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blade-liger-4ever · 3 months ago

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Relationship Analysis: Moonwatcher Should Have Gotten Winter Instead of Qibli

Boy, been a while since I did one of these posts, huh?

I know, I'm late to the party. The books have long since ended, and in such a way that I (regrettably) got rid of my favorite one in the franchise, Winter Turning. However, I've had many thoughts about Moon's endgame relationship which, while handled poorly, was not ideal from the beginning at all.

Sit down and prepare yourselves readers, for I have bottled this up for far too long.

The unhealthy relationship with Qibli

This will get many a fan irate, for Qibli was outwardly nothing but kind, loyal, and supportive of Moonwatcher during the second arc. However, despite this disposition, inside, Qibli was an emotionally destroyed dragon - to the point that even in Moon Rising, he literally thought in ways to make people like him.

Now I feel for Qibli. His mother beat him like a drum for the smallest of mistakes, his siblings tried to kill him repeatedly, and for reasons beyond my total understanding of how this fit into the plot because of how poorly executed it was, his grandfather was hoping to groom him as his criminal successor. None of this is good treatment for anyone, fictional or real. However, because this effectively broke Qibli, he was left desperately craving love and validation for his worth as an individual.

I kid you not, it's confirmed in-universe that Thorn unwittingly earned his entire devotion by simply complementing him. One sentence, said in earnest but without much thought to his background - and Qibli would have done anything to keep gaining such affirmations, which he did.

Furthermore, it's not just Thorn's love he wants.

It's that of the world.

Qibli spends the entire books doing everything in his power to do whatever it takes to get love, or even platonic affection, from the dragons around him. If it means being silly or serious, he'll transform into that type of dragon to get it. Even going to Jade Mountain Academy was done because disobeying Thorn would run the risk of losing her affection, which Qibli is desperate to maintain. And when he meets the pretty, naïve to the world Moonwatcher, who has no life experience and wants to see the good in everyone, he falls for her because of a few reasons: one is that he recognizes she won't hurt him, and another is her natural sweetness is something new to him.

So he observes and trails after her like a lost puppy looking for scraps of love to eat.

This is where it gets unhealthy because Qibli, though well-meaning, begins to see her less as an individual dragon with individual worth, and more like a goddess of perfection that he can't live without. No joke, every two chapters of Darkness of Dragons (and not to mention the snippets of his mind we see in Book 6), Qibli does nothing but pine after Moon while bemoaning how he's practically worthless unless she sees value in him, thereby encouraging him to do anything to earn her love. This makes him put Moon on a pedestal of perfection that is above all worldly things and will make him do anything to keep her in the box he's ascribed to her lest she prove she's not all he believes her to be and thus necessitating his reason for living. And because Moon, due to wanting to believe her father figure Darkstalker is actually good and trying to make the world better, basically asks both her admirers to reject reality as she has in order to not grow up and face the truth: that Darkstalker is evil and must be stopped, no matter how personally painful it is.

And as expected, Qibli chooses pleasing her over doing the right thing in this matter because if he denies Moon this, she will not chose him. And he will lose the perfect goddess he envisions and crawl up and die in the desert because, without her validation, he has no reason to do anything but cease living.

This is unhealthy because it traps Moon in a relationship that keeps her from maturing and learning that evil does exist alongside the good in the world. Couples can be silly at times and have fun, but not to the point of regressing into childishness. This is what happens to Moon, and Qibli will never tell her no for fear of losing his perfect deity.

The healthy relationship with Winter.

Yes, Winter was far from kind to Moon in their first few interactions. He threatened her, yes. He yelled at her, yes. He didn't trust her, yes.

But name a time he raised a talon against her. A time where he viewed himself as nothing without her approval.

Additionally, Winter had good reasons for withholding his trust from her. The amount of times Moon hid things from him, unintentionally blindsiding him with this knowledge when he'd thought she'd just proved to be different from other NightWings - how would you react? Be honest, because if a man hid that he was a mind reader and seer from me throughout our friendship, hid that he was on friendly terms with an ancient bane of my people (and who posed a threat to the whole world), I'd have serious issues with him, too.

Now, Winter was abused similarly to Qibli - however, it was mental and emotional abuse, which forced him to grow up and see how their treatment of him, while "normal" among IceWing extremists, was still wrong. He knew this because his friend Lynx was treated well by her lesser noble house, and he recognized quite quickly that even the "evil NightWings" took as much care with their dragonets as any other mother IceWing would. This made him think, and after seeing how genuinely nice and steadfast in her beliefs Moon was, it allowed Winter to become openminded and grow out of his abuse and the views he'd been forced to swallow.

This is made better by the fact that, while his thoughts often drifted toward Moon, he didn't make her the center of his world, or consider breaking his moral principles just to earn her affection. Because at the penultimate moment of dealing with Darkstalker, yes, Winter is rightly traumatized from having his whole personality rewritten (and likely hurt that Moon is uncharacteristically unbothered by this), but he won't please her with rejecting reality. Doing so would mean making a relationship easier, but Winter isn't thinking just about what they could have.

He's thinking about how many lives would be lost if he did so, and how much danger she will put herself in if he agrees.

And despite having that opportunity - that opportunity to have a relationship with Moon, to finally get his heart's desire to be with her - Winter says, "No. It's wrong, and I can't do that, even if it's what you really want."

Winter will not compromise himself and do the wrong thing for her, nor will he allow her to live with the dangerous misconception that the world is full of rainbows and unicorns, that nothing is ever wrong.

This is why Winter is the genuinely healthy choice for Moonwatcher. He seeks not to please the world, to bend to evil, and he does not manipulate in order to gain love. Because while he does have his own craving for love, Winter recognizes that very few people will actually gift him with it. He makes his peace with that, and chooses good over evil because he'd rather not lose the world than lose love that he can - and has - lived without.

He won't trap Moon in a fantasy, but help her grow into adulthood and recognition of the beauty and ugliness of the world around them.

(Not my art.)

These are my thoughts on which dragon is worthier of Moon. I hoped you liked it, and that it got some of you thinking.

Take care, and see you in the skies!

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salford-blues · 1 year ago

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The origins

A/n: It's been a couple weeks since I last wrote anything. I've been really busy and I'm burnt out :( Also this is my first proper written fic. I've mainly posted SMAU's, so if it's not good... I'm sorry. Would love to hear your critiques etc! Pairing: f1 x driver!reader Summary: The origins of our driver!reader - snippets of her growing up Warnings: butchered german??? Italics are the thoughts!

2008 - 5 years old

GROSSER PREIS SANTANDER VON DEUTSCHLAND 2008

The stands were crowded with energetic fans waiting for their favourite drivers to come out. Roars of laughter between friends and families. Piercing screams of devoted fans. In the middle of it all, a 5-year-old girl wrapped in the arms of her father with her hands over her ears trying to block out the deafening noise.

''It's too loud Papi. When's it home time?'' the girl pouted.

''Not just yet Spatzi (little sparrow). The drivers should be out any minute now.'' her father sighed. The child frowned and buried her head into his shoulder and neck.

Instantaneously, the crowd began to yell. Names were shrieked left, right, and centre. People pushing and shoving trying to get a picture or an autograph with their favourite driver. Luckily, the child and her father had managed to make it to the front without too much effort. They now had a perfect view of the track.

One by one the cars came out of the paddocks and lined up at the starting line.

''Who do you like Papi?'' the girl questioned, intrigued by the cars and their colours.

''I like Williams, do you see the navy blue and white car over there?'' her father pointed towards the middle of the grid.

''Uhhuh,'' she nodded, eyes lighting up at the car.

''That's the one that I really like. Which one do you like Schatz (treasure)?'' he questioned the child.

''Hmmm, I liikkeee... I think I like Williams too! Just like you Papi. I think I like the red car too.'' the girl's eyes shone as she spoke. Excitement now lacing her voice. There was a look of adoration on her father's face. Oh, how he loved his little bundle of joy.

''You can like whoever you want. The red car is a Ferrari.'' her father exclaimed.

''F-Fir-aa-r-ee? Ferrari! Yeah, I like that one too, but that one goes second!'' she said adamantly.

Suddenly, the cars were off, speeding down the track.

There was a glisten in the youngster's eyes. The screaming of the crowd was long forgotten. All she could hear was the vrooming of the cars. Wow, they're really fast. I want to do that.

''I want to be a race car driver when I'm older Papi! I'm gonna go really fast like vrrrrooomm." she held out her hands and acted as if she was driving a car.

2009 - 6 years old

''Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Spatzi! (Happy Birthday, little sparrow!)''

The young girl stirred in her bed.

''Wakey wakey sleepy head... you don't want to miss out on opening presents do you.''

At that comment, the girl shot up in bed. Her wide eyes glanced up at her father, excitement running through her body.

''Please can I have waffles for breakfast? Can we go see Oma? Can we see Mami? Oooh can we make those doughnuts with the sugar on top for dessert? Plleeaassee?'' she gave her father her best puppy dog eyes.

''Okay, okay. How about we open your presents first and then see where the day takes us? How does that sound?'' her father queried.

A swift nod of the head gave her father all the conformation he needed and with that, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down into the living room. The room was decorated with brightly coloured banners, balloons stuck to the wall via sellotape and streamers hung from the ceiling. On the living room table, 6 presents stood tall and were screaming to be opened by a certain birthday girl.

Once set down on the ground, the birthday girl ran over to the presents. She picked the first one up, inspecting its size before placing it down and ripping open the wrapping paper. Inside a box of Lego with an image of a Ferrari. The girl giggled with excitement moving on to her next present.

The small child was down to her last two presents. Both were small and sat on the corner of the table. Small hands picked up the thin present that sat on top, tearing open the wrapping paper. A signed driver's card sat inside. Shock spread across the young girl's face. A signed piece by Kimi Raikkonen. This just might be the best present ever!

''Oh wooooow! Danke Papi! This is the best present ever.'' She ran over wrapping her small arms around the man's neck.

''You're very welcome. But how about opening up your last one.'' he smiled at her.

She curiously looked back and took the present into her arms. The present was squishy under her touch. Possibly clothes? Carefully, the wrappers ripped open. A blue and white race suit sat inside.

''Do you like it, Schatz?''

''I love it! I love it! I love it!'' the girl twirled around with the race suit in hand.

2015 - 11 years old

''Hallo Logan!'' The girl ran up to the young lad. ''Do you want to get ice cream after the race? I'll ask Oscar if he wants to come too."

The blonde boy nodded his head and smiled. ''Yeah, I'd like that.''

''Okay, bye Logan.'' The girl waved before heading in the direction of her Aussie friend.

''Hallo Oscar! Do you want to come and get ice cream after the race with me and Logan?''

''Sure. Let me ask my parents.'' He ran off towards his parents.

Alone she stood listening to her surroundings. Loud chatter coming from children and parents. Birds chirping in the trees.

Hearing the latter she skipped towards the trees before noticing a small bird hopping around. Approaching the bird slowly, she scooped the animal into her hands and held it against her chest.

''I will help you little birdie! Papi, Papi look what I found. Can we help it get better?''

''Sure, we'll take it home with us.'' he smiled.

Strolling over were Oscar and Logan.

''What'cha got there N/n?'' Logan asked curiously.

''It's a bird... We're gonna take it home and look after it.'' She exclaimed.

''We are still up for ice cream though aren't we Birdie?'' Oscar peered a the girl.

''Of course we are Osc... birdie?? Why that??''

''Oh y'know... you've got a bird in your hand, so your new nickname is birdie,'' he uttered as if it was obvious.

''Ahh okie.'' A blush spread across her cheeks in embarrassment.

A whilst blew signalling that the race was about to begin.

''Papi, will you take care of it whilst I race?'' She turned back.

''Of course I will Spatzi. Now run along. The quicker you go the quicker you can get ice cream.''

yourusername

landonorris, georgerussell63, liamlawson30 & others liked

Ice cream dates just like old times. @oscarpiastri @logansargeant

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oscarpiastri Birdie delete this. This makes it out like we're all dating

> yourusername WAIT... WE ARENT????

>> logansargeant now look what you've done, you've made her cry...

>>> oscarpiastri We're not dating though???

user.1 why is Logan acting like a third wheel??

user.2 are they dating though? or is it two of them and then the third just tags along?

> user.3 I think they're just really weird friends

>> user.2 yhhh checks out

liamlawson30 annnd where was my invite?

> yourusername you weren't invited because you beat me at connect 4

>> user4 lmaaooo. Didn't realise y/n was a sore loser

>>> liamlawson30 you should see her when she plays monopoly

#f1 fanfic #f1 x driver!reader #formula 1 x female reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine

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homey-worshiper · 7 months ago

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pinterest altar for lady hestia

personally i find it really important to have a portable altar, and having an altar in my phone that i can always look at and add too is so nice

{letters}

as i write letter to lady hestia i like to have some inspiration, it contains both aesthetic pictures of letter as also pen-pal prompts and ideas

{quotes}

little snippets that remind me of her and maybe i want to use them when communicating with her

{devotional acts}

things i want to do for her, it can be journal prompts, TV shows i want to watch, book to read, crafts to make, everything that i think can be a devotional act for my lady

{i find her in this}

things that i saw and thought "that's my lady, that's my mistress right there". can be literally everything, the most important is that i feel lady hestia in this. this is also the section i look at the most often (and add the most too), seeing your deity in things around you is very important.

{reading}

my sweet lady loves reading, and reading is so cozy and full of her. it usually contains a ton of pictures how i can make reading more pleasant

{baking}

for me baking is an act of devotion itself, i love making sweet things and then share it with everyone i can, and there is something about the act of sharing with a community that makes me feel connected to lady hestia

{offerings}

my digital offering that i always post on here are all saved on my pinterest altar

{coffee & tea}

yup, always a hot cup of tea. aesthetic pictures of the coffee and tea, sometimes recipes i want to make, but mostly pretty pictures of hot beverages (so i can recreate it later)

{as always use this idea when working with your deities}

#hellenism #hellenic polytheism #hellenic worship #hellenic deities #hellenic pagan #hestia devotee #hestia worship #hestia goddess #hestia deity #hestia #deities #deity #deity worship #deity work

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abalonetea · 8 months ago

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My recent poll made me realize that a lot of people haven't actually been around my blog since the Ol' Days. So, I thought it was about time that I did a little reintroduction!

I'm Katie! You can find me on Amazon as K. E. Koontz; it's right here! You should totally consider checking out my books! I have sea creatures, I've got werewolves, I've got demonic possessions and haunting ghost stories and characters like you wouldn't believe!

I've also got a mailing list, right here!

I'm a bit of a hot mess, but I'm trying! I used to raise and train showjumpers for a living, worked at an animal sanctuary, lost half my vision and switched gears to being a full-time writer!

I'm the primary source of income for my family, which includes my mother and my sister, and all of your support is greatly appreciated! Don't want to buy one of my books? No worries! Consider checking out my patreon, my kofi, or my wishlist!

Anyway, I write a lot of horror, I love werewolves, and I'm very much interested in creating characters that have a heavy, devotional cadence to them. You can also find crime thrillers and fantasy pieces in my collection!

Penny Posting is the tag I use for the romance pieces that will eventually go under my penname, so feel free to block or follow that as you see fit, and keep an eye on the 'my writing' tag for snippets and excerpts!

I just finished getting a full trilogy set-up for preorder and I am soooo exhausted now, but I do still have other projects in the works!

Shed

Devil Mine

Cryptid Hearts

They Looked Like People

How To Date A Werewolf

Gorehound: An Alaskan Horror Story

I host the @writeblrsummerfest every year, have been on writeblr for a very long time, am a professional ghostwriter and dev/con editor, and constantly tell myself 'next month, I'll get my act together.'

My big dream is to get to a point where I can start taking my mother traveling some, and if my username seems vaguely familiar, it may be from that one time I briefly went viral on Tumblr for pulling a litter of two day old kittens out of a very, very deep storm pipe (we still have one of them)!

Anyway, it's great to see you around!

#writeblr reintro

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morganas-pendragons · 3 months ago

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Where Are You? Pt II | Celebrimbor

There's a reason I chose this GIF. Otherwise, enjoy part II of my three-part fic covering the end of S2! I don't have very many Celebrimbor fics left I desire to post here. Much of my work now will go into starting the OC fic for him.

This got away from me. There might be a fourth part. We'll see!

Also, for reference, the name you see later in the fic is not character specific, but the name translate as protector/defender

- Part One

tag: @astralarchives @mathildahilda2

***

For someone who has been well practiced in the art of peace since your arrival to Eregion, the simmering desire for fury and vengeance is all too consuming.

Your scream cannot be heard over the roar of the siege as you lunge at Annatar.

He has taken too much from Eregion.

And you will not let him take Celebrimbor.

Sauron's taunts and continued jeering about your devotion to Celebrimbor only further add fuel to your fire. He is infuriated that you are the only Elf in Eregion who has not fallen victim to his machinations. He is infuriated that you have only grown in power since he arrived, snippets of your memories and magic gradually coming back as the need for Celebrimbor's protection becomes more dire.

"You really have led yourself to believe that you are Celebrimbor's salvation," Annatar remarks cooly, wiping at his cheek to watch as black drips between his fingers. It is impressive that you have managed to craft a blade powerful enough to wound a Maiar. "And I am here to remind you that you as his weakness will be the Great Smith's destruction."

"And I'm here to tell you, Mairon-" You barely see it, but he flinches almost imperceptibly at the use of his real name. It is another indication that you are not who you say you are. Who are you? "That you will get nothing!"

It is merely unfortunate that Annatar happens to have a stronger depth of understanding of his magic as well as more experience - given that you have gaps in your memory and time missing - because before you can truly realize what he's doing, the blonde Elf has you thrown through the air just as a nearby explosion sends debris flying toward you.

You collapse against the double doors of the Forge tower, coughing as ash enters your lungs and blood drips from your nose.

"I believe it is time for you to reunite with your lost love."

His fingers, unrelenting and cruel, wind through your hair and begin to drag you up the stairs.

***

You have been distant. Distant and cold, only allowing Celebrimbor to come to you when he has made progress on the Nine Rings. There have been suspicions over the last several weeks whether or not it was truly you, the one his soul loves, especially as you have not built your relationship this far based on transaction.

Celebrimbor begins to become truly lost when you will no longer love him the way you have. When your kisses no longer bring comfort, when your touch makes his skin crawl, when everything he has ever come to love begins to crumble between his fingers.

That doesn't account for the mouse that continues to reappear, or the gem missing in Fëanor's hammer. Everything feels wrong. He feels wrong.

It only serves to worsen the ache in his heart when Annatar reappears.

"Have you fallen? Come. The floor is hardly the place for the greatest of Elven smiths."

Celebrimbor cannot see you, not the real you, because Annatar has determined you are not to be seen until he is ready for it.

"No, I-uh.... Fëanor's hammer is missing a-" He pauses, brow furrowing in confusion as the gem he thought to have fallen out of the hammer reappears in its appropriate spot. The act serves to make Celebrimbor feel only more out of place, the haze that has clouded his brain for weeks thickening. He only feels as if he continues to grow more mad in this place.

"You know how forgetful you can be. I trust you are not feeling overwhelmed again."

You are forced to watch the endeavor, hidden from sight with Annatar's grasp on you like that of a viper suffocating its prey. He's restrained you with some magical inhibiting cuffs that cut you off from what power grows within you, and now he only serves to use you as a tool against the Elf you love.

"No... quite the opposite in fact," Celebrimbor said. "These past weeks I have felt such clarity. A focus that I have not known in years. I have you to thank for that. When the world is still then the ideas can flow freely."

Your eyes fall on the holly pin he still has tucked into his robes. Good. At least that can keep him safe.

"How fares your progress?" Annatar asks.

"The Rings of Power are nearly complete."

Dread settles heavily in your stomach as you grit your teeth, desperately trying to fight against Sauron's hold on you. Celebrimbor has fallen victim to the pride that brought him here. To Sauron's manipulations. Can he even perceive that his city is going to fall? Why does the sunlight cast such warmth through the windows when Eregion is bound by shadow?

"It will be a sad occasion. I have so enjoyed our time together."

Time you stole from me.

You dare not listen to the rest of their conversation. It is the first time you have properly glimpsed Celebrimbor in days and your heart swells at the sight of him. The curls that have fallen in his face, the earnestness and pride in his eyes at having been able to make something so... beautiful.

I love you. Please do not forget me. I still fight for you yet.

Before he can fully leave to return to the outdoors, Annatar presses you against the wall just out of Celebrimbor's sight and bends his head to whisper low in your ear, "Watch as he breaks, for your helplessness to save him will be your punishment."

You fold against the wall by the base of the stairs as he departs, leaving you and Celebimrbor alone. He cannot see you. He cannot hear you.

"Hello, my love."

You slowly turn around at the familiar voice and find that it is you -your face, your voice, your being - sauntering across the Forge to meet Celebrimbor at his desk. You watch your own fingers graze the curve of his jaw as you tip your head down to kiss him. He is ever willing, desperate for a semblance of comfort in such a cold and isolating environment.

That is what has kept him complacent. Sauron has used you against Celebrimbor.

Hatred flashes behind your eyes.

You have to get out of these cuffs.

***

You watch as he chews his thumb bloody, eyes cast on the same spot where the mouse has been running back and forth in a cycle all morning. Your breathing stutters when Annatar reenters the forge and strides up the stairs to meet him.

You, the other you, left some minutes ago when Celebrimbor refused your offer of pleasure in exchange for completing the Rings faster. You could see the way it broke his heart when you walked away. That you, one who was so willing to give him the world, would not even give him your love without getting something in return.

Oh, my love.... I'm sorry.

"The Rings, are they finished?"

"Sh... wait for it."

Celebrimbor shushed the Elf as he motioned to the mouse skittering across the floor. Your eyes widened as you stood to your feet, shaky legs slowly attempting to move up the stairs.

"Captivating," Sauron replied sarcastically.

"Do you not see?" Celebrimbor questioned. "It is a pattern. A cycle. Even my star, one who has been by my side for so long and yet has barely graced me with her presence, only comes in here at the same time every few hours to rush my progress. And look, here. The embers-"

"Celebrimbor, whatever has inspired this epiphany, I assure you we have not the time for it-"

Annatar twists his fingers at the last second, causing you to gasp out as you sink to your knees. More blood drips from your nose and onto the stone between your legs. Your outfit is torn, your skin bruised, and yet the fury that lingers within will be enough to vanquish him from both of your lives forever. Even if it kills you.

"On the contrary!" Celebrimbor exclaims. "We would appear to have all of the time that we need. The candles have not burned an inch all day. My beloved's holly skin marking is not there, and she was born with it."

Your heart stops. Sauron would not have known that detail.

"You sought peace." Sauron remarks. "I gave it to you."

"No. Whatever this is... this is hardly a gift." His voice falls to a whisper, questioning and desperate for the truth. "What have you done to me? What have you done to her?"

There is a flicker there just then, barely within your grasp. It is a memory you cannot truly forget. Your entire purpose in coming to Middle Earth is to be the architect of healing and protection for those would cannot do it for themselves.

Realization dawns on you.

It's not just for all of them. It's for him.

"Done to you?" Annatar asks incredulously. "You welcomed my instruction. You practically begged for it!"

Isn't that what he does? Warps the reality of those around him, drips poison in each sharp word that falls from his tongue with the intent to fell those who dare not give into him?

"No!" Celebrimbor yells. You flinch as he slams his hands against his desk. "What have you done to me?! What have you done to her?! Where is she!"

You feel the magic begin to wane and panic. He's about to reveal you.

"No emissary of the Valar would do this. Who are you? Truly?"

"Would you like to see the true emissary of the Valar?" Celebrimbor freezes as Annatar throws you at his feet, chains wrapped around your wrists as you writhe on the floor. You are not sure what he's doing. All you can focus on is the searing pain that is growing more intense inside of your head. "Go on then. Tell him who you really are."

Despite the pain, you force yourself to your feet. For that moment it is only you and Celebrimbor in the room. A room you have spent a night in, whether or not it was with him to keep him company or to help him with his projects. A room that once brought you both such peace.

"My-My star.. Is that really you?" You move toward him slowly, guilt flooding your face when he scrambles backward and further away. "Prove it. Prove you are not part of the illusion!"

You immediately move your fingers to the hem of your shirt. There, just where Celebrimbor knows it to be, is your holly leaf skin marking.

"I don't know what you saw, but that was not me." You begin. "That was not the flesh and blood person whose bed you so often occupy. That is not the flesh and blood person you kissed in front of the library, who you held during the beginning of our courtship at the pool... What you saw and touched in here was not me." A whimper echoes in the back of Celebrimbor's throat as you draw close enough to press his hands to your face. The other you, the one he'd thought was real, had not felt this warm. He could not feel the familiarity of warm skin or the way your heart often beat hard beneath his fingers. "You named me. You taught me how to live again. Please, Celebrimbor-"

You scream in anger as Annatar wrenches you backward, arm wound tightly around your throat. Celebrimbor whips around to face his perpetrator with dark eyes and a darker heart. Gone is the kindness that he is so often acknowledged for.

Now there is only you. Protecting you, ensuring you leave this tower alive.

"I am the one who has kept the storm at bay. I am the one who has prevented her from distracting you. Al to give you this one chance to prove your worth! Now, I want the nine!"

"NO!"

Reality shatters around you both as Fëanor's hammer collides with the window. Cries break through the haze that clouds your mind as Eregion's destruction is heard just outside the broken glass. Explosions sound alongside it, the smell of smoke permeating the air as it drifts inside.

Grey eyes, gentle hands, whispered words of Quenya and Sindarin. The sound of laughter on the wind. A staff crafted to channel your power. The holly leaf imprinted into your skin upon your creation.

You screw your eyes tightly shut. Celebrimbor's trembling breaths can be heard from the balcony as he takes in the destruction around him and what remains of his forge.

"Open your eyes," Sauron whispers in your ear. "Face the ruin of the city you nearly had within your grasp."

You force your eyes open to gaze at the one you love in front of you, nearly driven to his knees by the force of his grief. Despite feeling like your mind is being ripped open from the inside out - and likely to access memories you have only just begun to remember - you struggle against Annatar, who allows you out of his hold.

You pull Celebrimbor to you by the sleeve of his robes. Tears track down his cheeks as he meets your eyes. You do not care that Sauron is standing right beside you. You do not care that you are both in ruin. All you care about is him.

"I love you," You whisper in your native tongue, low and soft enough for only the two of you to hear as Celebrimbor clutches you to his chest and buries his face in your neck so his cries can be stifled. "I am here. I'm real. It is me, Celebrimbor."

He does not move far from you even after you part. You are his only truth midst all the deceit, and Celebrimbor will not let that disappear. You will not be ruined at his hands too.

"What-" Your eyes snap over to his desk where the urn of what was mithril has spilled, pitch black staining the paper beneath it. "The mithril!"

"That is not mithril." You say. "For mithril does not carry the rot of death, Celebrimbor."

"I must give you credit. You are far more clever than I thought you'd be." He says to you before turning his attention to Celebrimbor. "I have learned so much from you since coming to Eregion, Celebrimbor. No lesson more lasting than this," You turn to shield him with your own body, fingers tightening against the chains that bind you as Sauron lifts his hand to reveal the cut deep in his palm. "True creation requires sacrifice."

The rest falls past you in a blur. You are rushing outside after Celebrimbor mere moments later, desperate to keep him away from harm from the hands of his own people or the siege just outside his walls.

Both of you are thrown apart from the other just as the doors are thrown open. You scream and attempt to cover your head with your hands, gasping as you collide with the stone. You did not think it possible for your head to hurt worse.

Your back arches as another memory, much clearer and more perceptible, comes back to the front of your mind.

"For I have named you Beriel, as you will be my Hands of Protection for those who cannot protect themselves. This is the task I have assigned you among the Istari."

"Thank you, Lady Nienna."

Your eyes snap open. Istari. That means-

Your staff. You have to find your staff.

***

It takes you nearly an hour to work against the enchantment on the cuffs that bind you. Your staff had luckily not been far from where you'd been thrown, and the wood was crafted from among the strongest of Eregion's trees with the signature white stone that also adorned your circlet fixed into the center.

When the cuffs had fallen into the dirt at your feet, you bound forward toward the tower with a new determination in your step. He wouldn't expect you. Not like this.

"Do you know what it is like to be tortured at the hands of a God? It is agonizing. For what he wished to destroy, I wished to perfect. Sometimes the pain almost became a reward. It became a game. A contest to see whose will was the mightier."

"And after all of that, you'd still choose to inflict the same pain upon me?"

"No. You chose it. Not I."

The more Sauron's poison drips off his tongue, the angrier you get. He is so intent on breaking Celebrimbor's spirit with those manipulative words. Taking what remains of the Elf you love and twisting it in his hands until it's malleable, ready to do whatever it is told.

To touch the darkness.

"All depends on the rings," There's a far off, dreamy look in Sauron's eyes as he stretches out a hand to grasp one of the rings in his fingers. "And since you forced me to torment you to bring them into being, I am but a victim of your obstinance." The two meet eyes, and you hold your breath. "And you are the true author of your own torment."

"You really are the great deceiver. You can even deceive yourself."

Annatar's earnest expression falls into one much colder. "Finish them." He demands. You press your hand against the door and duck just out of sight as he storms out and down the stairs.

When he's gone, you rush back into the room just as Celebrimbor throws the Nine into the fire.

"Be careful!" You exclaim, and the sound of your voice is so sudden that it catches him off guard. "I do not wish you to bring further harm to yourself."

The calm of his touch is a welcome relief when his hands find your cheeks. "I am so glad you are safe, my love." He said softly. Dark green eyes slowly shift to the staff slung across your back. "Though I feel as if there is much to be caught up on."

The rings themselves are cast from the fire onto the desk.

"That hammer will not remove you from magical chains, Celebrimbor," Your fingers wind around the piece that keeps his wrist shackled to the desk. "It is something only I can do-"

"I will not have you sacrifice anything else for me. Not this day."

"It is a sacrifice I am willing to make-"

"No!" He has never shouted at you, not once. Tears burn the back of your eyes. "I have already lost my city to ruin. I will not let that happen to you too. Do you understand me?"

You nod. For all his compassion and kindness, Celebrimbor Curufinwe certainly has the Fëanorian temper.

He attempts every means to pry it off. When his eyes fall on the instrument that is meant to cut through the metals he often molds, dread shifts and settles in your chest.

"Celebrimbor, you can't-"

"I can and I will. There is no choice." You watch as he slides his thumb into the instrument and settles low enough to not fall and hurt himself further. "Whose will is the mightier?"

You rush forward to catch him. With the blood loss, there is no way he will not be vulnerable outside and you will not let anything else happen to him.

"Yours, sweet love." You whisper, sliding your arm around his waist as you begin guiding the two of you through a secondary exit in the forge. "Yours."

Everything is in chaos when you finally emerge outside. Much of the outer courtyard and surrounding buildings is nothing but rubble, submerged by fire that consumes everything it comes in contact with. There are Elves, your people, screaming in the distance. You can hardly breathe with the smell of smoke this thick.

You barely have enough to react before another explosion sounds, this one much closer, and knocks you both off your feet.

Your thoughts are on Celebrimbor as you are enveloped by darkness.

***

Galadriel only has one question when she enters the courtyard. Why are Celebrimbor's men looming over him as if they are the threat, and where are you? Last she'd heard, you were well on your way to marriage and earning the title of Lady of Eregion.

The anger that she feels at the treatment of her cousin is what propels her forward. If you cannot be his defender at this moment, she will do it in your stead.

"Release him!" She exclaims. "That is Lord Celebrimbor, greatest of Elven Smiths."

"But the Lord of Eregion ordered-"

"This is The Lord of Eregion. You should know as well that if this order were given by the Lady of Eregion, you would be equally expected to adhere to it," Calculating eyes shift over to her cousin, and there is such relief in his gaze that it nearly overwhelms her. "Celebrimbor... It is me."

Just over her shoulder, you emerge through the archway and lean heavily against it to catch your breath. Your face is veiled by the blood that trails down your temples and stains your skin. Your eyes burn from the smoke.

Galadriel's gaze falls to his bloodied hand.

"When I saw you, I was certain you were another illusion. Another cruelty devised to torment me with false hope. That is what he did with my Lady. And yet she is not here.. and I fear that which rescued me from my prison was another illusion as well."

Tears fall down your cheeks. What you would give to bring him peace.

"Sauron? More rings?" Galadriel asks. He nods.

"Nine." He holds up the pouch in his hand. "Nine rings to enslave the world of men as he enslaved me. It was my fault. From the beginning.. A part of me saw despite what she told me, and yet I still wanted what he offered! I blinded myself to what he was."

"So did I."

The moment you hear Sauron's screams, you propel yourself forward to stand beside Galadriel. Malendol and his men let you. He would not dare to question either of you. Not now.

Celebrimbor's eyes gleam as he takes you in. You are nearly as bloodied as he, but yet there is such a fire in your eyes that has yet to be put out.

"Hurry. The two of you can take the old Dwarven tunnel out of the city. That is how I entered." Galadriel said. "It will bear you both and the Rings far from here. Go. Now."

You bent down to sit beside Celebrimbor and again envelop him with your arm, the other hovering on your shoulder where your staff lay heavy as you kept your eyes cast above.

"No. It must be you," Celebrimbor argued. "I will ensure it is some time before he comes for the rings. Take them and save anyone in the city you can. Take her with you. You must hurry."

Your attention diverts back to your betrothed. "Absolutely not!" You snap. "I have been here all the while to protect you from him, and I will continue to do so now. I am staying."

"This is not an option."

"It is my choice. My choice and mine alone. My mission, above all else, has been to keep you safe." You draw closer than to kiss him fiercely, and all you can taste is ash and blood on his tongue. Galadriel softens at the way Celebrimbor responds to you. You have her cousin's heart. "This was meant to be our city. I remain."

"I built this city, Galadriel. My place is here."

"And they will not be alone," Malendol remarked. You nod your acknowledgment to the commander. Regardless of what has happened here, he is a good man.

"Neither of us were strong enough. There might not be anyone on Middle Earth who is save those who match his power. Perhaps the Elves need only remember that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. Armies may rise, hearts may fail, but still, light endures and is mightier than strength. For in it's presence, all darkness must flee." He swallows the knot in his throat and takes her in for that final moment. "Namäríe."

And then you are both gone, and Galadriel is left to watch you go with no hope of ever seeing you again.

***

Before you and Celebrimbor enter the Forge again, you quickly ensure he is still wearing the holly pin you enchanted after he initially made them with you. Miraculously, it has made it this far.

Celebrimbor stares at you quizzically as you adjust it against his chest.

"I'm not quite sure that adjusting a pin will help us in here."

You peer up at him. Celebrimbor catches that you seem to know something he doesn't.

"These pins may be among the only help we will get in here." Your fingers hover over the edge of your staff against your shoulder. He will have to ask you about that later.

"They are not here." He announces to Sauron as you both enter the Forge with Malendol and his men. It is heartbreaking how only ruins remain now. Sauron has obviously been tearing what remains apart in search of The Nine. "They will be far beyond your reach now."

Sauron's eyes shift down to the staff on your shoulder and the lack of handcuffs on your wrists. "Then you are going to bring them to me and place them in my hand."

"Your hand will never touch another ring again."

Malendol calls out a command in Sindar, and you are left to watch from your spot beside Celebrimbor as his men encircle Sauron. You know this will not end well.

"By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you Sauron are-"

Celebrimbor's brow furrows as Malendol suddenly stops, seeming to be choking on his own words. You remove your staff from your shoulder and place yourself between Celebrimbor and Sauron. You know that you among the Istari are not powerful compared to him, but you can deal some damage.

And you will, especially if it gets Celebrimbor out alive.

"Did you think you were the only one who put yourself in my power? Of all the people I have ensnared, she is the only one with the strong enough will to resist." Your gaze hardened as you watched each sword turn away from Sauron to each of the elves who held them.

Celebrimbor's grip on your hip tightened as each Elf was felled, their bodies collapsing against the ground.

A white light began to shine from the stone in your circlet. The same one in your staff began to emanate white light as well. You grit your teeth and murmur an incantation in Quenya just as Malendol enters the fight. You are intent on not letting him take another innocent life.

Sauron was not anticipating the direct blast at his chest as he flew across the room.

You rush forward and wrench the Commander backward toward you. "Get out of here and flee. Help Gil-Galad's elves. Get out of the city and take the survivors. Live. Go!"

Malendol exchanges a sympathetic look with you and Celebrimbor before he leaves with a thank you for having narrowly saved him from death.

Humorless, cold laughter echoes across the Forge.

"You will give me the Nine."

"Over my dead body." You remark sharply. "And that will take you quite a while to achieve."

Sauron smiles and wipes the blood from his lips before reaching for the weapon at his side. Unknown to you, it is a dagger that he has carried in secret for all his time in Eregion, able to wound even Maiar.

"So be it."

#Celebrimbor #Celebrimbor x Reader #Rings of Power #Rings of Power fanfiction

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angelasscribbles · 3 months ago

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WIP Folder Game Answers

These are the requests from the WIP Folder game I posted here

Requested by @walkerdrakewalker:

DREO

Multiple people have asked for a Dreo follow up. I haven’t gotten far with it, but it’s going to be set at Savanna and Max’s wedding. Here’s the beginning:

“Are you ready?” Leo watched Drake struggle with his tie. Shaking his head with a smile, he stepped over to help. “You’re never going go get the hang of formal attire, are you?”

“God, I hope not.” Drake huffed.

Savage Love

This will be chapter 39 of Savage Love

Naked, and still struggling to catch my breath, I glanced up at the man I’d just agreed to marry.

Liam stared down at me with such utter devotion in his gaze that it sent butterflies exploding through me.

It also terrified me.

There had been no romantic proposal or declaration of undying love.

I had agreed to marry him to keep him alive. Our discussion about how that would work and what it would look like had been interrupted by a vigorous bout of love making when the electricity that always snapped between us exploded, the potent mix of physical passion and intense emotion as we danced around the topic of my unspoken feelings for him cumulating in the physical expression of everything that I could not bring myself to express verbally.

Not yet.

I needed to ensure his survival first.

Requested by @harleybeaumont:

Kuck Kink Drake

I had this idea after I wrote My Lonely Valentine for last years Valentine’s Day prompt event. So it’s set in my The Agreement universe.

Here’s the snippet:

He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled deeply. Her scent, mixed with Liam’s and combined with the undeniable smell of sex was a heady combination.

“I should go shower first.” She extracted herself from his embrace and stood up.

His hand shot out to grab her by the wrist and pull her back. There was a new intensity burning in his eyes and he growled, “No, don’t.”

Domwell

Ok, this so far is a blank page. I’m thinking they meet when party boy Maxwell is visiting NYC and goes to the club Dominic works at.

Requested by @tessa-liam:

Delilah and Drake

This idea was requested by @aussiegurl1234 for her Drake and Delilah. She wants a scene that is similar to this one between my demon/vampire/human hybrid Riley and Elf/Human Liam in Dark Elf (a series kicked off by your request by the way lol)

This would be set after Delilah is turned obviously, which is something she hasn’t gotten to in her writing yet. So far it’s just an idea/request. I haven’t started writing it.

Dark Elf

Lady Hana Lee had been chosen because her mother’s Cordonian heritage ensured she’d answer the summons but her status as a foreign national would throw red tape in the way of any investigation into her disappearance, but the main reason she had been chosen was her unique heritage.

Hana herself had debated on accepting the invitation.

The Dark Kingdom

“Sire? The horses refuse to cross the partition. They can smell the evil!”

“It’s alright,” Maxwell told the captain of the royal guard as he dismounted. “They can’t climb up this slope anyway. We’ll proceed on foot.”

“Yes, Sire!” The captain turned back to yell orders at his men as Maxwell paced back and forth, his head tilted back to survey the cliff face he planned to scale.

All accounts pointed to the almost vanished but still faintly visible trail that led through the underbrush, across piles of broken rock fragments at the bottom of the mountain as the place the dogs had lost her trail.

He glanced from the incline to his men. “You’ll have to leave your armor behind. Strap your swords to your back and start climbing.” There was no way men in heavy armor would make it up the sheer cliff face.

“But sire…. We’ll be at a disadvantage without—”

“I know.” The young prince gritted his teeth. He didn’t like the thought of leading men to certain death, but there was no way he was letting the Esseri get away with this treachery.

The King’s Mistress 2

Duchess Riley Brooks was viewed with both envy and contempt by Cordonian high society.

Madeleine might have the crown, but Everyone knew where the real power lay. If you wanted the king’s ear, it wasn’t his wife you had to convince. It was his mistress.

The country’s newest duchess was a direct line to an introduction or an audience with the king.

#angelasscribbles #my wips #the royal romance #trr #the royal romance fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc wips

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butmakeitgayblog · 1 month ago

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Dear friend inside my screen, life has been ✨ complicated and challenging ✨ these past few months and I couldn't check your blog as much as I wanted to.

I'm not going on a heart-liking rampage because I don't want to wake you up tomorrow with 1000+ hearts and wonder if this hell of a site finally exploded (Tumblr I love you) but know deeply inside you that I virtually put a heart on every single post you posted from my last liked one to this comment here, just for general support (and because I agreed with a lot of them).

That being said, in these months I read the second and third chapter of Medusa!Au and let me tell you, LET ME TELL YOU.

Lexa 👏 is 👏 a 👏 puppy 👏.

I love her, I adore how she THINKS she is disinterested in Clarke, even though she knows she's lying to herself (and nobody else because we see her, Clarke "see" her - no pun intended).

The moment she made those sandals? Wow.

WOW.

Character growth there my friend.

She picked Clarke up because "you know, you have bloody feet", yeah? Tell me more you baddie Medusa.

And you know what else? I read the snippet with their first kiss [SPOILER]

THEY KISS THERE? I READ THAT SNIPPET AT LEAST 10 TIMES WITHOUT THE KISS AND THEY KISS IN THAT MOMENT, AFTER LEXA "SHOWS" CLARKE HER WORLD? I'm gonna cry.

[END SPOILER]

Anyway.

I'm gonna be fine, it's gonna be great.

That being said, in these past few months I went through a rollercoaster sequence of events and everytime I was feeling sad or you know "blue" I read one of your stories or snippet and they always cheered me up.

I know I already thanked you for your stories, but truly, they are happy little places where I can come back (not you AWTR, NOT YOU).

And I don't know if someone has commented on your plan (?) to focus on one ff per time, but I agree with you: it keeps you on track on every idea or details you thought for that specific story.

Or at least it's what helps me to stay focused and finish one project: just take steps on that road until you reach the end.

But again if you change your mind, you do you boo and we will be here to read whatever you put out in the universe.

Ok, I'm out, bye! 😂

I know I'm answering this really late and it's been awhile since you sent this, but know it's not because I was ignoring it. The truth is I have also been going through a lot recently. Personal stuff, medical stuff. Just shit in general. And it's been rough I'll be honest it's sucked. And this message was so sweet I kinda just wanted to hang onto it for awhile cuz it was nice opening my inbox and just having something so sweet to read.

So thank you. Know that your kindness helped me too 💕

As for Medusa, I'm so so glad you liked. Medusa has kind of become my baby these last few months as well. I am just working on focusing on one story at a time which I know is disappointing for people waiting on updates for other fics, but just know that when I get to that fic, it will also recieve my entire attention. I was just getting spread too thin and burning myself out. Several times I thought about just stopping writing, until I realized it was because I was pulling myself in too many directions.

Going back to one fic at a time has been really, really helpful. I actually enjoy writing again. I can just get lost in the world and the characters without feeling so much pressure to keep up with everything else. That was all my own doing, so don't think I'm blaming anyone but myself. But I'm also choosing this to fix it, and I feel like it's working.

Anyway, back to Medusa specifically lol

Medusa!Lexa truly is a puppy. Granted, she is a lethal puppy, trained under the literal goddess of war.... but a puppy nonetheless. I genuinely don't think you guys are entirely ready for just how soft this woman is. Her devotion to Clarke. The love she has just been waitinf to give. I'll put it like this, she makes CoA Lexa seem thoughtless 👀. She still has her rough edges of course and lord knows Clarke will always bring out the need to butt heads. But I'm happy with what I have set for Medusa and how she and their relationship will evolve. A lot of it is already written, and it is purely a love letter to Lexa's good heart and Clarke's strength of will. So I hope you end up enjoying the rest.

Thank you again for this kind message, it genuinely came at a time when I needed it 💕

#banfox23 #medusa au

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sharkblizzardblogs · 4 months ago

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Author Ask Tag

Thank you for the tag!

What is the main lesson of your story?

Nowhere to Nowhere is about love, loss, growing up, and self-reflection. It is a way to take overlapping perspectives into account when solving problems that wear the guise of fantasy but underneath are all based on common situations that people experience as they spend their days learning and growing. Sam is a dreamer, filled with trust and an unmatched openness. Jennifer is fierce and protective, willing to sacrifice her own needs for those she loves. And Bryn, Bryn is tricksy and curious, devoted to a life of learning. Splash in a healthy love of the outdoors and waaayyy too much time with my nose in a book about faeries and there you have it!

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

I’ve talked about this a bit before, but everything. Shadows cast by streetlights on my drive home, the particular sound of wind bouncing off mountains, curled strips of shredded tires, my favorite camping spots as a child, the creatures I imagined while playing on my grandparent’s farm. All of it. People too, the ones I know and the ones I only get a glimpse of in passing observation.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? So you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help them grow as a person?

As mentioned above the metaphorical meaning of the story comes from common situations that we deal with as we grow and how different ages and stages of ourselves may have looked at that same problem with a different lens. As far as MY goals as a writer? I want to write a story I enjoy, I want to work through some of my shit in a therapeutic and constructive manner, and I want to remind myself that I’m never too old to play pretend.

How many chapters is your story going to have?

Good question! I have NO idea, I’m thinking around 30 or 40 but honestly? That changes based on which way the wind blows so I guess we’ll see. I do know how many doors there are to go through though.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

This is entirely original content. I post snippets and tag game related things here on Tumblr but if you visit my pinned message, I’ve got links to my ToyHouse account where I post full chapters (and chapters in varying states of completion because I won’t let writer’s block kick my ass). You do not need an account to read the posted story or explore the world pages, feel free to check it out and let me know what you think!

When did you start writing?

All the way back in Elementary school. I was probably seven or so and I wrote, organized, cast, and had all my classmates preforming a play about the song Baa Baa Black Sheep for our teacher. Teacher thought it was so creative and this play was the first of a handful from the same year I had my hands in. From there I would consider my first ‘true’ bit of writing to be the blatant Animorphs based ‘original’ story I wrote featuring shape changing kids and a villain by the name of Starbuck. It exists on a floppy disk (yes really, I can’t get the damn thing off there because the computer doesn’t connect to the internet and floppy disk drives don’t exist anymore…it’s a whole thing) that I have kept stored away all these years.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr?

I could fill an essay with all I wanted to say, but instead I will leave a small anecdote to make my point. That story I mentioned? The one with Starbuck? I used to print out and mail, email wasn’t as much of a thing then, each chapter to my Great Grandmother who lived a few states away. She was in her eighties and we saw her once a year in the summers. She was an amazing artist and a real published illustrator. This was her hobby and part of her career and she never flounced it about or acted snobby about it. Instead, when I sent her those chapters she always mailed me a handwritten note on one of those notepads you stick to the fridge for grocery lists and she would tell me how good the chapters were and how much she enjoyed my writing. She never corrected my grammar or spelling or critiqued my skill. She praised me and a step beyond that, my favorite note and one I still have, she offered to illustrate the story for me. Now, we never got there due to life and then to death but I treasure that note amongst my most valuable things. My advice is this, write like that kid that I was. Write with stars in your eyes. Astronomers are in far more places than we give them credit for and they are ready at a moment’s notice to gush about how amazing their latest ‘galaxy’ is.

Gently tagging these fine folks and anyone who is interested!

@aether-wasteland-s @seastarblue @the-golden-comet @agirlandherquill @fangedcinnamonroll @paranormalsaga @artmagicly @juliana-jones @aalinaaaaaa @auspex-author @whenwecantsleep @macabremaenad @avidreadersandemergingwriters @tinywater @faeriecinna @clairelsonao3 @meganprimrose22 @amaru2020 @philosophika @jacobmatthewstark @that-weird-kid-from-your-school @mauvelilywilliams @meerawrites @jessicagailwrites @wardenwyrd @chauceryfairytales @dreamworksfanatic @loartacc @ieppiq @aziz-reads @viridis-icithus @desconstruindoeu @redellena97 @tearzofgaia @bi-focal12

#writeblr #bffwrites #writers on tumblr #fiction writing #original fiction #writers of tumblr #fantasy writing #imagination #novelist #tag games

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selunesdreams · 8 months ago

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Chapter 49: Strain Your Memory

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+, mdni. Brief allusion to history of SA, forced restraint See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.

“Astarion…hey.”

Wyll is nudging his shoulder when he wakes from his trance, still slumped against the wall by the stairs. Gale lingers on the top step, holding a tray full of breakfast, presumably for Celeste.

“I didn’t even think, Astarion,” the wizard says sympathetically, “You would have been more than welcome on the couch or...”

He shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. He feels weary, hollow.

“I’ve tranced in worse places. How is she?”

“I’m about to find out.” Gale says.

“Do try to keep your hands and mouths to yourselves,” Astarion grumbles. “Without her memories, she seems to have resorted to seduction.”

“So let me get this straight, because the Sharrans seem to only have tampered with recent history in her mind, she still remembers you from when you were younger?” Wyll asks Gale.

“Lucky, isn’t he?” Astarion doesn’t hate Gale for it, not really, but Celeste’s hostility towards him the previous evening had taken its toll. He crosses his arms and leans back against the banister.

“We’ll get her back.” Gale assures him, before disappearing inside the room.

Astarion purses his lips and nods, the wizard’s hope barely penetrating in his pessimism.

“This must be hard for you…” Wyll begins.

“I’ll manage.” Astarion snaps, before pressing his ear to the bedroom door, listening for snippets of conversation, but it’s difficult to make anything out without vampiric hearing.

“Gale! Praise the gods. Please, let me out.”

“Celeste.” Gale’s voice is stern but gentle. “I can’t do that.”

“I won’t hurt you - I won’t hurt any of you. Just let me go. Let me return to Lady Shar in peace.”

“There’s a lot you don’t remember.” Gale says. “And even more memories Shar has altered..what do you remember of your parents?”

“They were killed by rogue Sharrans, because my father betrayed our goddess.” She says. “It was terrible, but he should have known better…”

“And you blame him for what happened?”

“Of course. If he’d never turned his back on the Dark Lady, but…I think he was sick. Selûne poisoned him against Shar. And my mother…perhaps if my father had more time to convince her of Shar’s wisdom…”

Astarion’s nose wrinkles in disgust. This isn’t her. He can hear it in her voice, the cold, fanatic devotion that he knows is not her own.

“You have Selûnite blood.” Gale says. “Why are you so quick to claim Shar as your goddess?”

Thank the gods for his endless patience, Astarion thinks to himself.

Celeste pauses, seemingly deep in thought.

“She saved me. When the Harper’s abandoned me, Keresta and the Sharrans gave me a place to stay. Helped me go to university, kept me hidden from Selûnites…” she wrinkles her nose “until Selûne sent that vampire to test my faith.”

Astarion frowns, and Wyll joins him to eavesdrop.

Gale laughs. “He wasn’t sent by Selûne, Celeste. I promise you. If you had your memories, you’d realize how preposterous that statement is.”

“He turned on Keresta, you know. He came to us and I believed him and he turned on her!” Celeste says. “I won’t make that mistake again.

Astarion winces on the other side of the door, not liking where this is going.

“Celeste, he went to Keresta to save you. How can you think Astarion had bad intentions? Keresta tied you in a cellar! He freed you.”

“Is that any different from what you’re doing to me now?” She asks, “Gale, you could free me. I know you’re with that cleric, but…maybe we can convince her to reject Selûne, too. Return to the Dark Lady. That tiefling too…”

“I need you to drink this, Celeste. It will inhibit your powers for some time, but I’ll at least be able to untie you so you can be more comfortable.” Gale says, effectively silencing her fanatical ranting.

“If it will earn me freedom from this chair...” she consents. “You will release me from this room eventually, right?”

“Yes.” Astarion can hear the lie in Gale’s voice.

There’s a brief sound of shuffling and cutting of rope. Astarion presses his ear closer to the door, trying to hear anything else, as Gale pulls it open, his eyebrows raised in surprise as Astarion and Wyll pitch forward into him. Behind the wizard, Celeste rubs her wrists, still seated in the chair, giving Astarion a nasty glare.

Gale shuts the door behind him and places an arcane lock over it.

“I take it you’ve heard?” He asks Astarion and Wyll with a grim look.

Astarion’s jaw sets in annoyance.

“Every word.” He mumbles. “How long will that stuff last?”

“A day. Enough time for me to brew another. In the meantime, we need to find some Noblestalk - more than what Shadowheart has leftover. She already tried to remove any curse set on Celeste, but it appears that’s not the root of her…condition.”

“Do you have any connections?” Astarion says, pushing himself off the wall.

“I may have to meet with Halaster again. I should probably tell him about Shovel as well…”

Astarion recalls the grisly sight of the quasit’s head rolling across the ground. Wyll had dug a shallow hole in the yard and buried the creature while they took Celeste inside, and he almost felt a pang of sympathy for it.

“Is it safe to venture into the Undermountain again?” Wyll asks.

“Halaster showed me paths on that map no one knows about. But we’ll take everyone to be safe in numbers. Astarion, Shadowheart and Nocturne can stay behind.” Gale says, gazing at him, “Between you three, hopefully you can get through to her…”

Astarion looks at the shut door across the hall. “I’ll…try.”

His musings are interrupted by the sound of a crash from the den, the front door sounding as if it had been ripped off the hinges all together. The three men exchange panicked looks before hurriedly descending the stairs.

“What have you done!?” Aylin’s voice bellows through the house.

“You told her?” Astarion asks Gale, sliding his palm across his face with a groan.

“Sending spell. She needed to know. We were supposed to ambush the Sharrans today.”

The doors to their companions’ rooms creak open in time for everyone to stumble out, joining them to greet the aasimar, all in various states of undress and bleary-eyed.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t the best time. We have a…situation to deal with.”

“I am well aware. So fix it, Shadow. Did my mother not bestow her gifts upon you? Did she not task you with protecting her granddaughter from harm?”

Astarion clenches his jaw, irritated by the accusation.

“She ran out there prepared for a fight. We tried to stop her!”

“And you failed.” Aylin says.

“Aylin…” Isobel cautions, “he’s grieving.”

“You think I like this?” Astarion demands. “I don’t. I loathe seeing her this way, hearing her spout Shar’s dogmatic shit all day!”

“Easy there, soldier…” Karlach says, placing a hand on Astarion’s shoulder.

Aylin schools her expression into one of more sympathetic determination. “Do you have a plan?”

Astarion lets out a slow breath, bringing his volume back down.

“Noblestalk.”

“It’s the best shot we have, at present,” Shadowheart says.

“A good start.” Isobel says encouragingly. “Selûne’s magic can’t touch her in this state. Whatever they’ve done, we can’t help her until she’s willing to allow the Moonmaiden in again.”

“And what if we can’t reverse this?” Astarion’s voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. “What if she’s trapped in the Shar’s grasp? What if we can’t…save her?”

“Astarion, it took immense effort to keep me under Shar’s influence.” Shadowheart assures him. “They manipulated her mind once. She’ll come back. Thank the gods they didn’t force her before a Mirror of Loss…”

“There’s no guarantee we’ll get all of her memories,” Nocturne says, “but she’s still her. You two have centuries to aid her in finding herself again.”

Astarion recoils at the suggestion.

“Let’s get this mushroom, then.” Minthara says, “it’s our only lead.”

“We will check at the Selûnite temple for solutions. Convene with the Moonmaiden. Perhaps there’s something we’re missing..” Isobel says.

Astarion nods. It’s not a solution yet, but it’s a plan, and it’s something for him to hold on to.

“Be safe.” Shadowheart says to Isobel and Aylin, as they turn to leave, abandoning the door the aasimar wrecked on her way in.

Gale hands Shadowheart a bundle of scrolls and a potion.

“Use these for removing and reinstating the arcane lock. There’s a permanent ward on the window to keep her in, and a few scrolls of hold person should things come to it.”

“I hope we won’t need these.” She murmurs, looking nervously up the stairs.

“Astarion, you should go speak with her first.” Nocturne says, “see if you can make any progress.”

“Because that went so well last time.” He says under his breath and climbs the stairs begrudgingly.

“Just don’t let her near any black hair dye while we’re gone!” Shadowheart calls after him. “Took a divine intervention to get it out of my hair…” he hears the cleric mutter to herself.

———————————————————————

Celeste is lying on the bed, her breakfast untouched on the nightstand. The displacer beast cub curled up with Tara at her feet, Gale seemingly sending in his Tressym to keep her company.

Astarion slowly approaches, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He watches her silently, then reaches out towards her arm.

“Celeste?”

She cracks open an eye.

“You.”

Astarion flinches almost imperceptibly at the tone in her voice as she throws herself forward.

“Yes, me.” He forces himself to speak evenly. “Can we talk?”

She gestures in front of herself.

“Talk all you want. It’s not as if I can go anywhere.”

He bristles, but bites down on any sort of argument. At the bottom of the mattress, Tara stirs and gives them a contemplative look before leaping through the open window, taking flight. Now alone, the displacer kitten stirs and moves into Celeste’s lap. She looks down curiously before scratching between its ears.

“Celeste…” Astarion begins. He lets her name linger in the air before continuing. “I know you can’t remember this, but you’ll need to trust what I’m going to tell you.”

“Trust you? You’re holding me against my will.”

Against her will. The words make Astarion’s head spin.

“Darling…you couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me, I know you.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” She says, “it’s clear none of you think I’m sane. Perhaps the Celeste you knew might have just been brainwashed by Selûnites? Perhaps this is who I am.”

He snorts. “Brainwashed by Selûne. Are you so desperate to prove me wrong?”

“My mistress saved me…”

“No, I bloody saved you!” Astarion shouts.

Celeste flinches when he raises his voice, but quickly recovers her mask of indifference.

“Saved me from what, exactly? Is that what we are to each other in your world? I’m some damsel that needs you?”

Astarion steadies himself, trying to calm his emotions.

“We were friends. Allies. Partners.” He says, “We loved each other. You may not remember, but I do.”

“As you’ve mentioned several times..” she tilts her head, “would you like to fuck me Astarion, is that it? I could oblige you. Come back to Vanrakdoom with me. Perhaps we can work something out...”

He swallows. The thought of her trading herself for freedom made him sick, shameful. But every instinct in his mind tells him it could work. Freeing her, letting her run to Keresta’s side. What would it matter which goddess she served, so long as she loved him? He’d never allied with one, truly, but it was Selûne’s gift that’s given him back the sun. It was Selûne’s that saved her, once.

The cool, detached calculation in her eyes makes him feel nauseated.

“No.” He says firmly, “I could never do that.”

She scoffs. “Noble of you.”

“Don’t pretend to be surprised.” Astarion says, a slight edge coming into his voice. “And don’t mock me. I know you’re desperate to be cruel right now, but let’s not act as if you aren’t perfectly aware I would never lay a hand on you. Not like this.”

She assesses him through narrowed eyes. “Why not, though? Why are you so insistent? If we’re lovers, you should have no problem...”

“Because this isn’t you.” Astarion sighs, a sound that’s almost a growl of its own. “You may not remember this about me, but I spent two centuries playing the rake. I wouldn’t inflict it on anyone else. Sex doesn’t matter to me like that.”

Celeste studies him for a short time.

“Humor me, then. What is this terrible history of yours?”

His lip curls.

“I was a slave, darling dearest, for centuries. I was forced to serve a cruel master, forced to live my life at the edge of his whim, to lure people back for him...” His words are clipped and even. “Is that sufficient, or do you desire the particulars?”

She keeps her cool demeanor, but he notices she begins to wring her hands in her lap.

“And that’s it? You were a slave?”

Astarion gestures wildly. “What do you mean, that’s it? You want me to tell you about the torture? Want me to regale you about the starvation and the mutilation and the use of my body for his own gain?”

“Shar could help you transcend your sorrows, erase the memories of what was done to you...”

“I begged for every god, including Shar. None saved me. None listened.”

She bites her lip, but seems engrossed in his story.

“So your master…you escaped?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Astarion says, his voice soft and cold. “And then I returned to kill him.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“Yes, well…” He tries to smirk, knowing it probably looks more like a grimace. “I had friends. It was not so simple a task.”

“Friends…like Gale?”

“Yes.” Astarion replies. “Shadowheart, Karlach, Minthara, Wyll... We traveled together, for a time.”

“How did you meet?”

“We were abducted by mindflayers, believe it or not. It’s a long story, really.”

Celeste leans back, settling against the plush pillows, her gaze fixed on him.

“We have time.”

And so he tells her, vividly recounting their adventures through the untamed wilderness and the eerie, shadow-cursed lands. Defeating an Apostle of Myrkul, fighting Raphael in the Hells, killing Cazador, turning down Ascension. He told her everything. Orin shapeshifting into Gale and kidnapping him, how they had to kill Gortash - much to Karlach’s delight - to convince the Bhaalspawn to spare the wizard’s life. The insufferable Emperor that they turned against before their victory against the Netherbrain, and Gale’s invitation for Astarion to return to Waterdeep when it was all over.

“You know, I’ve told you this entire thing before.” He remarks after he finishes.

“You did?”

“Indeed.” Astarion mutters bitterly. “I thought it might make you remember something, but it didn’t seem to do any good.”

She shrugs. “It passed time.”

“I’m glad I’m entertaining.” Astarion’s tone drips with sarcasm.

“I remember nothing from the past two months, you know.” She confesses suddenly. “Everything before that is…hazy.”

Astarion hums in acknowledgement, squinting at her.

“And that doesn’t give you pause? You don’t think your memory has been tampered with, rather than restored?”

She glances down at the displacer kitten purring in lap and pets it, not giving him a response.

“Does this creature belong to me?”

“It’s a shared pet. You’ll have to fight the cleric for it if you want to leave with it. The cub was gifted to you by a mad wizard only a couple of days ago.”

“Displacer beasts are well aligned with Shar’s intentions…” Celeste begins.

“Well, here’s hoping Gale’s Tressym is a good influence.” As Astarion looks down at his hands, a sense of desperation seeps into his voice.

“This isn’t you. Trust me. I know you.”

“How can I trust anyone when I can’t even trust myself?”

“You think it’s better to be a mindless puppet?” Astarion counters. “An obedient little zealot?”

There’s a soft knock as Nocturne peeks in.

“Everything alright? I brought tea.” The tiefling offers Celeste a steaming mug, and she accepts it, but eyes it suspiciously before passing it to Astarion.

“You first. Maybe you can earn some of my trust.”

“No one would poison you here, darling.”

Celeste doesn’t blink.

“Fine.” He mutters and sips at the tea with reluctance.

For a moment he feels nothing, then, a slight memory, one long forgotten. A flash of something, hanging on to his mother’s skirts as a child, hiding from the busy streets of Baldur’s Gate as they walked to the market, her hand reaching for his, the comfort in her smile…

He dismisses the thought and returns the mug to her.

“It’s just tea,” He says flatly. He hates lying to her, but the Noblestalk is the only chance to get her back.

“Just tea,” she mutters as she lifts the cup’s rim to her lips. She drinks, holding Astarion’s gaze. Nocturne takes a step back, and he sees Shadowheart lingering in the cracked doorway, watching. Astarion ignores them, watching as Celeste swallows the liquid.

She sets the mug down, still half full, and stares at the quilt. She winces, touching her temple.

“What did you do…” she growls.

“You remembered something, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I remembered the worst day of my life.” She glowers at them from under her tear-drenched lashes. “This is how you earn my trust? By lying to me?”

Astarion feels a stab of guilt.

“You just recalled a painful memory.” Shadowheart interrupts them. “Keep drinking. There are good ones to recover as well.”

“I don’t want to see more!” Celeste knocks the tea from the nightstand and Nocturne jumps forward, catching it before it hits the ground. A bit sloshes out of the side, but she saves the rest.

Astarion moves before he has a moment to think about it.

“Stop it!” He reaches out and holds Celeste by her shoulders. “You remembered something! That’s progress. If you just stopped resisting-”

“I don’t want to remember that.” She sniffs. “The Lady of Loss must have taken the memory to provide relief…”

“What did you see?” Nocturne asks gently.

“My parents dying. In perfect clarity. What those monsters did to me afterwards...” she says through gritted teeth.

Astarion hadn’t considered that the memories that returned would also be some of her most traumatic.

“Noblestalk is an indiscriminate herb, unfortunately.” Shadowheart says. “I’m sorry what you saw was unpleasant, but your memories can’t lie to you. If you drink more, you’ll find joyous ones returning as well…”

Astarion tightens his grip on Celeste’s arms, giving her a pleading look. “Those monsters are the same Sharrans poisoning you against us now. Please. Just take the Noblestalk. You’re just making yourself suffer by refusing...”

“My whole life has been suffering, has it not!? From what memories I have, it’s been miserable! What good is there to remember?”

“We don’t have time for dramatics.” Shadowheart says, snatching the tea from Nocturne. She forces Celeste backwards, pinning her to the bed.

Astarion reaches out to stop her, but the cleric gives him a threatening look over her shoulder when she feels him shift forward. As Celeste thrashes under her hold, screaming in protest, Nocturne pushes the mug back against Celeste’s closed lips with surprising force, tea dripping out the sides as she resists.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The tiefling says to her as Astarion watches helplessly.

Celeste attempts to spit out the Noblestalk, but Shadowheart puts a hand over her mouth, forcing her to swallow. When the cleric eases off her, Celeste jolts forward, coughing and gasping for air.

Astarion moves quickly, pulling her against him. She clutches at his shirt, tears staining its collar.

“I apologize.” Shadowheart says, “but you need to remember Celeste. Before Shar takes a stronger hold,” she turns to Astarion, “that’s all I have leftover from the shop in Baldur’s Gate. When Gale returns later, we’ll have more. If we can restore even one good memory of hers..” the cleric’s voice trails off, sympathy passing across her face as Celeste weeps into Astarion’s shirt.

“We’ll leave you.” She says and departs with Nocturne, shutting the door behind them.

Astarion doesn’t speak as they leave, waiting for Celeste’s sobs to quiet into sniffs before he tips her chin up, searching for a sign of the woman he loves.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright!” She pushes him off of her, as if surprised she’d sought solace in his arms in the first place.

Astarion lets her push him away, staring at her stonily.

“What did you remember this time?”

“Keresta bit me.” She whispers. “I had to crawl out of a grave - your grave - and you found me in that alley...”

Astarion’s hands reach out, clasping hers between them.

“Keep going.” He says. “Please. Just keep talking. Just talk, darling.”

“When I was recovering. You came and told me how you’d been lying to me…about Keresta’s offer.” She closes her eyes as if trying to remember, “I forgave you. And the next day we…confronted…someone..”

Astarion’s gaze doesn’t leave hers as she recounts the memories.

“Daniel. Your ex.” He doesn’t mention she killed him. Best not venture into that territory yet. “He’s the one who led the Sharrans to you.”

She nods. “You walked me back to the tavern after. I was struggling…with the two goddesses’ claim to me. The moon and the dark, the compulsion to be good. You…comforted me that evening.”

She blushes, undoubtedly recalling the lengths at which they “comforted” one another.

Astarion can’t help the tiny, almost painful grin that crosses his face at her statement.

“Keep going. Please. What else?”

“We got in a fight after. Because you implied you loved me and I was so…taken aback by it.”

He winces as guilt washes over him, remembering how much of a dick he had been to her.

“I was devastated when you left.” she looks up at him. “Did we..make up? Apologize?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “We did.”

“That’s all I have. but I…” She shakes her head. “I know I love you. I felt it in that memory. I cared for you then.”

Celeste stands, pacing the room.

“If you say Shar and Keresta are lying…I’ll try to hear you out. After what they did to me before your intervention...you must be right about something.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this another one of your tricks?”

She lets out an annoyed huff.

“Your friend, Shadowheart, that’s her name, yes? She said I’ll get back more memories if I keep taking the Noblestalk. So if it will help me get back to…whoever I was, I’ll do it.”

Astarion stands abruptly and strides purposefully to the wardrobe, rummaging through it.

“What are you doing?” Celeste asks as he brushes past her.

“Looking for something.” He replies, retrieving a book and pressing it into her hands.

“This is your father’s diary. He turned from Shar, once. Perhaps his words can help you find the strength, too…” He snatches a stuffed owlbear and tosses it onto the bed, “and this is apparently a childhood memento of yours. I found it in the remnants of your house fire. See if it jogs your memory at all.”

He steps around her, placing his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll leave you with your thoughts for a while. Come find me when you’re ready to talk again.”

Celeste stands in the center of the room, clutching her father’s journal to her chest.

“You’re not locking me in?”

Their eyes meet, and he holds onto the moment. Perhaps she’s not herself, but she once gave him that same look after he kissed her for the first time.

“A gesture of good faith.” He dares to smile as he slips into the hall.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate oc #baldurs gate astarion #formsofimprisonment #forms of imprisonment #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion romance #astarion x oc #astarion fluff

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squigglysquidd · 2 months ago

Text

Juxtaposed Snippet: Birthday Post

He wants—wishes even—her to be able to forgive herself. Being rescued from Akuze was not ill-gotten survival. To assuage the survivor’s guilt she has, he thinks she needs to finally realize that all the death was not her fault.

He doesn’t believe in the Spirits or fate but in her case, perhaps he could be swayed.

It just feels like she’s meant for more.

If he could, he would be honored if she let him carry her burden until she heals. However, it’s her choice alone and his only real option until then is to be here and wait until she trusts him enough to share her pain.

His heart races every time she writes about how much she misses him for both his friendly companionship and their nightly embraces.

He still hasn’t found the courage to explore the deeper feelings he has for her, let alone tell her. Fearing what it would do to those walls he’s managed to chip away and topple over, he doesn’t tell her.

She’s mentioned the mix of emotional intimacy and sex has never worked for her many times but he can’t help the devotion he feels for her. If he says anything, will she withdraw and feel unwelcome in his life as she is?

He’s decided that if what they have now never moves forward to what he so desperately craves, he’ll gladly give her whatever she’ll have of him. Being with her in any capacity can be enough compared to being without her.

He’s pretty sure he’ll be good at pretending.

What foolishness are feelings, anyway?

His feelings are the stuff of ‘sappy’—as she’d say—romances in the vids and books and not something that could ever happen in reality.

Certainly, it’s not something that happens between two completely different people that live in reality.

Especially when they’re of entirely different species.

He’s only ever heard of someone being so infatuated—dare he say in love—with another that their subvocals thrummed devotedly involuntarily by just the mere thought of them.

This idea of someone’s body knowing before their own mind is so unbelievable that it can’t possibly exist outside of fantasy.

There’s so such thing as ‘soulmates.’

People aren’t bound by some unexplainable, cosmic force.

Logically, it’d be impossible when introduced to a galaxy of different people of vastly different species.

Yet, he is feeling affected by some deep, unexplainable impetus.

Just the thought of receiving a message from her every day has him aching. He looks forward to a notification from her that he loses focus on his days. Even her admissions of ‘missing him’ make his heart race, ramming against his rib cage.

This would be so much easier if Jane was a turian. She could hear my subharmonics. She could save me the embarrassment of rejection.

But do I really want that?

It’s human Jane I can’t get out of my head … not a turian version of her.

He sighs and rubs his temples as he hums in exasperation. His thoughts are racing and she’s supposed to be returning to the Citadel in a matter of hours and he’s stuck mentally battling over something that’ll never happen.

#mass effect #mass effect au #garrus vakarian #shakarian #parable #female shepard #femshep x garrus #juxtaposed

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upsilambic · 8 months ago

Text

[ I was going through my WIPs again and started poking at this one again. Who knows when I'll finally finish it, so I thought I'd post a snippet of it for fun.]

Untitled - Squalo and Bianchi are stuck cooking together

"It's not even a secret. The answer is love, of course."

"...love.” The word spilled off Squalo's tongue as if it had suddenly gone rancid in his mouth. He made a face to match that sentiment. “Way to take a perfectly good conversation and make it weird, Poison Scorpion." He reached for his own wine to wash away his distaste.

Bianchi, for her part, remained unpreterbed.

"There is nothing weird about it. After all, you are here out of love for your boss."

Squalo was almost positive she had waited to say that until he had taken a drink, and really, he would have been grudgingly impressed had he not, at that moment, been suffering the consequences of aspirating red wine. Clearly all her time spent with Reborn had left an impression.

"NO," he managed to wheeze out.

Bianchi deftly ignored his plight, seemingly lost in contemplation in the way the wine in her glass caught the light. Though, there was a towel suddenly handy to mop up the wine that sloshed from his when he set it down.

"There are many kinds of love,” she said at last. “It's not all romantic love, and there is nothing wrong with it if it is. Don't be such a child."

"Voi, I am not being a child!" It was a regrettable choice of words, and there was no mistaking Bianchi's amused smirk. "Whatever," he said with a wave of his hand. "You can just fuck all the way off." He attempted a dramatic turn, but the effect was not the same with his hair tied back. This only added to his irritation,so with all the airs and grace of a wet cat, he focused his attention on completing the Boss's meal. Damn Boss better eat it or he was going to shove it down his stupid throat. Hah, how's that for love?

"Is it so hard?"

"Is what so hard?"

"Talking about emotions that aren't anger."

“It’s hardly just anger. It’s more…nuanced. There’s rage, of course. Frustration, irritability, vengefulness…”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Am I?”

Bianchi said nothing and seemingly waited with all the patience of a saint. Squalo recognized her silence as a challenge. As much as he wanted to ignore her and her argument, he also really wanted to win. He glared down at his sauté pan of aromatics as if they held his answer.

"Anger is direct and efficient. All the rest gets unnecessarily complicated."

"Hm, perhaps. I didn't think you were the type to shy away from the difficult path."

"Heeey, I'm not shying away from anything! I just don't happen to wear these things-"

"-Feelings."

"...fine. On my sleeve, alright?"

There was a pause as Bianchi tipped her head to the side and regarded him carefully. "Does this conversation make you uncomfortable, Superbi Squalo?"

Deeply, horribly, excruciatingly. "No."

“What if I exchanged the word love for loyalty or devotion?”

Squalo shot her a look. Of all the words she could choose, she picked one that he most prided himself upon. He was about to shout that loyalty wasn't stupid and soppy when he saw there was no judgment. She was stating what she felt was fact. Suddenly, the weight of his braid felt very heavy. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“Alright. Fine. I get it. I do,” he said at last. “I’m still not calling it love, though.” He waved his spatula at her to emphasize his point. She didn't flinch. Of course she didn't. Her lips pulled into a small smile

“You don’t have to.”

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #superbi squalo #bianchi #bianchi khr #khr fic #my writing #snippet

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hirukochan · 1 year ago

Note

I know you are busy right now with your fics and I really admire how brilliant they turn out to be with you working on multiple projects. I really appreciate all your hardwork and dedication and ugh, I just love your work so much.

But can I just say that I saw your comment in one of your fics about a potential forbidden Malfoy OC/Reader x Voldemort and I am really looking forward to that? I'm a huge Harriet x Voldy fan but i really love the Malfoy idea and the whole corruption concept. I have this weird imagery of them like Voldy being the snake from the apple tree in Eden and Malfoy Reader being naive, trusting, and too curious for her own good Eve.

Thank you so much!!! It means the world to hear that! I am thrilled to know so many people enjoy these silly little stories I come up with :D!

I am very much looking forward to writing that story! And I will. First I need to finish some published stories but this one is at the top of the list! I hope I'll get to it some time next year and I will be certain to post about it here too!

I don't know from what perspective I will be writing it yet.

Corruption is a main theme for the fic as I've been planning it right now. The youngest child of Narcissa and Lucius is a very sickly girl who had little influence outside her family and who has never even left her family's estate! Voldemort shamelessly preys on that and revels in the slow but steady destruction of her innocence and purity - something he never got to have.

I have a little snippet/teaser here of that fic for anyone who is interested! I have yet to find a name for the fic - because love coming up with names for stuff!!!! (not.)

Malfoy daughter X Voldemort Snippet

words: 1200

warnings: none that I can think off :D

Astrea Lucretia Malfoy knows there are certain expectations that come with being a member of the ancient and most honourable house of Malfoy. Astrea knew these expectations before she could as much as crawl. They were handed down to her from the very first beat her heart took inside her mother’s womb and Astrea would sooner throw herself off the roof of her family home than do anything that would bring shame to her house and her parents.

Astrea loves her parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are proud people and Astrea would never want to embarrass them. Astrea knows how to behave. She knows how to greet people and how to make pleasant conversation. Astrea can play the piano and dance and yet despite having devoted her life to trying and be the perfect heiress to her proud parents - she is not.

She is a smudge on her family’s proud family tree and there is nothing she can do.

Astrea looks down at the crimson spots on the snowy white handkerchief in her trembling hands. Steps sounding from the hallway have her hastily fold it and stuff it in her dress. The corset her governess put her into for today’s special occasion.

Time has run out. Astrea can’t escape him any longer. She knows it was an endeavour doomed from the beginning but she had to try.

Her governess opens the door, looking like a banshee coming to announce Astrea’s death, dressed in her stern black uniform. Astrea hates the sight of that uniform. Hates the black dress that makes her think of death every time she sees it because death is the last thing Astrea wants to think about it and yet it’s the first thought on her mind when she wakes up and the last when she falls asleep. Death hunts her in her dreams and she knows death is approaching steadily in reality as well. The handkerchief stuffed between her breasts and the corset bears the proof of that.

Astrea has been sick for as long as she can remember. Despite hiring the most renowned healers and researchers and even shamans nobody has been able to give the proud Malfoys and their inexhaustible vaults at Gringotts an answer as to why their only daughter is a sickly, weak child. She just is. Getting infected with the Dragonpox that would later take her severe, powerful and feared grandfather Abraxas Malfoy did little to improve her condition.

Nowadays Astrea can at least leave her bed and walk freely about the Manor but she knows that little and treasured freedom will be snatched from her the second her overprotective father learns of her relapse.

Astrea pushes her governess' hands from her hair and gets up. She ignores the lightheaded dizziness rushing through her at the swift movement. She does not let it show either.

She can wait no longer.

He is expecting to be introduced to her after all.

The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all times, once believed to have vanished and now returned, reborn. Of course, Astrea knows all about him. She has been taught about him alongside her older brother Draco all her life. Taught of his greatness, his might, his goal to save wizardingkind and she has been taught of her duty to serve him.

And yet she stole from him.

The precious dress made of fairy-spun silk slides over the carpeted stairs. Astrea’s chest strains against the corset. Her governess tied it tighter today against Astrea’s protest.

Nobody here listens to her.

Nobody cares.

Oh, they all ‘care’ - they bend over backwards to delay the inevitable, forcing her to go through heinous treatments to expand her life and yet nobody cares.

Expect for her Uncle Sev perhaps. Her godfather, her father’s best friend and also on the few occasions she is allowed to practise magic, her tutor. He always has an open ear for her and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it.

But there are a few secrets she keeps even from him. The handkerchief and her impertinence. Both she carries on her person tonight. Perhaps a mistake though she seriously doubts the greatest Legilimens to ever live would need her to carry her sin with her to detect it. He’ll know the second he sees her, therefore her avoiding him. In the days before the Dark Lord’s arrival to take up residency in her family home she strategically scattered gasps and moments of pause into her demeanour and speech, then on the morning of his arrival Astrea dipped the thermometer her governess forces past her lips every morning in her teacup for a few seconds as the old hag was preparing her bath.

She spent the past week in her bed but she can’t keep this charade up for long without risking her feeble sham-freedom.

Astrea treasures her freedom above all else.

She enters the sitting room. Her parents are sitting on a sofa with Draco in between them. Uncle Sev sits on their opposite, his face as expressionless as always, swirling whiskey in his glass lazily. There, right across from Astrea is he.

The dark one.

The most powerful and dangerous man to ever walk the earth.

And Astrea not only gets to walk on the same earth at the same time, she gets to be in a room with him, to breathe the same air as him, share dinner with him.

Her chest is bursting with pride, her heart flutters in its cage of fragile bones like the many exotic birds in their cages in her room. Her father keeps bringing them home in hopes of making her smile but Astrea finds no joy in dooming others to share her fate and yet what can she do? These birds, much like her, have no chance of surviving outside their cages and yet she can’t help the occasional thought of just letting them all go, letting them try their luck and run after them, with bare feet and no shawl and wouldn’t that be worth the impending death following them? Living and if only for one second?

Astrea has never felt so alive as she does right now. Her trembling fingers grasp the edge of her dress and lift it slightly as she sinks to her knees, bowing her head at the same time. She struggles to keep her back straight and her body stiff, to not fall over and to make it all seem effortless too. Her long pale blond hair falls over her shoulder. She doesn’t even pause to remember she has never curtseyed in a dress cut like this one, doesn’t remember the corset, doesn’t realise her hair is shielding the sight from her parents and Uncles and doesn’t notice how crimson eyes darken as they skim over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress.

Astrea has grown up well-protected and so she does not realise the different ways men look at quickly coming-of-age girls like her. Merely a year away from being presented to society, something Astrea has never had to worry about as her poor health will hardly allow for such a thing her mother has neglected to prepare her, to warn her of the more unsavoury desires of some men. And still - Astrea knows more than her parents think. She is no idiot and has read nearly every book in the Manor, even those her father keeps away from her in his own library and especially his study and what she can’t find in books her friend tells her about. Her only friend.

“Rise.” The high-pitched voice caresses her skin like morning dew, the leaves of her flowers in front of her windows. Like the wings of her feathered companions, her bare arms. Astrea shudders and - against all her formidable education - she stares.

Amusement twinkles in the crimson eyes of her lord and master, dark red like the drops on her handkerchief. They assess her, gliding over her body, her dress and eventually coming to a halt on her eyes. The corner of his lipsless mouth twitches and for a second Astrea has forgotten everything. The blood, the fatigue, the guilt at lying to her parents, the weight of her sin pressed against her naked thigh beneath her dress.

Lord Voldemort looks different than she could have ever been able to picture him. Pale skin that’s scattered here and there with a bundle of scales that shimmer in the flickering light of the gas lamps on the walls, shimmering like the expensive opal jewellery her parents brought back for her from one of their trips to France once. His pupils are long, shaped like those of a snake and where there is supposed to be a nose, only slit nostrils stretch across his skin.

He is tapping his nails on the armrest of his armchair, one with a regal, high back and luxurious tropical wood, stained dark to fit the room’s aesthetic.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lord.” Astrea says, though her voice sounds strange even to her own ears. “I am saddened to have missed your arrival.”

“I am as well.” Voldemort says, his voice silky smooth, sounding so familiar and yet so strange. Though the fluttery feeling it ignites in her belly is very familiar. She has only ever felt it around her only friend…

Voldemort rises from his seat, abandoning his untouched drink on the table beside his armchair. He towers over her, taller even than her father and uncle. Astrea feels minuscule next to him, not only due to the size. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder.

“Join me? I am curious to learn more about the youngest Malfoy offspring.”

“I am an open book for my lord.” She says with a chaste incline of her head, hiding both from the intense gaze of her master and the redness spreading across her cheeks. “My lord merely needs to ask.”

The stolen leatherbound diary pressed against her thigh she accepts Voldemort’s arm and follows him into the dining room where he even pulls out her chair. No man who does not also share blood with her or is made of ink and magic has ever treated her like this. Astrea sits down and is glad for the rest, ignoring the sweat drenching her back beneath her dress and corset. She doesn’t notice the eyes wandering to her décolletage once more.

“I hope my family’s home becomes my lord well?”

“Yes.” He says, red eyes blazing. “Alas I was uncertain for a bit but it could convince me after all.”

“I am relieved.” Astrea looks up and smiles, finding it contains the same amount of joy it has when addressing it to her ink friend and all the joy it lacks when looking at her family.

“So am I.” His upper lip twitched into a crooked grin, revealing a single, sharp, long fang. The grin looks so familiar-

Astrea shakes the thought off.

Perhaps she should not have brought the diary but she can’t leave Tom in her room alone! He is her only friend and she has to keep him safe! Perhaps Voldemort does not know she has stolen it from her father’s study all those years ago in a fit of infantine anger and desire to hurt her father back for all that he is keeping her from. All she wanted was to join Draco’s birthday celebration and he forbade it. Tom said she did no wrong and that she should believe him but Astrea finds it difficult at times.

She has considered putting the diary back many times but Tom has told her how lonely he was before she saved him and one does not abandon friends! At least that’s what Tom says. Astrea has never had a friend but she trusts Tom. He would never want to harm her.

***

What a curious little creature, Voldemort thinks as he slips into the girl’s room unnoticed. She is lying in a huge bed framed by flimsy, delicate curtains, as delicate as the girl they give fleeting shelter to.

She is asleep, her lids closed, hiding the bright blue of her big eyes. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. Beneath her hand, curled into a feeble fist on top of her pillow, beside her head sits it.

The impertinence. The utter impudence to bring the stolen object to her first encounter with its rightful owner. It’s almost charming. Like an ant that believes itself so powerful it can revolt against the boot.

He will take pleasure in crushing her. In ripping her chaste innocence from her to savour it, to claim it for himself. He’ll punish her for her crime and Lucius for being so careless he has not even realised it’s missing. The object Voldemort entrusted to him. A piece of his master’s soul - though that part he is obviously unaware of. Voldemort is not so stupid as to hand over crucial information to a mere henchman like Lucius. Though his daughter will make a lovely addition to Voldemort’s bed.

He reaches out a pale hand with skeletal fingers to take the diary, reclaim his stolen Horcrux-

Voldemort is pulled away, something tugs on his mind and he falls forward, like dragged into a pensieve and he finds himself in the Slytherin common room, standing by the fireplace he once tossed the annoying cat of a classmate into. In front of him on the leather sofa lies the girl, the same girl, in the same flimsy, nearly see-through nightgown and she is asleep in his arms. In his arms.

Within the blink of an eye his younger self, looking the role of the proper Prefect he had been at the time, stands in front of him. Voldemort had never been short but his adolescent self can’t match the height of his new body and yet he doesn’t seem impressed or like he even remotely cares.

“She is mine!” He hisses in angry parseltongue, his eyes flashing red and Voldemort is forcibly expelled from the diary, such force he stumbles a step backwards, staring at the girl sleeping on his diary as peacefully as humanly possible.

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#ask #upcoming fic #Astrea x Voldemort #Astrea x Voldemort excerpt #wip ask #fanfic wip #voldemort x reader #voldemort x oc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc #dead dove fic #possibly edible tho #don't know yet #excerpt

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