfoy frowned at the thing in the basket. It waved a pale green appendage at him and leaked something disgusting from its single giant eye.

The Witch-King of Angmar reached for a blanket embroidered with little duckies. Little duckies with horns and claws, breathing fire. ::The glorious physical expression of the great bond between our overlords is ready for his afternoon feed:: he communicated, settling the cloth over his armored elbow.

Lucius sniffed as he lifted the infant, remarkably dense for its size, and passed it to the Nazgul. "Oh, it's -- oh, my. It needs a clean nappy."

::Are all your lord's lackeys as squeamish as you are?:: the Witch-King wondered ::And if so, how do you manage to get the ritual sacrifices done in a timely fashion?:: He popped the nipple in the baby's mouth and chucked it under its almost-invisible chin as the level of the viscous red liquid in the bottle began to drop. ::There's a good baby:: he crooned. ::Drink that all up and we'll slaughter another innocent for you! Won't that be nice! I have one all nice and drippy down in the dungeon, pudding, whenever you're ready::

The baby curled a tentacle around the bottle, waving the other through the air for a moment, clenching and unclenching in time with its sucking, before it caught hold of one of the spikes on the Witch-King's helmet. The metal hissed and began smoking, drops of acid dribbling onto the Nazgul's robes. He mopped at them idly with one corner of the baby blanket and cooed at the infant.

Lucius looked away. For years, now, he'd wished Draco were...well, more what he'd been hoping for in a son. Taller. Nobler. Not constantly whinging. But. Well. Perhaps the boy wasn't so bad, considering.

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