#oh! she's just like Harrow for real for real | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queers-gambit · 8 months

Text

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel au #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky x you #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort

8K notes · View notes

uberoll-oystercrackers · 2 years

Video

youtube

im gonna cry lmao???! lars lost in space pining over sadie?? daydreaming about getting back home to have a life to live?? AUFGHG

“Strangers, wild and unwieldy We’ll fade together We’re constantly in the spotlight You and me Just another other evening The breeze feels like a blanket But I ain’t staying home tonight Sadie Won’t you be mine? Would you hold my hand through the thick and thin I'm afraid of the dark sometimes Sadie Won’t you be mine? Would you hold my hand through the thick and thin I’m afraid of the dark sometimes Feeling like the world It will come crashing down on us But we are different We were meant for something greater, you Gave me something to believe in Shown the light in the darkest hour, made Real life so worth living Sadie Won’t you be mine? Would you hold my hand through the thick and thin I’m afraid of the dark sometimes Sadie Won’t you be mine? Would you hold my hand through the thick and thin I’m afraid of the dark sometimes Sadie (Baby) Oh, how do you do? (How do you do?) Oh, do I do I do I do I do it all for you”

#larsadie #donut soundtrack #that line abt the spotlight is so good bc like. sadie killer obv. but also lars in the spotlight of that fucking droid that killed him #lars in the spotlight of his own mind- his anxiety and debilitating fear of rejection the nagging watcher behind his OWN eyes... god...#the way he feels when anyone else is Looking at him... he wants companionship and validation so much but its just. harrowing. and it all #feels like a performance no matter what...#made real life so worth living?? like dear GOD just lars being able to be friends with tck and enjoy sadie's affection and live on earth and #just be chill and happy like he always wanted lmao. like the innate pleasure of living a LIFE im going to break into a million pieces #even the i do it all for you line at the end- which may seem like oh that doesnt apply lmao? canonically?? but like ACTUALLY it does thanks #the way he looked at that photo of SKatS and zoomed in on her and said all that shit about ''it should be ME with those guys!'' like #okay sir we get it youre more interested in how and what shes doing than literally anyone else including ur own parents #and then how he thinks abt how much her friendship means to him and refreshes his desire to fight to make it back home??? are you kidding me #im gonna go lay down

1 note · View note

clipartdinosaur · 3 months

Text

Griddlehark Fics

I have read an absolutely insane amount of Griddlehark fanfics in the past few months so I figured I could make a like...list of all of my favorites that I bookmarked. I'm not sure if anyone will use this but if anything it will be for my own self-indulgence LOL. Just a heads up, this list WILL contain spoilers up to Nona the Ninth, so proceed with your own discretion. Anyway here we go!

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Necrosaint, Ascended, the greatest bone adept in an Age, does one push-up, and collapses. Harrow does not beg for her cavalier. Harrow rakes her hair back and snarls, “Nav, I am going to unzip your cranial sutures. One by one. And zip them up again sideways.”

"Your Necro Questions Answered" by Magichorse (8.8k)

Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

"A Lesson in Bones" by Magichorse (3.8k)

One of the laboratory trials at Canaan House compels Harrowhark to swap bodies with her cavalier. What will Gideon do with the power of the most talented bone adept in generations at her disposal? Nothing good, probably.

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

"true love's kiss, or something equally nauseating" by corpsesoldier (4.6k)

She was where she needed to be. She was going to pull her necro out of this godforsaken tomb, end the game of musical bodies they were playing, and then everything would be all right. Harrow would be alive. And Gideon was going to give her shit for approximately the next myriad for not just taking what she’d offered and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

"The Big Warm Dark" by decalexas (haelstorm) (2.7k)

Gideon Nav knows how to swing a longsword, brandish a rapier, bridge the gap between life and death, punch the dead in the face, and maybe overthrow an Empire along the way. What she doesn't know how to do is reach for the girl who made all of this possible.

"carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee)" by NotAFicWriter (5k)

Some time after Alecto wakes, Harrow and Gideon finally have a moment to speak to one another. Hearts are bared. Teeth are bared. Intentions are bared. It all comes at great personal cost (emotional honesty).

"never exhale all the way" by pigflight (1.2k)

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

"such an almighty sound" by CountingNothings (10k)♥︎

“I need you to marry me,” Harrow says, a propos of absolutely nothing that Gideon can see. And, uh, okay, this is not what childhood best frenemies say to each other upon discovering that both of their graduate programs have weird residence requirements. “What,” Gideon asks, “the fuck?”

"A Handsomely Dangerous Thing" by zoicite (1.5k)

Had Harrow ever looked at Gideon and felt pride before? Surely not. It sat like a tumor in her chest, a cancerous lump that had grown where it did not belong.

"How it didn't happen" by Nary (1.5k)

"How did you lose it?" Coronabeth asked, more softly than her sister's shrill voice. The group assembled at Canaan House barely knew her, and yet here they were, asking the most irritatingly personal questions, and acting as if they were being kind and thoughtful by prying into her secrets. "I dropped my pen into a vat of acid and reached in to grab it without thinking," Harrow said dryly. Coronabeth recoiled, screwing up her pretty nose. Ianthe looked unsure whether to believe her or not. Their meatslab of cavalier just stared blankly. "The Daughter of the Ninth House was blessed in this manner from her birth, as a symbol of her strength and power over the mysteries of necromancy," Ortus interjected. Harrow glared at him. "Oh," Coronabeth said, an expression of disgusting sympathy on her flawless face. "But then you would never have known who your soulmate was!" Harrow's glare intensified. "My soulmate is bones."

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

It was hard to tell what was worse: feeling the full warmth of those unguarded honey eyes fall on Harrow, or watching them narrow in recognition and contempt, their warmth now hotter with something else. “What can I get you?” It has been at least four years since Harrow last heard the voice of Gideon Nav, but it was still as familiar as her right hand.

"I completely fucking hate you" by ClaraZorEl (7.5k)

In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing. OR Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.

"A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them" by pipistrelle (7k)

"In the end, she poisoned Ortus; so it was Harrow Nova who walked out to the shuttle a half-step behind the Daughter of the Ninth, the chain of Samael Novenary wound about her offhand wrist, the black blade of the Ninth at her side."

"The Only Prayer We Know" by pipistrelle (12k) [Part 2 of "A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them"]

It's like a bad joke: two cavaliers (alive) and two necromancers (one dead) walk into a rebel faction of humanity, looking for a new life -- in every sense of the phrase. What they find is each other, and (in some cases) themselves.

"The Flames of Hell Are Warm" by silverapples (7k)

In which Harrow is a repressed evangelical Christian and Gideon performs burlesque in a lesbian nightclub. Feat. nipple pasties, chewing gum, and a steaming mug of gay coffee (wake up and smell it, Harrow).

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

“Gideon,” you said carefully, “I will need to examine your mouth. Various structures, primarily the jaw, but also the lingual muscles—the tongue—” You stopped there. Your cheeks were going red, probably with indignity. “Yeah,” I said, a bit too loudly, “yeah, sure. Do it.”

"Holy Cross, Alaska" by softieghost (10k) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

"my love will be your armor" by TheKnightsWhoSayBook (2.3k)

"The princess has a right to bestow her favor on whoever she wishes to win a match," Gideon tells her. "Are you going to?" "Why would I? I don't want to marry him," Harrow answers bitterly. "Do you want me to win?" Princess Harrow will be engaged to the winner of the tournament, and her only champion is her useless bodyguard Sir Gideon Nav, who isn't going to save her. Unless...?

"The Meaning Of The Word" by pipistrelle (8.4k)

Harrow, along with a good percentage of Canaan University's necromancy students, has the flu. Gideon has a lot of feelings that she is in no way equipped to handle. It's a tough week.

"(i shine only with the light you gave me)" by sashawire (1.7k) ♥︎

God prods, gently, “Even just starting with their physical description, and we can go from there.” “Imagine,” you say, from somewhere outside your body, “the worst shade of orange you’ve ever seen in your life.” * Harrowhark receives her saintly title.

"i will learn to love the shears" by corpsesoldier (4.7k)

The avulsion trial left Harrow's hair in a sorry state and Gideon offers up her expertise with a blade. Or, Gideon gives Harrow a haircut.

"The Titty Texts: A Work of a Stupendous Titty Nature" by EleniaTrexer (3k)

Gideon accidentally sends Harrow boobs. And then just keeps on sending them.

"can we start over?" by breeeliss (10k)

Gideon needs a tutor. Harrow needs someone to get her out of college gym class. All in all, a pretty straightforward arrangement to make with your ex.

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

Tech Company AU in which a certain Sales bro with no filter decides to ruin Harrow's life (and feature roadmap) by initiating the cross-functional project from hell. At least, Gideon has the decency to work remotely, and Harrow's new office crush makes some pretty great coffee.

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

Gideon and Harrow got out of the cult they were raised in. Okay, what's next?

"settle up in heaven" by liesmyth (3k) ♥︎

“Isn’t this arrogance, Harrow?” Kiriona says. “Think you could fix what God couldn’t?”

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

The bold outlaws Nova Hawk and Gideon meet for the first time on a narrow log-bridge. But is it really their first meeting? Or: what if Robin Hood and Little John were both lesbians?

"twice in a blue moon" by sinshine (8.7k) ♥︎

Gideon snapped out of her depressing reverie and blinked at her. "That's a really good idea." "Obviously," said Harrow, and it was only a little bit condescending. "Step one, sneak out of the party. Step two, acquire the necessary items at a store. Step three–" Harrow gestured vaguely at the deer in Gideon's hands– "And step four, profit." [G&H rush to fix a smashed snow globe that Dulcinea made so that Cam doesn't kill them before the clock strikes midnight at their NYE party. The fact that Gideon is back in her hometown after a long time away and she and Harrow have unresolved romantic tension is secondary and definitely won't be a problem.]

"It Came From Planet Slut" by LockedTombMemes (8k)

Well. Evidently going undercover to an Idan society fling in order to deliver a message to a high-profile BoE agent was a tits-out kind of look.

"Apostate's Yuletide" by sinshine (12.6k)♥︎

Gideon raised one eyebrow comically high. She smiled easily, erasing any hint of the anxiety that Harrow might have sensed. "What's with all the questions today?" Harrow huffed indignantly and fidgeted with the blanket draped across her lap, worrying the frayed hem with her fingers. "I thought your ego would appreciate the interest." "Yeah, but it's weird coming from you. I'm used to you monologuing, not playing twenty questions." "Perhaps it's a Christmas miracle," suggested Harrow, with an expression so absolutely devoid of joy that Gideon couldn't help but laugh. [Harrow and Gideon burn down a church on Xmas.]

"when it's over" by Adertily (2.5k)

Harrowhark had sworn to herself to live to see the girl in the locked tomb awaken. Alecto has risen. Now God is dead, along with everyone who had ever been dear to her - and Gideon has returned as a distorted creature. The war is over. Harrow wishes she could be too. Or: A character study based on Harrow's suicidal ideation and Gideon's determination to never run anywhere unless she absolutely has to.

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

"It's just for a week, and then you never have to see me again," said Gideon. "I don't have time to find anyone else." And, "Please." Slowly, Harrow took her hand off the door and cautiously turned around. Gideon watched a dozen unspoken questions flicker across her face. She voiced none of them, but eventually settled on an expression of grim resignation. "I suppose I could suffer you for a week." [Gideon needs help getting her new flower shop ready for the grand opening. Harrow needs cash.]

"I still need your teeth around my organs" by sinshine (7.8k)

Although she was a beloved Daughter and a talented necromancer, Gideon's greatest vice was that she dearly loved to fuck around and find out. Knowing this, perhaps it shouldn't have been as shocking when she lifted one of Nova's hands, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. [4 times Gideon kisses Harrow, 1 time Harrow kisses Gideon]

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

What Wake gives it is not a name. To do so would be a moronic, unnecessary cruelty. But she does deign to give it the microscopic dignity of a title, a goal, a purpose. Bomb. Eighteen years later, in the rubble of a once-sacred home, Harrowhark Nonagesimus reaches up and touches Gideon Nav’s grit-covered, blood-rimed face, splits a laugh like the world is ending, and calls her “flower.” * Six times God's unwanted daughter was nicknamed, and once she wasn't.

"my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear" by sashawire (<1k) ♥︎

Gideon chomps into her tongue as hard as she can convince herself, stifling a very dignified squawk. Her eyes water, Emperor’s left tit that fucking hurts, but—it works. Blood weeps from the bite marks, creeping down the back of her throat, up into her nasal cavity, staining her teeth. Okay. She has blood in her mouth. Blood that, somehow, needs to get into Harrow’s mouth. * Step #6: Consume the flesh.

"fifteen percent concentrated power of will" by surreptitiously (9k)

Teaching someone to do a push-up is a love language, when that person is very annoying.

"GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME" by igneousbitch (12k)

You had your body and I had mine, and it was a miracle. Your hands against my face were a miracle. The rest of your meat attached to your hands was a prayer answered and a promise broken, but we were flush and gasping and alive, and Harrow—I really thought you might’ve kissed me then. But I felt it happen. The way your breath suddenly stilled, and your body locked up beneath mine, remembering. How with splintering gentleness, you pushed me away. “I’m so sorry,” was the second thing you said upon waking. The first thing had been my name. Stranded in a safehouse on an Edenite moon, Gideon and Harrow try to put themselves back together.

"catch you on the flip side, sugar lips" by corpsesoldier (4.9k)

Maybe if Harrow's brain runs enough scenarios, she'll find a way to keep what she's lost.

"hand to heart, I swear" by corpsesoldier (5k)

Gideon has a broken heart, and there's only one necromancer who can fix it.

Medium (15-30k)

"If you're doing it right you'll break their ribs" by almostnectarine (22.4k)

"How do you know Nonagesimus has gone somewhere dangerous?" asked Isaac. "Have you wired some kind of alert system?" "It's, uh. It's on the schedule," said Gideon. "I just... forgot. Because of the bread." Nobody was convinced by this, least of all Gideon. "It's a Ninth House thing," Gideon went on, backing away with increasing desperation. This was a slightly more plausible explanation, if only because nobody wanted to look too closely at what fell under the awful skeletal-ribbed and rotting umbrella of Ninth House things. "Gotta go—!" And she was out the door, gone. But it wasn't a Ninth House thing, except inasmuch as it was happening to the only two representatives of the noble and decrepit Ninth House on this quite literally godforsaken rock. Gideon knew Harrow had gone somewhere dangerous—knew that Harrow was back in the lab where they had only just completed a horrible trial—because she could see it, clear as day: an awful overlay on her vision of that terrible dangerous room and a pair of terrible dangerous hands drawing some kind of ward next to the plinth. The hands were definitely Harrow's. This was definitely a problem.

"If Home Is Where the Heart Is (Then We're All Just Fucked)" by JeanLuciferGohard (17k) ♥︎

When Gideon Nav gets a call that her ex-girlfriend, who never bothered to change her designated emergency contact, is in the hospital, she goes against her better judgement and responds. Everything after that just gets more complicated.

"blue gray green lavender" by smolranger (29k) ♥︎

Laser Radial sailor Gideon Nav just wants pass her classes, win a few regattas, and keep her head down. FJ sailor Harrowhark Nonagesimus has grand plans to qualify for the Olympics, preserve her parent's legacy, and save her home town. Despite the ties binding them together, the two have kept their college lives carefully separate for two years. But when Harrow's helm, Ortus, suffers a concussion mid-way through the fall season, their carefully separated lives collide. Harrow needs someone capable of taking Ortus' place for the remainder of the season or her Olympic dreams — and Canaan College's entire sail team — are in peril. And Gideon is her only option.

"Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" by zoicite (24k)

Harrow and Gideon and times they have (and also have not) shared a bed over the years.

"Disney World, Florida" by softieghost (24.6k) [Part 2 of "Holy Cross, Alaska"]

After the events of Alaska, Harrow thanks Gideon the only way she knows how: devotion. -- Chapter 3: The journey concludes. More confessions.

"we've got a good thing goin' " by sinshine (14.6k) ♥︎

“Not to sound ungrateful, but being here makes me wish that you had left me for dead,” said Harrow. Gideon had been staring hard at the face of the fountain’s statue. She was pretty sure that it was carved in the likeness of Naberius himself, but she didn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. She shook her head and turned to Harrow. “Leaving me to live out eternity in your bony sock puppet of a body? Hard pass.” Palamedes and Camilla shared a look. It was the mutual understanding of two people who had been trapped in close quarters with the bickering of Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus for far too long. [Team 69 hide out in Babs's vacation home. Because it's not like he's using it anyway.]

"Cake by the Ocean" by zoicite (15k)♥︎

Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

"careful fear and (un)dead devotion" by sinshine (23k)

[Gideon and Harrow wake up back in their own bodies but both of them are missing large parts of their memory. Camilla tries not to kill everyone.]

"who ya gonna call?" by igneousbitch (24k)

“Fret not, honeybun.” Gideon shook her red hair out of her eyes, belligerent. “I’m not totally sold on your whole skepticism thing.” “Well,” Harrow said, ignoring the nickname. She turned to the rest of the room, clearing her throat politely before addressing the empty air. “Ghosts, if you’re real, give us a sign. Make a noise. Move something. Send a shiver down our backs. Whisper softly into Nav’s left ear—” “I seriously fucking hate you.” - (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Long(>30k):

"Beneath a Blue and Foreign Sky" by zoicite (35k)

Harrow has a decision to make.

"A Heart Full Of Sutures" by Rohad (40k)

All Gideon wanted was to get outside and ride her motorcycle. No part of that plan had included eight weeks in Canaan Medical Center with a broken Pelvis and the meanest little doctor this side of the eastern seabord.

"Midnight at the Mithraeum" by zoicite (66k) ♥︎

It'd been two years since Gideon Nav gathered her wine key and her gaming license and escaped The Locked Tomb, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar managed by the hateful Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Now, dealing tables at The Mithraeum Hotel & Casino, things were really looking up. So when Gideon scored a date with the most beautiful showgirl in the Gilded Halls of Ida, the last thing she expected was to wake up married to her old nemesis and former coworker. The story starts the night of Gideon's date and alternates between the events leading up to the wedding and the weeks that follow as Gideon tries to navigate life married to someone who claims to want nothing more than to forget she exists.

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by pipistrelle (90k)

Being the journal of Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, chronicling the journey of the Emperor's warship Cenotaph on its hunt to slay an immortal Resurrection Beast. Or: the Moby Dick crossover AU that nobody asked for.

"The Darkest Night, The Brightest Light" by eternaleponine (50k)

Harrowhark has known for a long time that her home's financial situation is dire, and not getting better. She has plans to fix it all, but can't implement them until she turns eighteen in a few months. When her parents announce that the best (perhaps only) way to save Drearburh is to marry off its heir, Harrow realizes the timeline has changed and she needs to take action now to save her home... and herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Enter Gideon Nav. Detested foe, and Harrow's only hope.

"putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)" by oretsev (46k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav have always been at each other’s throats, and the animosity has only intensified since the death of Harrow’s parents. But when a car accident leaves Gideon without any memories of her past, Harrow sees a chance at the clean slate she’s wanted for years. Becoming involved in Gideon’s recovery assuages some of the guilt, but as she and Gideon become closer and increasingly involved in each other's lives, Harrow worries that some of her secrets may be more than she can atone for.

Ongoing:

"semi-charmed kinda life" by strangedelight (182k+) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Gideon asked questions. Harrow surprised her with answers. They reached an agreement; they decided to be smart, to be patient. Gideon made a promise, Harrow gave her one in return. Wait and see. OR the year is 1994, and Gideon and Harrow leave their small town for life in the city. OR team 69 roommates au only this time it's the 90s

"Intern the Sixth" by apocalypticTaco (33k+)

ADDRESSING THE HEIR TO THE NINTH HOUSE, OR PRESUMED EQUIVALENT: PALAMEDES SEXTUS, HEIR TO THE SIXTH HOUSE, PRESENTS HIS COMPLIMENTS TO THE NINTH AND REQUESTS A FORMAL ARRANGEMENT WHEREIN HIS MASTER WARDEN AND CAVALIER APPRENTICESHIP UNDER THE NINTH FOR FOUR YEARS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SIXTH’S SERVICES. *Details to be discussed. Please turn to back page. Timeframe variable. Services and agreements variable upon the Ninth's request. An internship of this caliber is highly unprecedented and likely unheard of, but any information valuable to the Ninth and into the Tomb will remain undisclosed upon request; Primary experience and study is required as the Master Warden has already decided upon such being his final thesis prior to his end studies. No takebacks, no denials. Pleased to meet you. Palamedes Sextus, Heir to the Sixth and Master Warden and Camilla the Sixth, Cavalier Primary and Warden's Hand of the Library

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

"What's Eating Gideon Nav?" by labyrinthineRetribution (40k+)

After a miserable fifteen years at Blessed Saint Anastasia's School for Girls, Gideon's luck finally changes.

"We Have Always Lived in the Apartment" by labyrinthineRetribution (171k+)

John looks up from his Jack and Coke in drunken curiosity. "What's with the face, Harrowhark?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Contrary to popular belief," Gideon butts in, "her face just fuckin' looks like that, bitch." She tends to use "bitch" as liberally as commas when off her ass. "You're piss drunk," you shoot back. "And you, my good bitch, are just as contemptible as the day you clawed your way up from Hell." - It is Harrowhark Nonagesimus' birthday, and it only gets worse from there.

PWP (basically):

"I'll hold in these hands all that remains" by corvidlesbian (6.5k) ♥︎

“Do you want me to try?” Gideon said. “What?” “You got all hot and bothered without me trying. Do you want me to try?” Their newfound habit of cuddling gets interesting.

"sting of a wasp" by brightbolt, imperfectlyctor (42k) ♥︎

"You’re a virgin,” Gideon said, testing it out. "Huh." Harrow didn’t like the sound of that huh. She knew Gideon’s noises, and that was a thoughtful, sinister huh. That was the same huh she’d made before putting canned tuna in Crux’s work boots. Her eyes narrowed. “What.” Gideon cocked her head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?” There was no judgement in the question— only genuine curiosity. Perhaps it was this that made Harrow more inclined to answer. “I don’t have the time to look for someone new,” She shrugged. “And my available pool is… somewhat limited.” “Well,” Gideon said, with just a hint of conspiracy in those glittering golden eyes. “If you ever want to change that, you have my number.” What? What? Harrow blinked. “What?” Or: the five times Gideon and Harrow successfully bone, and the one time they don't.

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

“You crave my juice,” Gideon accused. “I do not crave your juice.” “Fuck, you do though. You went off to explore that study alone, without your cavalier, using a key that I nearly gave my life for, and then you snorted some powder that made you crave my juice! Harrow. I never would have let you sniff powder from a ten thousand year old jar.” This was untrue--Gideon probably wouldn’t have noticed Harrow breathing in a puff of jar powder until it was too late--but it sounded like something Camilla Hect might say, so Gideon went with it anyway. Camilla definitely would have stopped Palamedes from accidentally sniffing old as fuck Eighth House jarred juice addiction powder.

"Five Times We Hatefucked and One Time We Didn't" by rnanqo (8k)

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” You ran a hand through my hair, fisted it, and pulled my head up. From here I had a spectacular view of your weird blown-out seething expression, like I was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Also a view up your blood-crusted nostrils. Choice. “Maybe I will, Griddle,” you said. “Maybe I will stop fucking you over and start fucking you." Gideon and Harrow realize, abruptly, that their hatefucking is no longer hatefucking.

"a call to motion" by groundedsaucer (coasterchild) (10k) ♥︎

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

"put her canine teeth in the side of my neck" by stranded_star (8.8k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is getting a PhD and a divorce. Against her better judgment, she goes out to the bar to celebrate and meets an incorrigible, absolutely ripped salt-and-paprika butch who takes her home and gives it to her good. To her horror, it's the best night of her life, and she sneaks home with her tail between her legs. Harrow has more important things to worry about - like raising her daughter and building the next stages of her career. But when her daughter's favorite teacher, someone named Griddle, turns about to be the Gideon she met at the bar, she's forced to contend with allowing herself (and her daughter) to find the happy ending she never thought they'd have. Featuring MILF!Harrow, Teacher!Gideon, and a very amused Camilla Hect.

"The Wound That Swallows" by seelieunseelie (7.8k)

Harrow can make out an uncomfortable amount of detail about Gideon’s body beneath. Powerful, strong as ever, yet somehow vulnerable for its supplication below Harrow’s. “Are we gonna get this over with?” Gideon says in a voice softly scratchy. She blushes then when Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. “It will hurt,” Harrow says. “Yeah,” Gideon says. “I think I can handle it.”

#holy shit this is way longer than i thought it would be #uhm i literally gave myself a headache i sat here for like 3 hours doing this #that being said if you have any fic recs lmk LOL #griddlehark #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt fic #tlt fanfiction #griddlehark fanfic #rec #long post

1K notes · View notes

lastflowerofyourhouse · 4 months

Text

oh oh hey wait!!

so obviously our hint that something is Up with gideon's physical resilience after the avulsion trial is the revelation that palamedes calculated that it would cause permanent brain damage to the cavalier and gideon is. um. very much not permanently brain damaged.

but it just occurred to me. this post. this post right here.

cytherea didn't accurately convey to them how dangerous the field was. which means she probably didn't mean for harrow to succeed.

and. um.

"Sextus has seen this?"

"I asked him first," said Dulcinea, "And when i told him the method, he said he'd never do it. I thought that was fascinating. I'd love to get to know him better."

...

"So technically," said Harrow, acid as a battery, "We're your third choice."

"Well, Abigail Pent was a very talented spirit magician," said Dulcinea, and relented when she saw Harrow's expression. "I'm sorry! I'm teasing. No, I don't think I would've asked the Eighth House, Reverend Daughter...They could have done this with ease...Maybe that's why."

the sixth, voted most likely to figure out what she's doing, after abigail pent, already deceased. and the ninth, who have nothing whatsoever to do with spirit magic, but who have been establishing themselves as strong competitors and fraternizing with the sixth.

but not the eighth, the ones most likely to successfully complete the trial. because they're the most likely to successfully complete the trial.

yeah, cytherea fully intended to kill them both here, i think. she wanted them to die. come to think of it, that's the only real reason for her to be participating in the labs in the first place considering she's. ya know. already a lyctor.

and.

"Good girl," the voice was saying. "Oh, good girl. She's got it, Gideon! And I've got you...Gideon of the golden eyes. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault... I'm so sorry. Stay with me," the voice said, more urgently. "Stay with me."

that's remorse, i think. that's a genuine moment of humanity peaking through. that's oh god, what have i done.

Gideon was suddenly aware that she was very cold. Something changed. It was getting harder to suck in each breath...Now Gideon was scared. Her body had the soft, drunken feeling you got just before fainting away, and it was very hard to stay conscious. Three seconds before you die, Palamedes had calculated...It felt like all the pressure in her ears was popping loose...When her eyes opened Gideon was distantly worried to discover that she was blind...The air stopped coming. It would have been peaceful, only it sucked..."Ha-ha," said Gideon. "First time you didn't call me Griddle," and died.

no, yeah, i think she did, actually. I am 99% sure that gideon capital-D Died here.

i wonder what cytherea made of her immediately opening her eyes again.

#cytherea the first #the locked tomb #tlt #my post

455 notes · View notes

brayneworms · 7 months

Text

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

#🫀.scribes #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sampo koski x reader #sampo koski smut #sampo x reader #sampo smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai smut #honkai x reader #kinktober 2023 #hsr smut

405 notes · View notes

meiieiri · 10 months

Text

LITTLE NYMPH OF HIS HEART — GETO SUGURU

❁—SYNOPSIS: in which suguru meets his newborn daughter.

a/n: my writer’s block has me in such a horrible chokehold that this took me an hour to write. also, fuck why isn't this real UGH (⇀‸↼‶)⊃

only an hour and twelve minutes old and she’s already crushing his heart into irreparable smithereens. and she isn’t even doing anything.

she doesn’t have to, really, she could just sleep soundly, and maybe let out a tiny little coo now and then, and her father would weep a million tears to flood the entire earth and plunge it into the realm of archaic legends maybe even more mythical than that of the ancient underwater city of atlantis.

suguru sniffles, holding the little bundle closer to his bare chest when she yawns and shifts ever so slightly, favoring the warmth of her father’s skin. so this is what the doctors meant when they said that the first skin-to-skin contact with his newborn was going to be an emotional affair, he downplayed it as some gross exaggeration and even refused the roll of tissues the nurses had been offering him.

and what a huge blunder that was.

“look at her,” he brings a calloused thumb to stroke her rosy cheek, fearing that the weight of his entire hand would overwhelm the little girl. no, his little girl — your newborn daughter.

“it’s like she knows she’s a heartbreaker,” he turns to look at you, his eyes glossy with joyful tears. “just like you.”

you could only let out a quiet tearful laugh, your voice absolutely shredded and strained from the harrowing ordeal of bringing your most precious one into the world.

“or you,” you retort, leaning your head back against the many pillows that suguru had the nurses bring in. “just how many nurses did you have to wink at for these?” you joked, gesturing to the pillows, and the many comforts such as hot compresses and ice chips sitting atop your hospital bedside table.

suguru rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. he turns his attention to the little girl who, seemingly having heard her parents’ voices, feels a little left out leading her to create a slight fuss in her dad’s arms, hiccuping once.

“oh,” suguru coos, consoling her by tickling the soft skin of her feet. “it’s okay, mama’s just being mean.”

despite his words though, he slowly stands up and carefully joins you on the bed, instinctively wrapping an arm around you to tuck you into his side, his heartbeat on the high line knowing that both his girls were safe in his arms, where the both of you rightfully belonged.

“but you’re gonna love her anyway. i know i do,” he reassures his daughter, stroking her little tuft of obsidian black hair, his first gift to her, as if the newborn had the intellectual capacity to understand a single word that comes out of his mouth.

you indulge him anyway, leaving him to his sweet ramblings, preferring not to say anything that could sully this moment of pure unadulterated bliss, a mere passing second in the vast expanse of the turbulent life you and suguru will have to lead as protectors of those who are vulnerable to the demonic forces that lurk in the world’s many back-alleys where even the purest sunlight could not reach. suguru’s soul had been so tormented by the abyssal darkness that slowly consumed him owed to the many cursed spirits he’s had to exorcise that he had long believed himself to be damned, forsaken by the heavens.

but now, how could he still find the nerve to hold on to that pessimistic and borderline cynical belief as he cradles the little nymph of his heart in his arms?

suddenly, a thought hits you and you sit up to stare down at your daughter who was contentedly and happily gurgling away as suguru pokes the tip of her nose.

“akari,” you whisper, testing out the feel of your daughter’s would be name on your lips — the faithful companion that will walk with her for life, a sacred gift that will outlive you and her father. suguru’s eyes widen, awe-struck at the notion of you wanting to name your daughter after the brilliant morning sun, the same one that had greeted her the minute she came into this world.

“akari,” suguru’s voice wobbles. overwhelmed by the rush of emotions, he shifts to press a loving kiss on the crown of your head before bringing akari’s little hand to his lips, softly kissing her minuscule fingers in pure adoration. “heaven’s light.”

744 notes · View notes

apostleofgreed · 1 month

Text

My friend's thoughts on read Gideon the Ninth (she's doing audio book)... Spoilers obviously

Oh my God I'm less than an hour in and I'm sick of the word ass

The gals have just arrived at wherever it is they've gone to

Like it's taken 7 chapters to get the information of "I tried to run away, did not succeed, that Slag I hate who killed her parents wants me to be her guard dog, were off lets go"

I can't believe this bitch just said "yo"

Gideon is full cockney

"He had upsetting biceps" mood

I need you to know he's incredibly Welsh (regarding Magnus)

Yeah Magnus is my fave tbh I'm like just make the book about him

Oh what the fuck (Magnus died)

Are you joking me this is a travesty it's rude (Still Magnus)

I think I like Harrow because she's just unapologetically a bitch and Im here for that

70% of this book is everyone arguing

If they were that committed to killing like 200 other kids why not just... Stab her???

I'm like Gideon you just had a bath for the first time are you sure you wanna try the pool babygirl

Cause she sounds like she's old Gideon stop being a gentraphile (about Dulcinea)

I've been listening to this whole thing like weird flex that you fancy her but ok

(At this point she told me I'd need to give her the plot for the next two books as she wasn't invested enough to get them)

Nah I got like 2 hours left. More people have died and the CEO of the universe is en route

To be fair I'd be fuming if I was the emperor and I'd paid for all of my world rules to go on an all expenses paid trip to my second home and they all start dying for real and ruining the house

V glad Naberius Tern is dead

Oh lawd everyone really do be dying

"I want to die! Why was I born so attractive?" Is such a big mood

She has bought and finished Harrow. I'll collate her thoughts soon.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt #gideon nav

113 notes · View notes

starberry-cupcake · 1 month

Text

Alrighty, here we are again

previously, in harrowcita the ninth:

this happened

currently, after ch. 2 (once again, I wanted to read more but realized these notes were too long):

first off, I need to point out something very important

reading the first part of gideon, this was how the dynamic of her and harrow felt like, from gideon's pv in the first chapter or two

this is what it actually was like, now that I have harrow's pv

so, now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you about the emperor

I don't know about this guy

something's not adding up for me

I feel like he's either lying, telling half-truths that benefit him or he doesn't know what he's doing

and none of those options are very god-tier

he's also constantly going like "harrow, I'm gonna let you choose" and five minutes later he's "oh, actually, you never had a choice to begin with, I'm so sorry about that"

I don't think you're sorry if you've done it like 3 times since we've met you

maybe say what you actually mean, unless you're full of lies

he takes harrow on a walk through the clown death star ship he's got going on

and takes her to his coffin hangar

shows her coffins of the people he made to send to the ninth

the new ninth people

aiglamene is gonna have to work overtime

(I can't believe I've never forgotten her name)

and then there's coffins for all the little friends we made in canaan house

:) ♥

except there are a bunch missing people

let me just note the info we got

the second says "no human remains inside"

last we saw them, martita was KO and judith was bleeding to death

nobody from the third as well, and we already have suspicions about wtf is happening with these parsley and cilantro twins

from the sixth, one is empty because CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD GODDAMMIT

the other one has little pieces of palmolive in it

me picking up the pieces of palmolive from the decor of canaan house

there is one coffin for not!dulcinea

the emperor guy says he's taking her with the other lyctors

as long as he flushes afterwards, it's fine

we are, by the way, trying very hard to not mention gideon ever, apparently

just wanna point out real quick that THERE'S A LOT OF PEOPLE UNACCOUNTED FOR and this guy is GOD so he's doing a terrible job

or he's not saying all he knows

or both

all this time, ice cube barbie is tagging along

ice cube barbie is harrow's babadook, which I stan tbh

since she's here to stay, let me show you another pic of that doll because it's my favorite from the haunted beauty collection

so, the emperor starts telling harrow what they're fighting against (or escaping from) and where they came from

this man explains what he wants and leaves out what he wants

at one point, when harrow asks something like "how will you explain all the dead people?" he goes like

he asks harrow about death and the process of it and she says, at one point:

"In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated. Whence we gain the ghost, and the revenant."

this is important for the later conversation about revenant beasts, which are the things that the emperor is having trouble with

but I highlighted it because I am adding it to my notes of "reasons why gideon could be not dead forever"

I am holding on to all the hope I can get

because if sudden violent death can leave the soul temporarily isolated and not do the due process of transitioning to the river or whatnot

and gideon isn't within harrow or whatever

maybe

maybe she's somewhere else

I don't know, let me have this, don't tell me anything, just

LET ME HAVE THIS

so yeah, basically the story is that the emperor is running away from nine revenant beasts, which were created during the resurrection, when a planet was blasted off

nine beasts like nine houses

there's three left now

I don't know about all of this, you guys

I don't have enough context and I don't trust this guy here

how do I know where we stand in all this?

what if he's not the good guy and what he did was some planetary bullshit to begin with?

what if the other side is the good guys?

what if he's killed by one of our heroes? like harrow or gideon or camilla?

because he's actually a false god jerk?

what if I kill him????

and then we have two last important things

first, barbie ice cube speaks now

love that for her

then, very crucial

the non-gideon mentioning seems to be a Thing

I don't know if I'm understanding correctly but

the emperor mentions ortus

ortus, the one we knew, our old pal from the ninth

and I got the feeling, idk if I got it, that he just assumed ortus was the cavalier she had with her

because 1) he didn't go down there and 2) no body was recovered

and then harrow also mentions ortus, but she says he "died thinking it was the only gift he was capable of giving" and that she "wasted it" and idk if she did that because she's blocking sad memories, she's confused because she's Not Doing Great Mentally Right Now, she doesn't wanna tell the emperor what actually happened, or all three

there's stuff about ortus I don't know, but that sounds to me more like what gideon said than what ortus "Got Blown To Bits With Mom In Ship" did

and then the emperor says his name again with suspicion and I'm like

I think this clown doesn't know

I think he doesn't know about gideon

I think he doesn't know about gideon or who gideon actually is

which we don't know yet either but it's probably important

because she's hercules, as previously established

I think maybe gideon is an outlier

an important planetary outlier

I have hopes

also, another day without camilla

god (not this one) I hope I can make shorter recaps but there's so much happening, I'm so sorry

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #long post #the locked tomb

108 notes · View notes

hhhhleb · 2 months

Note

So…do you have any in detail things about the asylum AU? Like has Lyla met all the Mk boys? And the knows they are all different?

Hi! Thanks for the question!:3

I didn’t really thought it through as I drew, but your question made me think quite hard about it for a few days haha!

I’m no psychologist and not nearly close to the level of knowledge in this sphere that requires that kind of au, so I’m really unsure of anything I can potentially write about it)) thus I’ll try to be as shallow as possible in everything that concerns mental health issues.

In this au there is no such thing as superpowers or anything supernatural. Marc&Layla are simple people in a simple mental hospital. They met and with time and lots of long conversations befriended. I know that the last point seems controversial to pt2 of my comics but,,, they builded their deep connection with each other with time. That’s how I see it at least.

Answering your questions, I think for her it’s like: sometimes this guy mumbles in Spanish and sits somewhere in the corner, sometimes he quotes some French poetry and bubbles tons of facts about Egyptology, sometimes he talks with her about everything in the world in her mother tongue, because he knows it makes her feel less anxious, feel like home. Maybe on some unconscious level she understands that there are three of them, but on a conscious level she doesn’t strictly distinguish them. It’s something like: ‘seems like today all he wants is to silently draw stories with me’ or ‘he called me ‘chérie’ so we can discuss some interesting moments in Egyptian philology’ or ‘oh there is this little worried frown on his face, he would love to braid my hair rn, it’s always soothes him’

For MKsystem(particularly for Marc) she’s just a ray of sunshine in the dark kingdom(named his ‘life’). He likes to see her happy and just be with her in a same room, likes to listen to her, to see sparkles in her eyes when he stumbles through Arabic to ask how she’s doing.

For Steven she’s a pure inspiration, he admires her sharp intelligence so much, he feels so cheered up by their crossed interests, and he really values how she genuinely likes to listen to him.

For Jake she’s someone who sees him, who respects him, someone who really cares about him. If he asks her not to touch him, she never does, but she’ll be still somewhere near so he would not feel lonely. She gives him all new pencils she finds, she asks about all lil drawings he does. And he respects her in return, when everything is too much he silently leads her to some quiet safe space, when she’s upset he gives her some vivid photos of the sandy country he got after some agressive bargaining in exchange for his things.

I’ve pondered how and why Layla got there, because for MK system it’s already clear(Harrow-with-moustaches said that Steven brought them there, ‘cause of their mom) Maybe she’s there because of her dad? Maybe she was a witness of his death(like in comics) and it changed her on some level or brought to the surface what’ve always been there. Idk I’m not really into headcanoning mental illnesses to characters,, so I guess it can remain a mystery to us)

So, all I know they’re married and make each other's days much more bearable and brighter:) There is really nothing else to do in this place except spending time with each other(it’s fun at least) so I feel like they talk a lot. Therefore Marc SIGNIFICATLY more open to her and she displays her real emotions more often, not trying to hide by some mask of a tough lady anymore. So I suppose their relationship in this au much healthier then in pre/during s1,, quite ironic innit (^^ゞ)

Well, there is still a huge field of questions in this au but I hope this little weird essay of mine made some things clearer for you:3

#moon knight #layla el faouly #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moonscarab #comics #asylum!au #i guess it’s a tag now))

99 notes · View notes

temptingfatetakingnames · 9 months

Text

The Last Steve Harrington Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Dinner had been a truly harrowing experience that Steve never wanted to repeat. He would rather fight a horde of Demobats than sit at that table as they all tried to act normal and light and happy. He wanted to scream in their faces or bang his fists on the table – anything to get a real reaction out of them. He was also becoming increasingly terrified of Joyce and her seemingly unconscious need to offer comforting touches to everyone. Get up for a napkin? Pat Eleven on the head. Oh, forgot to get the milk? Rubbed Will’s shoulders on her way to the fridge. The third time she got up, Steve had to grip the table to keep from running. She hesitated for a moment beside him but didn’t reach out, probably because she could see the tension in his posture. He only relaxed when she sat back down again.

Hopper was quiet, but the kids and Joyce kept up a constant stream of conversation, only occasionally trying to draw him in. They failed; he was too on edge to even attempt to speak. The food tasted like ash in his mouth and he excused himself before finishing, doctor’s orders on calorie intake be damned. The silence at the table as he left was deafening. He sat down on the bed in his room and wondered how the hell he was going to do this. He wanted to sink into the floorboards and pretend he didn’t exist. He wanted to run.

Not yet.

He grabbed his backpack from under the bed and counted his canned goods and went over his supplies. The steak knife he had slipped into his sock at dinner when no one was looking was added to the pile. He had plenty of food and could refill his canteen easily, but he needed money.

A knock on the door sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Steve shoved everything in the backpack and put it under the bed before he called, “come in.”

Joyce opened the door, carrying a steaming mug in one hand.

“Tea,” she said as she walked over. “With lots of milk and sugar.”

She set it on the table before sitting down beside him. Steve couldn’t help but bristle at her presence.

“I wanted to ask how you were doing?”

Steve blinked at her. In terms of how he was doing physically, he couldn’t deny that he was better. In terms of how he was doing mentally? He had no idea how to answer that. His thoughts were a messy tangle of grief, anger, guilt, and shame. He thought his feelings on surviving were bad before, but that was nothing to what he felt now – now that he knew what he had done.

He went with the easiest answer, “better.”

It was both the truth and complete and utter horseshit.

“You don’t have to be alright, Steve. I’m going to keep talking to you and asking you questions because I want to get to know you, but you don’t have to answer. I know that you don’t know how to talk to us, and you’re overwhelmed. I guess I just hope that if I keep talking to you like normal, eventually it will be normal. Hopper thinks I should back right off and leave you alone but I think if given the choice, you’ll isolate yourself. So, I’m going to talk and you don’t have to listen and I’m going to ask questions and you don’t have to answer. Is that okay?”

She was right that he would isolate himself if he could. He really didn’t want to talk to any of them. Steve appreciated her explaining her thought process, though. It helped to make sense of why she kept trying to engage with him when he rarely responded back.

He nodded in answer.

There was something he could ask for that would ease his mind more than knowing he didn’t have to talk to her if he didn’t want to. He figured she would want to know if she was serious about making him comfortable.

“Don’t touch me,” he said and after a brief pause added, “please.”

“Of course, Steve.” She held his gaze, projecting sincerity. He remembered his Joyce always being frazzled and stressed… but she had been looking for her lost son and even after she had found him, Will wasn’t okay. This Joyce was calm and… motherly. “I won’t touch you.”

He nodded again and she got up to leave.

“Drink your tea. The green toothbrush in the bathroom is yours when you’re ready for bed and there’s lots of towels if you want to have a shower in the morning. Good night, Steve.”

She left the door open when she left, which didn’t bother him as much as it probably would have before their conversation. He drank the tea, enjoying the feeling of the warm beverage in his hands, and started re-reading The Hobbit for the thousandth time. The evening passed slowly into night. Steve stayed in his room, enjoying the quiet. He was still reading when Will and Eleven stopped in his open doorway.

“Good night, Steve,” they chorused together.

“Night,” he replied and they scampered away.

It took awhile longer for Joyce and Hopper to settle into bed and even longer before he felt sure that everyone was sleeping deeply. He waited in the hallway and listened patiently for any signs of wakefulness or movement before he slipped downstairs and out the door. The hospital had felt like a prison and Steve needed to know he could leave if he wanted to. Needed to take back the autonomy he had lost when he had walked through that portal.

He didn’t see anyone, no people or cars, as he made his way down the street and it reminded him so viscerally of his Hawkins that he shivered. He exited the suburb and turned onto Main Street. Passing the theatre, he saw that there were new releases for movies called Predator and Spaceballs, reminding him that time had passed here. That life had moved forward. He had a year to catch up on… along with everything else. Continuing on his way, he passed the middle school and high school and arrived at the playground. Steve sat on the swing set and looked up at the sky.

It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. He wished he had paid more attention in school so he could know if they were the same ones from his universe. This Hawkins didn’t seem any different from his, so he figured the stars were probably the same too. Steve wondered again what the hell had made him so different? What had affected him or changed him to make him so catastrophically different from all the other Steves? What was wrong with him?

He didn’t have any answers.

The summer heat had gone with the sun, and a cool wind played with his hair. It was beautiful and quiet and he could almost pretend that he was the only person in the universe. That the past week hadn’t happened and he was still blissfully unaware of parallel universes and he only had his own failure to be guilty of. He sat there for hours. Sometimes swinging, kicking until he was as high as he could go, feet pointing at the sky before falling back down to Earth. Sometimes just sitting calmly and looking up at the sky and listening to the crickets sing. When he could see the sky start to lighten off in the distance he made his way back to the Hopper-Byers’ house.

Hopper was in the kitchen when Steve walked in the door. Standing in front of the coffee maker and waiting for it to finish dripping. He expected him to yell, shout, ask where he had been all night. Instead, Hopper silently grabbed another mug out of the cupboard above him and set it down next to the one already on the counter. When the coffee was done, he poured two steaming mugs and handed one to Steve.

“Milk or sugar?” he inquired.

Steve shook his head and Hopper nodded before jerking his head to the front door. Steve followed him out and they sat together on the porch swing. Hopper didn’t speak again and Steve sipped his coffee and watched the sun finish rising on a new day.

---

Time passed slowly for Steve over the weekend. He mostly stayed in his room, reading or sleeping. He emerged for mealtimes, which didn’t cause him as much stress now that he and Joyce had an understanding. She would sometimes ask him easy yes or no questions that he could nod or shake his to and the kids told him about their summertime days - biking and swimming and visiting the arcade with the others.

When dinner was over, he went to go back to his room but was stopped by Eleven and Will blocking the stairs.

“We are going to watch a movie, do you want to come?” Eleven asked.

A movie could be… nice. Easy.

“What movie?”

“Empire Strikes Back!” Will declared and Eleven glared at him.

“The Breakfast Club,” she argued back.

They turned to look at him, expecting him to choose. He wouldn’t mind watching both, he loved those movies. He wondered if they chose them because they were Other Steve’s favourites… It didn’t matter, he decided. He wanted to watch them.

“We could watch both?”

They smiled and nodded.

He followed them into the living room, where they began setting up the television and VHS player. Empire Strikes Back was put in because Will had said it first, a rule that Eleven seemed to abide by. Steve settled into the corner of the couch, Eleven beside him and Will on her other side. The iconic music started and the text was rolling down the screen when Joyce came in with drinks and popcorn. Eleven held the bowl in her lap so he and Will could both reach it. The popcorn was cooked perfectly, salted and buttery and Steve had never tasted anything so good.

They finished Empire Strikes Back and were watching The Breakfast Club when Steve started to drift in and out of consciousness. He would wake up, watch some teenage shenanigans, then his eyes would get heavy again. He tried to stay awake, but he was always so tired. Maybe the kids would watch it with him again tomorrow night?

“Code red. Over,” Dustin’s muffled, staticky voice came through the walkie-talkie on the table.

Steve jerked, instantly awake as adrenaline rushed through him. Will leapt off the couch and grabbed the walkie. He hissed into the receiver, “Dustin, you can’t keep using code red to check on Steve. Over and out!” He turned the button on the top, turning it off before tossing it on the couch.

Steve was breathing harshly and staring at it like it was a snake that was going to bite him. He closed his eyes tight. Code red. Code red meant The Upside Down. Code red meant monsters and danger and death. He couldn’t do monsters and danger and death again. It was supposed to be safe here. It was supposed to be over.

“Steve!”

He couldn’t breathe. He needed his bat or his fucking gun.

“Steve!”

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, and his breathing was out of his control. He clutched desperately at his neck and sweater.

“Don’t touch him. Back up,” the voice sounded far away.

What the hell was it now? Had Vecna found out about the parallel universes? Did he follow Steve through the portal? He was going to kill everyone. He was going to kill everyone again.

“You’re safe, Steve. There is no code red. Everyone is safe. There is no code red.”

He knew he was hyperventilating when a prickling sensation started in his fingers and made its way up his arms. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t watch it again. He couldn’t do it!

Please… Please… Please… Please!

“You’re safe, everyone is safe. There is no code red. Look at me, Steve.”

Hopper? What was he saying? No code red? He had heard Dustin say it over the walkie! Steve shook his head.

“It’s okay, Steve. Dustin has been radioing Will for updates, he’s used code red a few times to get a response. Nothing bad is happening, I promise.” Hopper’s voice was even and calm. So calm. Why was he so fucking calm?

Steve slowly opened his eyes. Hopper was kneeling in front of him, his large body taking up all of Steve’s frame of vision. He smiled when Steve met his eyes.

“There you are. Take a deep breath for me if you can.”

Steve tried but couldn’t do it yet. His heart was still pounding but the panic was starting to subside in the face of Hopper’s calm. He let go of his sweater and flexed his hands. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. He did it again, and again, and again.

“No code red?” Steve finally managed to ask after his breathing had settled.

Hopper shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, Steve.”

“How do you know? For sure?”

Hopper stood and grabbed the walkie from the couch where Will had tossed it and turned it back on.

He held down the button and said, “Dustin, it’s Hopper. What’s the code red?”

Silence. Steve’s panic slowly started to rise again.

“How’s Steve? Over.”

Hopper looked up and shook his head, exasperated.

“You used code red just to ask about Steve? You can pick up the phone, ya know?”

“I radioed all day but Will and Eleven never answered!” a pause and then, “over.” Dustin’s voice sounded smaller, ashamed.

Hopper sighed and pushed two of his fingers into his eyes.

Steve reached up and took the walkie out of his hand. It was the same one they used in his universe. He pushed the button and said, “roll call,” with the strongest voice he could muster.

There was silence for a moment, before their voices all started coming in.

“Dustin. Green. Over.”

“Robin. Green. Over.”

“Lucas and Erica. Green. Over.”

“Max. Green. Over.”

“Mike. Green. Over.”

The longest pause came next before a sleepy voice crackled through.

“Eddie. Green. Over.”

Instant relief. He sagged back into the couch, exhausted.

He looked up at Hopper. “Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle?”

“All out of town. We can call them if you need to hear that their okay.”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to bother them late at night. They were safe if they weren’t in Hawkins.

“El? Will?”

“We’re here, Steve,” Will called.

They were standing in the hallway with Joyce, both of their eyes wide and terrified. Steve swallowed down the guilt at causing that expression on their faces.

“El, Will and Steve. Green. Over and out.”

He put the walkie down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Sensing them all staring at him, he opened his eyes again. Now he was just embarrassed that he had overreacted so aggressively.

“I’m alright now. Sorry for freaking you all out.”

“Nothing for you to apologize for. It’s Dustin who’s going to be sorry,” Hopper stated with frightening certainty.

“I’ll make everyone tea,” Joyce said and left the room. Hopper followed her out. He could hear them talking quietly in the kitchen.

Steve was wide awake now, still coming down from the adrenaline rush. He wanted to run to his room and curl into a ball under the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Will and Eleven came over and sat back down on the couch, their gazes heavy as they watched him. Probably for any sign that he was going to freak out and scare them again.

“We can start the movie over if you want?” Will asked quietly.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, and the movie would be a good distraction from his thoughts. He nodded and Will went to rewind the tape before they all settled back down. Eleven sat a lot closer to him than before, and after a moment she reached out and took two of his fingers in a loose grip. Steve had never been so grateful for such a soft and grounding touch. He looked down at her tiny hand and adjusted so their fingers intertwined. She squeezed gently and he squeezed back. Joyce came in a few minutes later with a tray of steaming mugs for everyone.

Eleven and Will were fast asleep before Bender raised his fist in the air, their heads resting against each other.

Steve held the walkie in a tight grip and watched over them, the static from the television flickering in his eyes.

Part 5

@vampireinthesun @just-a-tiny-void

#steddie #stranger things #multiverse #steve harrington #steve x eddie #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

283 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 5 months

Text

part four: the dance. / astarion x tav

the better strategy series.

pairing: astarion x tav (she/her) word count: 4.5k summary: jaheira organizes a makeshift winter's ball at the last light inn. astarion loses sight of his own game and asks tav for a dance. tags: winter themed, waltzing, dancing, last light in reimagining, romantic/sexual tension, trauma, astarion's pov, miscommunications, selûne worshipper!tav, sensuality, confessions // mature for thematic elements

part three. / part five (coming soon). | masterlist.

welcome to the eighth day of the twelve days of amymas !!

PART FOUR: THE DANCE.

A winter ball — oh, he could climb into a coffin and never resurface.

They are a party of adventurers, not performers.

They ought to be compensated with gold and weaponry. Instead they're met with a celebration of food Astarion is sorely disinterested in and booze that will surely make for some less-than savory debauchery.

(And usually he’s such a fan of debauchery, but not when it involves other people and Tav.)

After all, without Tav’s quick thinking and assistance, Jahiera and all of her Harpers would have easily lost their half-elf cleric protecting their little Last Light Inn.

And, without Isobel, the idiots taking refuge here would all be doomed to wither away to the Shadow Curse like their precious lands.

The party, however, would be just fine.

Torches for days.

Rations overflowing at camp.

Not to mention that handy little moon lantern Astarion may or may not have swindled a confused drider out of giving up.

(Miserable bastard.)

So here the somewhat-heroic group stands:

Inn? Saved.

Isobel? In one piece.

Jaheira? Grateful, in her Jaheira way.

So grateful, in fact, she's proposed a one-night party in a similar vein of the grove celebration many moons ago.

A winter's ball, she calls it.

(Astarion is quite convinced the druid only calls it a ball because half of these blasted Harpers have never seen an elegant gathering to save any of their skins.)

Perhaps the most annoying part of this happening is the fact that Tav has looked happier than she’s appeared in weeks.

So many harrowing battles on the dilapidated roads before them forced them to veer a hard right, ruining their original mission trajectory.

Moonrise Towers, for now, could wait.

With dwindling supplies and Karlach running out of steam, Tav was certain this road was the best path to take.

Call it… well, a calling, he supposes.

Because a hop, skip, and a jump later, their party discovered some Harper-infested bubble called the Last Light Inn.

The Last Light is a warm place to sleep at night, and frankly? Astarion hadn’t laid down on a real mattress (not without a stranger in his orbit) in over two-hundred years.

Coincidentally, Tav loves the Last Light Inn, too.

It’s a prime opportunity to rest their feet, to catch up with the refuge tieflings that managed to escape their own ill fates, to speak with that indebted gnome from the windmill hilarity—

And, well, Isobel.

Isobel is the white-haired cleric that guards said bubble, keeping the curse from entering their oasis.

However, Isobel isn’t just a cleric — she also happens to be a fellow follower of Selûne.

(Oh, goody.)

The woman is convinced Selûne guided Tav to their hideaway.

She's convinced their detour was all in the plan.

(Selûne was never far from Tav's prayer, a notion that makes him both envious and glad.)

However, Isobel is a bit too giddy to steal the wood elf away from their party. They've spent the better half of a day gushing over one another's skill, gossiping over their goddess and what it took to simply get to this place.

In fact, Astarion hasn't seen her in hours.

(Even an hour is too long, he's decided.)

Yet that’s all the bloody Harpers have done in Tav’s orbit:

Chat. Compliment. Praise. Swoon.

(Yes, she’s impressive, but what about him? He needs dinner.)

And now it has all come to a head: a party to celebrate a victory when there are so few.

Wyll, of course, thrives at the idea of setting up a Winter’s Ball. It’s in his Ravengard wheelhouse.

Karlach — with a fixed engine and a glowing disposition now that she's reunited with Dammon — trails excitedly right behind.

The two of them, along with Isobel, take up most of Tav’s time.

Astarion is bumped back with the rest of the party, again.

The rest are neither here nor there about the plan. Shadowheart wants to keep moving. Lae’zel finds the concept childish. Gale swears he has two left feet.

Frustratingly enough, Tav is somewhere predictably in the middle.

She doesn’t wish to rock the boat or ruin anyone’s fun — she empathizes with those not as excited, but he can tell she’s closer towards wanting this to happen.

The way she beams when the Harpers ask her for preferences isn’t lost on him.

So Astarion has to do one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life.

He goes from hell no, to hell yes — in a fortnight.

Especially after Tav that afternoon comes to him with an embarrassed look on her face.

That alone could get him to agree to anything.

"Astarion?"

Ah — think of an angel, and she shall rise.

His is an instant response, brought on from the sound of her voice alone.

“Yes, my sweet?”

(Only one other person commanded his attention as such, but that was out of fear. This is out of eagerness.)

Astarion has been minding his own, mentally preparing for a crowded, drunken celebration in his bedroom. People watching, really, as everyone sets up tables and chairs in the courtyard below.

He turns a chin towards the doorway where she stands, appearing smaller than usual.

Distraught.

He pushes off of the window frame with his shoulder.

"Is something troubling you, my dear?"

Tav makes a noise of discomfort, concerning him, before she holds up…

Fabric?

“She gave me a dress.”

The vampire blinks twice. “A what?”

“A dress,” she bemoans. “Alfira.”

The godsdamn tiefling bard that plays horrid music, of all people.

“She had extras in her pack, and…" Tav sighs in that people-pleasing way he's come to memorize, "...she’s hoping I wear it to the ball. As a gift for helping out the tieflings, but I don't feel I've earned it. And I don't really... well, the dress is...”

“It’s a party, dearest, not a ball. A ball needs less dust and cobwebs,” Astarion corrects, before crossing his arms over his chest. “You could have told her no.”

“She’s been through a lot.”

“So have you,” he challenges.

“And she looked quite excited—”

“Is it as ugly as her grove attire?” A tiny smirk crawls over his lips. “Because—”

“Astarion!”

Tav whispers desperately, moving across the room to him. She lifts her hand to hover over his mouth as if to quiet him without ever touching him.

She does that often — avoids touching him outright.

The wood elf always asks.

Apparently the surface-level stories of Cazador's abuse were enough to make her mindful of his aversion towards surprise touch.

(The thoughtfulness of him makes him want to scream.)

“It’s plain,” Tav quietly explains. “Green and, um, not quite my shade, but I just — can you please tell me what you think of it?”

“A half hour before our party’s a bit late to request opinions on outfit, is it not?” he quips, pretending like being Tav’s mirror is such a burden.

It’s really not.

It’s better than her going back to Wyll for opinions.

Or, Gods forbid, Gale.

“I knew you’d be honest,” she says like he’s ever been honest a day in his undead life.

So Tav believes he’d be brave enough to tell her… what?

That she’s ugly in something?

He’d be elated if he wasn’t so offended — Tav could wear a potato sack and still boggle the minds of every man, woman, and person at this inn.

Still, he has a reputation to uphold.

“Go ahead," he sniffs, then adds, “and I very much doubt green isn’t a wood elf’s color.”

Astarion waves her off with forced indifference as she glances around the room.

“Should I just do it here, or is that uncomf—”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

She wishes to undress here?

His brain feels a bit constricted, like he’s lost oxygen.

Then he remembers to perform.

“I’ll turn around. How’s that?” Astarion purrs, before pointing to a mirror. He flips it around and offers a grand gesture once his back is to her. “See? Fixed. I promise to not take a single peak at that tantalizing figure you so rarely accentuate.”

“Accentuating is impractical, and I’d hardly call myself tantalizing — but I appreciate the compliment, Astarion,” she returns with a relieved sigh, and Gods, he smiles.

She can’t see it, which is why it’s so easy to soundlessly laugh.

Fabrics ruffle behind him. Articles of clothing gently hit the ground.

The vampire could black out at the way the forefront of his imagination runs wild.

Tav is naked.

In some state of undress, right there, behind him.

It’s a strange feeling, to want to see someone naked — bodies are just bodies.

They’re skin and blood and, quite frankly, a bit disgusting.

So many fluids all the time.

But something warms him at the concept of Tav’s soft curves, the slopes of collarbones under tunics, what her legs may look like when they’re not covered by practical trousers. He pictures freckles on her skin. A scar or three. Planes of flesh clear of speckles of blood—

Shit, is he getting hard?

Just for thinking about fucking Tav?

Not fucking her, no, but the idea of simply looking at her, which is more embarrassing.

Astarion acts quick, thinking of something vile.

Purple robes.

Ah, yes, Gale’s robes.

Gale’s ridiculous, wrap-about robes mixed with his smarmy voice correcting the group about a spell he learned in Mystra’s teachings—

“Astarion?”

Her voice is so small that he barely recognizes it.

The vampire turns a chin, not willing to push a boundary until offered.

(Her thoughtfulness ought to go both ways.)

“I’m good," she adds. "I think I figured it out, but the clasp is…”

“Is what, dearest?” he coos back, finally turning on a heel to see what may become his undoing.

Tav stands timidly in the middle of the bedroom, shuffling her bare feet on the floor.

Alfira wouldn’t pull this off, no, but this darling wood elf glows in an olive-green ensemble. The embroidered fabric slopes deep past her collarbone, exposing her sternum, the curve of her breasts, straight down to her navel.

The sleeves are sheer, their pattern swirling like the very vines she derives from.

He’s gawking.

Astarion hasn’t said a word in over twenty seconds, and he’s painfully aware of it.

“Are you positive that isn't the back of the dress?” he asks, fluttering his fingers at the risqué front.

“I asked the same thing,” Tav sheepishly admits, stepping closer with her arm bunched behind her back. “The clasp is up the back, but it’s too high.”

She twirls to show him the predicament at her neck, and all Astarion can do is work his body on autopilot.

Not thinking will help him not make a fool of himself, so he shoos her hand away and clips the dress to completion.

He refuses to let himself touch the nape of her neck, her waist, her hips—

What in the hells did that little tiefling witch do to this dress?

“Am I alright to move?”

“Hmm?”

Tav’s voice. Tav asked a question. Tav asked a bloody question, you dolt, don’t lose your—

“Oh! Yes.”

Astarion clears his throat, flexing his fingers right over the clasp before stepping back.

“All settled.”

“Thank you,” she meekly replies, and he hates it.

She should be proud of the way she looks.

Why does she want to crawl into herself?

“Have you acquired a date to this humble happening?” Astarion decides to ask instead, balling his fists at his side.

“Do I truly look that horrid in this?” Tav asks, bypassing his question with her own.

Astarion opens his mouth to tease her some more, to press and prod and push until she glares his way, but nothing comes out.

Instead the pale elf softens at her stare, helpless and angry at his own insistence.

Why does he feel the need to be so cruel?

The world is cruel, but Tav is…

“Ah! There you are.”

The grating voice of Shadowheart pierces through their private moment, door swung wide as if privacy has no home here. The Shar cleric wears her usual traveling fashion, but her braid is unraveled, loosened. The tiny hair piece appears much more like a crown now with her free-swinging ponytail.

She smirks, brow quirked.

“...have I interrupted something?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Two voices ring out simultaneously.

Tav answers first.

Astarion’s ivory curls wave in the wind at how fast he whips his head to look at the half elf.

Shadowheart's eyes are already on his, even as she beckons Tav to join her with the crook of a finger.

No, he said. You’re interrupting nothing. We are nothing. This, whatever this is, is nothing.

“Jahiera won’t stop asking for you,” Shadowheart tells Tav. “Karlach and Dammon have already popped a few bottles to toast to her heated predicament, so you might want to find yourself a bottle before they’re all gone.”

“I’m—” Tav glances Astarion, and his undead heart squeezes. “Sure, I’ll join.”

She walks into the hallway with Shadowheart, leaving Astarion to stand alone.

“Where’d you get the dress, anyway?”

Now that the vampire's not within her eyesight, Shadowheart inquires with a softer tone.

Astarion finds himself becoming unnecessarily jealous.

Lighter.

Everyone is also so much lighter with the cleric of Selûne at their side; even a wayward prodigy of Shar.

He cannot squander her light.

She cannot be swallowed into his darkness.

Still, he feels just as drawn to Tav as the rest of them.

Like a damned fool who has yet to learn his lesson.

-.-

The party rages on well into the night.

The Harpers can drink.

In fact, they drink so heavily that half of them are already on the makeshift dance circle in the middle of the Inn’s courtyard.

People chant and cheer.

Couples find corners to hide in.

Astarion remains on the outskirts, all too easily reminded of the parties once organized in Lord Cazador's name — in his blood.

Just how many souls had he lured to those damned things?

How many bodies had he conjured with his oil-slicked words, his midnight charm?

Enough to know that the dragonborn trying to get Tav to dance doesn’t know a lick of proper waltz steps to save their own hide.

Yet Tav… does.

And that doesn’t go unnoticed, not by him.

She tries gently teaching the dragonborn so keen on speaking with her until the poor thing awkwardly gives up.

The red-scaled person shuffles off into the inn for more alcohol, leaving Tav alone on the dance floor.

No.

No, that won’t do at all.

His crimson eyes catch the laughter of Wyll to his right — the Blade of Frontiers is too busy talking to a disinterested Lae’zel to notice. Gale’s arms crossed and serious about discussing books with the elder Harper shopkeeper not far off. Shadowheart’s drunk a bit too much, so she's asleep with her head on a table. Karlach and Dammon — well, that’s something he shant ruin.

Which leaves… him.

Him and Tav.

Tav and Astarion.

He curses at himself before pushing off of a stone wall.

Like a creature of the night he stalks towards the diamond of the ball, forcing himself to do what no Harper, no dragonborn, and no bloody person in their camp can do for her.

“I suppose you can only teach an old dragon so many new tricks,” the vampire snarks with a feigned sigh as he steps up behind Tav, surprising her.

The wood elf spins on a heel, face flush with…

Oh, my.

She’s tipsy.

Possibly drunk.

(Although he'll go hungry this evening, he has no intentions of feeding from her when she isn't sober.)

“Astarion,” she greets breathlessly. He performatively bows. “What are you—”

“I was a magistrate, you know,” Astarion interrupts, a smirk growing on his lips as he glances up through pretty eyelashes to regard her. “In Baldur’s Gate, when I wasn’t so staunchly pale. If you wanted to dance with someone, my sweet, all you had to do was ask.”

Please ask me is what he’s trying to say, but he’s too much of a bloody coward.

Tav squares her shoulders as if to defy her own intoxication, yet her round eyes betray her wonder.

“You… wish to dance with me?”

“You lost your partner,” he coos. “What would I be if I left you stranded? And besides, I doubt anyone here knows how to waltz. Was that not what you two were... attempting?”

“You were watching me dance with Strohlan?”

She hiccups, and it’s adorable.

“If that’s what they wish to call dancing, sure," he snidely remarks.

“They did their best."

Yet she does not step into his orbit.

Instead she waits, as if anticipating for him to make the first move.

Tav stares at the vampire with cautious interest before becoming brave: “Ask, then.”

Astarion contemplates.

Coward, coward, coward.

Then he blurts before he can back out:

“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me in a dance?”

It sounds so juvenile on his tongue.

Like he isn’t over three-hundred years old.

Like he doesn’t have a single clue what he’s doing here.

(In truth, he doesn’t. He really fucking doesn’t.)

The cleric holds up her palm to the air, still not offering to touch him first. Her other arm curves at the elbow, as if Astarion can slot against her body perfectly.

He can. He has.

(With his fangs lodged into her neck, drinking her sweet life essence without a word of gratitude.)

Astarion realizes his stalling, so he takes a leap of faith — his hand reaches for her waist first, gliding around the silky smooth fabric of her olive dress.

The other hand curls around hers, seeking to lead.

He swallows when her warmth engulfs him.

No amount of mead can be this intoxicating.

Not like her.

When the makeshift band starts a new song, he pushes her back to start the dance.

Tav tenses but quickly relaxes as she allows Astarion to take the lead.

His brows furrow when he notes how her limbs seem eager to push back, as if—

“Are you trying to lead me?”

“Hmm? Oh shit, I’m—”

Did Tav just swear?

“Sorry, it’s a habit.”

“A habit, you say?" His voice is a melodic mockery. "Happen to find yourself leading the dance in your past entanglements?”

“Unfortunately,” she laments honestly. “Back where I’m from, they always tried teaching me the follower’s steps. I never quite liked it, so I learned the leader’s dance instead.”

“And where are you from?” he finds himself asking without meaning to, leaning into her ramble.

Tav sways to the music with him, a perfect mirror. “Southwood.”

Astarion’s brow quirks.

“As in the kingdom of Southwood?”

Southwood was a vast clan of wood elves on the southeastern side of the realm.

He’d never personally been there, but many wood elves in Baldur’s Gate spoke of their clan with such vitriol. According to them, Southwood wood elves rarely left their gates.

Why would they? Their lands were gorgeous. Ethereal.

Perfectly in sync with nature and all its glories.

Their government was not much of a democracy but a matriarchal monarchy.

Kings, Queens, all the stops.

They viewed themselves as pure royalty, rarely allowing outsiders to infiltrate. And because of that, most inhabitants of Southwood looked at the rest of the realm with their noses turned high.

So why in the nine Hells was Tav, their Tav, out here with the rest of them?

Tav, however, doesn’t seem very bothered.

The alcohol waves away his question and allows her to keep rambling during their dance.

“They love their lavish parties in Southwood. Nearly every week had some form of a dance, a celebration, an… exhausting seven-course dinner. Learning the ‘wrong’ steps kept people away.”

“Kept them away?”

“Yes,” she answers, matter of fact. “So no person could ask me to dance.”

He never expected — well, this.

Learning about not only Tav’s life before the mind flayers snatched them into their floating ship, but the fact that she’s… well, he worries there are many, many more layers to this young wood elf that no one else is aware of. Layers of secrets that make up who Tav is.

Layers that others could exploit.

(And they will never know. Tav's past is as precious to him as the finite dirt she'd once kicked away at camp, hiding his own demons.)

“So you hate dancing,” he decides to say instead, forgoing twenty questions about her lineage for now.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” she corrects. “I hate dancing with people I don’t like.”

Astarion grips her waist a little tighter.

He regrets it immediately when she presses closer, her fragrance overwhelming his every sense.

“And you like this… dragonborn? This Strohlan?”

Her head shakes. “I like the Harpers. They’re kind to us.”

“When we arrived at Last Light Inn, dear, Jahiera nearly sent you into a vine-ridden slumber.”

“I don’t blame her for taking precaution against people with wriggling tadpoles in their heads.”

He steps away, taking her off guard.

When his arm lifts, however, Tav is quick to obey the unspoken rule:

She twirls under it, skirt billowing with the movement.

Once she returns, her hand adjusts lower to his bicep — catching her step.

It feels more intimate, this way.

Real.

“And… you like our companions, then?” he leads.

Tav blinks. “Hmm?”

“Since you say you only dance with people you like,” Astarion repeats, hating that his ego needs to be stroked so thoroughly with thorns that he hopes to hear her sputter her way through—

“I like you.”

Astarion’s expression forcefully hardens to protect it from faltering.

“And I like our companions, of course," she explains, "but this… I would have asked you, if I’d known you would have actually said yes.”

I would have asked you.

So he wasted this entire ball doing… what, precisely?

Skulking in the corner, watching Tav get passed around like a commodity rather than a jewel?

Astarion holds her close, suddenly very aware of their every movement.

“Me?” he asks despite himself. She nods. “In what way, darling?”

Must he sound like such a school boy?

This is the perfect time—

To seduce.

To sink his proverbial teeth into her neck so that she may never shake him off.

But Astarion doesn’t want that.

He lost the script somewhere along the blackened roads of these cursed lands.

“How do you mean, in what way?” she counters, and he knows — knows he should seize the moment and purr in her ear and promise her one hell of a night.

But she’s drunk.

She’s drunk and she’s confiding in him, for Gods sake.

Like so many before her, she’s confessing to a slanted altar he cannot absolve.

(Do not like me, he wants to scream. You are light. I am shadow.)

“You’re formidable in battle.”

No.

“You stay with me in the night, in the dark, when my goddess is not near.”

Stop.

“You… guide me, ground me, entrust me with your life.”

Please, just stop.

“And I wouldn’t — well, I cannot imagine conquering what is before us without you by my side—”

“Tav."

Astarion stops moving.

His hand accidentally curls too harshly into her side.

Tav stops moving, too.

Her name spills like crushed smokepowder on his tongue.

Ashy, not the least bit polished; it’s nothing more than a croak, a plea, to stop while she is ahead.

Rounded eyes stare at him, waiting for his next words.

His thumb absently runs along the fabric of her soft dress, completely at a loss of what to do — what to say.

“I should have asked.”

Those rounded eyes widen impossibly further when Astarion murmurs the first thing that comes to mind — the first right thing, the first real thing, in centuries.

Not a mockery of himself, a soul he’d neglected for so long, but… this.

Whatever this is.

“You wanted to?” she quietly asks in return, and he nods silently. What else is he to do in her mercy? “Truthfully I wanted to ask if you were interested in a dance or two when we were upstairs, but then Shadowheart interrupted my bravery.”

“Lady Shar strikes again,” he jokes, but it’s strained.

He’s gifted with a laugh, soft and sweet, before it fades in the space between.

Tav drops her gaze to his lips, but he doesn’t notice.

He can’t — not when his own eyes have already traveled south.

Not to her chest.

Not to her neck.

To her very lips, rosy and alive.

Astarion had a plan.

A nice, simple plan.

Yet, with a heavy heart, he realizes much too late:

In his own free will, he wishes to kiss her.

He wishes to give a part of himself to her without expecting anything in return.

Not even a taste of her own damned blood.

Is this what it means, to give?

(Is this what it means, to trust?)

“Astarion…”

The young wood elf’s voice melts into his brain like a soothing balm.

Only then does he realize he’s a breath away from her face — ducked nose to nose, her light breath peppered with liquor tickling his chin.

Tav switches her attention between his eyes and lips, blinking up and down as if contemplating.

Her lips part, voiceless in her question, but the calling is clear:

Her chin nudges a fraction closer, and she’s thinking.

Do it.

Gods, he wants to scream it.

Fucking do it. Be selfish, for once in your damned life.

All he’s known is to be selfish.

To look out for one person and one person alone.

“I’m sorry.”

When Astarion leans in to finally bridge the gap, to finally break his own code and be damned with the plan, the vampire realizes the cleric is pulling away.

No—

Abruptly Tav steps back as though she’s scorned him with fire.

Her hands rip away from his shoulder and palm.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Darling—”

“Forgive me,” Tav blurts, as if she’s done something criminal to him.

Her once-bleary eyes sober in an instant, and she looks… ashamed?

Like she took advantage of a perfectly sober vampire, not the other way around.

You were supposed to fall for me.

That much is true.

That much is very clear to him.

Where, in some bizarre fashion, he’s managed what he once deemed impossible: Tav likes him. He's secured her affections without ever so much as being inside of her.

Yet it isn't enough. Tav lifts the skirt of her dress and beelines to the inn before he can reel her back.

She leaves him standing in the middle of the courtyard with a very real, very damning, reality:

Astarion’s nice, simple plan has fallen apart—

Because the pale elf has fallen first.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #twelve days of amymas #amywritesthings

138 notes · View notes