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weretheones · 7 months

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All You Got | Part 13

Part 13: Strangers

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: typical twd content. claimers: a warning in of itself. references to attempted sexual assault. lots of gore and blood. A/N: hi again! excited to be posting this part :) its been a long time coming... happy reading!

A low fire flickered just past the trees. Maybe fifty feet away.

“You think it's those men?”

“Could be.” Daryl shook his head. “Could be anyone.”

Despite walking all day and most of the night, you hadn’t been able to escape the threat of people. Even if that fire on the road hadn't been set by those men— and from the lack of cruel laughing and bruising punches, you figured it wasn't— it still meant people. Strangers. Bodies of unknown, with all the potential to be as twisted and cunning as the Governor, or as kind and loyal as Daryl.

The small fire crackled.

“What do we do?”

“Can’t take a good look without riskin’ them seein’ us.”

You bit your lip. Maybe you shouldn't have stopped moving, after all.

There was a bush ahead. The branches looked loose enough that you could peak an eye through and take a better look at the strange fire and the stranger people. In a bush that small, it would be a tight fit, but you could do it.

Your eyes flickered back to Daryl and those broad shoulders. He definitely couldn’t.

So without another thought, and maybe not much choice, you crouched down. “Wait here.”

You'd managed to move about a foot when his hand inevitably caught your wrist, and his rough voice hissed your name in warning.

“Just trust me,” you mumbled, almost as quiet as the soft cricketing of the night air. It all seemed to drown out at the sight of that sharp caution in his eyes; blue darkened by the night and the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders. You blinked, and then your free hand was wrapped around his, the pad of your thumb brushing along his rough skin. “I don’t want them to find us, either.”

The tension melted away like slow dripping wax; the look in his eye softened, his grip relaxed.

You could guess that weight on his shoulders hadn’t quite lifted, not when those people were still so close and so unknown. But once his hand loosened enough for you to pull back, there was a patch of cold along your wrist where he'd held you tight. Where you'd felt the heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins, warming his skin. Daryl tried to swallow his concern as you finally slipped away and into the bush.

You kept your head as low as possible. Crouched down and moving slow, like a wolf sneaking on its prey, though you weren't feeling quite predator-like. Not when you still had that swinging ball of anxiety slamming back and forth between your heart, lungs, and ribs. You thought of the gun at your hip. Four bullets left— no, three. You'd used one yesterday. Shit.

The branches were thin and dry. If you pushed them too far, they'd snap in half. Some leaves rustled off the bush as you snuck your way inside. You kept your hands close, only drawing down that last branch an inch so you could peek past. The flames of the fire were the brightest thing around, even if you could tell it’d been made in a way to keep it as small and unsuspecting as possible. But smoke still drifted away in long strands, floating through the night, invading the forest air. The fire cracked, now and then, as a shadowy figure sat beside it. His head was hanging down, a lock of curly brown hair falling across his forehead as he chewed at something in his hands. A bone, maybe.

Boots clicked along the pavement as a woman approached from the beaten-up blue truck to the right. She walked toward the fire with a languid stride. You could only see her silhouette backdropped across a glow of orange light. Her hair fell down her back in thick, black strands and something long and thin stick crossed over her back.

You waited a moment or two, but the pair of them never gave a glimpse of their faces, and no one else seemed to be around. Still, the two strangers on the road didn’t seem to be a part of that group you came across earlier; you doubted that men like those would let a woman tag along.

Finally free from the dying bush, you snuck back to Daryl.

“There’s a woman,” you whispered when you got close enough. “It's not them.”

“Just her?”

"No, there was a man, too." You shook your head. "Maybe more in the truck."

"You get a good look at 'em? They got guns?"

"I couldn't see their faces. The man had a gun, and she had something on her back. It could have been a—"

There was a laugh, then.

A familiar one.

Then another, and another, and they all overlapped until you could almost see that blue truck again, trunk open and all your supplies thrown around. Fear slammed back into your chest. You could’ve sworn you were back at that tree, pressed between Daryl and the rough bark, skin smoking with that fiery panic that caught right where your heart was supposed to be.

“We gotta go.” Daryl's voice cut through the yells and fear like a dull blade. His tone was hard. Almost as stern as you remembered it from all those weeks ago.

You nodded slowly. Smoke tinged the air you inhaled and your thoughts wandered back to those people. That woman... Unsuspecting.

Daryl grabbed your wrist and brought you to a stand. But the forest floor had turned into quicksand, and you couldn't move yet.

“Those people on the road—”

His jaw locked.

“’S too late for ‘em.” His narrowed eyes flashed toward the road. That usual shade of blue was now dark and threatening as the laughter only grew louder.

They were already there.

He tried to move forward, to drag you out of that quicksand pit of empathy that might finally suffocate you, after all, but you didn't budge. You couldn't.

“You heard what they’ll do to ya,” Daryl growled as if you needed a better reason to go with him.

Instead you twisted out of his grasp. “They’ll do the same thing to them.”

Of course, he knew that. There was a string wrapped around his pounding heart, pulling tighter and tighter because those people on the road didn’t deserve what was coming for them. No one did. But then there was you. With those big eyes, wide and glistening with fear even beyond that stubborn glow, and he hated it. Hated that he could recognize it so easily. He never wanted to see your features twisted in pain again. If those men got you— if a walker got you— if anything happened…

"We— we have to help," you rasped out, even if instinctive fear seemed to be winning over your empathy as the seconds ticked by. Perhaps you could hear what he was thinking. The possibilities that ran through his mind and made his jaw lock he thought he might break a tooth. "We can try."

His grip was back at your wrist, but this time it felt deeper. As if his fingers were melting into your skin, the thump of his heartbeat drowning into your own.

“It ain’t worth losin’ you.”

It was silent. Tension rising into the air like the strands of smoke lifting off that small, almost forgotten fire. It started as a soft wisp of burning wood, until your brain seemed to process what he'd said. Those words surrounded you, filling your lungs with that bittersweet burn, deeper and deeper with every slow, conscious breath you pulled in.

You swallowed. It seemed to soothe the tension, an inch.

Now wasn’t the time.

You opened your mouth to spill another retort because you’d changed these last few months, had become the type of person who would stand up for what they thought, scared or not. But before you could say a word, another ripped through the air. A guttural yell.

“Carl!”

---

After months of your blood-stained hands digging their way through Daryl’s tough-as-steel exterior, praying for a moment to prove yourself worthwhile of all the chances he'd given you, it was here. They were here. His people.

Carl was in the grimy hands of one of those men with the bellowing laughs. Joe— the leader— had his gun to the back of Rick’s head. The woman you’d seen on the road, you didn’t remember her name, but you knew there was a gun on her too. There had to be.

And Daryl went to them, leaving you in the bushes with his last words still ringing in your ears.

“Listen to me. If shit goes south… I don’t give a fuck what happens to me, you run, y’hear?”

“Daryl—”

“You run.”

Your hands shook like those dead leaves on the bush, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the click of your gun’s magazine releasing. You counted the bullets, even if you already knew how many were there.

You hadn’t even realized you grabbed his hand. Not until his eyes flickered between it and you.

You whispered... maybe whimpered, “I can’t just—”

Two in the magazine. One in the chamber. Three bullets for five men— that you knew of.

The skinny one was missing. Len. Maybe he’d finally been beaten to hell, himself. Maybe they'd left him behind.

“I can’t do this knowin’ that those assholes might find ya.”

Your eyes shimmered with a concern he was still getting used to receiving. He blinked, then squeezed your hand back.

“You run,” he repeated.

Daryl moved through the shadows of the forest like he’d been doing it his whole life— and God did it feel like that, the stretch of time filled with more yelling and pleading and laughing while he moved closer to the spot where the forest broke open.

What the hell he was planning on doing when he got to the road’s edge, you had no idea. The mere thought made your heart squeeze tighter than Daryl had your hand.

A shadow moved behind him.

You gasped. Raised your gun as if it wouldn’t be the stupidest thing in the world to fire it at only a glimpse of a figure. A waste of bullets on shadows. What was likely nothing more than a lone walker, wandering with nothing but the road’s sounds to lead its path. And with all those cruel men so close, they'd come running at the shot’s echo. But just as you were about to rush out, knife in hand with nothing more than a hope that you could make it on time, the shadow raised a bow of its own.

Not a walker.

Your fingers fell off his.

The softest of whispers, “Just come back.”

Sometime between sneaking up on Daryl and when they finally broke from the tree line, Len had taken the crossbow from him, slinging his compound bow across his back. The crossbow was easier to aim at Daryl’s head while they walked onto the road.

“Found another one’a them!”

Quiet. For a moment.

Daryl and Rick's eyes met for the first time in months. They both had weapons aimed to the back of their heads.

From that angle, you couldn't see Daryl's face. Only the shift in his shoulders, dropping barely an inch as he stilled. A slight wobble in his stance. Across the road, recognition sunk into Rick’s features, but they never quite found the relief you hoped to see when this day came. Of course, you had always imagined it under vastly different circumstances. Finding them on the road. Maybe at Terminus. Not in the dark of night, surrounded by men who wanted to kill— and worse.

“Fool thought he could sneak up on us,” Len chuckled.

He only let Daryl pause for a second before he grew bored and kicked at the back of his leg, and Daryl crumbled like a straw-man released from its post. His knees scratched along the cold concrete, palms flat for the second it took for him to regain his senses. To get that breath back in his lungs after the gut-punching sight of his friend's faces, the ones he dreamt about night after night.

“Hey!” The one with a gun on the woman— what was her name again?— yelled, “Those arrows look familiar to you?”

Len looked down to see the same green shoots on the crossbow’s bolts as his own compound's— the ones he'd stolen from the car earlier that day.

“Holy shit,” Len exhaled. “That was your car, wasn’t it?”

Joe laughed, a hearty, full-lung chuckle, “Shit! And here I was thinking of turning in for the night on New Year's fuckin’ Eve!”

“Settle a bet for us, why don’t ya? You were traveling with a woman, right?”

Even with all the trees between you, you could see Daryl’s jaw clench. It only spurred Len on further.

“Mhm. I bet that bitch is out there, too. Hiding in the bushes, like a little rabbit?” He knelt as if to take a closer look at Daryl’s quickly retreating composure. The vein popping in his forehead, the red tint to his cheeks. “I love me some rabbit. ‘M real good at huntin’ ‘em down.”

Daryl’s heart was pounding hard, face flush with the anger racing through his veins like bad moonshine, turning him blind to the reasonable course of action. Keep his head down, wait for his chance... But how the hell could he do that when the road was burning hot underneath his palms? When he could see red— the red of your blood— pooling below?

Then Len leant in even closer, and then all he could think about was rot; the smell reeking from the yellow of his teeth when he grinned, the black tar that soaked his soul. The way he wished he could see the dead rip into the bastard.

“Think I can make ‘er squeal?”

Daryl jumped up. He landed a punch right on Len’s nose. There was nothing quite like the smooth relief that pumped through his veins when he felt bone crack underneath.

Len fell back. Blood coated his mouth and chin, shining in the moonlight like a damn spotlight, begging for another hit. But for all that asshole’s undeserved cockiness, he still had the numbers to back him up; another one grabbed the back of Daryl’s vest, pulled him away from a stumbling Len, and threw a bruising punch of his own. Before you could even aim your gun, Daryl was back on the ground and kicked in the gut as a third man joined in.

“Kill ‘im! Fuckin’ idiot.” Len snarled, throwing a punch after he was done cradling his face. Daryl was dragged by the men and tossed on top of the car's hood like a doll. Fists slammed into his sides, his back, his face. Any punch he threw back was quickly met with two more.

“Listen, it was me, it was just me,” Rick yelled out, his voice a rumble of pleading and hopelessness. He shook his head, his son pressed against that big man with the sickening grin on one side, and Daryl taking fist after fist to the jaw, eye, stomach, and shoulder on the other.

“Oh, don’t worry. We can settle this, we’re reasonable men.”

Your finger twitched along the trigger. From the depths of your memory, a word echoed.

Liar.

Joe continued, “First, we’re gonna beat your friend to death. Then, we’ll have the girl, then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and we’ll be square!”

The gun felt lighter. Those three bullets suddenly etched with the names of these men— Joe, Len, that fucker with the knife on Carl.

“Let him go,” Rick shuttered out. The rumbling anger in him began to leak like a dam about to burst. Somehow, those three words huffed into the night air, even with a gun at the back of his neck, still managed to sound like a threat.

And they were.

You flinched when Rick threw his head back to collide with Joe’s face. The first shot rang out as he stumbled, clutching his face with one hand and letting his smoking gun fall with the other. Time slowed, but Rick was even slower, blinking and shaking his head as the ringing must've trapped in his ear. A bloody Len looked over with Daryl's bow in hand once again as Joe coughed, blood leaking down his face, too. In the time it took for him to stand straight again, Rick had managed to get up and punch him.

Joe punched back harder.

Rick fell to the ground like a bag of bricks.

“I got him. Go find your rabbit, Len.” A groan left both of them as Joe forcefully kicked his boot into Rick's gut. “Oh, it’s gonna be so much worse now.”

There was no doubt about it. Joe’s words echoed into the dark night, muddled with the sounds of whimpers, groans, skin rubbing against concrete. This was headed as far south as it could, tunneling straight to hell from the sounds of it, and a heavy shadow wrapped its slimy, inescapable arms around you.

“Come on, already. Get up. Let's see what ya got," Joe taunted as he circled Rick, who couldn't seem to find his balance.

With the back of his hand, Len wiped his bloody chin before he turned toward the forest line. A look in his eye even darker and slimier than that shadow.

If you had thought about it first, you would have stayed still. But staggering backward felt more like instinct than thought, something you hadn’t realized you were doing until a branch snapped under your foot.

A tense second hung in the air between you and this man, wondering if he could pinpoint the small crack amongst all the muffled cries and painful groans.

He smiled a sickening grin.

A chill down your back as your breath caught in your throat. His eyes narrowed in on the section of woods Daryl left you in, eyeing between the branches like you really were a little rabbit, and he was fucking starving.

Run. He’d told you to run and here you were, frozen with uncertainty. Where would you run? How could you live with yourself, leaving them for dead? What if you shot and missed, three times? What if—

"You leave him be!" Rick yelled when Carl cried out.

Finally, Joe caught Rick. He laughed, "The hell are you gonna do now, sport?"

A new scream. Not from Carl or Rick. But before you could tell from whom, it had morphed into gurgling and choking, instead.

Then Rick spat.

Len turned around, and without those predator eyes on you anymore, you saw it. The way Joe's body turned limp, his hand grasping Rick's collar the last thing to give out before he fell to the ground. A mess of blood spurted out of his neck until the red skulls on his shirt melted into the red that poured down his body.

From his mouth to his chest, Rick was covered in the same colour.

It took a moment for everyone to realize what had happened. That Rick had bit Joe’s throat out like a fucking walker. An air of shocked silence lingered until a few gasps made their way around the road. By the time Len began to raise Daryl's crossbow in Rick's direction, a choice had been made, and you stepped from behind the bush.

Gun raised.

Len's head snapped forward with the impact of the bullet. He crumbled to the ground faster than Joe, crossbow buried underneath his limp limbs. The woman used the second air of shock to grab the gun pointed at her head, twisted it to the man holding it, and fired. He fell, too.

You stepped out of the tree line. Smoking gun and narrowed eyes exposed under the moonlight. Their eyes snapped to you, unsure only for a second before you shot the men at Daryl's side. One in the head, the other in the throat. He fell back, grabbing at his leaking neck until Daryl threw him down and stomped on his windpipe to finish the job.

One man was left. He'd put a knife to Carl's throat amid everything, grabbed the boy to his chest and promised he'd kill him if you did anything. The woman had already aimed her gun at him, and you knew yours was empty by now, but neither stopped you from aiming yours, too.

"Put them down!" He yelled, eyes snapping between the pair of you. The knife inched closer to Carl's neck. "I'll do it!"

Rick stood up. Joe's knife was in his hand as he stalked toward the man and his son with nothing more than a growl.

"He's mine."

The man's eyes widened. "S— Stay back! Please—"

Rick drove the knife into his chest. Once. Twice. Then dragged it up and down and you should have looked away. He was snarling like a wild animal, staring that man— that monster— right in the eye. Unleashing every drop of that boiling rage inside of him. You knew it was because of what he tried to do to his son, but something in you almost felt as sharp as that knife, stabbing over and over. And maybe that was why you couldn't look away, because the hot gun in your hand suddenly felt so light.

Empty.

Maybe you should have saved a bullet in case Rick tried to gut you next, for what you had done to his son, to his family.

Just as those dark thoughts wrapped around your mind, familiar fingers did the same at your wrist. You blinked, finally tearing your eyes off of all the blood and guts only to notice that you hadn’t dropped your gun, that you were now aiming it at Rick’s head. He’d given up on his assault, dropping the mess of that dead monster to the ground with nothing more than a heavy thump. Now he was facing you, eyes narrowed and unreadable under the moonlight as Daryl's hand lowered your gun.

The second you turned to him, you let it fall to the ground, lost in the red splattered across his face, the cut above his eyebrow, the puffiness of his right eye.

Red, red, red.

Something squeezed your hand. His fingers were still wrapped around you.

You blinked, and the red cleared a bit. Enough that even in the dark of night, you could still see the shimmering blue of care, of concern, of Daryl.

Daryl.

Bruised but alive. Touching your skin. Drawing you back with every thump of your heartbeat.

And just like the gun, you let go of the fear, too.

————————————————————

A/N: if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa @wanhedavaliquette @murdadixon

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friskishdrawings · 4 months

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Charity Commissions 🇵🇸

Hello guys, it's been a while!

To cut to the chase: I would like to help spread both awareness and support for those suffering in the ongoing genocide in Palestine. So, in light of this, I will open up some commissions where rather than paying me, you simply provide proof of your donation.

I know this blog is mainly just for my art, but if I can use my art for any good I would like to do so. If you cannot donate, please reblog!

Here are some recommended links:

E-sims for Gaza: https://gazaesims.com

Palestine children’s relief fund: PCRF

Women for women (hygiene kits, blankets, food): Urgent Support for Women in Palestine Women for Women International

Anera dignity kits: https://www.anera.org/stories/gaza-emergency-aid-includes-dignity-kits/

If you are Egyptian you can also donate to any of the organizations listed under the Instapay, Talabat, Fawry apps, or your bank app under their ‘donations’ services with the equivalent price in EGP (based on the bank rate). Just provide a screenshot.

Of course, if you yourself have a related link, such as another reliable charity organization or a go-fund me, that works as well. And of course, if you have any other links I can update this post with please let me know.

With any cause, please bear in mind there will be people of all sorts who will want to exploit people’s compassion. So please, if you are to donate to any organization, exercise some caution and do your research.

For a written list of the prices, the do/don'ts, and so on, please look under the read-more for more details!

How Does this Work?

Send me the idea you have and I will let you know if it’s good to go or if it’s not appropriate (or if I can’t do it due to time/work)

When you get the okay, I will ask for more details (references, colour schemes, poses, which charity you plan to donate to, etc.)

I will draw you a basic thumbnail for your confirmation (these are very vague sketches to just pinpoint the pose).

Once you confirm the pose, I will ask you to donate and I will get to work

Send me a screenshot of the e-mail confirming your donation (blur out/colour over any personal info!), or the “Thank you for your donation!” screen if there is no e-mail

You get your drawing in exchange!

NOTE: I will likely post them on my artblog and Instagram, so if you don’t want them posted there or would like to remain anonymous, please let me know! If you are fine with me posting them, please give me the handle/name you would like to be referred to as.

Also bear in mind I have a full-time job, so they might be a while! But you WILL get your commission.

HALF-BODY

$5-$9: Lineart $10-$14: Monotone $15-$19: Colours, flat $20-$24: Colours, shaded Above $25: Colours, shaded, with background

FULL-BODY

$10-$14: Lineart $15-$19: Monotone $20-$24: Colours, flat $25-$29: Colours, shaded Above $30: Colours, shaded, with background

Yes-es:

Fan art is fine (I won’t be getting any monetary profit from this)

Characters from original stories

Personas/self-inserts/fan characters/Tabletop RPG characters

Real!you, family members, friends, etc. (at the risk of them not looking like them at all :’D)

Animals (they might be a bit less cartoony as I'm not used to them but yes)

Personifications/anthropomorphic/strange creatures in general

Nos:

Not more than one character per commission

No discriminatory content

No religious figures, symbolism or content (I am Muslim so… Cannot Really Do That)

No extreme gore or suggestive themes, or characters from media that feature a lot of either (this is because my art blog is PG-13, and I’d rather not anything off-colour for a charity commission anyway)

No using these with AI or NFTs

Do not use for commercial purposes. These are for charity!

I reserve the right to decline your commission if I feel like you have insincere ulterior motives, or if an emergency comes up.

Generally, keep this PG-13/grandma-friendly!

Pleases:

References (preferably image based, but text is fine if there is no visual depiction/canon design)

Colour you associate with the character if monotone

Poses (just not lewd or rude)

Context (like description of their personality, what they like, their setting, etc.)

Ask first:

You are free to repost the artwork on another platform as long as you credit me as the artist. Absolutely use them if you need a picture for something like an RP account!

If from your original work, you may use them in non-commercial projects, just please credit me (and give me a heads up so I can go check it out! :D).

If an original character from an original story, you are free to use the artwork to help with things like visual development (let’s say, you are creating a game, comic or pilot, and you want a reference for the artists on your team to use), just once again give me a heads up and credit me as the artist.

If you've made it this far, and can't donate, thank you so much for your interest anyway. At the very least, this reached someone.

#palestine #charity #commissions #art commissions #charity commissions #donations #free Palestine #artists on tumblr #digital art #character design #fan art #original characters #ocs #character art #digital painting #The backgrounds will have more detail #regrettably do not have any examples with characters in them #all examples are either fanart or my original characters

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eluxcastar · 1 year

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Pantalone x reader (male or gn) where reader returns from a particularly bloody and mentally exhausting mission late at night. Perhaps a little emotionally scarring

Reader is concerningly silent

Pantalone helps them bathe and carries to bed

Hurt/comfort fic where reader softly cries to sleep and pantalone can do nothing more than hold them tighter and closer

You're not used to losing people

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: you spent days out travelling near the edge of snezhnaya, delayed by trouble you encountered that has you home half a day after you were expected to be. by all official accounts the objective was completed and the mission was therefore a success, but you seem to return a different person than the one who waved Pantalone off with a warm smile and a kiss for good luck.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader (could be read as gn), mentions of blood, use of petnames (darling), implied death, reader is at a bit of an emotional breaking point, pantalone is written to be soft, they're married because I said so

୨୧﹑words :: 2.7k

anon this is strangely so cute I love it. sad but still somewhat cute an idea yk (I had literally no idea what to call it until five seconds ago). our man pantaloon needs more love. I accidentally wrote clock instead of cloth in one part and the mental image of Pantalone trying to clean reader with a clock made me fucking die laughing this is so stupid

if you like this also go read this post as the two are similar in theme and story but with very little comfort to the hurt 👍

something about the evening seems...wrong, the sky grows darker, too dark for it to be your usual time. the moon suspiciously high, yet there's no sign of you to be found. you should know better than to make him worry, knowing that though your strength may carry you through battle, you're also not invincible. what happens if you reach your limit out there? how is he supposed to know if you're safe? what if you don't come home?

abruptly Pantalone's thoughts are interrupted, the door opening, and he knows nobody would be bold enough to waltz on in without knocking unless it was you come home from a long and tiring mission. he only heard earlier that you would be returning, "Some time in the early evening" he had been told and clearly that was a lie. it was likely no fault of yours, just some hold up along the way.

he hears your footsteps, knows you're there-- at least he thinks that's you. you've been awfully quiet, though you usually call out to him when you return home. you still manage to worry him. he can't see you tucked away in the entrance, only glimpses of you as you remove your coat. there's a moment where he swears he hears you suck your breath through your teeth, then the rustling of fabric and finally your footsteps again, abruptly followed by a loud thud.

now you're really worrying him.

it takes him seconds to decide he's no longer waiting on you, standing to walk to you and see what has happened. the moment he turns around, Pantalone can see you even from where he stands several feet away, the thud clearly caused by you falling flat on your face, leaving you struggling to get up though not for a lack of trying. just before he reaches you, you just give up and turn yourself over so you can sit for a moment. you barely get there before he's lifting you up from the floor like a life-size rag doll.

"You're injured. Why didn't you go see someone?" his concern translates to disappointment at some point, and though he wonders if it was too harsh, the blood you're covered in and the bandages that bind your hand tells him you need it just a little bit. why aren't you taking better care of yourself?

you try to speak, but find it impossible for your words to comply, caught in your throat and refusing to come out. he's not impressed with that either; you can see it in his face that he would've said something if you didn't look so, frankly speaking, pathetic.

you have to ask yourself if he can tell you're trying not to cry, the quivering of your lips and glassy eyes hard to hide. he cradles you so gently it almost tips you over the edge, so safe compared to the way you've spent the last few weeks feeling. nothing about the day leading up to now specifically makes you feel that way, and it feels so draining trying to hold it back, but overwhelmingly so being home just makes you so emotional. your wound doesn't hurt too badly, and it's not as if your fall was anything but tripping over your own feet in absent-mindedness. if it proved anything, it was that you definitely did something to your shoulder, coupled with the fact that grabbing the blade of a sword to stop it in its tracks had left a shallow mark across your palm, you were beginning to doubt your instincts again.

still, you cling to the fabric of his clothes tightly, finding comfort in these familiar things which you associate with your home. hearing his voice, the cool contrast of the rings he wears against your skin, the scent of home, even just being held in this way makes you want to close your eyes and settle.

then suddenly you're moving again, and he sits you down on the couch and kneels down to remove your shoes for you, "I'll take you to be seen by a doctor tomorrow, but for now let's get you cleaned up and in some nice fresh clothes." he stands and places a kiss gently to your forehead, "I'll come get you when the water is ready, don't push yourself, darling."

you dare not test his patience, so you wait, staring down at your hand covered in bloody bandages. your hand is shaking. most of that blood is yours, though your mind wanders seeing it, back to the several corpses you laid your hands on, the people whose bodies you beat with your fist begging and screaming at them to get up as they lay lifeless. your throat still hurts. you untuck the end of those bandages, unravelling them from around your hand until you see your skin and the awful gash across your palm. it looks awful, red and swelling, far worse than when you last saw it. you run your thumb across the wound, flinching at the tinge of pain that shoots down your arm.

"Tsk tsk, what is this?" from behind the couch comes a hand, taking you by the wrist and pulling your arm up, "You should've gone to get this looked at. Did you at least clean this properly?"

you stare up at Pantalone who adjusts his glasses. it's strange to feel his hands against yours, bare and slightly damp hands warm against your skin. remembering he asked a question you shake your head, and his eyes flicker back to you with a strange look.

"The bath is ready." he finally says, "Does it hurt when I carry you? What else are you hiding that you haven't tended to properly?"

"It's ok, you can carry me." you say, finally able to speak, though your words are quiet and rougher, than you'd like. you clear your throat and repeat "You can carry me." to him knowing his usual fixation on acting your best, even though you're also aware there's no way he expects that of you.

Pantalone purses his lips a moment, glad for you to finally say something, but still finding something to worry about in the fact it didn't tell him much, resigning himself to the fact that you'll simply have to show him once he helps you undress to take a bath. you watch as he walks around the couch, and raise your arm up to him, wrapping it around his neck when he leans down to scoop you back up off the couch and into his arms.

the way his hands touch you as he removes your shirt, letting you lean your head down rather than pull your arms off and he promptly tosses it aside. his hands return to your shoulders, running down your arms to observe your skin, noting that you had bruises but no other cuts or scrapes, save for a minor one on your side barely in need of a band-aid. it's slightly more awkward shimmying yourself out of your pants as you have to put your weight on your hand while trying to avoid pressing it too forcefully against anything. his observation continues, though he once again finds you to be in perfect condition.

it's the dried blood that sticks to your skin that he worries about, even knowing it likely isn't yours.

"I wasn't told there would be delays in your arrival, was it so bad that you weren't about to communicate your messages back to me?"

the water is warm, but not hot, shallower than you might've filled it but you suppose only having the water rise to your waist was in case you were keeping another nasty scar hidden under your clothes from him. that was in case. every bone in your body adores this man's care for you, the usually pompous banker with a clear soft spot for you.

he holds a cloth which he dips into the water, running it along your skin as he dabs at the stains taking extra care not to scrub too harshly. days of dirt and grime and a battles worth of blood and sweat washed away by the loving hands of the Regrator. he can tell by your reluctance to answer that it's not the time, and carries on in silence letting only the sounds of running water making its way to your ears. it's a calming silence, though you watch as the water surrounding you is slowly dyed by the blood that runs off your body.

it finally hits you just how bad things got, even when before you could in some way write it off like a nightmare and pretend it hadn't really happened. some metaphorical weight presses down on your emotions and you just break as your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes.

perhaps noticing your shaking or catching one of the few tears running down your cheeks, the cloth is immediately set aside as Pantalone places a hand to your back. you try desperately to wipe your tears away, but a wet hand isn't the best tool to dry your cheeks with and you only serve to make it worse. a part of you feels hopeless, like a failure to your own team as you know you let them down. you were supposed to be a fighter, a good one at that, husband of one of the Harbingers and somehow you still managed to lose two people.

you feel yourself back in that place, weary as you finally stand, your shoulder stinging, you assume from the initial fall. you clasp a hand over it and rub your thumb on the area, making it sting. you groan at the pain. one of the more medically verse teammates tends to one of the wounded. you walk toward the collapsed body of a fellow fatuu, seeing them unmoving and bleeding into the snow. you practically fall at her side, landing on your knees as you slightly let your feet give out and bring you down to her.

cautious at first, you shake her, trying to roll her over though it hurts you to do so. she remains unresponsive to any poke or prod at her, not even a groan or mumble, and she's so cold.

you're all cold, you tell yourself and try again to shake her awake, "Hey, get up..." but despite everything nothing works, barely able to roll her onto her back to see her face. her eyes are wide open, a look of shock frozen on her face that haunts you, it's enough to make you hesitate, like a harsh slap across the face. "Wake up!" you say again, the desperation building. you know she's not asleep but it doesn't even matter anymore, beginning to feel more and more like a child pounding their fist on the floor throwing a tantrum the less and less put together you become. "WAKE UP DAMNIT! Nobody said you could die like this!"

"Captain, stop!" without warning, you're grabbed from behind and yanked away, sending a throbbing pain shooting through you as their grip is rough on your shoulder "Calm down and look at her. She's gone." they say.

in the blink of an eye it all rushes back to the view of a bath tainted by that same blood, long black hairs tickle your neck as you are held tightly once again. it grounds you just enough to remember that you're safe in a bath, cared for by the man you love.

"I'm such a failure." you choke out those words through your sobs, echoing off the bathroom walls, "They needed me to lead them and I just got them killed. I couldn't even keep my composure when they needed me to pull them together..."

you curl into yourself, squeezing his arm in your hand, "You're not a failure, darling, but you're not used to losing people." his assurance helps, if only slightly, but something about feeling like even someone who seems to care for none understanding your reaction eases your heart a bit. it doesn't do anything to help the dying part, but he's never been good with sincere reassuring words, and he chokes thinking of what to say to you.

all Pantalone can do is hold you and rub your back to let you cry, finishing up quickly to get you out of there and back into his arms bundled up in a towel. just as you feel hopeless for being unable to live up to whatever outlandish expectations you had of yourself, Pantalone feels as if his comfort falls short as he can't stop your crying, though he shushes and assures you it doesn't seem to make it better.

when you reject his offer to go to see a doctor, saying you just want to sleep. he doesn't want to push too much, only asking that you agree to let him disinfect your hand, otherwise letting you dress yourself in fresh clothes he set out for you while he goes to tend to other things momentarily. at the very least, your tears stopped, for now you seem calm again.

he returns to find you've already tucked yourself away bundled up in the covers, brushing your bangs from your faces and leaning down to kiss your temple. "I'll be with you in just a moment, darling." he whispers to you, earning a noise of acknowledgement.

stepping away only to change his clothes and let his hair down, he sits back on the edge of the bed, though on his side. he removes his glasses, folding them and setting them down on the nightstand. it's an unusual silence knowing you're lying right there behind him. he's so used to you talking to him right up until he tells you to go to sleep, and yet you seem so exhausted and drained. you're not used to losing people. he has to remember that you're more emotional than he is, but he doesn't mind--likes it in fact--as it's usually a good thing. just...not now.

he sighs to himself, unable to help it. he hates this, seeing you so upset, so unlike yourself. he hates feeling so powerless watching you punish yourself for something you couldn't have changed, like some passive observer in your life. his words don't help, and there's little he can do to take away those memories or even fix your body.

there is one thing Pantalone can do, the thought of resigning himself to simply being a source of comfort, someone to support you so you can cry as much as you want. it's better to cry in somebody's arms, isn't it? he turns on his side to face you, who faces away from him. he's not sure why, you just happened to be comfortable there. feeling his hand against your side, you shuffle closer and allow him to wrap his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

you let out another shaky breath, closing your eyes again. above all else you feel safe. given everything he's done for you, you can't ask for more, though even just being by his side is enough to put your anxiety to rest. still, it hurts. not even physically, but your heart won't stop aching, and unable to distract yourself you replay the sequence of events in your mind once more.

an ambush, the ensuing fight, a firm whack to the head which you still haven't discerned the source of, boots running and kicking up snow all around you as you watch through blurred vision, you manage to block a sword that swings down at you though in the stupidest way possible, you finally get your head straight and get up and fight more.

where did she die? more importantly when did she die? if you can just remember that maybe you would know what you did wrong, what to fix.

you become distracted again, knowing you're shaking and back to holding back your tears. what pulls you away most of all is Pantalone's voice, "Don't cry, darling, it's over now. You're home."

you grip his hand tightly, fingers intertwining with his. "Is it...is it ok if you talk to me more?" you ask quietly, "I think..."

"That's hardly a difficult request." he says, squeezing your hand in reassurance, "If it would help you fall asleep."

#♡ — ruu.#✎ — good old-fashioned lover boy.#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — angst.#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader

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thescholarlystrumpet · 2 months

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Slow burn Human AU Priest Aziraphale x Crowley (set in WW2). Complete and posting 1-2x weekly.

For Loving One- Rated Explicit

Father Fell has been living a quiet life in a small parish. Despite the looming fear of war, he thought he was content with his small pleasures. Until a mysterious stranger comes to town, turning that life on its head and awakening desires the Father thought he buried long, long ago...

Chapter one

It was quite late and Father Fell was sweeping in the chapel when there was a thudding sound. He looked up in alarm only to find a long, thin man standing in front of the entrance.

Standing was a relative term in this case. The strange man was leaning to one side, seeming to favor his left leg. He wore dusty clothes of nondescript color, ragged looking, and a cap pulled low over a short, unkempt reddish beard.

“May I be of assistance, my good Sir?” Father Fell asked gently, holding tight to the broom just in case it was needed for safety. It was not common to encounter anyone out of doors this late, especially not since the War started.

The man limped toward him and made a hoarse sound, either a cough or a clearing of the throat. He shook his head and even that slight movement set him even more off balance. As the stranger careened toward the nearest pew, Father Fell dropped his broom and ran toward him.

The priest was just barely in time to catch the stranger from what might have been a nasty bash to the head. Instead, Father Fell pulled him sideways and they both landed on the carpeted floor with a forced exhale.

Keep reading on AO3

**** *** **

Anyone who knows me has probably heard me talk about this fic. It has been a labor of love and occasional tears. I’m overjoyed to finally be sharing it with all of you!!

@goodomensafterdark @fuckyeahgoodomens

#good omens fic #aziracrow #azicrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #good omens fanfiction #good omens smut #priest aziraphale #my fic #slow burn #good omens long fic #aziracrow fic #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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tokkishouse · 1 year

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heyyy, okay so I read the cute lil Tighnari post and I died a lil (a lot actually, it was so cute pls my heart can't take it) If you have the time could you pls post more abt him 👁👁

I physically need more of that man, it doesn't really matter if it's sfw or nsfw or both. I just need more posts on this man or I will fall over and die 🛐

You 🤝 Me --> Needing more Tighnari content Say no more babes.

(Sfw) Tighnari as a Boyfriend

Characters: Tighnari x GN!Reader

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, subtle yandere themes

WC: 0.8k words

Fennec foxes mate for life. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Tighnari is loyal to a fault. Some of the villagers and even fellow rangers may try to woo him, but his eyes are focused on you and you alone

This also applies in the opposite direction-- if anyone flirts with you, he's by your side and growling at the offender, canines bared and ready to bite. Poor Al-Haitham got a bit of a shock when an off-handed, semi-flirtatious statement earned him a bone-chilling glare from Tighnari and the feeling of claws around his neck. Please give this man all of your attention

Gets very excited if you groom his ears and tails-- he likes to keep them nice and presentable for you and what better way to do that than to have you preen as you see fit?

Speaking of grooming-- if you do a particularly favorable job at it, he'll purr. Idc if foxes cant purr, Tighnari can. It's barely audible, trading sound for power as it's strong enough to be felt all over your body. Once he's purring you've won-- you could ask him anything and he'll probably say yes to it

Always brings you something from his expeditions-- from flowers to unique plants and strange creatures-- as long as he's vetted it to be safe, Tighnari will bring it home for you to keep. His tail curls up in anxiety as he watches you carefully inspect the gifts he brings home, but it always relaxes when he sees your delighted smile and you look at him with such adoration keep your eyes only on him

Speaking of his tail, it's the biggest indicator of his mood. If it's still, he's either in a neutral state or very focused. If it's swaying back and forth, he's calm and perhaps happy-- the faster it sways the happier he is. If it drags behind him on the floor like it has no life, he's upset. And if it curls up very tightly he may be a tad excited.

It also naturally seeks you out. If you stand next to him, it automatically wraps itself around your leg, waist, or just all over your body. You're familiar and safe, and it's a way of staying as close and connected to you as possible. It does make for some unfortunate moments when one of you decides to move abruptly, tugging the poor thing hard and lightly spraining it.

He will lecture you if you get in trouble or hurt yourself, but not out of anger-- only frustration and worry. He loves you very dearly and he doesn't want to think of a world without you. Tighnari's lectures are just another way of him expressing his concern for you and your safety. This also means that before you go anywhere, even if it's down the road to a local merchant, he'll make sure you have an emergency pack fully stocked. He can't have you tripping over a root and injuring yourself, and without anything to self-treat, now can he?

The cooler seasons are the best time to cuddle with him-- the fur on his ears and tail get slightly thicker to adjust to the falling temperatures, which makes sleeping curled up against the tail all the more comforting. Its extra warmth makes cool breezes and nightly chills a thing of the past.

While he does have a nickname or two for you, he doesn't call you by it often. Saying your name is loving as it is-- it's your name. It carries the weight of your history and how far you've come-- who you are. To him, that is the most precious thing and every time he says your name, all that information floods his brain as he conjures up the image of you, his lovely partner. During more sappy and romantic moments though, he will throw in a nickname for you here and there.

He may tease and be sarcastic with you, but if you express your discomfort, he'll stop immediately. However, if you can match his snarkiness and shoot back your own witty retorts, you'll have him completely ensnared. An off-handed comment turns into a full-blown snark fest with neither of you willing to give up until you leave the other completely stumped. It makes those around you either annoyed or amused. After all, anyone that can keep up with Tighnari's wit is sure to make a worthy opponent.

All in all, Tighnari is a very caring boyfriend with his own quirks. If you're lucky enough to be chosen by him, you'll have quite the satisfactory relationship-- one that only inspires joy and free love. Just be mindful not to set off one of his more fox-like instincts. It often can get...messy.

Requests (both sfw and nsfw) are open~! If you want a nsfw version of this lmk

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact tighnari x reader #genshin impact tighnari #genshin headcanons #tighnari fluff #tighnari x reader fluff #tighnari headcanons #tighnari x reader #tokki writes

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chai-and-cherries · 2 years

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5 Insanely Underrated (Dark) Queer Book Recs for Your TBR (No Spoiler Reviews!)

I ain’t gonna beat around the bush, folks--this post has been a long time coming. Over the past year, I have somehow stumbled into my new favorite genre, leaving the careful days of YA comforting fantasy reads behind (but not forgotten!). I used to never be one for the dark, grisly, and not so man-made horrors beyond comprehension. But with the help of time, mind devouring storytelling, and gut wrenching emotions the world loves to carve out of us all, tastes have changed! So without further ado, let me recommend 5 of my favorite (darker) queer reads of 2022. Titles are linked to official Goodreads summaries while I have included my no-spoiler reviews below.

Some of these are horror, some fantasy, some tragedy, and most a mix of the above. As the new year draws closer, if you’re feeling ready to branch out (or branch in!!) please consider giving these severely underrated titles a read. And support lesser known authors while you’re at it!

As the title of the post implies, these books tend to brew darker than your average cup ‘a joe. So please heed included trigger warnings and take care!

1. You Will Love What You Have Killed by Kevin Lambert

(Original title: Tu aimeras ce que tu as tué. English Translation by Winkler Donald).

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror, Canadian Literature, Queer AF

Review: If you’re not a fan of blood, gore, and every horror under the dying sun, scroll away now. Starting off incredibly strong and incredibly twisted with French-Canadian Lambert’s debut novel, You Will Love What You Have Killed, this novel is neither for the faint of heart nor some of the hard of heart. I went into this book knowing next to nothing about what was in store and left somehow feeling more empty than before. As arguably the darkest and most gory book on the list, this surrealist take on childhood rage and post-humous revenge on the town that discarded you before you had a chance to fight back is bound to haunt you long after you’ve finished it. Lambert’s own style of dark and nauseatingly twisted humor will either seal the deal for you, or leave you running for the hills. To be honest, I loathe this book as much I appreciate the queer, surrealist landscape of apocalyptic vengeance. Brownie points for being flat-out strange.

Content Warnings: if you can think of it, chances are its here. loads of death and murder, including that of children, suicide; ableism; homophobia, transphobia; pedophilia, rape, sexual abuse, explicit sexual descriptions, abortion, necrophilia; animal abuse, killing of animals; child abuse, emotional abuse and verbal abuse (by the narrator); cancer; 9/11 (comprehensive list via Ashton on GoodReads)

2. Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White

Genres: YA Fantasy, Horror, Sci-Fi/Dystopian, Queer AF

Blurb: In this world on the brink of man-made/god-induced apocalypse, trans-boy Benji has to fight not only to survive a hellscape determined to burn itself to the ground, but also his own role in bringing about the End. Hell Followed With Us is a queer rage manifesto, the gospel for those forced to become monsters by the same society that weaponized and then condemned them for being such. White’s novel not only brought healing to a large part of my own religious trauma, but it helped me embrace the very “monster” the so called righteous would have damned. Because when the world will villianize you anyway, revolution may very well be embracing the monster within--the monster the world forced into being. This one is definitely a keeper, and definitely a re-reader. The character diversity in this book is incredible, also for the simple fact that it isn’t forced or seemingly “trying to meet a quota”, and for canonically calling out [redacted].

Content Warnings: For a comprehensive list courtesy of the author himself, please visit his website here.

3. Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror/Psychological Thriller, Short-Stories, Queer AF

Blurb: Shorter but no less impactful than the rest, Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke is a twisted foray into the psychology of human obsession. After reading the blurb, I tried to prepare myself for the following unease and depravity I was promised. And god was that promise delivered on a silver poisoned platter. Set to the backdrop of chat forums and online messaging, LaRocca weaves a sadomasochistic love story between two women searching for deeper connection. But love isn’t exactly the right word, is it? After all, things can only get worse from the start. Suffice to say, wholesome does not live in these pages. And I need more.

Content Warnings: animal cruelty/death, body horror, gore, mental/emotional abuse, exploration of kink, very toxic example of a dom/sub relationship.

4. Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás

Genres: Adult Fantasy, Mythology Retelling, Romance, Paranormal, Queer AF

Blurb: I try not to pick favorites on list recs, but as my most recent read of the year, Nicolás’ debut novel has quickly been shelved in my mind and heart’s hall of fame. Angels Before Man is a queer retelling of the fall of Lucifer from a paradise that may not be as, well, paradise as it seems. With narrative prose so poetic that epics of the ancient world come to mind, and themes of religious rebellion and queer rage reminiscent not only of other novels on this list but also the lives of countless individuals whose love warns at revolution, Angels Before Man tells the story of the greatest disobedience Heaven had to face: the creation of sin, born from the first love that turned a jealous god to rage. As ABM only released weeks ago, I sincerely hope it’s only the beginning for this book and author. Bible? Who needs her. The Word of God? I don’t even know her. I’ve got Angels Before Man. And so will my friends because I’m gifting them this heavenly-gem (heh, see what I did there?) for the holidays.

Content Warnings: Courtesy of the author himself (list also included at start of book): Blasphemy, off-page sexual assault with related internal monologue post-incident, Self-harm, Atypical depiction of grooming, Animal death, Abuse (emotional, physical), Sexual content, Body horror, Graphic depictions of violence, Incestuous term use, Potential correlation to homosexuality being sinful, Depictions of mental instability

5. Siren Queen by Nghi Vo

Genres: Historical Fiction, Historical Fantasy, Magic Realism, Queer AF

Blurb: Of the 5 recs on the list, I have to be honest and say with full disclosure that this is my one cheat as I have not actually finished it yet. But as I can attest from the 60% progress I have made, along with two of my close friends who recommended her in the first place, Siren Queen is a breath of fresh air in a genre that is understandably stifling at times. Interweaving the monstrous industry of Hollywood with actual monsters, Siren Queen explores the sacrifices made and prices paid for the chance at stardom and just being seen, all while embracing the monster society demands of us. Largely character-driven, this book has been a slower read than the rest, but its commentary on workers’ rights and inequalities, among other social issues often at the forefront of WASPish-run Hollywood, has kept me engaged since the start.

Content Warnings: racism, racial slurs, fatphobia, violence, family violence, homophobia, sexism, drug abuse, addiction.

#book recs #book recs 2022 #queer book recs #you will love what you have killed #Kevin Lambert #hell followed with us #Andrew Joseph White #angels before man #rafael nicolás #things have gotten worse since we last spoke #eric larocca #siren queen #nghi vo

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Four (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well, thank you to the people who've shown enough interest not only to make my mood the best it's been in months, but who made chapter four happen tonight! As I said earlier, I can't keep this pace of posting up because it's currently only written to chapter 6, but if you keep reblogging with such sweet tags and comments, it might keep me writing like a little gremlin anyway! Who knows!?

Contents: fluff, friendship, some wistful and slightly angsty longing, Locryn and Edmund being adorably obvious, and Nel thinking about the coming harvest festival dance, to which all the locals are invited... Wordcount: 2825

I've been listening to this track on repeat while writing, if you want some appropriate ambience...

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw)

For the following three days after leaving Locryn Trevethan’s cottage, Nel felt off-kilter and kept to Heath Top House, and every night, she dreamed of the sea.

She’d always been a vivid dreamer, but these were something else. Sometimes it was simply the rush and whisper of the tide on the sand, and the incoming gallop of endless white horses, but other times it was much more than that.

In the murky shadows beneath timeless kelp forests, something shifted, eel-like and strange. It coiled and twisted like a ribbon in the current, and she caught flashes and impressions of mottled green-brown skin, translucent fins, and a mouth full of teeth like needles, and a rolling, golden-green eye, and she surfaced from sleep gasping, with a name half remembered on her tongue.

She dreamed of Edmund Nancarrow too.

She dreamed of his pale, elegant hands and the way his smooth-shaven cheek had dimpled when he smiled up at her from Locryn’s bed. Strangely she dreamed of him wrapped in the silvery fur of that seal skin, lying on smooth sand, naked save for that pelt beneath him, looking up at her adoringly on the smooth sand of the cove while something shifted and circled in the water behind her with a covetous hunger.

As a scorching July drew to a close, the dreams faded and finally ceased, but while Nel was certainly grateful to get a full night’s sleep, she couldn’t help but miss that odd sense of connection they gave her; the feeling of belonging that she had never experienced before.

The days turned from searing to sultry, and the golden evenings stretched warm and luxurious as a cat by the hearth. Nel made a few visits into Polgarrack, but most of the time she either walked with Winnie around the gardens, or rode Blackthorn alone around the Penrose estates and read in the afternoons. Her days took on a gentle, lulling pattern that seemed to match the motion of the tide as much as the ticking of a clock.

Two weeks after the storm which had nearly claimed Edmund Nancarrow’s life, Winnie practically skipped into the library where Nel had been reading in the window seat for the past hour.

The sun cast long, languorous, red lines through the room and set the chandelier and the mirror on the wall sparkling. Winnie had shattered the still silence by exclaiming that the annual harvest festival dance was to be held in the great barn at Heath Top House on the first of August, and that all of the village was invited.

“I quite forgot to tell you about it, and I was reminded just this afternoon when I heard some of the farm hands talking about clearing the barn for the Lammas Dance. You’ll want a new dress, of course,” Winnie added matter-of-factly, as if she were simply stating that the sea was wet.

“What’s wrong with my dresses?” Nel asked with mock indigence, and Winnie cackled.

Nel’s chest lit up like the glowing sunset outside on hearing the elegant young lady laugh like that, and her blue eyes glittered with new life and vigour in a way they hadn’t when Nel had first arrived at the end of spring. Winnie had always been pretty, if pale and gaunt, but now in the glow of the rich summer light, she looked beautiful.

Her grief would always be there, hand in hand with her love for James, but Winnie had grown strong enough to bear her grief most days now, and to carry it about with her instead of letting it drag her down and swamp the joy from every moment of her life.

“Well, at least get some new trim for that light green one you haven’t worn yet,” Winnie said with one eyebrow raised.

So it was that Nel found herself being politely bullied into buying trim for the unworn dress late one afternoon. They took two horses from the stables instead of going in a carriage, and although Winnie wasn’t as good a rider as Nel after her summer of practice and her slightly wild childhood, they managed a sedate canter together along the clifftop path before slowing to a walk to descend into the cove where the buildings of Polgarrack nestled like so many barnacles on the rocky coastline.

They stabled Blackthorn and Rose at The Lantern, and walked arm in arm up the steep street away from the harbour and towards the aptly-named Clifftop Street. Ribbons and trim dangled all around them like flags at a May Day dance, and they spent longer than Nel expected in there, choosing trim for her dress.

Winnie laughed and let Nel hold up ribbons against her hair as if the two of them were frivolous children, not young ladies who should have behaved with a touch more decorum. Mrs. Gwinnel just watched them with a knowing smile on her lips from behind the counter though, and when she caught Nel’s eye, she inclined her head in a way that spoke of approval before she looked pointedly at Winnie, whose radiant happiness was obvious in such close quarters.

Something swelled in Nel’s ribcage at that simple gesture. She felt not only ‘seen’, but welcomed as one of their own. She had not been born in Polgarrack — not even in Cornwall — and while she’d hardly been treated rudely, folks other than Aggie had definitely been wary of someone who had travelled two hundred miles, alone, from where they were born, to live among strangers. Now though, they felt just a little less like strangers, and a little more like friends. Perhaps even cautiously like her people.

With their ribbons and trim purchased, they stepped outside again and walked together down the street to the harbour, discussing the Lammas Dance, and the corn dollies — or ‘Necks’ as Winnie called them according to local tradition — they would make to decorate the windowsills of the house. “I’m sure Aggie will show you how it’s done,” Winnie said as they came across the carter’s wife huffing up the hill.

“Show you how what’s done, m’lady?” she panted, putting one hand on her hip to catch her breath while the other was hefted a basket full of jars and pots.

“Show Nel here how to make a good Cornish Neck,” Winnie said, and Aggie’s eyes lit up. “I would offer but I’m sure mine would be terribly wonky.”

“Oh, of course!” Agatha beamed. “You just let me know when, and I’ll come over to Heath Top and give you a lesson. Both of you, if you wish it.”

They laughed and said they’d appreciate a visit whenever Aggie had the time, and the older woman flushed at the courtesy and nodded before excusing herself and labouring on up the hill.

“She’s kind,” Nel smiled after her.

“Most people here are,” Winnie said with a touch of wistfulness to her words. “They were very kind to me after James died. They loved him. He was a good employer to them at the mine. Not like the Cranmoore workings,” she added darkly, and then sighed and waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “But I don’t want to talk about that now. It’s such a beautiful evening.”

Nel knew that a lot of the workers who now laboured in Winnie’s — formerly James’ — mines had come from the Cranmoore works when conditions had grown especially dangerous, and the owners had done nothing to try to secure the tunnels. She reached for her friend’s elbow and gripped it gently. “They love you too, Winnie. You’re a fair employer and you look after them.”

She nodded, and they let the matter lie.

The iodine and salt tang of the harbour hit her nose above the soft wafting of Winnie’s perfume as the two of them rounded the corner, still linked arm in arm, and up ahead Nel spotted Edmund Nancarrow leaning against the low harbour wall, watching a small boat rowing in. He wore a soft smile on his pretty lips, and he looked simultaneously relaxed and excited. She was glad to see him looking hale again, given that the last time she’d seen him — outside of those strange dreams, of course — he had looked the next thing to crossing over.

Nel followed his gaze and, just where she’d half expected, she found the hulking figure of Locryn at the oars of the small skiff that ploughed through the glassy waters of the harbour. If her eyes lingered on the breadth of his shoulders and the curve of his biceps beneath the linen shirt he wore, she could hardly be blamed. She certainly wasn’t the only one. If Edmund was trying to be subtle about his infatuation, he wasn’t being successful at all. As if he felt her gaze on him though, Edmund twitched around a moment later and flushed when he discovered her watching him. He did muster a quick, shy smile for her though, and he knuckled his forehead politely.

Taking that as a sign that her presence was not entirely unwelcome, Nel slipped away from Winnie with a whispered, “Just a moment.”

Winnie arched an eyebrow but offered no comment beyond a very slight smile, and she carried on along the harbour road alone towards the sea wall that jutted out to protect the small port from the worst of the storms.

Edmund pushed himself off the wall, leaning on the cane in his left hand and carefully keeping his weight off his right leg. “Miss Bywater,” he said as she joined him.

“Mr. Nancarrow,” she smiled. “I’ve not seen you since the beach. I hope you’re well?”

“Yes, Miss Bywater,” he said, his warm eyes narrowing as he smiled. “And I must thank you again. I don’t remember very much about that day, but Lock — Locryn — told me what you did for me. I’m… I’m in your debt. I hope you’ll forgive me for not coming up to the house to thank you,” he added, looking chagrined. His pale cheeks flushed nearly scarlet, and he dropped his gaze to the cobblestones. “I wasn't sure it would be… uh… appropriate, if you follow…” And he cast half an eye towards Winnie, who was still strolling blithely along the gentle curve of the harbour in the sunshine some way away.

Where Nel’s hair was a little windswept and her riding habit somehow rumpled despite her best efforts, Winnie looked a vision in her foaming, sky blue dress with her bonnet affixed to her golden hair as if it had only just been placed there. Nel tried not to feel jealous of the woman’s delicate grace, but Edmund didn’t seem to have eyes for Winnie any more than he did for Nel. Of course, that was probably because he was only making polite conversation with Nel while waiting for Locryn to alight from his skiff and join him on the quayside.

She shook her head to shake her thoughts into order. “I’m just glad you’re alright, and that Mr. Trevethan was nearby. I dread to think how I would have managed otherwise.”

“Indeed.” His eyes flickered down to the folded ribbon in her fingers but he didn’t say anything else.

“For the harvest festival,” she said, gesturing with it. “Winnie tells me I need to look presentable, though I can’t imagine who she’s trying to pair me off with.”

“Any man there would be lucky to dance with you, miss,” he said in his warm, slightly husky tenor, and his cheeks flushed again.

Nel gave a trill of laughter at that, and snorted indelicately, though not unkindly. “I think my chances of finding a man who thinks himself ‘lucky to dance with me’ are fast slipping away these days, but I appreciate your kindness all the same,” she said.

Edmund looked like he had been about to contradict her, but an earsplittingly shrill whistle from the water directly below them stole their attention and they turned to find Locryn tying up his skiff. “Give an old man a hand, would you?” he called to Edmund without looking up.

“You’re forty-two,” Edmund grinned without budging. “Hardly old. Get yourself out. You’d as soon pull me in as I’d pull you up.”

“If you ate more, you wouldn’t be so damned skinny,” Locryn grumbled, hauling himself up the metal ladder and onto the quayside to join them. Nel took a polite step or two back, but Locryn didn’t even seem to have noticed her standing there.

“You like me skinny,” Edmund muttered under his breath as Locryn joined him. Nel didn’t think that had been intended for her ears, and she felt her face heat this time.

“I like you however you are, selkie,” Locryn growled back under his breath, the sound just as heated and full of intent.

For a wild moment, Nel thought he was going to take Edmund’s face in his hands and kiss him where anyone could see, but he just stood there smouldering at him and looming over him until Edmund flushed and looked away.

Nel assumed that the unfamiliar word ‘selkie’ was some Cornish term of endearment and dismissed it, and it seemed all but confirmed when Edmund stiffened suddenly and glanced back at her with his dark eyes wide. Locryn’s tanned cheeks also turned a shade darker when he finally realised they were not alone, but he stared resolutely at her, as if daring her to make a comment.

She smiled to reassure them, hoping that she somehow managed to convey that whatever the nature of their relationship, it didn’t bother her, and that she wouldn’t speak of it. She inclined her head politely to Locryn, trying not to let that glaze of sadness fill her face again as she beheld two people so clearly in love with each other. Had Winnie and James been like that with each other too?

Yet again, Nel reminded herself that that chapter was fast closing to her now.

“Mr. Nancarrow, Mr. Trevethan,” she said and cursed the slight, choking tremble in her voice. “I wish you both the very best of afternoons.”

With what she thought was admirable amount of self-possession, she turned and walked along the quayside with the intention of joining Winnie where she had halted in the sunshine some way up the harbour road.

“We’ll see you at the harvest dance!” Edmund called suddenly after her, and she heard the soft sound of a jovial punch connecting some way behind her.

Glancing back, she saw that Locryn had playfully thumped Edmund in the chest, and the latter was rubbing his sternum comically while Locryn laughed loudly. The rich sound rolled up from his soft belly and he tipped his head back, looking truly delighted while Edmund flushed a very dark red and scowled petulantly at him. They caught her staring and she just offered a tiny smile. She could feel that it didn’t go all the way to her eyes, and she turned away as her vision blurred a little. It certainly had nothing to do with the salt-wind gusting in off the sea.

The memory of the two of them sat in her mind for the rest of the day, and even Winnie noted her quiet mood that night at dinner. “Did something happen in town?” she asked quietly as she set down her silver spoon after dessert.

Nel shook her head. “No.”

After a long pause, while Winnie’s father-in-law continued to bore his poor wife into a stupor at the other end of the table, Winnie reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. In a whisper, she asked, “Are you happy here, Nel?”

Nel found herself taken off-guard by the question, and by the worry in Winnie’s forget-me-not blue eyes. “Of course I am,” she replied. “How could I not be?”

Winnie shrugged one shoulder. “I’m older than you, though admittedly not by much. I’ve been married, and you never have. You never talk about engagements or young men or going to London or Bath. Have you truly given up? You know it’s not too late,” she went on in a rush when Nel half-opened her mouth to stop her. “We could go to Plymouth — they have dances and balls there all the time, especially with all the officers and the Navy. I’m conscious that…” she faltered and then swallowed a too-big sip of sweet dessert wine before continuing, “I’m conscious that you’re very isolated here, Nel.”

Nel shook her head and turned her hand over to squeeze Winnie’s fingers back. “I have everything I need, I promise you.”

Winnie nodded, but she didn’t look entirely convinced as she changed the subject. “Perhaps Aggie will come tomorrow and show us how to make Necks. I never did manage it when I was a girl…”

With talk of the upcoming Lammas Dance, Nel’s mind drifted, and she wondered if Edmund and Locryn really would be there after all.

Next chapter ->

Things spice up a bit (just a tad, this is a slow burn after all) next time, and we get a harvest festival dance where all bets are off...

Thank you for engaging with this story of mine. It's been in the works for a long time, and I'm only just now sharing it with you, and I'm so glad it's now.

I hope you’re enjoying it and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#laces for a lady #selkie #selkie x human #bucca #cornish folklore #cornish smuggling #18th century #historical fantasy #poly shifter romance #shifter romance #polyamory #exophilia #monster boyfriends

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jimraisedmeup · 23 days

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TICK // 21.1 - hold me now FINALE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language, sexual content)

Word Count: 2300

A/N: sigh... this is the finale of part one: TICK. in case anyone hasn't seen me talk about it already, i had part one written out for the last two years and i have been posting it for the first time on here (revised and revamped). i have started a part two: TOCK. it won't be released nearly as quickly as this has, because i haven't finished writing it yet. but the prologue will be out this weekend.

as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone that has taken time to read this. i welcome any feedback about not only TICK... but also things/interactions you'd love to see in TOCK.

☾

I have a picture Pinned to my wall An image of you and of me and we're laughing, we're loving it all But look at our life now All tattered and torn We fuss and we fight and delight in the tears that we cry until dawn Oh, whoa

☾

October 31st, 1984 - evening of tina's halloween party

Eddie Munson strummed his guitar, swaying slightly in his bedroom.

He didn't have it hooked up to the amp so he could easily hear if anyone came to the door.

A part of him was still getting used to the fact that he had clients.

A miniscule splash of shame made him flinch, but he shook it off rather quickly. Another thing he was getting used to. Pushing away his feelings.

Taking a long sip of the beer sitting on his dresser, Eddie held his breath, and then let it out slowly. Then he downed the rest of the can and tossed its empty shell into the trash can next to his bed.

He began strumming again, scarred fingertips running over the strings with precision. These days, most of his time was spent with one of three things in his hands: his guitar, a beer, or his dick.

A quarter of the way through "The Last in Line", the Munson boy finally heard the tapping on the trailer's front door. Removing the guitar carefully from his body, he sauntered to the living room, lighting a cigarette.

Eddie knew exactly who was supposed come to his trailer to meet that night. A kid named Billy. Apparently, he was fairly new to Hawkins, straight outta sunny California.

Overcompensating for something with that fancy blue Camaro.

Opening the rickety door, Billy stood before him in all his glory. Eddie was vaguely aware of trick-or-treaters exploring the trailer park, some of them staring at him, but he truly didn't give a flying fuck.

He opened the door wider to allow Billy to step inside. "Trick or treat, pretty boy?"

Billy looked around the place, seemingly without judgment, before turning his eyes to Eddie.

"Is that your Halloween costume? Very Cuckoo's Nest. But I can dig it."

Eddie looked down at his own appearance for the first time that night. Hawkins High gym shorts. Black t-shirt riddled with holes. He didn't even want to imagine what his grown out hair looked like, or the ghoulish bags that were surely under his eyes.

Deciding to remain silent after Billy's strange comment, Eddie continued to switch between his beer and cigarette, staring back at his client.

Billy had no room to pick fun at Eddie's attire, considering that the Hargrove kid wasn't wearing a costume, either. He was shirtless under a leather jacket, his tight jeans proving that he was trying a little too hard. Or did he look like that all of the time?

"You got another one?"

"Of what?" Eddie inquired, deadpanned, turning his back and striding towards the kitchen.

"Beer," Billy replied. "I have like an hour til I gotta be at this party."

Eddie opened the fridge, squinting at the light in his face. He tossed a beer can to Billy, who caught it with ease.

"What party?"

"Some preppy bitch named Tina."

"Hmm," was all Eddie had to say.

He didn't really know what he was doing. He knew exactly what party Billy was referring to, and knew exactly who Tina was. Maybe it was the beer and pills subduing his social skills.

But at this point, he didn't mind a bit of company. Even if it was with a stranger, a newcomer to the tiny town of Hawkins. His uncle Wayne spent almost every night at work or at the bar, leaving Eddie alone with his intrusive thoughts.

…I want to know your late night thoughts and how they make you feel…

Billy cracked the beer open noisily, ripping Eddie from his memory, and drank half of it in a few seconds.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him. "So… you wanted to make a purchase?"

"I heard you have some of the best shit in town." Billy strode over to the television, reading the labels of the video tapes stacked next to it. "I doubt it's as good as anything in California, but we'll see."

Eddie scoffed. "You do realize you're in the literal asscrack of Indiana, right? I don't want to get your hopes up, bud, but I'm sure anything I have is quite… mediocre compared to the precious smoke back in your Golden State."

The sarcastic high pitch of his voice raised a bit at the end of his statement, making Billy look at him in amusement.

"Like I said, we'll see."

Eddie scratched his head, watching as the strange kid emptied his beer and lit his own cigarette with a polished silver lighter.

He immediately handed Billy a second beer, along with another for himself. He made a gesture for Billy to follow him down the hallway.

"Let's go over my inventory, then?"

Billy was the kind of character who wasn't about to hide how nosy he was. He radiated a confidence that was a little disarming, especially as his blue eyes raked over Eddie's messy bedroom.

He pointed at a poster on Eddie's wall. "Metallica. I have the same one on my wall."

Eddie kicked some dirty clothes under his bed before pulling the black lunchbox from his closet. He side-eyed Billy as he circled the room, suddenly feeling vulnerable in his bedroom alone with someone for the first time in months.

Maintaining his stoic appearance, Eddie replied coolly. "I didn't take you for a Metallica fan."

"What do you take me as, Munson?"

Eddie's eye twitched at some suppressed memory that tugged at his brain stem, begging to be recognized. Something about Billy Hargrove reminded him of things he was trying to forget.

He chose to cover his discomfort with crude humor. "I don't know. Your hair basically screams Madonna. I'm torn, though, because your pants radiate more of a Steve Perry vibe. I would have guessed Journey."

…'Separate Ways' is my all-time favorite song…

Billy's single dangling earring shook as he chuckled at Eddie's words. "I happen to care a lot about my appearance, unlike other people in this hick town, apparently."

Shaking the lunchbox to get Billy back to business, Eddie pointed inside of it. "So… I have weed… uppers, downers. You didn't exactly specify what you were looking for here, man."

But Billy was still lurking around the room, taking in the various items on his dresser and the stuff on his walls. Eddie's stomach plummeted when the leather-clad boy stopped directly in front of two polaroid pictures pinned to the wall.

"Well, now. What's this?"

"That's… nothing."

"She's hot. Does she go to our school?"

"No." Eddie replied a little too quickly, a little too harshly.

Billy peered at him over his shoulder with a smirk. Then he raised his hands in mock defense. "Calm down, tiger. I'm not trying to step on any toes."

Just when Eddie thought Billy was moving on from the cursed images, he was wrong.

"Is she even wearing underwear in these? I like the amateur porn look of it."

"Will you please shut the fuck up?"

Eddie gripped the lunchbox tighter. He was conflicted, confused. He felt extremely defensive over the pictures. He also felt embarrassed to still have them on his wall after all these months.

But then… he also found a weird sense of comfort in Billy trying to pry his way into his personal life. Someone who didn't know Eddie before his life fell apart.

The Hargrove boy was unfazed, clicking his tongue and holding back a smile.

"Okay, fine. I'll take a gram of smoke. Throw in some uppers. I think I want to be up late tonight," Billy sighed thoughtfully. "I hear all the religious bible belt girls get freaky on Halloween."

Sorting out the products in his hand, Eddie frowned in distaste.

"I wouldn't know, Hargrove."

After thinking for a moment, Eddie Munson made a spur of the moment decision.

"Hey, I'll cut you a deal on this if you take me to the party with you. You're driving, though."

Billy turned to him with a wicked smile.

☾

Hold me now, whoa Warm my heart Stay with me Let loving start Let loving start

☾

Before he left his trailer, Eddie tore the Polaroids off of his wall and stuffed them under the mattress next to an all-too-familiar red envelope.

Hiding them away was the only option. Out of sight, out of mind.

Billy waited patiently while Eddie quickly showered and dressed, thumbing through the Munson cassette tape collection. "You got quite an impressive assortment here."

"Thanks, I guess?" Eddie grumbled from the bathroom, pulling a shirt over his head, just as equally tattered as the one he had on previously. "I'm ready when you are, Perry."

As they exited the trailer, Billy nodded towards the home across the street.

"I'll be damned. Trailer park girls are a lot more interesting than the girls that live in town."

Eddie knew just what, or who, Billy was referring to.

The trailer that sat opposite Wayne Munson's was home to a pair of older girls, best friends or cousins, who knows. Maybe around 21 years old. They moved in only a couple weeks prior.

Tonight, one of them sat on their front porch, lighting up a joint that Eddie had sold her sometime in the last week. She had introduced herself as Katrina. Her short, almost black hair was visible against her pale skin even from a distance.

Her interest in Eddie made him squirm.

Maybe we can hang out sometime.

I don't think so. Sorry.

"Munson!" Billy chirped, slamming his hand on the roof of the Camaro. "C'mon, I'm ready to party."

☾

You say I'm a dreamer, we're two of a kind Both of us searching for some perfect world we know we'll never find So perhaps I should leave here Yeah, yeah, and go far away But you know that there's nowhere that I'd rather be than with you here today Oh, whoa, oh, whoa

☾

The party was a goddamn freak show.

Eddie and Billy arrived together, but casually separated as the night went on. Eddie didn't mind. He enjoyed the anonymity of attending a party without a date.

A part of him felt bad for not calling Jeff or Gareth… but then again, nowadays his entire social life was his band and Hellfire. It felt nice to stray from his usual routine, away from his usual company.

Eddie couldn't help but overhear the whispers of some of his classmates as he passed them in the drunken crowds.

"...I hear he's selling drugs now…"

"...just like his dad…"

"...Jesus, he looks deranged…"

"...how does he know Billy?"

The only solution Eddie could think of was to slither his way into the kitchen, in search of a bottle of familiar amber liquid.

"Oh Captain! My Captain!" Eddie hissed, voice dripping with leaden sarcasm.

Holding the bottle of Captain Morgan in his hand, Eddie deliberately ignored the scrutiny of Steve Harrington who stood nearby. Nancy Wheeler was at the punch bowl next to Eddie. Harrington observed both of them with a weird look on his face, dark sunglasses obscuring however he was really feeling.

Eddie winked at Harrington, then poured himself an entire cup of the rum and wandered off to cause mischief.

☾

You ask if I love you Well, what could I say? You know that I do and that this is just one of those games that we play So I'll sing you a new song Please don't cry anymore I'll even ask your forgiveness Though I don't know just what I'm asking it for

☾

Upon returning to his uncle's trailer many hours later, Eddie watched with hazy, drunken vision as Billy sped off into the darkness. He didn't recall much of the events at the party.

He knew they had fun. Billy went upside down at the keg with crowds cheering him on. Flashes of some sophomore girl tugging on Eddie's belt buckle, trying to persuade him into the nearest empty bedroom. Eddie wasn't sure if he was polite about it or not, but he turned her down.

But now he was home safe. Though still piss drunk, and still completely lonely, he kind of regretted shooting down the girl. Eddie sat down hard on his front steps and lit a smoke.

"You look like you need help," a small, simple sentence uttered in the darkness.

The neighborhood was foggy and the voice was close to unfamiliar, but he knew it was that Katrina girl from across the street.

"Help with what? Do I look helpless?" Eddie chuckled bitterly.

He heard the sound of bottles clinking together and then the shake of a pill bottle. "You need help forgetting. I think I need it too. Let's help each other, yeah?"

Shameless and inebriated, the rest of his night was a rushed, sloppy blur.

Something felt dangerous about mixing drugs and alcohol, but he welcomed the numbness taking over his senses.

Something felt wrong about having a woman in his bed, but he pushed her onto it anyway, stripping off her pants and not even bothering to completely remove his.

Something felt raunchy about the sound of her moaning another man's name, but it helped Eddie with his guilt over whispering your name as he was inside of someone else.

☾

Stay with me (Stay with me) Let loving start Let loving start, whoa

☾

…aaaand here's Billy!

A/N: fun fact: i rewatched season 2 and Billy Hargrove does indeed have the same Metallica poster as Eddie in his bedroom. was it done intentionally by the creators? the whole time i watched it, i genuinely wondered if he and Eddie were friends at school and it was just never portrayed in the show because, well, Eddie hadn't been cast yet.

(song lyrics credit: "Hold Me Now" by Thompson Twins)

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

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worldsetfree · 4 months

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Stardust Crusaders × F!Reader: Halcyon and On and On

(+ a bonus character card in this booster pack!)

Around the World in Eighty Days is what Joseph Joestar compared this trip to, and hooh boy, you are really feeling that right now. It's been a non-stop bizarre whirlwind trek across the globe, and yet somehow you've found a few minutes to breathe. Maybe the next train isn't for a few hours, or the group needed to split up to get supplies for the next leg of the journey, but regardless you've decided to spend this precious downtime with the person closest to your heart.

(Feedback is welcome. This is my first time posting this type of content, and I'm still playing with the formatting.)

I. THE MAGICIAN

There's something about a good street market that excites Muhammad Avdol so much. He loves experiencing the culture of the places you're traveling through, and for him, the markets are the best way to do that.

Doubly so if it's with you. Link arms, hold hands, whatever you want. Avdol is happy to bask in your presence.

He wants to impress you with his knowledge! He'll be your tour guide through these busy streets. He makes it look effortless.

He really likes books! If you find a bookstore or a stall selling old tomes, the flame in his heart will burn just a bit brighter for you.

V. THE HIEROPHANT

He is a bit shy, but my God is Kakyoin Noriaki happy to spend time with you.

Really wants to do something very specific to the area with you. Visit a famous landmark, try the local cuisine. He read about it in a travel book once. This boy really values sharing these experiences with you.

Kakyoin will do anything to see your smile. He's the type to buy you pretty things that he spots in the street. Jewelry, mementos... he's really sweet. Notices your style, tries to work with that. Will spend irresponsibly, bless his heart.

Find him something in return and he'll be a mess. Nobody's ever treated him quite like you. He doesn't know how to handle it, but it makes his heart melt.

VII. THE CHARIOT

Jean Pierre Polnareff will talk your ear off in two languages. Mostly showering you with compliments. And complaining, as is par for the course.

Wander the streets together in search of food, some shade, or a good bathroom. He has needs, you know? He's thankful for your company on this little quest of his. Makes him feel important to you.

He'll find some way to spoil you, of course. Flowers, a salon. Let him treat you right, belle! He's always looking for excuses to pamper you. And always hoping you'll reward him with a kiss!

I'm so sorry, but you're running into a Stand User. It's Polnareff, what did you expect? At least he'll keep you safe. Il est vraiment désolé, chérie!

IX. THE HERMIT

Watch this silver fox try to barter like he thinks he knows what he's doing. Joseph Joestar has travelled the world, he's got this! (He doesn't)

OH MY GOD! Is that American cuisine? He is either excited by it or absolutely furious (see: hot cola in Hong Kong). Has a lot of good trivia and insight about whatever he's discovered.

Rambles about this kind of thing specifically to make these strange and far-off places feel a little bit more familiar for you. He knows it's been a stressful trip.

But you've noticed the stress wearing him down too, so you tell the boys to handle the usual errands and take the time to get a bite to eat with Joseph. He's very grateful for the impromptu date.

XVII. THE STAR

On the outside, Kujo Jotaro is perpetually cool and mildly disinterested. Of the group, he is the most likely to want to stay put. But you want to explore? Good grief. He'd better come with you so you don't get into trouble.

Inside, his heart is hammering like he's about to beat down a Stand User. This is all so new and exciting, it's making him nervous. What does he even say??? Fuck, he's out of his element here!

You'll complete an errand and wander aimlessly, silently enjoying each other's company. Maybe you'll end up by the beach. You're looking out at the sunlight shimmering on the water and he's... watching you.

He might not understand what he's feeling in that moment, but someday he will. Love hits a Joestar particularly hard, his grandpa told him once. He'll never forget how beautiful you looked.

0. THE FOOL

(Platonic, he is a dog. I shouldn't have to explain this.)

Fuck you, Iggy goes where he pleases.

You're gonna be cleaning up the mess he leaves in his wake, or chasing after him.

He stole kebab from a child. You're mortified.

You're just gonna wait at the hotel next time.

Bonus Card:

XXI. THE WORLD (uh oh)

Hopefully you caught him in a good mood. Ah, but your presence is almost always enough to lift DIO's spirits.

Do you believe in gravity? (I'm only half-kidding.) He loves to talk philosophy like this with you. Your perspective is both intriguing and amusing to him.

He's surprisingly chatty with you. He's missed what, the past 100 years? He has so many questions for you. Civilization changed so much, and you are one of the lucky few he can trust with his idle curiousities.

Just don't bore him, or else.

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #part 3 #joseph joestar x reader #dio brando × reader #kujo jotaro x reader #kakyoin noriaki × reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #muhammad avdol x reader #that's a lotta tags #jjba × reader #ramblingsfromzawarudo

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m3rricat · 3 months

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You Do Not Have To Be Good - Ch. 1

Story summary: Four months after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Astarion finds himself stuck in the mire of his past and all the anger and despair that comes with it. While wrestling with her traveling-companion-turned-lover’s misery, Cat makes an impulsive decision that sets off their first falling-out. This post-game short story is told alongside the full in-game story of the evolving relationship between Cat (the not-a-bard) and Astarion (needs no introduction) which varies from canon. Told from both POVs.

Chapter Masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

Chapter Content Warnings: mild gore, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4974

Read on AO3

The cobbles under Astarion’s boots are slick with rain from the day. It makes the night pungent: the stench of rotting garbage in the streets and sewage from a thousand chamber pots flowing toward the harbor is so overwhelming he is practically swimming in it. But it doesn’t matter, because the anger pulsing through his veins is a hot relief. Even as it galls him, it cuts through the haze of creeping misery, and for the first time in weeks he feels sharp. Feels as alive as one undead can.

He had smelled it on her skirts. Faded and stale, but there all the same. The mildew in Cazador’s dungeon must have been its own strain, for he had smelled it nowhere else until he had on Cat, minutes ago.

Astarion had woken that evening and found it was to be a night where his mind was fitful, see-sawing back and forth from the present to the past which inevitably overlaid every street and every alley here in his old stalking grounds. It was a poor time for his broken brain to betray him. He had a hunt tonight. More properly, a bounty hunt, or state-sanctioned feeding as he had called it in the hearing of the newly-minted Grand Duke Ravengard. Astarion had gone to him weeks back for leave to get a license. His delightful joke had earned a grimace but no outright rebuke from darling Wyll. Cat had also rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked in amusement he knew she could not help. Not with him. That had been a good day. One of the few this past month.

On his way out that night, his path had crossed with Cat’s in the airy, earth-smelling main hall of Jaheira’s house, who had graciously agreed to put them up for a while when they returned to the city. Thinking back, Cat had been distracted. Her smile hadn’t quite reached her eyes. Though maybe that was because he had been… trying to deal with lately. But either way, he had dutifully stepped into her embrace, accepted her loving admonishment to be careful, will you? Most times he thought it awfully adorable given that he was back up to his full vampiric strength and speed that the tadpole had taken from him. But this night, just as she said it, that smell reached his nose. And all hell broke loose.

The stench jolts him out of his body. Even as he watches himself round on Cat, he is back there writhing on the stone in the dark, his throat raw from screaming as Godey goes in for another nail with his pliers. He sees her trying not to cry, trying to calmly answer his demands of why in the hells did she go there, go there without telling him? That wretched place where she has no business, where she must be prying or plotting or hiding something from him. Betraying him. Picking at his wounds. Her apology is choked but painfully sincere. She should have told him, should have told him right off. She squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to explain. She barely knows herself. Him struggling with the past, and his memories that are in her own mind. She wanted to—she doesn’t know. Put them down there, nail them to where they were made. Wanted to loosen their grip on her mind—and, and—

Nevermind her insane prattling. Her strangeness that he cannot stand, gods damn it. It is the most untrue thing he says to her. He sweeps out the door with his burning anger before Cat’s tears can smother it.

How did it go so wrong?

That little charmed interlude after their victory over the Netherbrain was gone like a dream. Those first three months he and Cat had caroused along the Sword Coast: by night, searching for leads to let him walk in the sun, and by day, holing up in whatever cozy crypt or cave or cellar and searching each other’s bodies for other sorts of leads. They were wildly, disgustingly in love and it so completely consumed him he thought the feeling would never end. But then, of course, the day he felt most deep in contentment was the day he realized what he had tried to run from had already slithered back into its old well-worn burrows. Had molded over his bright new happiness.

Because how could Astarion be happy? Him, the corpse that had been little more than a puppet for 200 years, had been beaten and flayed and burned and penetrated every which way by a thousand strangers, taken from himself so thoroughly. How could so degraded a vessel contain happiness? Around that three-month mark, while still out on the road, these thoughts start to skirt through his mind like shadows, there and gone in a blink. But then the shadows start to gather. Start to linger. Some days they shade everything he sees. Everything Cat says.

He begins to see her with double vision. Part of him still sees naked, unabashed love in her eyes. But the sharp and cold part of his mind that has kept him in one piece these past centuries begins to know the truth. It begins to whisper. Now and then, it will suddenly reveal the disgust in her glances, the disgust any reasonable person would have for one like him. He sees the weight he is on her, the dead body drowning in itself that she must carry, must cajole and comfort and leave alone when he snaps at her for solitude, when she has done nothing in particular to deserve it. Because he is hateful, pathetic. A burden, a tangled mass of them, who can’t do such a simple thing as be here and now.

They had always planned to return to the Gate after some months to rest, to raise up funds again for the search. But when Cat mentions turning around, all Astarion hears is her defeat in the face of him. He cannot blame her. He does his best to swallow his venom, but he is tight-lipped and sullen, trailing after her unfailingly patient back all the way to the city. He manages, from time to time, to break the surface of his self-loathing, reaches out with all the affection he can muster, mutters apologies, and she holds him, and for a moment he believes again. But then she must let go, and he sinks back down, trying to keep the memory of her love in his dead lungs.

She does not say a cutting word against him through all his moods. Cat has always been a master at keeping her own counsel. It was one of the first things he learned about her in those early days of their acquaintance, and he did not much care for it then.

It is six months ago, and Astarion is standing over her while their merry worm-brained band make camp on a cliff overlooking the fleshy wreck of the Nautiloid. She is the oddest one out, he thinks: an armored cleric, a subpar wizard, a delightfully terrifying alien warrior—and then there is Cat. A human-elf mutt of some mixture, pretty in a plain way, with her crooked nose and brown freckled face. So common that it’s oddly familiar. She looks like a serving wench that has been flung down from the sky and rolled in some dirt because that is exactly what she is. It is one of the few things anyone is able to pry out of her early on. The most she has said to him was at their introduction the day before, where she had promised to shove the knife he pointed at her down his throat. He somehow still wound up included in her little group, but had gotten little more than unreadable looks from her since.

“Rather dour for a bar maid, aren’t you?” he ventures as she arranges the firewood. She replies with the new longest string of words she has ever said to him, blandly suggesting that he slosh some beer on her and grab her ass and maybe that would get her in the right mindset. And then she turns back to tending the firewood.

Despite Cat’s few words, she seizes the reins of their little troop early on. Astarion pinpoints her ascension to the night when the glum cleric brought back a rabbit she had caught for dinner, but neither she nor the wizard knew how to prepare it. The Gith was useless as she would have just eaten it raw. They stared down pathetically at the tiny carcass until Cat sighed, picked it up, and took it away to drain and dress.

Cat being vaulted to the leadership position is also due to the quiet firmness about her that Astarion cannot square. She can squeeze out only some basic spells. She is barely competent with a crossbow. Shouldn’t she be utterly out of her element, with a worm gnawing on her brain and other monstrosities trying to kill them daily? It makes Astarion suspicious. There is only room for one con artist in this group, and he has already claimed that spot.

In those first few days, countless times he decides to abandon these ingrates and strike out on his own. But doubt stops him, even after they get leads for possible solutions. That Gith crèche is one. But he would need their resident Gith for that. Perhaps she could be persuaded to go off with him… but he doubted it. She had deferred to Cat like a kicked dog when Cat intervened in her interrogation of that blubbering tiefling. The only other apparent option was the head druid, but hundreds of goblins swarmed between him and Astarion.

And then there was his particular predicament—this thing writhing in his skull had granted him a species of freedom. How could Astarion possibly thread the needle and keep it, control the worm and not destroy it like everyone else intended should happen? So he goes in maddening circles, each time finding himself back in camp.

If he is a tad honest with himself, Astarion’s crippling indecision is also due to the fact that he is afraid. Incredibly, mind-numbingly afraid, and he has no idea what he should do. He has been forcibly taken from his master, but that will not save him when he is found again. His dream of Cazador that first night only reinforces the rationality of his all-encompassing terror, and his ire toward his lickspittle companions who seem content to casually stroll toward the general direction of a solution, taking in the sights along the way.

Astarion’s anger peaks in the dank chambers of the Emerald Grove when Cat betrays how weak she is. She tells the dwarf healer everything, blabbering on about the worms and the ship and the mind-merging—everything, to a perfect stranger. And Cat gets exactly what she deserves: no cure, and a threat of bodily harm if she does not promise to kill herself at the first sign of a cold sweat. Instead of chucking the bottle of wyvern poison back in the dwarf’s face as she should have done, she accepts he theoretical suicide graciously and pockets it. Astarion tries to wrestle the scowl off his face until they are out of the warrens full of wary druids.

He must do something. Leave, or stage a coup, or somehow convince the half-elf wench to grow a spine since she has everyone’s ear already.

As they set up camp on a ridge overlooking the Sacred Grove, Astarion makes up his mind to try the least drastic option first. He goes in search of Cat, but finds her occupied with yet another distraction. A crying tiefling—what is with all these crying tieflings?—is sat on a rock just down the ridge clutching a lute, and Cat is crouched beside her, talking low, her hands far more expressive than Astarion has ever seen them.

The tiefling sniffles and plays a phrase; Cat stops her, talks and gestures, and then the tiefling tries again. Over and over this repeats. Several minutes later the girl manages to eke out something passable, her voice cracking as she tries to sing along. Cat stands and after a brief word turns to leave, but the girl grabs her arm, and Astarion can hear her thanking Cat profusely, telling her she has a gift in return. She totters over to her packs, pulls out a long-ish wooden case, and hands it to Cat.

Astarion can see the stiffness in Cat’s arms as she holds the box. She’s staring down at the thing like it might bite. The tiefling is expounding again. Cat mutters something without look up and marches off up the path toward the camp, tucking the case under her arm.

From his vantage point in the shadow of a tent, Astarion watches Cat veer away from the camp at the last second, stop at a stump just off the path, and put the case down on it. She stares at it as the sun goes down, hands on her hips. It feels like an age before she sighs, unlatches it, and with a smooth movement removes a glossy violin and bow and brings it to her shoulder.

Shit.

She deftly begins to tune it, face furrowed in concentration. Her arms seem suddenly graceful, holding it all in a frame that is both solid and easy. Practiced. Because she is practiced, as Astarion knows. Because now he realizes he has seen her before.

Two times it was. Seven—no, eight years ago now. The first time, she is practically swaggering into Cazador’s upper city offices after hours in her gown straight from a private performance at patriar so-and-so’s. Her eyes slide over Astarion who is posted outside the door, her mind clearly preoccupied. Cazador had pulled him from the hunt that night, needing someone to play the manservant at this meeting.

Cat—she did not just go by 'Cat' back then, surely?—is Cazador’s fixation of the month. Cazador always considered himself a poet, and relatedly, a patron of the fine arts. He usually had some musician or painter or other under his thumb to fulfill his demented artistic whims, and when they tried to wiggle out from under, he sucked them dry more literally.

Cat has caught Cazador’s eye for the same reasons why she has become the general darling of the upper city arts circles. She is a violin prodigy with both incredible technical expertise and astonishingly inventive composition. But more than that, she can play the Weave as easily as her instrument. Most sinisterly, she can also twist the emotions of her audience with terrifying precision. A typical bard might sow a general fear with their songs, but Cat can coax out your specific worst childhood memory, or the delicious pangs of your first love. It is like catnip to the rich and powerful, this beauty with the potential for pain.

Cazador must have her. First he muses about turning her, claiming her talents forever, but he quickly discards the notion as Cat would be unlikely to retain her skills. The dead, even animated, have duller senses of touch than the warm-blooded and are far less dexterous without effort: it took Astarion a good decade to become even middling with a sewing needle. No, patronage it would be.

Except, apparently, it would not. Astarion can barely make out the words through the solid oak door, but the progression of tone makes it clear that things are going south between his master and this woman. She is saying no, rather bluntly. This would be a first. A tendril of pleasure curls in his stomach. Oh, she is doomed. But she has rankled Cazador, and that is what Astarion lives for.

The second time comes several days later. Cazador has pulled him for servant duty again, this time to escort him at a concert. The concert of the season, in fact, which features Cat as a soloist. Cazador has not said a word about any plans. But Astarion knows he has one. Knows that this will be the woman’s last happy evening, one way or another.

He is sat behind his master. As ever, his eyes are drawn to Cazador, the fire of his hatred always burning in his belly, even when it is banked low. He tries to make his eyes wander the audience, the orchestra, the lavish hall, to steal something beautiful to tuck away in his mind, but inevitably they snap back to the arbiter of his world.

At the end of the evening, Cat strides onto the stage with that same swagger as when he first saw her, beaming at the audience’s roar of approval. Astarion does not feel bad for her, per se. She is just another unlucky wretch in his master’s way. He watches events unfold with detached interest, like watching a carriage crash.

She looks radiant as the orchestra strikes up the triumphant third movement of the concerto. She comes in on her cue, gets several notes in, and falters. With a game face, she tries to dive back in, but her bow squawks against the strings instead. Astarion cannot hear Cazador, but he can very nearly feel the vibrations as his master incants whatever curse or hex is settling over her, strangling her well-tread neural pathways. Cat’s face is pinched with fear now. She stares out at the audience wildly, unseeing—and then Astarion sees the moment her eyes lock on Cazador. She knows it is him. But she is caught, and she cannot stop it. The din of the orchestra garbles and then crumbles as Cat runs off stage.

Astarion expects his master to order him to track down the woman in a few months’ time to drag her back to the palace for her final comeuppance when she is well out of the spotlight, but the order never comes. Cazador seems to have forgotten her, as has the rest of the Gate’s high society.

But here she has come crawling out again, probably from inside of a bottle drowning her sorrows since. Astarion had known Cat was hiding something. Perhaps she speaks little because does not want to exhume her past. Maybe she does not want her fall from grace revealed.

Astarion then wonders if she has recognized him—if she thinks he had anything to do with what happened that night. Astarion grits his teeth as he continues to watch her tune the fiddle. This made things more complicated—except, no, he decides forcibly. It is straightforward. Cat is a broken person, and he has proof now. He had intended to approach with flattery, but now he knows he must probe the wound, find out how deep it is. If he cannot convince her to be more ruthless, then she must go, or he.

Just as he is about to corner Cat, Shadowheart calls the group to supper. Cat stops her tuning abruptly and shoves the instrument back in its case. She carries it over to the tents and dumps it unceremoniously inside her own before joining.

Astarion almost misses Cat the next morning. He is perched on a rock outcropping to watch the sun come up, the one thing he has found that makes him happy in this mess, when Cat darts out of her tent. He did not expect her to rise this early as she had never done so before. It is not until she has already set off on a path to the far side of the ridge with her violin case under her arm that he spots her and begins following her at a distance through the scrubby underbrush.

The Chionthar flows on the other side, looking molten in the early morning light. Cat sets down her case on a flat rock wedged into the sandy bank. Just as she snaps it open, Astarion steps out of the shadows.

“We’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

Cat spins around, startled. The bow is clutched in her right hand. She looks slightly wild. Her mousy hair, normally braided and bound up, is drooping in a messy bun and she doesn’t have a jacket on over her stays. Her stare is severe for a second, but to Astarion’s surprise, it eases slightly. She regards him carefully.

“’Seen,’ maybe. I know I never said a word to you,” she says in her slight drawl that Astarion hasn’t yet been able to place.

“So you do remember. But you never said a thing.” Astarion strolls toward her. "I didn’t even recognize you until you picked up that fiddle yesterday. How the mighty have fallen.”

Cat casually leans back on the rock, folding her arms. Her tone is cool as she says, “You want to take a dig at me? Go on. I didn’t think you cared much for what your patriar boss did, though.”

“Oh?” Astarion frowns. “And what would you know about that?”

Cat smiles slightly. “I saw how you looked at him. You were staring at the back of his head the whole night like you wished it would explode.” She picks at the top of the bow with her finger. “I wanted to shake your damn hand then. Everyone told me he was eccentric but—eugh,” she shudders. “I felt like—like a pretty bug he wanted to put a pin in when he was talking at me in his office. And I know it was him that scrambled my brain.” She looks back up at him, serious. “What did he do to me?”

Astarion is honest. “I haven’t the faintest.”

Cat sighs. Shrugs. “Figured. You still working for him?”

“Uh—” Astarion stutters. He is thoroughly thrown off his plan now. She seems far from broken, or even ruffled. “No. I—that is, no. Ancient history.”

“Good for you,” says Cat feelingly. “He must be hell to work for.”

Visions of Cazador’s eyes glowing with command burn through Astarion’s brain. “Yes,” he says, distantly. “He left…much to be desired.”

The silence stretches as Astarion fights through the sudden wave of intrusive thoughts. Cat peers at him, her face tinged with concern. “What did he do to you?”

“My past is not your business,” Astarion snaps as echoes of what Cazador did to him rattle through his body. The anger wakes him back up to his purpose. “But what is of everyone’s concern—you leading us to our deaths.”

Cat blinks, straightening up. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all the entanglements you’ve led us into in this blasted grove—but mainly I’m talking about that suicide pact you made. What were you thinking?”

Cat frowns. “Suicide? Oh, you mean taking that poison from Nettie? Well…” Her eyes scan his face. Measuring. “…I lied. Not like she’s going to follow me around to make sure I do.”

Astarion sags slightly at the sudden lack of resistance. It’s not like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. But he had no reason to think she hadn’t been earnest with all her other do-gooder deeds so far. “Then why haven’t you said a thing to anyone? You rather like not saying anything about anything, don’t you?”

“And if I did come right out and say that I’m not killing myself at the first sign, what do you think the others would do? Lae’zel would just chop me down right there,” Cat retorts. “They don’t need to know. Won’t hurt them.”

Astarion has to concede she had a point. But these revelations still put him on edge. When would he be the one she strategically declined to tell her true intentions? His view of her had gotten both better and worse.

For now, he should just try to make her feel aligned with him, he decides. “Glad I’m not the only sane one here.” He plasters on a smile. “Ceremorphosis has already been delayed unnaturally long. I say we can stand to dance on the edge a bit.”

“A bit. Sure. Figure until our teeth start getting loose.”

Astarion suddenly shrinks his smile, to make sure his own teeth aren’t too apparent. “Very well. If your teeth start rattling around in your skull, I’ll be happy to provide the coup de grâce. Any preferences?”

“Preferences?” she smiles, perplexed. “For how you’ll kill me?”

Astarion opens his arms generously. “Of course. It’s the least I can do for our fearless leader.”

Cat rolls her eyes. “Leader, my foot.” But to his surprise, she ponders the question. “You’re good with a knife. Bet you could get it between my ribs easy, straight to the heart.”

He bows. “As you wish, darling. A good stabbing it is.”

“So kind. But really, whatever you can manage,” Cat replies in mock-graciousness. Then absently she rubs her neck. “Just not strangulation. Please.” Before Astarion can probe into that little aside, Cat continues— “And how about you?”

“What?”

“How do you want me to kill you?” Her face is disarmingly earnest.

“Oh, my dear,” he laughs. “I’d like to see y—”

And that’s when he hears it. Suddenly the most beautiful, heartrending music Astarion has ever heard floats in on the breeze from the river. It is singing, but wordless. It didn’t need words. He could live on it, sustained by it forever—

“Cover your ears!” Cat yells suddenly, rudely cutting through the heavenly sound. But the jolt makes Astarion realize something is wrong. He has unconsciously taken a few steps toward the river bank. Trembling, he raises his hands to his ears.

Beside him, Cat is gritting her teeth and putting the violin to her shoulder. She looks out on the river. Astarion follows her gaze, still feeling hazy. A woman crouches on a sandbar several yards out into the current. At least—he thinks it is a woman. But as it shifts, he sees the wings, the stunted body crouching on claws. A harpy. She is singing full-throated.

Beside him, Cat stares at her strings grimly and slowly begins to pick out the harpy’s melody. His attention is caught by a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth—her tongue. She bit it to keep her head, he thinks absently, against the flow of the harpy’s luring call in his brain.

Louder and louder Cat plays, with each pass drowning out the harpy’s voice more and more, until Astarion feels the hold of its song dissipate completely.

But Cat isn’t done. Without warning, a guttural groan suddenly sounds from the fiddle, eliciting a screech from the harpy. Cat is staring at the thing murderously. Again she saws at the strings, this time bringing out a high whine that trembles, and then falls to a scraping moan again. And the harpy lurches. It moves toward them not on its feet, but tumbling forward, as if the horrid sounds coming from Cat’s instrument have lodged like a hook in its throat.

The thing claws for purchase at the sand, at the stones under the water, but it is no use. Cat begins to play in some sort of disjointed rhythm, a bloodcurdling march that reels in the beast until, at last, it lies twitching in a heap at their feet. In no hurry, Cat sets down the violin, unsheathes a dagger from the belt on her dress, yanks the harpy’s head back, and slits its neck from ear to ear, sending spurts of blood into the wet sand as it gurgles its life away.

Coolly, Cat hauls it up by its hair, looking into its twitching face. Then she suddenly grimaces, turning her head to spit a gob of delicious-smelling blood into the pool forming under the harpy. Astarion feels delirious—the blood (oh, the blood), the lingering sounds of the harpy’s song in his brain. But more than that, the curdling screams Cat pulled out of the violin cradled against her throat.

Cat lets the harpy’s corpse drop in a heap and stands up, stretching her back. “I can still do it,” she mutters. “I just can’t do it pretty anymore.”

“You—you undid Szarr’s curse?”

Cat shakes her head. “No. It’s still there, whatever he did. Took me a long time to play at all again. But I’ll never be able to play the Weave like I did. I didn’t want to anyone to see, but—” Cat sighs. “I have to try to be at least halfway useful, seeing as how this found me all the way out here.” She hefts the violin in her hand. “Before, playing the weave was like a math problem. Plain and elegant. But now… it’s like I’m digging around in the dirt for it.”

Astarion has no clue what she means. “Yes, but—you can still do it.” he huffs a laugh. “Kill me any way but that, darling.”

“Oh, no worries there,” Cat says, moving back toward the case perched on the rock. “I grew up with harpies lurking around. I know them inside and out. Most things I’ll never be able manipulate physically like that. And I certainly don’t know enough about you yet to snag you.”

Her gaze then snags on his for a moment before she turns back around. Astarion watches her unassuming figure warily. A thirty-something woman in a tattered dress and tattered stays and grubby stockings she needs to burn at this point. She gently lays the violin in the case. Then she goes to rinse off the bloody knife. Sheaths it. Her tawny eyes, usually brown but gleaming elven-gold in this light, snag on his again.

“Come on. Her sisters will smell this soon enough, and I don’t fancy taking all of them.”

#bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x female oc #baldur's gate 3

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actuallyevilgay · 2 months

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The Apathy (Part 6)

Astarion x Male Reader/Tav

DNI if you are a minor. Dead dove don’t eat. Please read my about before replying. Content: Ascended Astarion x Male tav, this is post epilogue.

Summary: Astarion's experience of the hand-holding got a little too intense for him.. Meanwhile Gale is trying to figure out what's going on with Tav. Content Warnings: This part contains some smut! NSFT!! A/N: We get some much-needed Gale pov! Hell yeah. Hope you enjoy. Read on ao3 as well!

......

On the way back to the homestead Astarion was renting, his head was racing with many conflicting thoughts. He thought he could keep his cool.. But didn’t expect to so quickly lose sense of his composure after Tav ran off.

The smell.. He was obsessing over it and certainly needed some privacy to come to terms with what happened today. He made a mental note to look into the crazy woman situation, since she would likely show up again sooner or later, his tiefling disguise may have another role to play soon. Just in case, he had commanded the local vermin to keep an eye out for Tav.

Tav may have tried to hide his magic powers due the guard incident, strange as it was for him to cower behind a complete stranger, perhaps he was trying to lie low.. Something about how helpless Tav behaved put Astarion on edge. He’d never seen him like that.

Then again, if he’d been here all this time without anyone knowing he would have built a new identity for himself. No hero of Baldur’s gate, just a barkeep at a tavern which serves tea apparently. Perhaps the final fight with the netherbrain made Tav want to retire into a simpler life, leaving the idea of adventuring behind. Astarion could only speculate on the reasoning.

Astarion didn’t say a word to either Vand or Ty when he entered the house, just traded eye contact and dismissed them by silent command. He headed up the stairs to the bigger bedroom, taking off all his garments and clothes until but the undershirt and pants were left.

With an annoyed grunt, he settled down on the bed in a meditative position, only to swap resting angles several times.. Reverie would not come for him as easily today.

‘’What am I doing..?’’ The mumble tumbled out of his mouth, his fingers slid over the soft covers, finding a pillow to dig his face in.

‘’..Tav..’’ He moaned, squeezing his hands together. The vision of their fingers intertwined returned to him. ‘’Oh.. Dearest..’’ his voice muffled under a deep breath.

A cold hard yearning welled within him, building and building, becoming harder to contain with every second. A single tear escaped from his eyes.

He needed to clear his head as soon as possible.. There were things to be done.

For his trance, he decided to focus on a memory, a particularly fond one he hadn’t revisited since the break up. It was the second time he slept with Tav, only to realise he had grown fond of him in ways he never perceived himself to be able to.

The tiefling party was definitely not to his taste, even now, it still made him feel weird to be celebrated as a hero. Back in Baldur’s gate, that's what he now was known for. It took a lot of manipulating and gaslighting to make sure no one questioned him taking over the szarr estate, ensuring his road to securing the city as his territory.

Back during the adventure, the parasites were the furthest from his mind, he could only think of how worried it made him a monster hunter had joined the band of travellers.. Playing hero had never been part of the plan, the plan was to just survive and slay Cazador.. The road to freedom.

The very first time he slept with Tav was almost no different from when he slept with his marks. The smell of alcohol and dopamine intertwined with adrenaline was Cazador’s favourite part of his ritual. Only to end it with watching his slaves dine on dead putrid rats while he had finished feasting on his victims.

But the second time, at the party, it.. The air had changed. While Tav had not been a victim or target in his mind, the first one night stand was without feeling, just sex.

Asking him the first time was easy, the second time not so much. He was more hesitant, nervous about the journey and going out to sleep in the woods again.

With every pick-up line possible, Astarion kept shooting his shot, wondering to himself why he had been so insistent to sleep with him again even though his protection should be guaranteed by now.

It was less ‘’need to’’ and more ‘’want to’’ or.. ‘’I yearn to,’’ With a lack of better words to explain what he was feeling.. Unsure how to express it beyond physical touch.

When he eventually managed to convince Tav he would be safe, they sneaked away from the festivities to their previous spot.

He recalls walking to the little moonlight lit grove, only to turn around to see Tav quietly and slowly slid his shirt off his shoulders. The light reflected off his skin, glimmering.

While Astarion had pictured this is what he looked like to Tav that first time together, now the roles were reversed and he was mesmerised. There was something incredibly dreamy to him, unforgettable. An ache in his chest and a throb to his undead heart.

Astarion stalled, his fingers firmly clenching his own shirt while he watched Tav never take his eyes off him while undressing himself.

He didn’t realise he had frozen until Tav walked up to him bare, laying a hand on his and guiding him only to stop. ‘’Are you alright..?’’ Tav questioned in a gentle tone.

‘’Are you sure you want this right now?’’

‘’I want you.. I want to devour you.’’ Astarion replied, unfreezing and quickly undoing his clothes to join him bare.

The kiss that followed left him wanting more and more as he drowned into the touch, that uncomfortable feeling of arousal rose up and down until it found its rhythm, sending a wave of pleasure flowing through him.

His hands travelled over Tav’s skin, dancing across tiny hidden scars, pinching the subtle curves in his body. Tav’s back arched, he moaned the second Astarion’s lips found his neck.

He could bite him right there and then, but preferred to tease him.

The scent of alcohol intertwined with dopamine had something to it.. It was much sweeter without the addition of Adrenaline, which had a salty and unsettling flavour to it.

Tav kept drawing him in, his hands caressing gentle patterns over Astarion’s back and his arms. It wasn’t long until their bodies crashed onto the bedroll, with Astarion thrusting himself into Tav’s embrace.

Tav moaned so sweetly, covering his face with his arm out of vulnerability. Astarion wanted to yank his arms above his head, but decided on a gentler approach, kissing his neck until he relaxed in between the thrusts.

When they found a common ground within the rhythm, Astarion started moaning loudly into Tav’s skin. Burying himself with sloppy kisses across his collar bone, licking the sweat off his neck.

He cried out Tav’s name, who only moaned in response at their shared climax. He took a loud breath before opening his eyes looking into Astarion’s directly. Astarion stared back dreamily, pondering in silence.

This was bliss.. It must be. It has to be.

Tav looked at him with cheeks flushed, brushing Hair out of his face. ‘’Careful now, if you’re going to keep looking at me like that I might actually start to believe you’re in love with me.’’ His chest heaved, a pure moment of honesty.

Astarion remembers the weight of the pit in his stomach. Such a sweet moment, one he ruined like so many others.. ‘’Only for tonight, darling.’’ A charming line, perhaps the biggest lie he’s ever said, and he did it so confidently. Scripted, rehearsed.

Tav’s eyes glazed over somewhat, he released a sigh, stretching beneath Astarion. ‘’You haven’t pulled out.’’ He muttered, looking away almost embarrassed as if they did not just have extremely hot passionate sex.

Astarion smirked, feeling rather gloomy when he pulled away, he frowned at Tav, who had now turned to his side, avoiding eye contact.

The vision of the memory began shifting by force, making Astarion roll his head during trance. He couldn’t control what he’d see next.

Astarion could see Tav’s vulnerable bare body one moment, only to be exchanged with a tearful and exhausted expression of shock back at the elfsong inn.

‘’You’re asking too much of me right now, I just want to sleep, to rest.’’

‘’You want to rest? Right now? Walk away in the middle of the most important conversation you’ve ever had?’’

‘’Astarion I-’’

‘’You know what, forget it. I don’t need this.’’

‘’What? I didn’t mean to insult you- today has been a lot for both of us-’’

Astarion couldn’t hear the words he shouted even though they came out of his own mouth, the once so sweet dream now ruined by the night of his enlarged ego. The rush of power fresh in his veins, only to be aimed in the wrong direction.. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t. He was overcome with emotions he could not control, and in that moment he broke his own heart in two.

‘’I’m just so tired..’’

The exhaustive look on Tav’s face came back into his mind, as he turned around and disappeared through smoke and dust.

‘’I’m sorry.’’

The words echoed loudly, sounding just as real and new as the first time he’d spoken them. Astarion could envision the scared look on Tav’s face back in the alley, the nervous glances before he ran off.

He could feel the pressure of his squeeze in the palm on his hand, which shook him out of trance. The wet dream had been pleasant, but now there was just the scent of guilt hanging in the air.

‘’I need a bath..’’

……

The wizard of Waterdeep! Gale Dekarios.. A Teacher at Blackstaff Academy teaching Illusion. Exalted wizard of a and Ex-chosen of Mystra. Son of Morena Dekarios and beloved friend of Tara the tressym.

Not too long ago, he visited his friends 6 months after the defeat of the netherbrain on invitation by Withers.

Gale had been elated, exhausted, as his new job came with a lot of complications.. And he was much in need of seeing familiar faces. ‘’A social palette cleanser’’ Tara called it, ‘’Since you have no other friends,’’ and it had been.. Refreshing. Surely.. Up until the revelation that everyone’s busy lives meant no one had actively looked for Tav. Except for Jaheira perhaps..

Gale’s priority had been to fulfil his promise to deliver the crown to Mystra and be rid of the orb, at the time he had hoped to run into his friends again as soon as it was over with. Eager to get out of Mystra’s hair and her eye, her hands and her whims.

Who would’ve thought that being a goddess’ lover was to be a sour experience? He was over her, that much was certain.. But his acceptance of his mortality and station somehow invoked in her the idea that she could potentially influence him again. To control him.

Requesting Gale to kamikaze had been the tipping point for him to realise their power dynamic, he nearly went over the edge, compelled to take the crown for himself and pursue godhood. But no, he was above it. He was above her antics, even as a mortal.

And this time.. Gale rejected Mystra. He worried she’d smite him for the act, but no. She was satisfied and tossed him out of her realm after business had finished.

No more social calls from Elminster occurred since. Nothing, not even a letter. Perhaps the centuries old arch mage tried to distance himself from Gale for good reasons. Or, Mystra had demanded it. And Mystra gets everything she wants.

Not that it mattered to Gale anymore, he was on a different mission now. One that had nothing to do with mindflayer invasions, hoax cults on the rise, ancient artefacts, or the goddamn goddess of magic herself.

Tara had looked forward to Gale taking a vacation from his stressful job of teaching young adults the wonders of illusion magic, so she could perch in his lap without him enduring overtime on writing original lesson material..

Gale was a stickler for details, much to the academy’s dismay.. He could not keep his word to give his class a beginner friendly course, so they saddled him with a class of chaotic mages instead. A challenge he gladly undertook, enjoying the opportunity to put his students in their place by threatening to blow himself up every now and then.

To his students' obliviousness, the orb was long gone. No more netherese influence for Gale. No more worries about blowing up the wrong place at the wrong time.

Unfortunately for Gale, his life had become chaotic still. Not because of orbs or goddesses, but because the quest to locate Tav in neverwinter had been much easier than he thought it would be.

He’d only just arrived at his holiday location and secured a place of stay when he came across a quirky little tavern tucked away in a very busy district of the city. Gale made a mental note to visit it, when he was stopped by a sending spell sent directly into his mind.

‘’Professor Dekarios. Urgent. Dharma’s gone missing. Think she went after you. Very worried. Please be lenient. Need the class. Send her home.’’

Twenty-two words, three short for a sending spell. But he recognised the voice of Dharma's mother. The woman had been dismissive of her daughter’s increasingly concerning demeanour towards him. If she was coming after him on his vacation, Gale could finally begin the procedure to ban her from his class formally…

With a flash of orange hair dye, she was right behind him, not moments later. He eyed the young woman trying to convey his disappointment by facial expression alone. He could lecture her of course, but she wasn’t worth his personal time nor his elaborate vocabulary. Learning from his past relationship alone, he opted to ignore her to see if she could take a hint.. But it simply invited her to follow him into the tavern.

After scolding Dharma with much needed help from the halfling tavern owner, Gale clapped eyes on a malnourished and gloomy looking Tav. They never spoke a word, but it kept him thinking. At first Gale thought Tav was pretending to not know him.. He looked depressed at most. Gale felt guilty.. But also suspicioned something else was going on.

The halfling was too excited for his repeated visits, and Tav’s quick glances were that of a complete stranger. Gale hoped Tav would call him out, tell him to leave. Yell at him for not coming after him.. For not helping him with whatever he appears to be going through.

Yet.. He never does. Never, even if he had every opportunity to do so as Gale kept visiting. Gale enjoyed his little vacation exploring books with Jilvy’s other customers during club hours. A means to pass the time.. To observe.

Tav’s body language did not change. Tav’s expression did not change. A moment had passed where he could’ve feigned a look of recognition, and Gale wanted to speak up, he simply couldn’t make himself do it. Tav never questioned his silent attempts to make conversation. Didn’t question him for staring. He kept working, never sitting still for too long unless he started feeling sick. And he was sick very often.

Finally, he concluded that Tav was experiencing some sort of memory loss. Unsure of the cause, he reflected to the last moment he saw his dear friend. The absent-minded glossed over eyes, apathetic and exhausted. The same look that he bears on his doll-like expression every single day nowadays.

What could’ve caused this? The trauma of the final fight? He recalls some debris hitting Tav’s head during the fall into the chiontar.. But shadowheart fixed him up before he suddenly walked off, so.. They’ve been through many battles and Tav always kept standing right back up leading the party through the fray bravely.

Gale searched his memories, pondering for some time.. Quickly he came to a stop. There simply was no way to be sure about Tav’s situation if he didn’t talk to Tav to begin with.

Observing him quietly was weird and doing so made Gale feel creeped out by himself.

He’d hoped to run into Jaheira, Shadowheart… Or anyone else really, to converse about the situation. No. It was time to take the matter into his own hands.

He had to confront Tav. To confront his guilt for abandoning him. Surely Tav would understand he had to rid himself of the orb? But.. Then he got a job as a professor and lost track of time..

Tav was an empathetic person, but also a survival-centred individual. He definitely would’ve understood it wasn’t personal.

This conversation had to happen regardless of how Gale felt about it. He owed it to Tav.

When he made it to the tavern, it was the closing hour. He’d hoped to pass a letter to Jilvy to request a private conversation with Tav in a safe environment outside of work. He wasn’t sure how Tav would take it if he really had amnesia.

Only.. The door was left wide open. Gale stared at it, sensing an arcane disturbance in the air. He turned his head to see Jilvy waltz up to him with suspicious eyes.

‘’What’s the meaning of this?’’ The halfling looked up, carrying a large bag of supplies over her shoulder. Her suspicion faded when she recognized the worry in Gale’s eyes and took note of the letter in his hand.

‘’I shouldn’t have taken too long..’’ Jilvy drops the bag into Gale’s arms forcefully as she inspects the door. One of the hinges had come loose and it was dangling from the spare.

‘’Tav is your lost friend, isn’t he?’’ Jilvy continued, looking for the door’s missing screws in the snow. ‘’You knew?’’ Gale’s eyebrows raised in surprise from Jilvy’s casual tone.

‘’I figured as much, the boy clearly has amnesia. And I assume you figured that out yourself as well?’’ She turned her head up to Gale with the recovered metals in her hands.

Gale didn’t answer her, he looked at the footsteps in the snow, noticing a disparity in pacing. He turned around to follow the pattern, recognizing fresh imprints. One was from someone who’d have jumped abnormally far, blowing snow out of the way while doing so.. The others were dragging their heels, moving with force, as if carrying something heavy that needed focus to maintain stability.

‘’A moment, miss Fogwater.’’ Gale handed back the bag of supplies to Jilvy as she watched him draw a few symbols by hand and mutter some incantations.

‘’vide magica.’’

The divination ritual spell takes hold, and Gale sees the traces of magic. Psionic, and very familiar.. One he had only rid himself off months ago. Netherse magic. Tav must’ve retained a semblance of his illithid abilities to make that forceful jump forward. The psionic energy lingered on the ground and the door..

The remainder of the arcane traces of weave he saw were much more worrying. A failed charm spell, and a disintegrate spell, unfired.

‘’This is bad.’’ Gale mumbled, Jilvy was about to ask him what he meant by that when Tav came running back out of breath. He nearly tripped over a pile of toppled snow when he saw the wizard with his boss.

‘’Tav! You’re back.. Oh dear. I’m sorry-’’ Jilvy puts her groceries down on the ground this time, not pausing to make sure it wouldn’t fall to its side.

Gale puts away the letter in his coat, silently watching the halfling comfort Tav as if he were a lost boy.

Tav, out of breath, barely able to speak, manages to stutter. ‘’T..The- Door..’’

‘’Dharma.’’ Gale can barely hear the name as it falls from his lips, only to see Tav shockingly look behind him, trying to find Dharma. He figured out she went after Tav because of his visits.. Tav’s reaction speaks volumes.

‘’Dharma who? She owes me a new door. The brat.’’ Jilvy continues patting Tav’s back as he’s trying to regain composure. ‘’I’m fine..’’ He mutters, walking over to grab her groceries for her, the halfling stops him midway. ‘’You’re not fine! You’re sweating rivers in the middle of a very cold winter evening!’’ She pulls his hands away and holds them together.

‘’Come, come, come inside. Tell me what happened.’’ She nods to Gale, suggesting he better join them.

Tav, nauseous from his experience, takes a moment to recuperate so Jilvy serves him a hot drink. Not tea, chocolate milk.

He takes a large gulp before he speaks his story, retelling from his weird night time experiences and hearing movements.. To the visit during closing hours and being pursued.

‘’Why didn’t you ask the guards for help? No- you would.. They’re.. Ugh, no matter! Those folks are too busy trying to catch a homicidal freak. Dharma owes me a door and food supplies!’’ Jilvy huffs. ‘’Has no one respect for small business owners these days?’’

Jilvy stops mid tantrum when she takes notice of Tav’s posture stiffening. ‘’And my dear employee, of course.’’ She puts her hand on his, trying to comfort him.. Tav’s stiffness does not let up. He lets out a nervous breath.

Gale raises his eyebrows at that. There’s a homicidal freak going around neverwinter? He’s only been here for little more than a week and he’s never heard of it. ‘’Homicidal freak..? I thought neverwinter was the most civilised place out there.. Well, I guess Volo doesn’t know the splendours of Waterdeep very well.’’ He jests, referencing a quote of one of Volo’s guides.

Then again.. There was some commotion in the town squares not too long ago. Perhaps he overlooked something, too busy with his vacation activities.

‘’Aye, red curved dagger. Attacked a wintershield guard during his off duties. Unusual, there’s posters of it drawn up everywhere.’’ Jilvy interrupts his thoughts.

The description, it just.. It just clicks. For Gale at least. A red curved dagger.. Unusual design, and the only likely culprit.. Tav may appear nervous on the outside from Dharma’s murder attempt, but he might in fact be hiding for committing a crime.. Whatever for?

Tav wasn’t someone who’d just lash out against authority figures on a whim. He was very particular about avoiding the flaming fist while they were trying to figure out how to get rid of the steel watch.

‘’I’ll make sure to write a lengthy report to the blackstaff academy, if you could.. Write a complaint I can add, seeing as your business was damaged in the drama of uh.. This student’s behaviour.’’ Gale swallows. ‘’If you could, keep it out of the wintershield’s hands, I aim to look for Dharma and have her sent off as soon as possible. This is my problem to begin with.’’ He searches his pockets for his wallet. ‘’And mine to fix..’’

‘’No, no.. I can’t just take your money, dear. I’ll write a lengthy report of expenses with my complaint.’’ Jilvy answers. ‘’I prefer earning it the normal way. Besides, Tav is a victim here as well. And.. You two need to talk.’’ She brushes gently against Tav’s arm, giving his hand another squeeze. ‘’Just yell my name if you need me, dear.’’ Then, she departs with the bag of groceries in hand, not before putting a curtain in place of the broken door.

The chill creeps in, Gale takes a sip of his cup of water, watching Tav’s absent-minded eyes for a moment. He can see him shiver.

‘’Do you remember me?’’ Gale asks, finally. And to his dismay, Tav’s eyes remain the same. He looks to him as if he’s a barely familiar stranger.

‘’You’re the wizard that’s here on vacation.. Gale, right?’’ Tav answers, he brushes his hand through his hair, fidgeting with his cup.

Gale tries to figure out if now is really the best time to break the news.. Tav is vulnerable, but he isn’t sure how vulnerable.

‘’Yes, that’s correct.’’ He pauses. ‘’And I came here, looking for you.’’ He looks into his water, avoiding eye contact.

Tav stammers a bit, he puts his cup down and avoids looking at Gale as well. ‘’A-ah..’’ The room grows quiet as more of the eerie wind outside creeps in.

‘’..Am I a bad person..?’’ Tav whispers.

‘’What..?’’

‘’..I.. Must be.. I keep seeing these flashes..’’

Gale isn’t sure how to answer that, but it does answer some of the riddles.. Tav’s amnesia is definitely traumatic. He should’ve known. The signs were all there.. The absent eyes, the apathy and gloom. His self-neglect, he isn’t acting like himself.

‘’I think I’m being punished.’’ Tav sobs, hiding his face in his hands. ‘’You came looking for me.. I don’t even know if I deserve it-’’ He wails softly, trying to hold back his cries and plants his face on the table.

Gale stands from his seat and sits beside him with his knees on the floor, pulling Tav from his position into a hug. ‘’You were a hero. At least to me.’’ He allows him to stain his coat with tears and mucus as Tav continues to cry in his confusion. When he calms down, he wipes the snot from his nose, looking uncomfortable from his own actions.

‘’I don’t even know who you are.’’

Gale gives him a gentle smile and grabs his hand, reassuring him. ‘’I’ll tell you all you want to know my friend.. But first, I need to take care of this Dharma problem. I endangered you necessarily.. This is my fault. You shouldn’t be..’’ Gale shakes his head. ‘’I’ll come back, make sure to stay with your boss, Jilvy, you’re safe here.’’

Tav looks confused by his words and gentleness, the wizard is determined to act and return as soon as possible so he could help Tav. To repay the favour.

It wasn’t too long ago Gale had spent days thinking of ending his own life.. And Tav was the one to tell him he deserved to live. And live he did.. Time is of the essence.

…

It wasn’t just Gale who was concerned with spending his time wisely. The next day, Astarion stumbled on towards the tavern, noticing the posters plastered all over the windows. As a Tiefling adventurer, he did look a little similar to his noble Elf self.. But only a keenly trained eye could notice the similarities. His curls were black and long, and so were his sclera dark and intimidating in this form. The red skin and ridges matched with glamoured armour did a lot for this disguise. Attractive on its own, he thinks.

He casually stood there, reading the advertisements the tavern owner had put up.. Something about a book club and a bookstore offering discounts for members.

He pondered for a moment if he should just knock on the door and act as an oblivious customer when a halfling popped the crooked door open and started chattering about the posters to him.

Astarion barely listened to her rambling when he turned around and smiled friendly.

‘’..And I suppose I could really hire someone to look after my employee.’’

Oh, damn. He really should’ve listened to what she was saying.

Given the context, this was Tav’s boss.. She likely heard of the attack yesterday and worried about him. A little odd, he thought. This halfling spends money to protect her lone employee..? A motherly look in her eyes softened his suspicious concerns for her reasoning.

But.. The door looked awfully damaged.. Perhaps she was just looking out for her business.. No, she could fire Tav from his job if she didn’t care for him.

What an opportunity!

‘’You want to hire me as a bouncer..? For your.. Tea tavern?’’ Astarion asked, making sure.

‘’Yes, that’s what I was getting at, you look like the opportune sort? Fancy the job? I don’t want my employee and customers to worry though.. So you could pretend to be a regular.’’ The halfling nodded, clearly happy with her idea.

‘’That makes sense.. I’m expensive though.’’ Astarion thought about it, he needed to look professional to make sure the woman didn’t get second thoughts. ‘’To be honest, I think I ran into your employee yesterday- he was being chased by a.. Mage. Asked me to pretend to be his boyfriend. Are you sure hiring me is a good idea?’’

‘’Hmm.’’ Jilvy eyed his tiefling form, thinking long and hard. Then she grins. ‘’If you give me a discount on hiring you, you eat for free.’’ This halfling.. He liked her attitude. ‘’Just don’t eat all my supplies, deal?’’

‘’I wouldn’t dream of it. My name is..’’ He paused, trying to think of a good tiefling name. He had to decide fast so hoped the name wasn’t too unusual for a tiefling. ‘’Morlock.. Grey.’’ He’d almost used Karlach’s last name, but that wouldn’t be good for cover. If his friends were around, they’d put one and two together.

‘’Your name means Black Grey? Huh. Parents weren’t the creative sort.’’ The halfling then realised her tone may have been a bit.. Offensive. ‘’Oh, sorry. That was unprofessional. I am Jilvy fogwater.’’

‘’Hah! I’m a tiefling Ma’am. I don’t need to explain my.. Past, obviously.. It’s not the pleasant kind, all too common for someone growing up with horns and a tail.��’ He figured that she wouldn’t ask more, considering how he remembers the elturel tiefling refugees being treated by their surroundings. All tieflings experience some sort of discrimination. Many aren’t even born to tiefling parents..

Jilvy grows a sympathetic look, she stares at the ground for a moment. ‘’Well, nice to meet you, Morlock.’’

‘’Let's talk business, how many hours per day? How much? Will I be paid weekly or per hours?’’

‘’I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you, Morlock.’’

‘’Likewise.. Mrs fogwater.’’

He follows her into the tavern, partially listening to Jilvy pretending that he’s signing up for the book club and discussing the latest hot novella gossip.

He’s only been there barely three seconds when his eyes meet with Tav again. He doesn’t seem too surprised, just put off by a familiar face with a raised brow. Then, without a worry in the world he continues checking on his baked goods.. Working efficiently and unbothered by Astarion’s presence..

To him, there wasn’t Astarion though.. There was Morlock, the tiefling adventurer who’d saved him the day before.

‘’Aye, Tav, come here for a sec. I heard you met Morlock?’’ Jilvy chimes in, it's almost as if she read Astarion’s mind.

‘’Oh, yeah- I didn’t catch your name…B-before.. Hi.’’ He looks flustered. If only for a little bit, the glazed-over doll eyes disappear. There is a light in the darkness.

Even in this disguise, Astarion has some hold over him. Not that he can tell it’s Astarion though.. Which is the point.

But, that aside.. Astarion feels a little jealous at the looks he’s giving to Morlock.

So.. His plot thickens, while he schemes to create the perfect scenario to get Tav back in his arms, as soon as possible.

#ascended astarion x male reader #ascended astarion x male tav #ascended astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 tav #ascended astarion x m! reader #ascended astarion x m! tav #ascended astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #long fic

12 notes · View notes

nightswithkookmin · 1 year

Note

https://twitter.com/PSpiritmonster/status/1632966191903039489?s=19

Pretty sure I read this on your blog. If this isn't you, then someone is just copy pasting I guess.

Sigh

I've lost track of the number of times people have plagiarized my content and taken credit for it.

One person has a whole ass mag full of my posts and they selling it to others🥴

Then there are people literally tryna be me

Don't know if you are aware of this, but about a year or two ago when I started out on Tumblr, I was made aware of an elitist ring of Jikook shippers on this platform who took it upon themselves to slip into people's dms on Facebook and Twitter asking them to either refrain from reposting my content and asked that they don't give me credit for my posts if they cared to share it.

They claimed I was delusional, weird, creepy, black girl and didn't want my posts reaching people so they started making up these strange narratives about me to stigmatize me

One of the ring leaders, Kookiemonster who was a BP/JK stan was behind all of that. I learned she changed her handle or something- I'm gonna find her and start dragging her all over again cos this shit is all her fault. This is what happens when a bigoted control freak with no brain what so ever exists in spaces like these

Now you have a bunch of lazy ass sleazy ass bloggers literally copying and pasting my blogs, commiting intellectual fraud, intellectual theft, stealing from a black content creator in broad day light but hey what's new

It baffles me when people have to steal something that comes to me in my sleep. Most times I'm writing these posts high as fuck, drunk as fuck, off the top of my head without expending any mental energy whatsoever and you gonna steal that? Wild

This is how I know these people aren't actually fans of Jimin or BTS they are just in for the clout. How can a fan, a real fan HAVE SO LITTLE TO SAY ABOUT THE MAN YOU CLAIM YOU STAN YOU HAVE TO STEAL OTHER PEOPLE'S WORDS AND THOUGHTS ABOUT THEM??

FAKE FANS. FAKE STANS. UNORIGINAL BEINGS

This one here just pisses me off

I need a minute it's messing with my head

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strawberry-cowmilk · 2 years

Note

Hiiiiiiiii!

Welcome back beautiful person!

While you were gone I thought of some amazing scenarios to give you so here's one of them!

Enjoy!

So like I read about MC friend being the descendent of lilths lover and I was like this is good but it could be better!

So the brothers have been acting strange lately. And mc didn't have the slightest clue why.

Eveytime she asked it was always turn into something else to talk about. So she gave up for now.

Now it was the end of the school day and the brothers wanted to walk mc back home.

Until they saw mc and Philip together.

Philip had his arm around mc shoulder as he was telling her something as they walked.

Just for a brief moment

A small moment.

They saw HIM and Lilith together. Smiling and laughing

Reaction

(and again welcome back!)

Hi! Aww you're so sweet ♡♡ and it's been a while, I'm sorry for making you wait so long. Anyways, enjoy this post!

the brothers getting reminded of lilith

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

a/n: Just to clarify, mc is NOT lilith's replacement. The brothers don't view them to be so in this.

content warnings: angst, lesson 5 and 6 spoilers, distancing, gambling, locking in room, bottling emotions up, not eating

-----

Lucifer

mentally yells at himself

he knows it's not really them, and yet the sight felt like a dagger to the heart

lucifer knows he can't keep this little game up anymore, he has to take some form of action to make the situation normal again

but in reality, he ends up distancing himself from you for a good week

Mammon

he will literally jump in, pushing your friend off of you and dragging you off somewhere, saying he needs your help with something

in reality, he doesn't need help with anything, the sight was just too much

mammon has unhealthy coping mechanisms, he goes to the casino in hopes to clear his mind

Leviathan

levi goes hermit mode

he locks himself up in his room and does not come out for a very long time

not even to eat, it was very concerning to everybody in the house, since they had no idea what happened

levi feels stupid for feeling like this though

Satan

unlike the others, satan didn't know lilith that well

but still, the sight feels uneasy to look at for him

he does not know why

he ends up bottling it up, acting like all was fine until it exploded when he got a little too angry one time

Asmodeus

oh no not in front of him

like mammon, he will push your friend away and drag you off somewhere

you thought asmo got a little jealous again, but usually when that's the case he will cling to you, half in tears declaring his love for you

this time he was quiet, it was worrisome

Beelzebub

he was happy one second ago until he saw it

beel knows you and lilith are not the same, he does not compare you two in the slightest but he just generally doesn't like to be reminded of her

because of his own internalized guilt

he actually doesn't eat anything for the rest of the day

Belphegor

belphie would push your friend away, but unlike mammon and asmo, he won't take him with you

he does not want to see either of you right now

he just wanted to separate the two of you

why? he doesn't know exactly himself

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shinescape · 2 years

Text

Always

Idol Jun x Best Friend Fem Reader

tw/cw: mentions of food, playful banter and reader is mentioned as smaller than jun (once?) so if you're not comfy with that then yeah just putting it here :]

note: posting this for my best boy wen junhui and my apologies if there's errors around. also this blog lacks seventeen content (i am guilty of it as well) so do request them to fill up the space. enjoy the read!✨

The boys were gathered in their meeting room. Some were either eating, goofing around or just napping. They came back from recording a reality show and it was tiring yet they had so much fun. While they were minding their own business, you stepped inside the room after knocking a couple of times. You tried to not get any attention but one of them spotted you.

"Oh my god!" Dokyeom screeched as you told him to quiet down but to no avail he screamed for the others.

"Look who’s here, guys. Jun, your friend is here!" The group’s sunshine purposely emphasised the last part. It's not like you had a crush on him or anything, why does Dokyeom make it sound otherwise? Everyone greeted you and even Jihoon who had his eyes closed gave a lazy salute. You were never getting used to this even after meeting them quite a handful of times before.

"Hey, it's been awhile. Gimme a hug." Jun had his eyes closed as he opened his arms wide but nothing came. He blinked his eyes open only to see that you were happily talking to Seungcheol about something. He wasn't jealous. Nope. It was definitely not jealousy until he saw Dokyeom back hugging you and swaying you from side to side.

I thought he clearly said that I was her friend. Jun thought iritately as he stomped his way over and pulled you away. "Calm down, her arms aren't like yours." Seungcheol piped in until he noticed the expression he wore. That’s when he knew something was up.

Jun hastily let your arm go and asked you. "What brings you here?" You showed the bag on the table and gave a small smile. "I brought some food. Dig in guys." You announced to the whole lot and as expected cheers came after. It’s still funny to you how they became extra hyper every time food was mentioned. You made rather simple dishes, yet they acted as if they were some high class dishes.

"This is really good!"

"Look at Mingyu, he's not stopping."

"It's his favourite, let him."

"Hey, don't be greedy Jeonghan! These are made for us, not just you."

You turned to Junhui who had an annoyed look and tapped his shoulder. "Here. Go eat somewhere safe from these hungry men." You gave him a different bag, smaller but it felt heavier than it looked. He couldn't help but smile and went off to eat elsewhere.

While they were busy eating, you busied yourself on your phone. A low grumble came from your stomach. "You can wait." You mumbled as you lightly patted your stomach. After quite some time, they helped you clean up the containers and placed them back in the bag. They didn't forget to thank you and asked where the dancer ran off too. The said male walked back in the room seconds later with his mouth still full.

"Hey, how come you get a different one!" Soonyoung pouted as the others gave him strange looks.

"Guys, It's the same. At least some people get to eat." You stood with arms crossed over your chest. Only then they realised, you didn't eat anything but stuck your nose on your phone all the while when they happily filled their stomachs.

"We're sorry." Joshua apologised as he nudged the others to do the same.

"I'll eat later, no worries. Heard that all of you needed to go somewhere. I'll take my leave then." You bid goodbye and waved at the boys.

"Wait!" Jun jogged over and passed back the empty case to you. "Thank you. It was delicious as always." He unconsciously nibbled on his lips, feeling nervous all over. You couldn't help but look away from his actions. Always making things awkward, you thought. "You're welcome. Well, see you when I see you. Bye."

You stepped out of the room only to have someone following from behind. You knew who it was. You didn't want people to think that something was going on between you two but not that you cared much about it anyway. "Yes, Jun?" You turned and looked at him for a second before averting your eyes away when he looked up.

One of the things you’re not good with is eye contact, it makes things awfully difficult for you. Not that Junhui was any better than you, it was fake bravery for him as well. The real him was a bit far from that, at least he's getting better.

"Can we meet tonight?"

"Tonight? Don't you have schedule later?"

You cocked a brow at him. Knowing that he sucked at being sneaky and can fail at times. Unlike you, who wouldn't mind sneaking out and successfully gets away with it. Meeting secretly could be dangerous but thrilling.

"I'm free tonight. So can we?" You hated when he pleaded in that tone of his. Like it's pleasing to the ears but you feel like punching him at the same time because you know that saying no wasn't a choice anymore.

You heaved a sigh and answered him straight away. "Fine. I'll bring food, knowing that you'll take the most time to get here anyway."

"Thank you!" He exclaimed and wanted to give you a hug but you backed away almost immediately. You gave an apologetic smile to which he understood why.

"See you tonight then." You left right after exchanging goodbyes.

It was almost 9 p.m as you boarded the bus from your place. Like you had planned, fifteen minutes later you arrived at the familiar part of town. Three boxes of pizzas should be enough, you shrugged at the thought. It was cold that night, the usual weather. You sped up your pace to avoid the strong wind hitting your face.

The familiar building was in sight but you knew better than to use the front doors like everyone else. Your head hung low as you walked faster, passing a small crowd that was surely waiting for something to happen or rather someone to pass through those glass doors.

"I saw him!"

"Good thing we stopped by right?"

A smirk made its way on your lips. You made sure no one was at the back and prayed so that the metal door wasn't locked. With one push, the door easily clicked open and you sighed in relief. Walking inside, you head up the stairs all the way to the second floor. It was tiring but it was the best option available for you.

"Finally!" You sighed loudly and almost caught the people’s attention who passed through at the end of the hallway.You halted in front of the silver painted door with the words 'Studio C' written in bold letters. You gave a few knocks before entering the dimly lit room. A sprawled body on the dance floor greeted you.

You walked nearer and sat by his legs. Coincidentally, both of you were wearing all black from top to bottom. You patted his thigh and no response came. "Urgh, such a heavy sleeper." You pattered a few more and chose to squeeze his thigh in the end. He jolted up and ruffled your hair out of habit. You didn't say a word but slightly pushed him.

"Too close."

You placed the pizza boxes out and were about to get up. Well, you didn't want to be found dead in the morning because you choke on pizzas and decided to get drinks by the vending machine. Jun pulled you back down. "I'm getting the drinks." You frowned at him. "I brought them." He pointed out then started eating straight away, happily shoving a pizza slice in his mouth.

"Eat slowly." You then followed suit. Both of you ate in silence until someone's phone rang loudly. It went off and rang the second time.

"Yeah?"

"I'll be back before then."

"...okay bye."

You looked at him with raised eyebrows. "They knew I'm out." He sighed dejectedly. You kind of felt bad but apologising won't change what happened and it was his idea in the first place, you just went along with it since you were free. "At least they don't know your whereabouts, right?" You wiggled your eyebrows, trying to lighten up the mood.

He only chuckled and ate more. After cleaning up everything, you then leaned against each other and stared at your reflection through the mirrored wall. Jun casually pulls your head to rest on the curve of his neck.

"How's life?"

"Bearable."

"Have anyone that-"

"No." You glared at him through the mirror.

He suddenly pinched your cheek, hard enough that you smacked his torso in response. "Also, stop working out so much. You're gonna turn into a rock one day." You rested your head on the side of his arm. "Just say you're impressed with my body." Jun added. "Please, not my type at all." You retorted back at his overly confident words to which he chuckled back.

"Wanna take a photo together?" You quietly asked. This was out of the blue and knowing how such a request was a very rare chance. He agreed.

You and Jun smiled through the front camera and took a couple of shots. Until he snatched your phone away. "Let's take from the back camera." He suggested that you had no choice but to agree. "How about we hide our faces?" You were sure he was getting weird by the day. Like why would you even do that? Usually couples do it, but why would he, all of a sudden?

You agreed nevertheless, knowing how persistent he could be. After numerous shots, the last one surprised you. It happened so quickly and before you could say anything, he got up and left the room.

You sat there, dumbfounded than ever. "What was that?" Your fingers traced the warm sensation that still lingered on your right cheek. The thought of him placing a kiss on your cheek clouded the fact that he took your phone away.

"No, it can't be. Jun is just being weird...like always." You stood up and dusted your jeans. It was probably best that you headed home seeing how late it was getting. But then you remembered that you owed him something.

Jun came back and you briefly locked eyes with each other. "We should head home. It's getting late." He walked closer and passed back your phone. His eyes were looking elsewhere but you. "We should." He just loves to make farewells awkward or it's probably just his way to get over it afterwards.

"Come here you."

You suddenly pulled him for a hug. The warmth his body emitted relaxed you instantly. You missed this. You know that nothing is normal when you befriend an idol. A widely known idol at that too. "I miss this." He said through your hair as he tightened the hug. You said nothing but held onto him. You both swayed your bodies for a while before releasing each other.

"You know, you're the only person I don't mind being this small to me." Jun embraced you again before letting go right after. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be happy about that, Wen Junhui." You punched his arm before collecting the garbage bag that needed to be thrown away.

Both of you went down the same way you came earlier. He had a confused look and you knew it was coming. "I'm going to use this door more frequently. Thanks for sharing your escape." He hugged you. "Jun, you do know that this is your company's building, right? I'm surprised you actually don't know about it." You rolled your eyes.

"Thanks for tonight. You don't plan on telling anyone right?" You questioned nervously. He shook his head and zipped his lips with his thumb and forefinger. "Good, the last thing I want is rumours and you getting hate. Good night then, Jun. Get home safely."

You poked his cheek. "Don't be sad, we'll meet when we can, alright?"

"I never liked letting you go home by yourself. I'm sorry though." He frowned.

"Don't apologise, I understand. I'll be fine." You assured him. It felt like a forbidden love story. But you knew better to not have feelings for him. You knew he doesn’t feel that way towards you. It was best to keep those feelings hidden. Feelings you didn’t know were there before.

Jun saw how you suddenly went quiet and took the chance to softly place a kiss at the corner of your lips. He pulled back and observed your features. Your eyes widened but not a single word escaped your lips.

"Good night." He lightly ruffled your hair as you slowly took the chance to step out of the door. Heat rushed straight to your face as you left the building, even the cold winds couldn’t make it go away.

Maybe, the feeling is mutual.

Jun took off his cap and messed up his hair. He felt a churned in him, unsure whether it's a good or bad thing but it sure was disturbing.

The next day, you went to work and saw how your co-workers were giving you smirks and odd smiles.

You ignored them and stood by the cashier, putting on your apron. "We didn't know you have a boyfriend, kid." A senior worker lightly nudged you by the elbow. "Huh, what are you talking about?" You had a totally confused look written over your face.

"We saw your Instagram. Late night dates, huh? How sneaky." Another colleague snickered by the table in front of the counter.

Once they went away, you instantly opened the said app and saw the posted photo. It was the one where he kissed you. Good thing, our faces were covered though, you thought calmly. "Wait, I'm supposed to not be okay with this. He went through my stuff! That guy-"

"Look at you getting worked up. I bet he's cute." You scoffed and put your phone away. He's going to get it when I see him, you clenched your fist tightly.

"It was a cute post. Even the caption was cute."

You decided to not care about the conversation or how openly they were teasing you. But you had to admit, what he wrote was very cheesy indeed. Although it was only one word. But the meaning could be anything.

The photo came back to mind as the word passed right after.

Always

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