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luveline · 1 year

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spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Something looks wrong."

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"

"Gabs?" he asks.

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"

"I'm okay. I just feel strange."

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.

"Hm?" you hum in question.

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?"

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"

"She's in her room. Call her."

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.

"Woah, careful."

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"

"Well, come and sit. What mug?"

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing."

"The thing?"

You frown.

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"

"Blow in her ear," you mouth.

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."

"For what?" You blink.

"I don't know."

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.

"You're really something special," he says quietly.

"How so?"

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.

"I must have some good luck," he says.

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.

It's not a bad kiss.

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

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clipartdinosaur · 4 months

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Griddlehark Fics

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

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

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

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

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

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

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

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

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

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

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

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

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

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

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

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

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

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

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

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

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medium (15-30k)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Long(>30k):

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

Harrow has a decision to make.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ongoing:

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

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

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

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

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

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

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

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

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

PWP (basically):

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

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

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

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

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

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

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

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

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

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

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

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

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

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

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

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yokohamapound · 5 months

Note

How about some angsty HCs?? 😏

How would Kunikida, Dazai, Fukuzawa, Chuuya and Fyodor (or anyone else you’d like too) react to their s/o taking a hit for them that would have otherwise been fatal if they didn’t?? S/o ends up being okay but the gentlemen are all angsty in the meantime >:)

Thanks so much lovely! 🥰💕

Hello, my lovely! It's been a while since I wrote some good old angst, so this scratched an itch. I hope these are what you are looking for!

Characters: Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Kunikida Doppo

Contents: death mentions, suicide mentions, controlling behaviour, anger issues

Nakahara Chuuya

Ooh, it’s kinda difficult for him to deal with? He’s in two minds about it, really.

On one hand, he’s strong enough that whatever blow was being dealt to him really wouldn’t have hurt him that much, or so he tells himself. All he can think about is that moment where the bullet/bomb/fireball, whatever it is, was coming toward you. Yes, you survived it, but he had to live through the nanoseconds of absolute hell when he thought he was just about to see another person he cares about die right before his eyes.

His temper erupts afterward. He’s furious, yelling at you that you “didn’t fuckin’ need to do that!” You’d be forgiven for thinking that it’s his pride you’ve hurt, but it’s anger born of worry. Those few moments he thought you were going to die were harrowing for him.

Imagine if he carelessly lost the person he loves the most, just because he was too slow or too stupid to see it coming? Shit, he could never live with himself if that happened.

However, there’s the other side of the coin. Which is that you cared about him enough to intercept a blow aimed at him. Chuuya can’t remember the last time someone did that for him. He’s used to being the tank, to soaking up all the violence so the geniuses can get on with their schemes. He doesn’t really know how to handle someone trying to protect him, like he’s something vulnerable.

He likes it and he doesn’t. He’s grateful and he’s pissed. Chuuya’s a complicated creature.

Once he’s done yelling and has calmed down a little, he’ll mutter something that sounds like a ‘thank you’, though he says it with his eyes mulishly averted and one arm wrapped tightly around your waist. He won’t be letting you out of his sight for a while, even while he’s being a grouch.

Dazai Osamu

While he might not show it on the surface, this has a rather profound effect on Dazai. Remember the last time someone he loved died in front of him?

While he pretends to be calm on the surface, inside he’s in turmoil. He should have seen it coming; you’re the self-sacrificing sort, always trying to save him in one or another. But before now, it hasn’t been literal.

I feel like time moves very slowly for someone as fast as Dazai. He was able to process far too much information in those few seconds you were in danger. All of his mistakes, laid out for him as plain as day.

He tends to convince himself that he can plan around every kind of incident but this is a start reminded that this isn’t always the case.

“Hey, bella?” His tone is unusually serious. His hand on your shoulder. “I’m going to need you not to do that again. Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you die in front of me.”

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice Dazai doesn’t make any more double suicide jokes after that. They don’t have the same appeal. Dazai doesn’t think he could stand to watch you die, even if you did want to join him.

He keeps a close watch on you after that, turning up unexpectedly throughout your day without any explanation, his lanky form popping up like a weed.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

While he will never, ever reveal it, this will shake Fyodor’s iron-clad ego a little bit. He likes to think he is in control of everything, and he can predict every single action of yours down to the blink. For whatever reason, he didn’t foresee you getting in his way and taking a hit meant for him.

You gain an element of unpredictability, which is both intriguing and alarming for him.

There is also the fact that you stepped in to take a hit for him. While he’s used to having underlings who look up to him like a god (Ivan), he doesn’t count you amongst the peons. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, but in a way that promotes adoration and obedience, not self-sacrificing recklessness. He’ll have to step back and examine your relationship somewhat.

“My darling, what was the meaning of that?” he asks of you, his tone soft and a little dangerous. “I do not need you flinging yourself in the path of danger for me. I have everything in hand.”

He likes your devotion, but he doesn’t want you getting in the way of his plans. And he does care about you, love you in his own way—he doesn’t want to lose something he sees as his.

If you were injured at all, he will have the best private doctors on hand to treat you. Be prepared for his love and attention to be a little stifling for a while. He won’t want to let you out of his sight.

As for the person whose attack you foiled? Fyodor will turn the full weight of his enormous intellect to destroying them. They were dead the moment their attack came near something he cares about.

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Fukuzawa is very much the self-sacrificing sort. He’s said more than once that he doesn’t mind giving up his life in order to ensure peace in Yokohama, or to protect the lives of the younger members of the agency. He’s heavily bound by duty.

While he holds these values to himself, he doesn’t expect you to abide by the same code. In fact, he doesn’t want you to. You’re not a grizzled old samurai like him. (His words, not yours.)

He also heavily dislikes the idea that you were in danger because of him. Your relationship with him shouldn’t be a source of danger for you. As soon as he’s sure you’re safe and well, he will sit back and mull things over in his silent, intense way. He considers all options, from simply killing the person who tried to attack him, to ending your relationship with him to ensure your safety.

Thankfully, he comes to the conclusion that you are an adult who knows what is good for you. He’s never hidden the truth from you, and if you’re willing to face that to stand at his side, then Fukuzawa needs to respect that. He can’t make your decisions for you.

“However,” he says. “I must ask that you do not do that again. I can accept my own death, but not yours.”

“Don’t you trust me to watch your back?”

“Obviously, you can be trusted,” he says. “Today is evidence enough, but know that I could not live with myself if you were injured or killed looking out for me. If death is coming for me, I have earned it.”

He can’t really be talked out of this mindset, but that’s part of why you fell for him in the first place. Just make him a promise that you won’t put yourself at risk on his behalf.

Kunikida Doppo

Poor Kunikida.

One of his ideals is that he will never watch anyone die right in front of him if he can help it. The last time he had to watch an innocent person die, it almost shattered his psyche.

If you were to die in front of him, it would break him utterly. Even though you’re fine, the close shave rattles him down to his core. Instead of blowing his top and then settling down, the way you’re used to him doing, Kunikida becomes grim and quiet.

He refuses to step away from your bedside while you’re in the hospital for a check-up after the incident. His notebook of ideals is folded in his pocket, ignored. The fact he isn’t scribbling anything down is a little alarming. He’s not Kunikida if he’s not adding little notes to it every five minutes. He has his hands steepled together, his face grim behind his glasses.

“Are you going to yell at me?” you ask him.

Kunikida lifts his gaze to you, almost as if he’s surprised to hear you speak. He breaks out of his reverie a little bit, sitting up and pushing his glasses further up his nose. The light hits the lenses, hiding his expression from you a little. His voice is sombre.

“I must thank you for saving my life,” he tells you, almost formal.

“That’s not the only thing bothering you, is it?” You know him well enough by now. You reach out and take one of his hands.

Kunikida fingers tighten around yours, trembling slightly. It’s the only way that you can see how completely off centre he is.

“Kunikida?”

“Don’t…don’t make me worry like that again. Please.”

#yokohama pound #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #Nakahara Chuuya #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Dazai Osamu #Fukuzawa Yukichi #Kunikida Doppo #Chuuya x Reader #Dazai x Reader #Kunikida x Reader #Fukuzawa x Reader #Fyodor x Reader #angst

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

Would you be willing please to write a Miguel x shy Reader where Miguel is madly in love with her even tho they’re already dating together. They have a infant son together who’s a mommy boy who has his dad Miguel powers (Spider-Man; across the spiderverse) ♥️💙

When Miguel awoke to an empty bed, his mind was a mess as it rushes to the worse case scenarios as he pushes the sheets away from him in what he believed was a race against time as he was quick to his feet and out the door. The first place that Miguel checked was yours and his son’s -Gabriel- room and thankfully enough and to his relief, there you were, holding a babbling Gabriel in your arms as you smiled down at him.

‘You sure are talkative this morning aren’t you, little bug?’ You cooed as Gabriel looked up at you with a wide smile that revealed a set of tiny fangs, something that he inherited from Miguel, ‘ooh look who has fangs like his father.’ Your son giggled as you tickled his stomach gingerly as you rained down a chorus of ‘you do, oh yes you do’ onto him whilst smothering your baby boy in a face full of kisses; completely unaware of the hulking figure of your boyfriend in the doorway who was watching you both with awe and adoration as you Miguel couldn’t help but let out a deep breath knowing that you were safe and sound but more importantly still with him.

After everything that happened with Gabriella, Miguel honestly didn’t think he’d ever get a second chance to be happy and live the family experience but after mourning the loss of a life that was never truly his to experience, you came into his life where he was in a desperate need for that human connection. You were -and still are- as shy as shy could be, you couldn’t keep eye contact with him and even when you did they would divert back down to your fiddling hands; a habit you developed when needed to find a outlet for your brimming emotions.

Nothing much happened at first considering how hard he tried in pushing you away by being a dickhead with short conversations and uncomfortable silences but after a particularly harrowing experience, Miguel had soon grown attached to your side, acting as your shadow with how he often stood behind you; intimidating the ever loving shit out of someone who couldn’t tell that you were becoming uncomfortable in their presence but became too fearful to vocalise your discomfort. He grew protective of your quite, almost introverted nature as it became something he wanted to defend til his last breath because what you had was a precious thing that not many could claim to have.

So it was no surprise that Miguel would sooner or later fall -if not more-in love with you then he already had, which came as a great shock to you when this brooding male started speaking to you softly, holding infinite patience when you were too shy and or overwhelmed to do something, even going so far as to help you find methods he thought might relieve you of said stressors. Miguel was sweet, kind, compassionate and overall the perfect gentleman to you then he was to most and you couldn’t help but feel cherished in knowing that you were probably one of the very few that got to see that side of the stoic badass; one thing lead to another and baby Gabriel had entered your lives, but that only enhanced the love Miguel had for you for blessing him with a second chance of being a father.

Having done enough reminiscing as to how he got to where he was right now, Miguel entered the room to stand behind you like he always did, hand placed on your waist as his heart melted with the way Gabriel’s eyes caught him and how his smile only seemed to grow wider as the baby attempts to tell you by outstretching his chubby hand.

‘He’s so much like you Miguel.’ You tell him as you moved in his arm to hand Gabriel over to his father so you could watch as your boyfriend lowered his face, just enough to press his forehead against his son’s while his minuscule hands patted his face; making Miguel chuckle softly. ‘He certainly does but I think he takes more after you.’ Miguel says, pressing a kiss to Gabriel’s head before looking over at you as you rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again to look at him.

‘You’re an amazing father Miguel,’ you started, pressing a kiss to where your head was prior on his chest, ‘me and Gabriel couldn’t ask for anyone better.’ Miguel couldn’t help but press a kiss to your lips, feeling them smile against his own made him smile as a result. ‘You deserve as much of the praise as I do,’ he says once he pulls away but stays close enough to press his forehead against your own, ‘for without you, I would’ve probably became vengeful, spiteful and above all, alone.’

Miguel tightened his hold on your waist, subconsciously bringing you closer to him as he passed Gabriel back to you so he could use his free hand to stroke his chubby cheek; his heart melting upon seeing his son lean into his touch as he fell back to sleep within the warmth of his parents. ‘I love you both so much.’ He whispered, becoming a little emotional as he watched over his little family with pride. ‘And we love you too Miguel.’ You assured him as you looked at your son that you brought into this life with your amazing boyfriend. ‘No matter what happens we will always love you.’ You added on as you and Miguel continued to watch over your slumbering son, ruminating in your shared love for one another.

#miguel o’hara x fem!reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv imagine #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #Miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara imagines #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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dira333 · 2 months

Text

Don't tease - Tsukishima x reader

A/N: 1k, fluff, requested by @missalienqueen

Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

“You really wanna do it that way?”

You tense immediately, hoping he’ll leave you alone just once. But to no avail.

“I didn’t think I’ve ever seen a filing system this… creative,” Tsukishima drawls. He’s looming over you, a tall shadow of incessant teasing. Ever since you’ve started working at the museum, he seems to have it out for you. He shows up during your tours, butts in when you get a few hours to yourself to work on your recent thesis and just never leaves you alone.

If he could keep his mouth shut doing so, it would only be half as harrowing, because he’s actually kinda cute - as long as he’s not narrowing his eyes at you like this.

Tsukishima often reminds you of your old principal. That man too had been a pole of judgment, always present at the wrong time. You had hated that man and Tsukishima was beginning to… okay, you weren’t kidding anyone, you could probably never hate Tsukishima. If he isn’t tormenting you, he’s polite and sincere in his work and you can tell by the way he treats the rest of the staff that he can be kind when he wants to.

So why does he treat only you like this?

“Let me do it,” he insists at that moment. “Wouldn’t want you to break a nail from all the hard work.”

Your mouth opens before you even register it. “If you want to work as an Educator instead of a Curator you could have just applied for that position when it was free instead of trying to bully me out of it.”

Tsukishima stiffens. He’s never resembled a pole more than at this moment, all his limbs locked tight to his body as he stares into space. You can’t really tell if his face is turning pale too because your own body is locking up, heat flushing your face as you press a hand to your mouth. You’ve never been this bold before.

“I’m sorry!” You rush out when you can speak again, “I didn’t mean-”

“But you did.” He insists, voice low and… dejected? No, you have to be mistaken.

“I… well… yeah.” You stutter. “I mean… You have it out for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that treatment, but if you want my job so bad, you should have just applied for it. The position was vacant for months.”

“I don’t want your job,” Tsukishima presses through his teeth. His eyes are looking everywhere but at you. His cheeks are flushed now and you can almost see steam coming from his ears when he adds: “I want you.”

You blink.

You blink again.

Tsukishima pushes himself away from the filing cabinet, his movements stiff and awkward.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was bullying you.” His voice sounds almost unfamiliar.

When he bows you notice how red his neck has gotten.

He really is ashamed.

“You have a weird way of showing that.” Your hands itch to hold onto something. To make sure that this is real.

“I… well…” Tsukishima rubs his neck with one hand, eyes darting across the room. “I’ve been told before that teasing someone instead of clearly communicating could go wrong but I didn’t really believe it. After all, it worked for my… friend.”

“Your friend was probably nicer about it.” You point out, your tongue heavy in your mouth. What are you supposed to do now? Knowing he likes you?

“I… probably.” He swallows thickly, offers you his hand. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You shake it. The warmth of his skin against yours and the strength of his grip sends a shiver up your back.

He turns, cheeks still pink.

“Well, I’ll… I’ll let you do your work then. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Tsukishima is almost at the door when you untangle the knot in your tongue, brace against the nervous stutter of your heart.

“You could have just asked me out.”

He swirls around so fast you fear it’s going to give him whiplash. The look on his face is something you want to burn into your brain. It’s the delight of a child mixed with the anxiety of someone who’s been let down before. His eyes narrow immediately like he has to make sure you’re not playing him.

You nod, no longer able to form words.

“So…” He clears his throat. “Are you… free? Tonight?”

You nod again.

A smile lights up his face, boyish and bright. Your heart stops for a second before it hammers at twice its usual speed. Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

“You really wanna do it that way?”

You nod, typing away. Behind you, the cushions of your shared couch rustle as he maneuvers around. He leans onto you, heavy and warm, face pressed into your neck.

“But I want to cuddle.” Tsukishima drawls.

“And I want to finish this thesis. You told me I would have more than enough time today.”

“And you will. You just have to cuddle first.”

You try to send him a glare, but his face is hidden away in your hair.

“Tsukishima!”

“Kei,” he corrects you immediately.

“Tsukki,” you compromise and he groans.

“If someone would let me focus, I’d be finished in half an hour and then we could cuddle.”

He huffs. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re not either.”

“Fine.” He gets up. His tone is all snappy, but he winks at you to let you know he doesn’t mean it. He still might be infuriating and annoying, but he’s gotten way better at communicating when he’s actually mad and when he’s just playing for cuddles.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he stalks toward the bedroom.

“I’m going to put on my cutest outfit. We’ll see if that convinces you.”

“Take your time!” You call after him as you pick up your typing. “And send a picture to Yamaguchi when you’re done. I’m sure he’ll appreciate seeing you in the Dino-Onesie he bought you.”

He sends you one last glare.

You return to your document, surprised to realize that all you’ve left to do is write the last paragraph. If you keep at it, you’ll be finished before the Onesie is zipped up.

With a confident grin you pick up speed.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #Tsukishima x reader #Tsukishima Kei #Tsukishima fluff #Tsukishima drabble #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!

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urgonnaneedabiggership · 1 year

Text

And All The Fears You Hold So Dear

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language. Angst. Unplanned Pregnancy. Mild violence. Also there's like a smidge of nsfw talk there but thought I'd let you know beforehand just in case.

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Part Three and Final Installment of something that started as a one-shot and somehow escalated into this¿¿

I just want to thank you for all your very kind comments and let you know that I got a couple requests that I'll be working on, so this might not be the last you see of me. Ily <3

also i cried so much writing this now you have to suffer like i did. xo

Right after the tears finally stopped coming, the emotional exhaustion translated into an intense weariness that made you collapse on the sofa. That hour spent out of consciousness was a blissful interlude in the pain that had your chest hurting and leaving you unable to breathe. You’d once read somewhere that there was something called “phantom limb syndrome” in which people could feel pain in an amputated hand, arm, or leg. When you woke up, you looked out at the now dark sky and thought of giving Miguel a call to tell him about what an awful day you were having until the memories came back like a harrowing tsunami that had you tearing up when you wondered for how long you’d have to keep reminding yourself that he wasn’t there anymore. This time, however, you became angry. And oddly self-assured.

You didn’t need him. You’d given him a choice, and if a sad, pitiful, lonely life was what he wanted, then good riddance. His loss.

You could do this. Jessica’s pregnancy hadn’t stopped her after all. Sure, it would be challenging but there were mothers out there who took care of one or more children and balanced several jobs didn’t they? So what if you moonlighted as a vigilante whose life was on the line every day? What if you’d have to spend the rest of your life protecting him or her from the bunch of fairly dangerous enemies you’d made in the past months?

Or maybe you didn’t have to.

Your eyes wandered off to your suit which you’d mindlessly thrown on the floor the second you’d arrived home, scrutinizing the details and the care that you’d put into creating it. You wondered what it would look like inside a box, hidden in the back of the closet for years, or until your kid stumbled upon it and asked about mommy’s dutifully hidden past.

An obnoxious beeping sound coming from between the cushions snapped you out of your fantasy as you fished your watch. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken it with you and now it was issuing a warning concerning an anomaly with an amazing timing that had decided to pop into your dimension.

Placing a hand on your stomach, you looked out of the window and doubtfully pressed your lips together.

“Shit. Please, let it be a Vulture that’s literally a vulture, please,” you pleaded with whatever deity chose to listen to you as you picked up your suit and rushed to the bathroom, mindlessly throwing the test into the trash can before pulling the mask over your head.

Unfortunately, you didn’t arrive at the location to find a confused scavenging bird flapping around. You weren’t even sure of what you’d been sent to capture. At the scene, several police cars had formed a barricade outside of an empty warehouse and seemed to be lying in wait, aiming at the door with their guns. Good. That meant you could get in there and set things straight with the unwanted visitor before anybody got hurt.

You stealthily made your way from a nearby ledge to the roof, finding your way in through a broken skylight and landing on top of a pile of metallic crates solid enough to hold your weight but making your entrance noisier than you would’ve liked.

Whatever you were looking for, it was nowhere to be seen. The warehouse was in such darkness that, if it wasn’t for the night-vision lenses Miguel had fitted into your mask, you wouldn’t be able to see further than your own nose. They had come in pretty handy, and you couldn’t believe you’d been so opposed to getting them.

“(Y/N) it’s just one small modification, give me one reason not to.”

“Because you’ve already done too much!”

“Oh come on, it will take me what? Twenty minutes?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean you’ve done too much to my suit, Miguel. First, the emergency parachute, next the spine and nape reinforcements, then you literally said ‘You know what? How about we just redo the whole thing with fireproof fabric?’ and now another modification?”

“He added memory foam insoles too, said you wouldn’t notice, I’m with you on this one” Lyla chimed in.

You pressed your lips together to fight back a satisfied smile while Miguel glared daggers at the AI assistant, who refused to back down.

“She still remembers please and thank you, alright?”

“Lyla, will you please go check if there’s a faulty connection or a leaky pipe somewhere? Thank you.”

After throwing a sickly sweet smile his way, she vanished.

“Alright then,” Miguel continued arguing, “I’m sorry for offering to install state-of-the-art, potentially lifesaving enhancements to your suit. What was I thinking, not wanting my girlfriend to die?”

He lifted his hands in defeat and retreated to the other side of the room, minimizing the digital blueprints of the new glasses.

“And for the record,” He continued, “I didn’t do all the work for your new suit, you designed it, remember? I had no idea of what a ‘basque waistline’ was,”

When he finished talking, he was surprised to hear absolutely nothing coming from your side. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turned to see you still leaning against the metallic table on top of which your suit rested. You were staring at him with a surprised expression that only baffled him further when he noticed the bright blush spreading around your cheeks and down to your neck. Then it dawned on him.

“Oh shit, I’ve never called you that before, have I?”

“No, you haven’t,”

Of course, that small window of vulnerability was all he needed.

“Please let me put the lenses on your suit?”

What he didn’t know was that you can see both ways through a window. When he earnestly pleaded with you to let him install the stupid attachment, his true motives were as clear as if you’d heard them straight from his mouth.

Last time I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t plan ahead. If something happens to you and I have the slightest notion that I didn’t do absolutely everything in my power to keep you safe…please. Do this for me, would you? For my own, selfish peace of mind?

And he’d been right. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw something dart from behind one container to the next one.

“I see you,” You announced, rolling your shoulders as your Spider-Sense began acting up, “Listen, you’re probably feeling confused right now and if you come out we could…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence as something heavy and cold tackled you onto the ground. Instinctively, you rolled over just in time for something sharp the size of a harpoon to stab the ground next to your head strong enough to pierce the concrete. Without wasting one more second, you jumped on top of a container to take a better look at whatever the hell that was just to find that same spot completely empty. Whatever it was, it was fast. Wincing at the sharp pain in your shoulder, you reminded yourself you had to be more careful and avoid taking strong hits like that.

However, you couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. And, as if to affirm that thought as quickly as it came, your sense warned you of something coming at you from behind. Before it could take you by surprise again, you swiftly moved out of the way and shot webs twice to try and pin it down so you could at least take a good look at what you were up against.

“What in the…?” You gasped as you stared at what you’d captured. Before you, a 20-foot-long pale yellow scorpion furiously trashed about as it tried to free itself from your webs. Not even five seconds after you spotted it, the critter broke free of its restraints and disappeared behind another container. Well, reasoning and trying to bring him in peacefully wasn’t going to work with this one. For now, you knew that it was going to try and keep attacking you, so the best you could do for now was to keep an eye on him before he could plunge that hideous stinger through your forehead. Especially since the little shit was remarkably fast. What was that thing Miguel always told you to do?

“No, remember. You’ve got to think further, think two steps ahead,”

“You know, Miguel, repeating that a million times isn’t going to suddenly give me the ability to see ten seconds into the future,” you muttered, taking the hand he reached out to help you get up. With a wince, you placed a hand on your shoulder and rolled it until it popped.

“It’s not about seeing into the future, (Y/N), it’s about finding unprotected spots and patterns,”

“How come outside I’m love, gorgeous or mi chiquita preciosa de ojitos bonitos, but the minute we’re in here I’m back to being (Y/N),”

“First of all, that last one never happened, we agreed on it, I was in…a vulnerable…”

“You were drunk, you can say it, I won’t tell,”

He glared at you in a way you knew meant ‘won’t you?’. Hopefully, he’d never find out you’d told Peter every last detail of his drunken silliness as soon as you had the chance.

“Second of all, here you’re just like anybody else. You mean nothing to me and I mean nothing to you because that’s how the attackers are going to see you, as an obstacle to get out of the way. Now focus. I’m going to attack you again,”

While knowing beforehand he was going to come at you gave you some advantage, you managed to block the blow he launched at your head. Before he could try again, you noticed his next attempt at an attack was leaving his legs completely exposed. Then, you did what Jess had taught you to do whenever you faced somebody taller than you: go for the knees. You crouched and, with a classic foot sweep, managed to make him lose his balance just enough for you to hook your legs on either side of his and take him down.

You were so tired you couldn’t even gloat properly, instead settling for smiling to yourself and releasing a short, triumphant, ‘ha!’ with your last breath before crawling over to him and sitting next to his lying body.

“You know, if I’m supposed to think two movements ahead,” You say, a beckoning look in your eyes, “I think it’s safe to predict you’re going tell me that there’s nothing more you can teach me, and then carry me to your quarters to do absolutely unspeakable things to me,”

Honestly, it had been stupid of you to think he would give up that easily. Not even two seconds later, it was your back that was pressed against the floor as his large frame covered you, and his hand held your wrists on top of your head. Then he leaned in, painfully slowly, until he was close enough for you to feel the heat that radiated from his skin, a low chuckle left his throat.

“Chula, you don’t know half of all the things I can teach you. But this isn’t the place for most of them. Let’s get moving.”

Thankfully, you forced your brain to focus on the matter at hand before it could replay the entire memory.

Two steps ahead (Y/N), come on.

That thing always attacked with the stinger first. Then it would probably try to immobilize you with its pincers. Quickly tracing a plan inside your head, you started to roam the dark warehouse looking for the missing critter, your spider-sense as sharp as ever as you looked behind every crate and container only to find nothing. Maybe it had left the building without you noticing? Outside, the police still remained alert and in wait. There was no way it could have left without being seen.

Fine. If you couldn’t find him, then he could come and find you. Making your way to the center of the empty space, you remained perfectly still and waited for your sense to tell you where the beast was coming from. The wait was short-lived as you felt a sharp wave of shivers running down your right arm, your entire body shifting to face that side just in time to shoot enough web to completely wrap the entire stinger and leave enough web for you to jump and throw over a beam, leaving the scorpion hanging upside down while aggressively pinching the air around him with its pincers. Unwilling to take any risks, you covered them as well. You had to stand there and catch your breath for a few seconds before looking over to your watch to report you’d successfully captured the anomaly. Only then you had the chance to see that you had several missing calls from Peter.

“(Y/N)?” Peter asked when the call went in almost immediately, “Where have you been? I tried calling but you didn’t answer,”

“Yeah, sorry for going AWOL. I’ve been…busy. I caught something back here. I just reported it,” Behind you, you could hear the scorpion still struggling to free itself, “It’s an ugly one, Mayday’s going to love it.”

“(Y/N), listen, I think you should come back here. You and Miguel should try to talk…”

“P.B., I love you but I really don’t want to talk about that right now. Okay? How about you come over here and help me drag this feisty little shit back to the HQ so we can send it home? You won’t believe it; it has to weigh at least…”

When you turned around to proudly stare at your prisoner, you were met with nothing but a lone stinger, eerily dangling from the ceiling. Your proud smile faded as quickly as it had arrived. Before you could open your eyes to say anything else, you found yourself trapped between two cold surfaces that painfully squeezed all the air out of your lungs as you let out a painful yell. You desperately grabbed each side of the pincer, trying to pry them open to release yourself to no avail. With your brain already starting to run low on oxygen, your strength began to fade. You heard Peter questioningly say your name from the device still attached to your wrist, but he sounded as if you’d been submerged underwater. And his voice sounded as if it was further, and further away. You were falling into a deep and dark lake, air deprived and without enough strength to swim to the surface. So you let yourself sink further, close your eyes and let darkness engulf you as you keep going down.

You’d wondered once or twice what would come after life. Since there was no way for you to be certain about anything, you decided to believe what sounded the most comforting. You would wake up in a beautiful place, full of light, that smelled like freshly baked cookies all the time because you would be sitting at a kitchen table with all the people that you lost along the way, and it was time for all of you to have cookies with whatever you wanted to drink, maybe you just hung out in silence, or you would discuss all the wisdom that the act of passing away seemed to come with…the point was that in no scenario did heaven smell like antiseptic.

This discrepancy was what made you start slowly blinking as you furrowed your eyebrows, the intense white light surrounding you making your head spin. Eventually, you were able to discern some shadows that slowly morphed into a familiar face.

“Hey, welcome back,” Jessica gently greeted you from a chair in the corner of the room. The hospital room. Like they’d done hours before when you woke up from your nap, a new wave of unpleasant memories came crashing down once more as you tried to sit up with a worried expression.

“Is…are we both okay?” It wasn’t until you tried to ask that you noticed a certain reluctance at saying the word.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Jess immediately assured you. Then why did she look so troubled?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked, rolling her chair closer and grabbing your hand gently, “Honey, of all people you know I would’ve understood,”

“Jess, I’m so scared,” Was all you came up with before shutting your eyes and clamping your lips together to keep the sobs inside, tears already beginning to fall from your cheeks, “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I don’t know how I’m going to handle this, how am I supposed to do this if I can’t even take down a lousy scorpion without getting myself killed?”

With a reassuring smile, the woman tried to hug you as much as her pregnancy allowed her, comfortingly running one hand down your hair and rubbing your back with the other.

“See? You’re great at this already and your kid isn’t even here,” You sobbed against her shoulder, too exhausted to return the embrace.

“What makes you think you won’t be?” She asked, pulling away to give you some space and much-needed room to breathe.

And you knew the exact reason. It came to you so fast and with such clarity that it scared you. But maybe she would understand that too. However, right as you opened your mouth to speak, a soft click coming from the door interrupted you right before it opened, leaving you completely exposed to the thorough, scrutinizing look of the man that hours ago you thought you’d never lay eyes on again.

You turned at Jess, hoping she’d create an excuse for him to leave you alone. You weren’t done talking to her. You desperately wanted her to stay. However, she’d already turned to look at him and left her chair.

“I’ll give you a moment,” She said and, after gently caressing your shoulder one last time, left the room.

And then there were two.

For the life of you, you couldn’t think of one single thing to say, much less anticipate what his next move would be. Yet, your eyes never left his. Your jaw hurt from how hard you had to clench it to keep yourself from bursting into tears again. Fuck, could the hormones be acting up already? Right when you were starting to wonder if, should neither of you say something, you would just stay there in this staring contest until the end of time, Miguel spoke.

“How long have you known?”

“A day. Or so.” You blurted out so quickly that he wasn’t done speaking when you replied. It wasn’t until his eyes left yours and wandered down that you realized you’d been clutching your pale blue gown the entire time. As you slowly let go of it, you realized your hands were shaking.

“And you didn’t say anything?” He asked again, his voice turning one octave higher right in the middle of the question.

“Well, I found out not so long ago, and immediately after I was called here to help so I thought we had bigger problems and this could wait. But then you said we had been a mistake all along so I imagined I was on my own for this one. And I think that pretty much covers it.”

Silently, he took a seat on the chair next to the hospital bed.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” He replied, not looking at you but at an empty spot on the wall, “Back there, when I realized you were gone something didn’t make sense. You’ve pushed back much harder for less important things and now you just turned around and left? And with this, it makes even less sense. Even out of spite, you would’ve told me before leaving.”

You hated how well he knew you, and how right he was. And how what he said didn’t make you angry, but instead make you confront the harrowing confession you’d left unfinished before he walked in.

“What if you were right?” You asked taking a deep, shaky breath, “I didn’t intend for this to happen, you know? It just did. What we had was manageable because at least it was just between us, no third parties affected, if anything went wrong with the timeline and such we could call it off and that was that. But now there was something tangible real coming out of this and I panicked because what if it messed everything up? What if we’d made a mistake? But I just didn’t want to think about it until you sort of confirmed it,”

You weren’t going to cry. You refused to cry in front of him while having this conversation. You tried to focus on anything else to cope with his seemingly endless silence, anything but his slouching shape next to you. The soft fabric of your sheets, or the faint whirring of the monitor next to you displaying your vitals. Now you focused on your breaths. Long, deep breaths.

“So,” He finally spoke in a hoarse voice you were sure you’d never heard before, and you were so taken aback by it that you turned to look at him before you could stop yourself to find a strange, oddly endearing sight. He was crying. Well, maybe that was a bit of a stretch but there were definitely tears in his eyes and even if he was better at hiding it, you were sure he was struggling to keep them confined there as much as you were. Suddenly self-aware of the change in his voice, he cleared his throat before continuing.

“So, we’re having a baby?”

He sounded so expectant, and yet so afraid of the answer. He was absolutely terrified. You could see it in his eyes. This man, who faced life-risking challenges every day and had seen enough for several lifetimes, had never seemed so frightened. The thought, for some reason, made you laugh as you shuddered when you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Seems like it,” came the reply in such a croaky voice that it left you no choice but to laugh a little bit more.

This time he laughed too, although you could barely catch a glimpse of his smile before being engulfed in a hug that made you wish you weren’t in such a state so you could pull him as close to you as you really wanted. Instead, you settled for resting your forehead against his shoulder as he pulled away enough to plant several small and warm kisses on your temple.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “God, I swear I didn’t mean one single word. Whatever happens next, we’ll deal with it as it comes, I don’t care, right now all I know is none of this would’ve been worth it if it hadn’t brought me here to you,”

“Hey, don’t get sentimental on me, O’Hara,” you jokingly said, pulling away to be able to look into his eyes, “We’re going to be just fine,”

“I won’t if you keep doing stupid shit like this, (Y/N), ¿qué carajos te pasa? ‘we’re going to be just fine’ Claro, si por tu culpa no me da un infarto primero,“ He scolded you, leaving his seat, “You know you’re benched, right? You’re staying right here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you stay out of trouble,”

“What about my dimension? There are plenty of non-interdimensional criminals there desperate to be caught,” You complained.

“Well, I’m afraid the NYPD’s going to have to figure it out for themselves for the next few months. Might even teach them to appreciate you a little more.”

“And if there’s another anomaly?”

“Dios mío, mujer,” He impatiently argued back, “I’ll go then. Or we’ll send somebody else. You’re staying here. Period.”

“Fine,” You huffed, not pleased at all with the order despite knowing you’d been very lucky this time, “But just for three months,”

“Six,” He stubbornly insisted.

“Five, but Peter’s going to be the godfather and you have to tell him.”

A disgruntled sigh echoes throughout the room.

“Fine,”

Taglist: @anywherebuthere @khaleesihavilliard @spookyboogyuniverse @sunshiines-stuff @letharue @withbeautyandrage

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x female reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv #angst #female reader #reader insert #Spotify

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lunchboxpoems · 8 months

Text

OCTOBER

Is it winter again, is it cold again, didn’t Frank just slip on the ice, didn’t he heal, weren’t the spring seeds planted

didn’t the night end, didn’t the melting ice flood the narrow gutters

wasn’t my body rescued, wasn’t it safe

didn’t the scar form, invisible above the injury

terror and cold, didn’t they just end, wasn’t the back garden harrowed and planted–

I remember how the earth felt, red and dense, in stiff rows, weren’t the seeds planted, didn’t vines climb the south wall

I can’t hear your voice for the wind’s cries, whistling over the bare ground

I no longer care what sound it makes

when I was silenced, when did it first seem pointless to describe that sound

what it sounds like can’t change what it is–

didn’t the night end, wasn’t the earth safe when it was planted

didn’t we plant the seeds, weren’t we necessary to the earth,

the vines, were they harvested?

. 2.

Summer after summer has ended, balm after violence: it does me no good to be good to me now; violence has changed me.

Daybreak. The low hills shine ochre and fire, even the fields shine. I know what I see; sun that could be the August sun, returning everything that was taken away —

You hear this voice? This is my mind’s voice; you can’t touch my body now. It has changed once, it has hardened, don’t ask it to respond again.

A day like a day in summer. Exceptionally still. The long shadows of the maples nearly mauve on the gravel paths. And in the evening, warmth. Night like a night in summer.

It does me no good; violence has changed me. My body has grown cold like the stripped fields; now there is only my mind, cautious and wary, with the sense it is being tested.

Once more, the sun rises as it rose in summer; bounty, balm after violence. Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields have been harvested and turned.

Tell me this is the future, I won’t believe you. Tell me I’m living, I won’t believe you.

. 3.

Snow had fallen. I remember music from an open window.

Come to me, said the world. This is not to say it spoke in exact sentences but that I perceived beauty in this manner.

Sunrise. A film of moisture on each living thing. Pools of cold light formed in the gutters.

I stood at the doorway, ridiculous as it now seems.

What others found in art, I found in nature. What others found in human love, I found in nature. Very simple. But there was no voice there.

Winter was over. In the thawed dirt, bits of green were showing.

Come to me, said the world. I was standing in my wool coat at a kind of bright portal — I can finally say long ago; it gives me considerable pleasure. Beauty the healer, the teacher —

death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

. 4.

The light has changed; middle C is tuned darker now. And the songs of morning sound over-rehearsed. —

This is the light of autumn, not the light of spring. The light of autumn: you will not be spared.

The songs have changed; the unspeakable has entered them.

This is the light of autumn, not the light that says I am reborn.

Not the spring dawn: I strained, I suffered, I was delivered. This is the present, an allegory of waste.

So much has changed. And still, you are fortunate: the ideal burns in you like a fever. Or not like a fever, like a second heart.

The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful. They have been concentrated in a smaller space, the space of the mind. They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish.

And yet the notes recur. They hover oddly in anticipation of silence. The ear gets used to them. The eye gets used to disappearances.

You will not be spared, nor will what you love be spared.

A wind has come and gone, taking apart the mind; it has left in its wake a strange lucidity.

How priviledged you are, to be passionately clinging to what you love; the forfeit of hope has not destroyed you.

Maestro, doloroso:

This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us. Surely it is a privilege to approach the end still believing in something.

. 5.

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.

I am at work, though I am silent.

The bland

misery of the world bounds us on either side, an alley

lined with trees; we are

companions here, not speaking, each with his own thoughts;

behind the trees, iron gates of the private houses, the shuttered rooms

somehow deserted, abandoned,

as though it were the artist’s duty to create hope, but out of what? what?

the word itself false, a device to refute perception — At the intersection,

ornamental lights of the season.

I was young here. Riding the subway with my small book as though to defend myself against

the same world:

you are not alone, the poem said, in the dark tunnel.

. 6.

The brightness of the day becomes the brightness of the night; the fire becomes the mirror.

My friend the earth is bitter; I think sunlight has failed her. Bitter or weary, it is hard to say.

Between herself and the sun, something has ended. She wants, now, to be left alone; I think we must give up turning to her for affirmation.

Above the fields, above the roofs of the village houses, the brilliance that made all life possible becomes the cold stars.

Lie still and watch: they give nothing but ask nothing.

From within the earth’s bitter disgrace, coldness and barrenness

my friend the moon rises: she is beautiful tonight, but when is she not beautiful?

LOUISE GLUCK (1943-2023)

#louise gluck #poem #poetry #october poem

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starberry-cupcake · 1 month

Text

I shouldn't be making another one of these because I didn't even give you enough time to catch up and I'm sure you're tired of me (I'm probably losing mutuals over the length of these) BUT I FINISHED ACT II and I think this is the right place for an update recap. I'm so sorry.

previously, in harrowlana the ninth (reference I might explain one day):

this happened

currently, chapters 20 - 22 (END OF ACT II!!!):

we start with a killer epitaph from harrow for her own grave that I absolutely 10000% need in a tshirt yesterday

"Here lies the world's most insufferable witch"

alleged gideon the first, here known as ortus the first (but I am so sure about this one) has tried to kill harrowbeanie 14 times

I honestly don't know how harrow is going through this without outright telling emperor johnny man to go and insert this entire planetary situation right in the center of his bolthole

we're over here working overtime for you and your sorry ass of a plan that is probably terrible for everyone who isn't you

and we have to put up with zombies (we'll get there), the terrible attitude of your remaining lyctors, very questionable food, very questionable decor, very questionable non goth fashions, and also a man who tries to kill harrow at every turn

this is the worst

at least in canaan house we had gideon's humor and camilla's perfection

ANYWAY

emperor john tells alleged gideon the first (if I'm wrong about this, these are going to be embarrassing looking back on) "she's your responsibility, not your punching bag" to which alleged gideon the first answers "I find the responsibility a hard one"

I'm not sure if this is alluding to baby lyctors in general or harrow in particular, or if anything related to the gideon-involvement narrative I'm imagining has anything to do with it

emperor johnny boy tells harrowbean that this guy's problem is that he made a pact with an "authority he has no power to gainsay" to protect emperor johnny john and that alleged gideon the first thinks harrow is a danger to the emperor

I SURE HOPE SO

I SURE HOPE HARROW KILLS THIS MAN

I HOPE ALLEGED GIDEON THE FIRST IS RIGHT

harrow then mentions how she's "lyctor lite" and emperor john of nottingham says he doesn't think harrow fucked up the lyctor thing

he says only one person fucked it up and it was nasty

it was the ninth lyctor, Anastasia (and a song someone sings, once upon a december)

the vacant room harrowbean has taken residence in was meant for her, but she never made it there

she asked emperor john the asshat to kill her and he said no because he's that kind of a person

"she had much more to give"

I hate this guy

he also says "I had a body and I needed a tomb"

harrow asks the question everyone is asking themselves

aside from where tf are gideon and camilla

"God, who did you bury?"

he gets all vague and cryptic so he can avoid taking about what the fuck he's doing

and he quotes Annabel Lee

edgar allan poe's Annabel Lee

this is a bit more in my wheelhouse than shakespeare

to which harrow notes "Who was A.L.?"

now, I have SEVERAL THINGS TO SAY

first, and most importantly, I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS

THAT ICE CUBE BARBIE MIGHT BE A.L.

I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS, FAM

here's more magic knight rayearth art of the vibes I get from them to celebrate

second of all, Annabel Lee

I do have Annabel Lee in one of my EAP books, but not the one with the pretty Lacombe illustrations

so here are some Ligeia illustrations from it that have the vibe we're going for, as a treat

now, not to be all ortus over here, but I'm gonna be reciting some poetry

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

gonna put that in the 3d model

in the middle of it, like a centerpiece

let's bring back the barbie

this man is doing the whole wife/madwoman in the attic gothic trope but instead of an attic it's a tomb in pluto

another madwoman archetype to add to the list, we've got a whole collection

CHAPTER 21

we have summoned ortus by reciting poetry, because we're back in the gideon-less version of canaan house

so, the sixth is dead in this version

the sleeper or random rifle carrying person shot them in the face a bunch of times

what I wanted to do to not!dulcinea

harrow mentions not having seen camilla or palmolive much in this gideon-less version

devastating for her not to have met camilla

so then protozoa and dulcinea come in

notice I didn't say not!dulcinea

that's because this is the real deal dulcinea and the alive non zombified protozoa

we can know this by their descriptions (especially the hair), the fact that dulcinea knows who tf palmolive is, that she has a breathing tube that palmolive designed for her (this guy istg), that she can identify them and calls them "cam" and "pal"

I was so caught up on this book I forgot to read the short story that came before it btw

anyway, we also know this because protozoa speaks, but we'll get to that

before that, ortus calls the sleeper "the waker" and it's giving me the vibes of the citadel deck

wait, I'm gonna take a pic of some of the cards that give me the correct tlt vibes, so you know what the hecko I'm talking about

(I'm going on unplanned tangents but maybe someone appreciates them)

(we've moved from 3d models to me fetching books and decks from my shelves, what has palmolive done to me)

so, as previously established, protozoa speaks, which is how we know he might be the real one and not the zombie version

he then proceeds to recite poetry

ortus is feral about this

I thought initially that they were gonna have to make room for protozoa in the polycule ortus is in with the fifth, but he doesn't like protozoa coming for his gig

abby says "we're all in this together" which reminds me I did make a high school musical connection with magnus before, so it's funny that it turned out that way

abby asks real dulcinea, aka "dulcie" to her, to bring in mayonnaise uncle because he'll listen to her

why is everyone always into her in all the aus, idk

this one is less bad than not!dulcinea though, but the bar for that was on the subsoil

magnus (who is very much in love with his wife and he's pointing it out every chance he gets) is in charge of looking for martita

harrow is in charge of regina george twin (and yandere twin)

abby thinks regina george twin is the most relevant one

apparently also they're flooded with the rain

which was me last week, so I feel you fam

and we get our traidtional quote, this time by real dulcinea

"Is this really how it happens, Lady Pent?" "No. It's not" "Does it get—better than this? Do you know?"

real dulcinea is saying goodbye to palmolive and the love of my life, who I refuse to accept is in any way harmed in any timeline

and harrow "felt something in her core, though she did not know precisely what it was"

palmolive had a filmsy and we love flimsies because they have what I have started to call "harrow texts"

or "texts which can only be read by harrow"

OP is still ranting, a continuation of the egg rant

I'm gonna transcribe all of it and bold the new part, for my own access, even though everyone who has me in their dash will hate me and block me

The eggs you gave me all died and you lied to me so I did the implantation myself you self-serving zombie and you still sent him after me and I would have had him if I hadn't been compromised and he took pity on me! he took pity on me! he saw me and he took pity on me. And for that I'll make you both suffer until you no longer understand the meaning of that goddamned word. Him I'll kill quick because she asked me to and because that much he honestly deserves but you two mummified wizard shits I will burn and burn and burn burn until there is no trace of you left in the shadow of my long-lost natal sun

could the self-serving zombie be emperor john? could gideon the first be one of the people alluded to? has Annabel Lee anything to do with any of this? since OP mentions a long-lost natal sun? who's "she"? has gideon's mom anything to do with any of this? is this totally not related? is this the actual present? does 'mummified wizard shits' stand for lyctor? because I kinda live for that

ortus, on the other hand, sees an S

ortus in this timeline knows how his dad died, apparently

and we end this part with harrow and ortus finding rusted pipette needles

CHAPTER 22

harrow has killed 13 planets in this practice, which is insane and nobody's asking any questions about it

she was dreaming with ice cube barbie annabel lee and she told her to wake up

harrow mentions the sword sleeping next to her in a loverlike position and it reads like a gideon body pillow to me

remember when I said we should have flushed not!dulcinea into space?

GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT

nobody ever takes the not!dulcinea threat seriously but me

I have to do everything around here

she's a zombie now, which is protozoa's revenge from behind the veil

there's a moment in which she trips but still looks at harrow and it's very creepy and well narrated but I can't help but think of the dracula dead and loving it scene with hypnosis

"it was as though a magnet were stuck in the meat, a magnet that craved some polar force within you" wonder what THAT is about

much like the sleeper/waker, not!dulcinea can pass through wards apparently

harrow goes to wake up yandere twin and says "septimus is walking"

yandere twin doesn't understand at first "the name that had never been cytherea's" and later says "tell her I want my arm back"

which relates to the fact that I've been thinking

if real dulcinea is there in the gideon-less ver

how was not!dulcinea even involved?

because harrow seems to have memories of killing her, of fighting her, of her doing damage in some way, of her being a threat, of her doing it to lure emperor johnny boy to canaan house

so we have some big missing link between the gideon-less canaan version and the emperor's bolthole timeline

she can't be the sleeper/waker, because harrow wouldn't call her "septimus"

so harrow remembers not!dulcinea posing as real dulcinea, which does not happen in the gideon-less version, as far as we can tell atm

AGAIN, DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING, LET ME BE IN DISTRESS

last but not less important

remember not to hint me anything at all and thank you for being patient with me all this time ♥

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

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lilac--sugar · 8 months

Text

The Epitome of Spring

Summary: It was more of a joke than anything when Astarion suggested a bathhouse. Even more so when Karlach tacked on a nice meal and a large round of beer at a nearby tavern. Yet, after a long and rough few days it was all the gang wanted. (Late act 3. Spoilers in general but specifically: Spoilers for Astarion's Quest, Gale's Quest, and Wyll's Quest.) Pairing: Unascended Astarion/Tav!Reader (gn!Tav) (Tav race with a shorter lifespan in mind) I also wrote it with my Tav, Kieran, in mind (pictured above). If there are any mentions that contradict this being gender-neutral please point it out and I will gladly adjust it! 💜 Rating: E (18+ Minors Do Not Interact!) Content Warnings: (In order of appearance) Cussing Throughout, Near Death Experience Trauma, Heavy Angst (that gets solved rather quickly), Smut (starts halfway through 2.4k mark), Blood (Astarion feeding from Tav) (not a warning but it does end in fluff). (If I missed any please let me know!) Word Count: 4.8k Author's Note: Not betaed. I did my best to comb it over. If you see any mistakes please feel free to point it out! But do so kindly, please.💜 Also, there is some dialogue used that came from the game (iykyk). (Also this was posted last night but I just woke up and checked and it wasn't on the feeds I tagged it in. If the post does exsist please let me know and I'll fix it!)

The last few days had been incredibly harrowing. You’d thought that once you’d entered Baldur’s Gate things would have settled down some. Of course, there were loose ends that needed to be tied but the stakes kept getting higher. Almost impossibly high. Just about literally knocking on Death’s door. You can still hear the loud clanking, hand grasped tight to the metal rung of the ladder, body numb from adrenaline. All wrapped up in the fear that this was it, that you’d be snuffed out of existence, topped with the bow of worry about one man and what might become of him should you not make it.

“Darling?” Astarion’s hand waves in front of your face and you blink back to reality, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just,” you take in a deep breath, your lungs aching for air and you didn’t even realize, “zoned out.”

His brow knits together in concern, but you don’t bother to look up at him. Can’t stand it. Don’t want to think of that face he made, still just a few hours fresh in your memory.

It all seems rather silly now, being stood in the middle of Baldur’s Gate’s finest bathhouse all awash in melancholy. It was more of a joke than anything when Astarion suggested a bathhouse. Even more so when Karlach tacked on a nice meal and a large round of beer at a nearby tavern.

Yet here you were in a building the size of a palace. The House of Relaxation. Every last inch of it was gilded in luxury. Built with warm sandstone polished to perfection, flex of copper glittering throughout. Etched into the stone were runes of all kind. Upon closer inspection you’d realized they were invocations of relaxation and healing. There were pamphlets left on the counter explaining all of their services. From massages to solitary baths down to more extravagant options that included happier endings. Not one for too much pomp, you opt for something more humble, something that sounded a bit enchanting.

“Uh,” Astarion was there at your shoulder as you paid the attendant and gathered your bathing token, robe, and towel, “Which one did you go for?” he asks, trying to catch a glimpse of your token.

“Something basic,” you say, tucking it between the folds of the towel.

“I rather hoped we could do something together,” his voice is soft, cracking just slightly with something. Disappointment? Sadness? Your heart sinks but you don’t turn around, don’t know what to say really. Frozen in place, mouth suddenly dry.

You can see from the corner of your eye Gale eyeballing the two of you as he often does. With him and Astarion sharing a little corner at camp it made things too easy for him to eavesdrop, feigning like he was lost in thought.

“Oh, go on Fangs!” Karlach lands a rather impactful slap across Astarion’s back, “we all know you don’t do basic! Go ahead and get one of those fancy package deals!” She plops a pamphlet in his hands, “There ya go!” She points down to it, “The Goodberry trio! Facial, massage, and luxury honey bath! Sounds like your deal!”

“Uh, yes, I suppose it does,” he still sounds rather dejected, another pang to your heart.

“When we’re all done we’ll go to the tavern down the street, get something cheap and cheerful!” She ruffles at his hair, “You’ll see your sweet Tav there! And we can head to camp all refreshed and our bellies full!” She smiles wide at him, “Besides! Me and them got the same thing so I’ll keep an eye on them. No worries, Fangs!” As she says the last part she moves to you, tossing her arm over your shoulder.

“Right,” he turns to the counter with a deep sigh. You turn to dare a glance. He looks dejected just like you thought. You feel ill at the sight. Karlach hastily herds you away.

“Karlach,” you say in a hushed tone, “I don’t-“

“I know, doll,” She winks at you, pressing a finger to the side of her nose, “We all need our time alone. I don’t blame Astarion for wanting to be with you after what happened last night. But I also understand that you need your time to process it. I just wanted to help in some way,” she pulls away once the two of you enter the public showers, “If ya need someone, I’ll be in the,” She pulls her token out to read it, “Drunken beer bath falls!” She gives you a warm smile before disappearing into a section of the showers.

Public as the showers were, they were still individual stalls, marble walls and black silken curtains for privacy. You slide into one and turn the water on. The shower hisses to life, coming out shockingly cold. The noise, the feeling of the cold water against your skin- you gasp and press back against the cool marble wall.

A flash of The Iron Throne flitters behind your eyelids. You press a hand to your chest. You and your party had decided to split up. Wyll would get his father, Astarion would get Omeluum. You’d get some prisoners down another corridor and Karlach stayed in the main chamber to take down Sahuagin warriors as much as she could. In your stupidity you’d gone back to help a cell you’d mistakenly walked away from. Determined to help them it cost you so much time. You’d barely made it out. The hatch to the submersible was closing on you. Survivors shouting to go. Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach screaming to wait just a second longer.

That’s when you knocked on the hatch with all your might. Hand holding onto the rung with some strength you can’t even fathom now. Your body goes weak thinking about that moment.

Astarion was the one that pulled you up, looked as though he had been ready to dive back down in there after you. His wide eyes full of tears, the fear. The fear in those eyes.

You’d launched yourself up with your legs at the same time he pulled you. The two of you becoming a mess on the floor of the ship. Silence fell over everyone as Astarion held you against his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He’d shushed you, told you to let it out as you sobbed into him. You weren’t one to cry but that moment made you realize something about you and your relationship with him. An undeniable truth that couldn’t be ignored forever. Forever. The word hurts.

You seem to phase back into yourself. Pressed back against the wall, the water has gone scalding. How long had you let it run? How long had it been burning your feet? You’re quick to turn the temperature down, wincing as your feet burn. You press a hand to one of the healing runes and little to your surprise the burning goes away. Healed. Feet normal again.

With a sigh you carry on with your shower, using the milk and honey toiletries they’d provided.

You slip out of the showers, realizing they’d only given you one towel.

Knowing you were moments from getting wet again anyway, you slip on your silk robe. The smooth fabric clinging to your wet form. You shrug as you grab up your towel and head down to the ‘Nymph Forest’ room. There had been many themed rooms but that one sounded the most whimsical to you.

You turn the corner into the room, body instantly welcomed with the gentle caress of damped leaves. A small pathway into the room opens up into a clearing. Golden sunlight shines down from a lush canopy above, casts the room in shadows and sunbeams. You can’t help but notice dew drops on the leaves act like prisms, a dance of rainbows swirl around you as you walk through. The ground beneath your feet is a soft lush moss, smooth stepping stones placed here and there. Bakers fern brushes at your ankles, sprinkled through them are different wild flowers in an array of colors. Purple foxglove, lily of the valley, pink bleeding-hearts. There are magnolia trees framing the edge of the crystal clear water. The bed of the faux pond is smooth stone like the rest of the building but the copper dances and glitters as the water ripples above.

How this was one of the more basic options you really weren’t sure.

You place your towel to the side over a rather conveniently placed overgrown root, designed to look natural but definitely a bench. No one else is around. Perhaps not many people prefer an overgrown forest like yourself. With a satisfied sigh you dip a toe into the water. Perfect if not just the tiniest bit too warm.

You undo the tie of your robe, let it fall down your shoulders.

“Tav?” Astarion’s voice is soft, tapering off in a wavering sense of unsurety.

You nearly jump out of your skin, quick to pull your robe up, doing the tie once again. You glance over your shoulder but there’s no one to be found.

“I’m sorry. I feel like you wanted some time alone, and trust me I plan to give you that,” he says. You turn your eyes away, focusing on the way the sunlight glitters off the water, “I just want to make sure you’re alright. Ever since last night you’ve been distant. It was horrible, the whole situation, but I’m worried that you’re not so much,” there’s a pause, he’s swallowing a lump in his throat, “in need of alone time but more pushing m- us- away.”

The sound of water lapping at marble fills the air in the wake of conversation.

“I know I’m just being insecure and darling, please, take all the time that you need, but, know that I’m here and as long as you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

You turn back again, look around the corner and can see him pressed back against the wall of the hallway, facing away from you.

“Astarion,” you can’t help how tenderly his name falls from your lips. You’re scared you’re giving false hope as he blinks, surprised. He turns himself to look at you, you’ve never seen him look more like a lost puppy.

“How did you know which room I’d be in?”

“Well,” he twirls a hand through the air, “I might have taken a peek at the attendant’s ledger when he turned away,” he shrugs trying to hide his sheepishness, “But, uh- I don’t want to intrude, darling, I just wanted to let you know.”

“I know. And I want you here. Please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to cross over to you. Adorned in his own silken robe, towel clutched in his hands. You gently take it from him, toss it onto the bench next to yours.

“We’ve always been honest with each other,” you start, “well, at least since you confessed to me back in the Shadow Cursed Lands anyway,” you follow up, causing him to purse his lips. It was something he still felt the faintest amount of guilt over.

You reach out and take his hands in your own.

“I think,” you take a deep breath, look up at the canopy of leaves, trying to gather yourself, “we should end this,” you say, finally looking back at him, knowing you owe him at least that.

“Oh shit,“ heartbreak and shock spread across his face and your heart cracks in half. Your words, his face, you feel like you’re going to be violently ill, “I- Did I do something wrong? Why? What’s changed?”

“I’m just scared of hurting you. I’m scared that one day I’ll die and leave you alone. I saw the look on your face when you pulled me up on the submersible. I can’t stand the thought…” Your eyes start to water. You close them in an attempt to stop from crying but it’s all feeble as the tears fall down your cheeks. With a thick swallow you nod your head, “It’s easier now when you don’t love me too much, while you aren’t so attached.”

You hear him let out a small laugh, open your eyes to find him with a sad smile, “Too late for that, my love. This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can’t let our lives be ruled by fear or else we never really live. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of our future. When I said I wanted you, I knew what I was getting into. And when I said I didn’t want to lose that, I meant it. Now, if you have an issue with committing to an immortal,” pain spreads over his face, “I understand that and I won’t hold you back from what you truly want.”

“I have no issue in the slightest,” you say, stepping closer to him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“Good, darling, besides, there’s plenty of things that can be done,” he rests his chin on your shoulder, melting into the embrace, “we can try to find me a cure and you can learn Timeless Body at some point. That’d put us on level playing fields. Or perhaps make you immortal somehow? If that’s something you want?”

“Anything,” you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, “anything. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”

The two of you rest in easy silence, just enjoying the closeness of the other. After a moment he hesitantly pulls back from you.

“Are you ok aside from that? I know how terrifying it is, standing on the brink, looking out and seeing nothing but the dark void of death,” He cups your face, kisses you softly over your eyes. His thumb swiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “Are you going to be ok?”

“In time,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips, “Doesn’t help my fear of krakens much,” you’re trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, there were hardly any there,” he grins at you.

“No, but it’s just another layer to it all. Didn’t care much for the sea because of it before and now, kraken, being swept into the sea and drowning,” you shrug, “I think I’ll just carry a general fear of it from now on.”

“Fair enough, reminder, no dates out on a boat. Though, yachts are so nice,” he sees you shake your head, smile on your face, “oh well, Siilen's faen*. There’s plenty of other things I can treat you to. Right now, though, my sweet, I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Deadly.”

“Well, then,” his grin grows.

“Astarion,” you pull away from him. He tilts his head, watching your form as you walk backwards from him, “If I’m going to try living again. I’d like to do so with everything life has to offer.”

“Are you sure? Are you in the right headspace?” he asks, following you like a moth to flame.

“Oh yes. If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded,” you say, being coy with his own words. You lean back against the tree, tilting your head to expose your neck.

“Darling,” he comes to you, presses his index finger under your jaw, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, “let me see what I can do,” his fingertip traces down the expanse of your neck, circling down and over your collar bone, pushing your robe open just a bit.

You sigh softly, watching him through heavily lidded eyes. His fingers slide under the lapel of your robe, cool knuckles brushing over your chest, over sensitive skin that prickles under his touch.

He leans over you, his other arm resting next to your head against the tree. With his nose he nudges your cheek, causing you to tilt your head the other way.

You lean into him, go to kiss him but he pulls back slightly with a ‘tut’, shaking his head. With a soft, nearly frustrated, sigh you press your head back against the tree again.

Pleased, he leans back in, running his tongue over your bottom lip, then the top. Your lips part in anticipation for his but he remains a hairsbreadth away. His knuckles brush lower, leaving your chest and going lower, and lower. Your stomach flutters and a choked noise escapes you. He breathes it in, cool air flowing over your wet lips.

“Astarion,“ you say his name as a whispered prayer, sacred worship.

“Tav? Oh! I’-” your own name but not from Astarion’s lips. You don’t care, as you open your eyes, you only look to Astarion. You keep eye contact with him. His hand drops from you, eyebrows twitching in annoyance.

“Gale,” He pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, “hold on, darling,” he whispers to you. His eyes fall on Gale, aiming a glare at him so finely honed from years of brooding it could level a small village, “My friend, my pal, my,” he grimaces just slightly, “buddy,” for what it was worth, Astarion, and you for that matter, did rather like Gale. It was just his persistency in the face of the two of you being an item that really got Astarion’s metaphorical blood, boiling.

“As you can see, sweet Tav here is rather occupied at the moment. With me. Their partner. Darling?” He turns to you and it takes you a second to pull your eyes from him, transfixed by him still.

“I’m sorry Gale,” you say, finally managing to look over at him, “I’ve tried to tell you so many times.”

“No, it’s me. I just, sorry, I just wanted someone to talk to. I’m seeing Mystra tomorrow-“ he sighs deeply, “I had hoped.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Gale only waves you off, shaking his head, “Karlach is in the,” you pause trying to remember, “Drunken falls? She’s a great ear.”

“Right, I’ll go do that. Thank you,” awkwardly he slips out of the room.

You look back to Astarion who has a mix of adoration and contemplation on his face.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’ve got a tender heart,” he says finally.

“Do not,” you protest, scoffing out a laugh.

“You do. I can feel it when we kiss,” his fingers move, come up to press under your jaw, right at your pulse, “I can feel it fluttering under my hand. Delicate like a little bird. You’re so sweet to everyone, even when they deserve to be told off.”

“He’s lonely, confused, hurt.”

“He’s bullheaded and taking advantage. He saw how you went off without me earlier,” he shakes his head, “an opportunist. I don’t blame him for trying but I do wish he’d stop. We’re together and everyone has recognized that but him.”

“I don’t want to think about Gale right now,” you say, taking hold of his arm, moving his hand up to cup your cheek, “kiss me, for Gods sakes, kiss me.”

He does. Softly at first, but you reach out, curl your fingers into his robe, pull him closer to you. Pleasure. One of the greatest highlights of life. Pleasure with the one you love, even more so. Hands move with expert precision, robes pushed off forms, bodies exposed.

The contrast of his cool body against your warm one causes you to hiss. He reaches under you, scoops you up under your ass and wraps your legs around him. You push back against the tree and cause the two of you to fall back into the open bath.

He gasps. You laugh. As if on cue the magnolia trees that line the bath release themselves of their flowers. Hundreds of pink and white petals falling all around you.

“You wild thing,” he says, coming up for air, “give a man a warning next time,” he scolds, and you grin across the water at him.

“Come here,” you say, taking perch on the smooth steps of the bath. Your body open for him, legs parted, arms resting back against the edge, “let me kiss you better.”

“Brat,” he mumbles. However, he can’t stay mad, not when there are petals adorning your hair and shoulders. His sweet, tender Tav. You look like the epitome of Spring. He knows you are with how you‘ve blossomed life back into the Winter of his own. He thinks Spring used to be his favorite, in a life long ago, knows it will be again.

“Takes one to know one,” you tease as he crosses over to you. He brushes petals off your shoulder and kisses you once more, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, asking permission. You tilt your head and grant it.

You press up against him, hips grinding. He moves a hand down, working it against you, his thumb swirling softly. You moan against his lips.

“Taste me,” you breathe out. Astarion nudges your head with his own, causes you to expose your neck for him once more. He presses his lips to the delicate expanse, “please,” you just about beg and he licks up the side of it, the cool air of his breath causes you to shiver under him. His thumb applies more pressure, wrist twisting just right, and shivers turn to writhing, “fuck!”

“That’s it, darling, I do love your little trembles of pleasure,” he coaxes. His other hand comes down, the pads of his finger pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck, yes, please,” you manage to say through a moan and he slips a finger in, eases in and out, rocking ever so slightly, down right teasing. You push back against his hand, your fingers going into his hair, you curl them, gently tug.

“No foreplay tonight?” he teases and you honestly adore it any other time but right now you need him. You need to feel this connection, to feel alive with him.

Gently, he eases his other finger in, rocks them in and out of you. His lips are at your neck and you tug again.

“Ask nicely, nibblet,” he murmurs, gliding his lips across the delicate skin there, dotting it with the slightest graze of his teeth.

“Please,” you whimper and he obliges, fangs sinking deep into your neck. Ice cold and yet the edge of pain mixed into your pleasure is delicious. You let out a cry, his name is a song from your lips. He curls his fingers up and hits that spot deep inside of you. His hands now working in unison. He goes to pull away from your neck, not wanting to be too greedy, “No, don’t stop. Oh Gods, fuck me, please,” you beg but he knows his limits with this. Just when he’s about to stop, the water around you charges up in a golden glow, and a rush runs through you. You’ve been restored and fresh blood comes pooling out of you, running down your neck, your chest, twisting through the water and white petals like smoke.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps and you press down against his hand again. He removes his fingers, realizing just how ok you are going to be. Limits be damned here. His free hand goes to your hip, his cock pushing lightly at your entrance. You meet him half way, surprising him a bit. He groans against your neck as he sinks deep inside you. Hotter than the bath and ten times more pleasurable. You are his favorite thing to sink into.

With free reign he drinks more deeply than he’s ever done before. The two of you rock your hips in unison, him hitting that spot inside you so perfectly. His other hand working you, never ceasing, thumb switching up in pressure here and there but still swirling perfectly over you.

You are brought to the precipice of darkness, warm numbness spreading over you before the water glows and restores you again. It’s on the third time that you feel the insurmountable heat pool up in the pit of your stomach. You’ve become a mess under him. Moaning and crying out his name. Damn the Gods his was the only name you need remember. The only name you needed to pray to. Your body trembles, the waves of hot pleasure building higher and higher until they crash down over you. You finish under him. You feel him pull back to look at you. You open your eyes, knowing he wants to see you, all of you, see your soul as you reach your release. He wants to see you blossom under him, finds you absolutely gorgeous as you do. It takes a minute later, before he tenses up over you, finding his own release in you. His head falls, forehead pressing to yours. Your breath mingles and you kiss softly, coming down off both your highs.

“Astarion,” your voice is almost weak as if all of this has made you lose it. He pulls back from you, softly licks your neck and down your chest. He doesn’t want to waste a drop of your precious life that you’ve given to fill his. He’s fuller than he’s ever been, the happiest too, he’s sure. It takes the two of you another moment before he slips away from you completely, the two of you wanting to keep that connection for as long as you could. Not willing to leave the other’s touch he turns around in your arms. His back to your front. You wrap your legs around his waist.

The water shimmers silver now and all traces of blood and whatever else have been cleaned from the water. The petals and flowers remain, drifting in the gentle current of the water around you.

“Do you think it’ll be a shock to you?” you ask after a moment.

“What?” he asks in turn, resting his head back over your shoulder.

“When you see your face again. You know, if we find a cure,” You rest your own head against his shoulder. The two of you becoming an amorphous blob, “And I know we’ve gotten you a statue from Stoney and Oskar painted you. But I suspect it’s not the same.”

“Ah,” he watches the sunbeams shimmer through the canopy of leaves above, “No, not quite. They’re great, don’t get me wrong. But they still feel a little separated. Not quite… me.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you say.

He hums in response.

“The courthouse.”

“What about it?”

“Well, they must have paintings of previous magistrates hanging up, no?”

“I-“ He turns his head, attempts to look at you, “I suppose.”

“You think maybe they have one of you? Would that feel less surreal or maybe more so?”

“I don’t know,” he looks off in thought now, certain that what you suggested might just be right.

“You could be in the library’s archives, too.”

“Gods, you really are something, aren’t you?” he sounds astounded and you duck your head into his shoulder, feel your cheeks burn at his praise.

“I wonder what color your eyes were,” you try to change the subject, can’t stand being complimented for long, even from him like you so adore.

“Perhaps a vibrant green. Something distinguished,” he turns his head, kissing the top of yours from your hiding spot.

“Nah, Astarion,” you lift your head, kissing the corner of his lips, “your parents probably named you for how you looked but also what they’d hoped you’d be. Hair like starlight, eyes strikingly blue, perhaps with flex of gold. All together they thought you’d be a beacon to bring hope and guide those who are lost.”

He huffs out a laugh, “A beacon of hope? Guiding those who are lost?”

He’s laughing in your arms, finding it absurd. Still, the thought causes trembles of happiness to spill out from him and you smile, pressing it against the crook of his neck.

“You could be. Maybe we’ll help the spawn once this is all over? You could be just that for them.”

He’s still giggling, wiping at his eyes as tears had started to fill in them, all happy you’re assured, “We could do that. Those pour souls need a leader. All of them are so tragic without one.”

“I take it back.”

“What? That I’m a beautiful beacon of hope?”

“I didn’t say beautiful.”

“Oh, it was heavily implied. We both know you meant to say it anyway.”

“Ok, yes, you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. No, the most divine thing to walk this planet.”

“Good, glad we agree,” He nestles back into you, content smile across his lips, “but really, what do you take back?”

“I think your eyes were brown. Deep and warm like rich dark honey in sunlight,” you press kisses over his shoulder and up his neck, just behind his ear.

“Mmm, that does sound alluring, tell me more.”

You press your lips to the shell of his ear, whisper, “How about, I love you? Is that good for more?”

“That’ll do,” he smiles.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he turns in your arms, kisses you softly once again. The two of you lost to one another. The rest of the gang long gone to the tavern before the two of you emerge.

You spend the night delighting in one another. Making the other laugh, giving a gentle touch, and kissing. So many kisses. You forget your fears of the future. For you know, without a doubt, he will be there and there will be love.

(* Elvish Translation: C'est la vie or That's life. I used a Common to Elvish translator so I'm not even sure it's accurate 😂 Hopefully it is though!) Last little note here! Gale is portrayed the way he is here because, personally, in my playthroughs he's been VERY persistent. I know he's just bugged and he's a darling really, but I just found it funny how often he tries to shoot his shot with my Tav.

My masterlist

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current-mcr-news · 20 days

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frankieromustdie: Today I received some truly awful news… I’ve been incredibly lucky over the years to meet and work alongside people that I’ve looked up to and have been inspired by since i was kid. Some were definitely cooler than others… but few shaped my entire artistic world the way that Steve did. I remember every time hearing a record Steve made, whether I knew it was a Steve record or not, it made me feel things about music I had never felt before. I wondered what the connection was between these bands and these albums… why were they my favorites by a mile? And upon closer inspection I found a consistent name in the liner notes, Steve Albini. From a young age I always knew I wanted to write songs and be in a band, but Steve Albini’s tones and his ability to capture sounds and performances made me want to record albums. Getting to make two records with him was an experience I am forever grateful for and I wouldn’t trade one harrowing second of it for the world. He made me think about my craft differently and he taught me lessons without necessarily wanting or trying to. Steve always shot me straight, treated me with professionalism and a sort of dry/sarcastic kindness that was uniquely his. He also made me laugh a ton. Steve was a consummate yet humble master of his craft and in getting to know him over those recording sessions I have a feeling he would probably hate anyone gushing about their admiration for him. So I’ll leave it at that and just say I am eternally grateful for the time I was able to spend in his presence and for all the unparalleled art he gave the world. Thank you Steve, Thank you rock n roll. Rest Easy. 🐝 Albini Forever. 🙏 KTF 🖤 xofrnk

[May 8, 2024]

#frank iero #steve albini

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starks-hero · 8 months

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Concerning Lockley

A 3rd installment to the Smoke and Mirrors series.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: A year has passed since the events in Cairo and two things cannot remain hidden for much longer; the truth and a third alter.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: canon-divergence, revolves around Marc and Steven's past so implied child abuse, lightly implied smut, descriptions of violence, language (but it's me so that's almost a given)

a/n: A criminally late third installment to Smoke and Mirrors/The Truth is Rarely Kind. It's fairly heavy so I'd recommend reading the first two chapters for context. Anyway, guess who's finally arrived? 😏

You had grown fond of the night. The peace, the silence. The temporary comfort that, even just for a little while, things would be okay. Well aquatinted with the early hours, you woke to see them hit the clock almost religiously; every night without fail.

Every night since Cairo.

Sleep was something you'd forsaken. The few hours of rest you did manage to steal were few and far between and when you did manage to drift off your guilt followed you into your dreams. It seemed that was all you ever felt anymore; an overwhelming, crushing sense of guilt that never went away.

You'd started making a cup of tea some time ago, (five minutes perhaps? enough time for the boiling water to cool, now a comforting warmth radiating through the ceramic.) It was another sanctum in your ritual, the action almost bringing more comfort than the drink itself. The steam kissing your hands and drifting through your fingers in playful wisps, the hypnotic sound of the spoon gliding against the ceramic edges of the mug.

Your hand stilled and your breath hung idle in your chest; a moment later two arms settled around your waist with a gentle squeeze and a yawn muffled against your shoulder.

"Alright, love?"

Steven spoke the words into your neck. They were gentle and warm, just like the rest of him. There's a certainty in how he holds you to him and you quit stirring your tea in favour of supporting yourself against the counter. You fear your knees will give way, from the lack of sleep or guilt, you can't tell. His nose ran the length of your jaw and you offered a quiet hum in response to his earlier question.

"What are you doing up, ey?" His voice is breathily quiet, softening at the end as it would when he spoke to a child or small animal. Something he was worried he'd frighten. His hands, feather-light in their movement, traced down your arms until his fingers brushed the swell of your wrists. Intertwining your fingers, he brought your joint hands to your chest and pressed down. It was a grounding, comforting weight.

I'm here. I've got you.

You took several deep breaths, each somewhat steadier than the last. You swallowed down the sand that seemed to have formed at the back of your throat; dry and scratchy.

"Couldn't sleep," you answered truthfully.

Steven had waited patiently for your answer. He was always so patient. He'd been patient during the three weeks you'd scarcely spoken to them after Cairo, and patient still during the outbursts that followed when you did start talking to them again. And how could he blame you? Dying and coming back again was bound to have that effect. The entire dying situation was something that had been quickly placed in the red zone (extremely triggering and not to be talked about,) and after an exceptionally explosive episode with Marc over it, none of you were eager to revisit it.

Steven wasn't even certain you remembered your time in limbo, but if you did you didn't talk about it and he didn't pry.

"Come back to bed, yeah? I'll stay up with you till you doze back off."

He did know that you didn't sleep anymore. Not really. On more than one occasion he'd wake in the early hours to find you sat by the door or perched by the window, something sharp in hand. Harrow, by some miracle, hadn't come looking for you yet, but you planned on being ready when he did.

Steven and Marc could feel the anxiety that practically hung above your head like a black cloud of miserable smog. The thought of Harrow and his goons finding the ushabti and following through with their plans was one that haunted you. A fact made clear by your desire to, in your own words, 'find the deepest, most ancient well known to man and chuck the damned thing down there.' But dealing with people set on genocide called for something more permanent and Layla had assured you she had it handled.

You didn't doubt her but it didn't make you feel any more at ease either.

You focused on the weight of Steven's hands against your chest instead and took another steadying breath. You agreed to go back to bed, if anything just to ensure Steven got a few more hours of sleep. You would fake it, you'd gotten good at it too.

He kept your hand in his as he led you back to bed. The tea abandoned on the counter eventually went cold.

You awoke to Marc, his lean arms barely brushing the expanse of your stomach, hand resting openly against your waist. You always knew the difference, knew who you'd woken up to. Steven held you like you would turn to dust and Marc held you like you were made of glass.

His hold on you tightened as he woke, that subconscious urge to keep you at arm's length crumbling. He kissed your head, your neck and then the expanse between the blades of your shoulders, his hands reverent as they traced your skin.

He made love to you differently since Cairo. It was slower and methodical, that desperation and fear that had been there before was long gone and there was a certainty now. He was more sure of himself, of you and of what you were to each other.

You rested in a comfortable silence afterwards, the air still warm and sweet and the sheets grounding against your trembling body.

Marc was a work of art beside you and for the briefest of moments you could understand why Khonshu chose him. He was made to be divine, to be godly.

His eyes had lightened a shade, as they tended to do when he was unfocused and staring into nothing. It was something only you'd noticed; the way the dark chestnut brown turned amber, almost pools of honey in the morning light now.

You traced his temple and he turned to you, taking the time to plant a kiss to your wrist. Right above the gentle beating of your heart. You temporarily worried that he'd feel your guilt in how your pulse drummed irregularly against his lips. You always felt guilty when he touched you softly. Knowing what you did you felt you didn't deserve it.

Your anxiety must have bled into your expression and Marc mistook it for worry.

“I'm alright,” he said. “It's just… quiet.” He traced his forehead and looked back at the ceiling. It was an observation he'd made several times in the last few months. His thoughts weren't as loud and his head didn't feel as crowded, no longer bursting and tearing at the seams. You supposed that made sense, now that a homicidal bird was no longer among his mind's residence.

You drifted with your thoughts until a gentle nudge from the man beside you brought you back to earth. His brows were furrowed subtly, trying not to give away that he knew something wasn't quite right.

“Baby–”

“I'm fine.” The words were so rushed they tumbled over each other as they left your tongue. You doubted Marc would have understood you at all if it weren't for how many times you'd parroted the phrase in the last few months.

Marc sighed and wrinkled his nose. “Steven doesn't believe you.”

“And you?”

“I think you're a bad liar,” he added. It wasn't accusatory, quite the opposite. “What's going on?”

The rehearsed lines came naturally. “I'm just tired.”

He seemed disappointed by your answer but said nothing. Another fifteen minutes in bed and Marc got up to start his morning routine and you prepared to keep up your masquerade for another day. You knew your lines as well as the part you had to play. It was all second nature now.

A week later you decided that you were going to tell them.

It wasn't the guilt that drove you to it in the end, not exactly. You'd been dealing with that for long enough. Rather it was the humbling realisation that this was no longer about you. It wasn't about how you spent every waking moment thinking about what you'd seen. How every time Marc laughed you envisioned the child that spent his birthdays either alone or berated. Or how each time Steven touched you softly you thought of the little boy cowering from his mother.

No, it was about Marc and Steven and the fact that they deserved to know. And if your relationship was the price to be paid for them to have their truth then so be it.

But just because you'd made the decision by no means meant you were handling it well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You cursed with each step as you did laps of the kitchen. You'd started pacing just after Steven left for his shift and you were certain you could pace for the rest of the night if you needed to. A hieroglyphic on the patterned rug Steven had bought had noticeably worn down beneath your feet.

You'd tried to rehearse something, gone as far as writing out bullet points and trying to convert them into something that resembled a speech. But all that came out of it was a bin full of crumpled-up paper and an even deeper pit where your stomach should be.

You passed the fish tank for what felt like the ninety-ninth time and stopped to glance at its resident. Gus seemed about as interested in the current affairs as a goldfish could be.

“How do you feel about staying with me on the weekends?” You asked. A single bubble left the fish's mouth in reply. “Gods, I'm losing it.”

Your heart near burst from its ribbed prison as the doorbell sounded three clanging chimes of doom. Your anxiety was so off the charts you were certain anyone nearby with a radioactivity monitor would be recording some cataclysmic event with your apartment as ground zero.

You employed every shred of willpower you had to get your legs to move you towards the door and opened it with such a convincing smile you should have been handed a bafta then and there.

“Hiya, love!” Already unsteady on your feet, the absolute, unabashed optimism in Steven's voice nearly had you keeling over.

He barreled forward past the threshold, a well-aimed kiss landing on your cheek and a bouquet of pink carnations brushing your chest.

“Picked these up for you on the way home,” he quipped easily as if the gesture came as easy to him as buying the milk. The bouquet was so large you had to employ both hands to hold it. The petals were so picturesque they almost seemed fake and the stems were a healthy green. The stall vendor had cared for them so well.

Steven hadn't stopped talking, not even as he removed his work clothes, electing instead to keep telling you about how the vendor had told him of the variety of colours carnations came in and their individual meanings but that he chose pink just because they were pretty–

“And I thought maybe we could go out tonight, grab something nice to eat. It's been a while since we've– everything alright, love?”

Still staring at the flowers, you hadn't realised you hadn't looked at Steven once. And he'd read you like a book.

“Do you not like them? Is it the colour–”

“No, no, Steven, they're beautiful.” You rushed. “It's–” That awful sensation of pressure began to coil around your neck and you struggled to swallow. Every thought spilled from your mind like water through a bullet-riddled tin can. “I just–”

In three quick strides, Steven was upon you, hands rising slowly to cradle your face. “Hey, hey now, it's alright. Had a long day?”

Something close to a whimper caught in your throat. You'd had a long few months.

You closed your eyes and focused on the soft press of Steven's palms against your skin, how his fingers brushed your jaw and thumb was ceaseless in its comforting movements across your cheek.

You took a steadying breath, Steven praising you as you did, and in the moment of silence that followed you felt the extra presence. That there were two bodies in the room but three people. That reminder of Marc served as a final shove.

“I need to tell you something.” The words were so long coming you felt your lungs almost give out under the weight of them. “The both of you.”

Steven's gaze softened, not an inkling of fear to be found despite your troubled expression. There was no doubt or worry he'd done something, only that certainty he'd carried himself with over the last number of months.

You thought about telling them your 'heinous crime' was breaking Steven's favourite mug and then he'd laugh and act offended regarding the remark Marc would have made about Brits and their tea. Then the three of you would go to bed and nothing bad would happen, nothing would change–

“I'm here, Marc too. We're both listening.”

“Back in Cairo–” A breath. Now or never. “Khonshu showed me something. I know it sounds ridiculous but when Harrow shot me– when I died and before I came back, Khonshu– he showed me your past. He showed me everything. And I've wanted to tell you for so long, I should have told you–”

His hands fell from your face and without the anchor of his touch, you felt yourself sway. When he took a cautious step back your heart capsized. You wanted to follow him but guilt and fear had fused your feet to the floor in equal measure.

“Steven please, I didn't want to hurt you. Marc, I–”

His eyes fell closed and your chest felt like it was caving in atop your lungs as you waited for them to open. Waited to see Steven, eyes innocent and confused and knowing you'd have to tell him that everything he was came from something so awful. Or waited for Marc, eyes clouded and full of anger. Your entire life hung by a thread and at this rate, you wondered if cutting it yourself would be a kinder act.

They had every right to be angry after all, every right to hate you. Having someone poking around in your head without permission was such a nonsensical thing to have happen that you couldn't think of a single reaction that wouldn't be warranted.

After what felt like hours, his eyes opened.

But it wasn't Marc. And it wasn't Steven.

It was a dull, far-off stare; tired eyes regarding you from beneath hooded lids.

You dared not move. It wasn't just the eyes but his entire body that was different, the way he carried himself. A tired smirk pulled at his lips and this stranger, this intruder in their body, seemed to have caught on to your realisation. He turned his back on you and walked towards the kitchen without a word.

His footsteps were lighter than Steven's and heavier than Marc's and his shoulders remained squared as if ready for a fight. And for a worrying moment, you thought maybe he was.

You stayed as you were, moving only a few inches to keep him in sight whilst still within bolting distance of the door. It was a terrifying thought, having to run from someone that looked like them.

The intruder opened the cabinet below the sink and pulled out a shoulder of whiskey you didn't know was there. The broken seal and missing liquor as well as how casually he grasped the bottleneck in his hand told you this wasn't his first indulgence.

Opening the second cupboard to the left, (how did he know where everything was?) he retrieved two short whiskey glasses and placed them on the counter, the bottle presented in the middle almost decoratively.

He looked to you, then to his alcoholic display, then back to you expectantly. Against all better judgment, you joined him at the counter. You hoped he couldn't notice the sweat at your brow.

“I don't know if you drink,” he said and his voice knocked the wind out of you. It was so foreign, coming from his mouth; like hearing the brass notes of a trumpet come from a clarinet. “But I think you might want one for this.”

You regarded him as one might do an unwanted guest, cautionary and with no shortage of distrust for this stranger wearing your boys' face.

“Who are you?” he didn't answer. “Where's Marc and Steven?”

His brow twitched in a move you took for unamused disapproval. Ignoring your questions, he generously topped his cup and downed it all at once before pouring himself another and this time including you in the debauchery. You didn't trust your hand enough to lift the glass from the tabletop. You hoped he hadn't noticed how you were shaking.

His eyes set on you and his head tilted to the side. You were sure, rather you hoped, it was a harmless gesture but feeling as small as you felt it was hard to receive it as anything but predatory.

There was a stretch of silence that lasted so long you felt yourself losing your nerve, then–

“Three's.” He said, grasping his glass loosely. “All good things come in three's. You heard that one before, carino?” He lifts his pointer from the glass and tilts it in your direction.

If it weren't for the fact he was suddenly speaking Spanish you might have found the strength to answer. You anxiously toyed with your glass and you were certain he caught the tremble in your fingers.

Scared as you were, the fear was slowly melting into frustration as the absence of Marc and Steven became more pronounced with each passing second.

“You're not Marc.” He shook his head. “And you're definitely not Steven.” Another slow shake of agreement. “Then who are you?”

“People with big houses buy big guard dogs to keep them safe.” He took another swig of his drink. “Let's say I'm this house' guard dog, I keep things safe. And since you joined our little fiesta, that includes you.”

You tried to swallow the information but found yourself choking on it instead. There was a third.

Your mind was near bursting, cracking and fissuring at the revelation. An hour ago you had convinced yourself that you were ready for whatever was to come, ready to change the trajectory of your life for the worst all in the name of both what was right and your love for Marc and Steven. But by the universe and all the gods within, this was not what you were expecting. The thought that Marc and Steven had been keeping this, keeping him from you was an unwelcome one. You could understand it of course, but the notion that you’d all been keeping practically life-altering secrets from one another left you feeling uneasy.

“Relax,” he said, and either the body's skills were interchangeable or you really were just easy to read. “They weren’t lying to you.”

The length of time you spent processing the information proved enough for him to finish his drink with another five seconds of wiggle room.

“They don’t know?”

He shook his head and for the first time all night, he took his eyes off you. “And we’re going to keep it that way. They won’t find out about me, or Khonshu, or that little stunt back in Cairo-”

Your blood ran cold, freezing water flooding your veins. “How did you-?”

The movement of his mouth fell somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“Khonshu told me to give you his compliments. You’re the first person in decades he’s done that to whose brain hasn’t turned to sand and come out their ears.” You stopped breathing. “That, and that he wishes you could have been there when we put three bullets in Harrow’s skull.” You rose so quickly the chair fell away behind you and your drink toppled. He kept a good hold on his own glass, ignoring the spilt liquor seeping into the timber. He didn’t seem concerned as you backed away from him.

“What the fuck did you do?” The words burned as you spoke them, leaving your throat hoarse. All the fear and confusion had warped into a horrified anger so palpable that your body trembled to withstand it. “What did you do?”

“What I had to.” He rose to meet you, in tone and stature. “To keep this safe-” he motioned his arm around at the apartment. “-And to keep this together.” This time his hand motioned between you and him. No, not him. The body.

“They have a right to know.” You bite the words out harshly, the tears of frustration welling in your eyes only making you more intimidating.

“They have a right to some peace.” His answers came quick and concise, as if he had them memorised like a well-versed script. “I think that’s something we can both agree on.”

Your lips parted with the promise of an argument but the absolutely overwhelming weight of the conversation crested and swept you away before you got the chance.

“They don’t want to be avatars anymore, that’s fine. They can stay here and keep playing house and happy families and I’ll do what has to be done. All you have to do is keep it that way. Now, I’m going to leave and when you open the door again it will be to one of them. And you’ll smile and act like everything is fine and the three of you will get on with things as if nothing happened. Understood?”

“And what about you?” You doubted the walls of any courtroom had ever heard a tone as accusatory as the one you’d just employed.

He made a brief noise of amusement before raising his head to look down on you and it was again made clear that this man couldn’t have been any more of a stranger.

“Some dogs are meant to be kept on a short leash.”

With that, and leaving a deepening cavern beneath your ribs, he started for the door. You tried to breathe, tried to speak, tried to stop yourself from throwing your heart up. He swiped the bouquet of carnations from the desk as he went; Steven was prone to daydreaming, all he had to do was reset the scene.

“Wait,” you managed as he turned the handle. If you were going to even entertain going along with this sick, twisted theatre of lies then you deserved to know who you were performing with. “Who are you really?”

He grinned, apparently sharing the sentiment. “Jake,” he said, the sound like water on hot coals. “Jake Lockley.”

And then he was gone, leaving you to rehearse your appreciation of carnations and the colour pink.

Thank you so much for reading!

Smoke and Mirrors tag list: @bakerstreethound @crazydavefromplantsvszombies @admin-in-residence @bibli0thecary @mischiefmanaged71 @hoemadegrace @the-great-imagines-of-1812 @lokiedokiee @linkpk88 @theconsultingdoctor10 @jamiethenerdymonster @ponyboys-sunsets @shirukitsune @stwrawr @spectorsvoid @slytherheign @spideysimpossiblegirl @bored-as-hell-666 @marimarvelfan @stanmixtapes @stevenwith-av @buckys-other-punk @evienorville @stilllivindue2spite @daughterofthequeen @alotofsomething @niname92 @angelstark16 @child-of-the-moon-gods @interactive-brain @le3h4 @cutiecoww @heeheeeeeesblog

#‘a number of months had passed’ see what i did there 😏#the concept of jake thinking his primary purpose is to serve and that he isn’t deserving of love/being part of the group because of it >>>#he’s wrong obviously but the dynamic #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #jake lockley imagine #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockley x you #steven grant x you #marc spector x you

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thrandilf · 3 months

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Been thinking about Viren again lately and I just really appreciate him as a character

First off someone in their forties in this kind of media getting a full heroic cycle and growth and having to face consequences both physically and emotionally and coming out of that like wow. "I love Harrow/my children/thought I was doing the right thing but I wasn't" is so big to me

You can love people and still hurt them/still be the problem and I feel like people often want to say he doesn't love Soren or didn't care about Harrow to make Viren’s actions make sense to them but Viren DOES care- and even in canon when someone dismisses his feelings such as when Amaya doesn't believe he didn't want Harrow dead, Viren then lets any criticism slide off of him because "well I do care so I'm right"

And I think that's a complex thing to think about how feeling you're right or doing what's best for someone because it seems reasonable to you, or "I would put my life and those I care about below the needs of Humanity" sounds noble and certainly did to Viren, but every time he followed that line of thought all he did was hurt people and eventually himself

Just because you care about someone doesn't mean you're treating them right and that's a hard pill to swallow

While other characters don't have to forgive Viren (and getting people to forgive you shouldn't be the reason you turn your life around/do the right thing anyway), I think that saying you know what?

You don't have to forgive your parent/peer who did xyz to you

But you can hold them to a higher standard and know that they can still change/grow, maybe far away out of your life, but being an adult/established person doesn't absolve anyone from serious self reflection and changing their behavior for the better and people should be able to keep growing rather than going well "I'm an adult/well I've always been like this" no! You don't stop living as an adult! You don't get to!

Anyway I love him and his having strong feelings and loving his family and screwing everything up and then being faced with all of that and actually coming around

#viren #lord viren #tdp #the dragon prince

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strawberriemarswrites · 3 months

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter Summary: You've made a harrowing discovery, and you can't shake the suspicion that someone you trust is behind everything. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, referenced NSFW) TW: none in particular this chapter, mentions of the stalking that's going on but that's about it. Ao3 Link: Chapter Eight (4.036 words)

Your heart thundered in your chest. Bartolomeo promised he’d look out for you. He hadn’t mentioned seeing or hearing anything since you asked him to start. How did this get past him? How long could this have been getting past him? You really didn’t want to think that he was failing to keep his promise, so maybe whoever had been getting in stopped for a time, and they were picking back up again now that the weather was warmer. You had to tell Bartolomeo what you found.

The racing in your mind should have ended there. You should have closed the window and just hoped that the fan being on would be enough and wouldn’t blow around stale, hot air. You should have gone back to bed, ready to talk to Bartolomeo in the morning.

Instead, you leaned out the window, peering down the fire escape, wondering how someone could even get up to your floor without anyone noticing. Though it was hard to tell for sure, the ladder at the bottom looked too high off the ground. The average person would need to get a little creative to reach it. Although, on the subway commute you’d seen pretty tall locals, so it wasn’t that it was impossible to reach without having one’s own equipment or by exerting a bit of effort. Just unlikely.

As you leaned back in and closed the window, a tiny voice in the back of your mind piped up: Barto could reach that ladder.

You froze. No. No, that was highly unlikely. Bartolomeo wasn’t the type to do something like that. No way. He was kind to you, protective even, and... and he knocked that guy’s teeth in today!

He showed up with pretty convenient timing.

He could have just been out running errands. It was lucky that he showed up like that.

Your stuff stopped going missing for a little while after you asked him to help. How long was it before things got weird again?

Bartolomeo tricked a creep into drugging himself, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to be a creep!

Unless he was protecting something he thought was already his.

No. No, no, no.

You slowly sank to the floor, your face in your hands. There was no way that all this time, Bartolomeo had been stalking you. You felt nauseous at the thought. He’d been so kind, and supportive — he was your friend for fuck’s sake! No. You just weren’t thinking straight. You were panicking over some fucking debris on the floor, that could have come from anywhere.

Luffy hopped down from the bed and approached, purring and nuzzling your ankles. In his little kitty mind, he was trying to ask why you hadn’t come back to bed, because since you weren’t going to the kitchen to feed him, it was obviously still bed time. Then, when he leaned into your palm as you reached for him, he gradually became aware of your distress. You started making sniffling sounds, like the ones he’d done when he had gotten a little sick. He began to purr louder — purring always helped him, maybe it would help you.

You scooped up Luffy into your arms, petting him against your chest. His purring softened for a moment before picking back up, and you gradually felt the panic leave you. There was no way Bartolomeo was the one who’d been breaking in. It couldn’t have been him.

Right?

...It was too late at night to keep dwelling on the thought. You set the fan against the window — if it opened, surely the fan would be knocked over — and turned it on, carrying yourself and your cat back into bed.

Your paranoia would have to wait until morning to be sorted out. You needed a clear head to do so.

Vivi snapped her fingers in front of your face a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?”

You jumped, shaking your head free of the image of the debris in your bedroom. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

She propped her elbows up on the table and placed her chin in her hands. “I asked if you’re okay. You’ve been extra quiet today.”

You nodded, picking at your takeout lunch. “I’m fine. Just... distracted.”

“Over Bartolomeo again?” Drake asked, sipping at his coffee.

“No,” you said a bit too quickly, turning pink. “Sort of.”

Vivi cocked her head. “What’d he do? I thought you guys were doing the ‘just friends’ thing.”

“We are. He didn’t do anything.” You tapped your fingers on the table. “Or he did... guh, I dunno.”

Vivi stared at you expectantly. Drake eyed you suspiciously over his glasses.

You sighed. “After I moved in, someone started breaking into my apartment.” You scratched the back of your neck, avoiding their surprised gazes. “Barto said he’d keep an eye out, and it seemed to stop for a while. I figured he had it handled. But just last night I noticed something that makes me think the break-ins didn’t stop.”

“Do you think he’s been missing whoever’s doing it?” Vivi asked.

Before you could answer, Drake read your mind. “You think he might be the one doing it, don’t you.”

You shrank back, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t know what to think.”

Drake took another drink of his coffee. “Well let’s start with why you would think that.”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair. “He seems kinda protective of me, the more I think about it. Like what he did at the bar, and then yesterday...” You again avoided eye contact. “He might’ve. Beaten some guy to a pulp for harassing me.”

Vivi’s brows ticked upward. “Wow, really? I would’ve thought that would be more reason not to suspect him.”

“That’s the thing,” you continued. “It was when I was going home. Bartolomeo and I — we weren’t even hanging out. He just... happened to show up.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “Sounds a little too convenient, if you ask me.”

You nodded. “Exactly. And when I think about it, the times I noticed that something was off in my apartment line up with times when he’s been home.”

“Then that settles it!” Vivi jumped up, her hands splayed out on the table. “It’s gotta be him!”

“Slow down,” Drake said, putting an arm on her shoulder to coax her back into her chair. “What would make you think it’s not him?”

You fidgeted in your seat. “Well, he’s been so nice. He comes across as this tough, scary guy, but you should see how he plays with Luffy. He even calls him ‘Mister Luffy’ in this tiny voice I didn’t even know he could do. He’s been helping me keep him secret from the landlord. And he works at that bar partly because he’s helping out his friend’s grandmother. He’s kind of... tender, y’know?”

Drake cocked an eyebrow, silently prodding with a look that said “That’s the best excuse you have?”

You relented, “He doesn’t seem tall enough to reach the fire escape. I haven’t had a chance yet to look at it from the ground, but it looks pretty high up.”

Drake nodded. “All right. How far off the ground do you think it is?”

You leaned back in your chair and twisted your lip. “Eight feet? Maybe nine?”

He pushed out his chair and stood. “How tall is Bartolomeo compared to me?”

You eyed him up and down, tilting your head. “Almost the same height. Maybe a little shorter.”

“But that’s just from your memory,” Vivi said as he sat back down. “Maybe Drake could come by and see if he can reach it? Just to make sure.”

“It’s probably best that I don’t,” Drake said, though with a tint of reluctance in his tone. “If he’s the one behind the break-ins, and if he was stalking you home yesterday, it’s better not to let on that you’re on to him. Not yet, anyways.” He finished his coffee and added, “We also don’t know how he’ll react to other people in his territory, for lack of better term. You said he beat someone to a pulp yesterday?”

You flushed at the memory of Bartolomeo’s shirt and knuckles splattered with blood, quickly nodding your head to dispel the image.

Vivi piped in, “Didn’t you say Cavendish stood you up?”

You blinked, furrowing your brow. “I did, but what does that have to do with this?”

She leaned forward, glancing around as if anyone aside from the three of you were in the breakroom. “What if Bartolomeo had something to do with that, too?”

After a beat, you shook your head. “That’s too far.”

“No, no, think about it!” Her voice was suddenly hushed. “What if he figured it out somehow? If he’s as protective as you say, then someone going on a date with you would absolutely be a threat to ‘his territory’.” She then sat back, her voice returning to normal volume. “Come on, tell me you don’t see it.”

You turned the thought over in your head for a moment, and it sent a sickening shudder down your spine. You knew if you said “no” that Vivi would call you out on the lie, so instead you moved on. “What should I do? I don’t have enough to prove it’s him to go to someone about it, but I also don’t feel like I have enough to prove to myself that it’s not him.”

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, before a phone alarm chimed. Vivi sighed and stood, silencing her phone with an annoyed grumble. She was stopped from leaving when Drake put his hand on her shoulder again.

“I think for now,” he said, “we should keep this between us. No need to worry anyone else until we know more.”

Vivi’s look of annoyance turned serious, and she gave a short nod. “Right.” She then turned to you, making a zipped-lip motion. “Just keep me posted, okay?”

With that she hurried out of the breakroom, just as an alarm went off on your phone to signal the end of your lunch. As you stood, Drake did as well, though he looked deep in thought.

Finally, as you were both leaving the breakroom, he said, “Test him.”

You frowned. “How?”

He slipped a hand in his pocket, leaning against the threshold. “Get him to say something he shouldn’t know about you. Or get him to do something that needs the fire escape. See how he reacts.”

You thought for another moment then nodded. “Thanks, Drake.”

“Any time.” He pushed off the threshold and gently patted your back. “Keep us in the loop. You know anyone here will come running if you need help.” He then smiled, adding, “That’s what friends are really for.”

Bartolomeo was getting nervous. Something was off about you — you weren’t distant or anything, still making time to chat with him and texting him, but you seemed more... tense. He’d asked a couple of different times if you were okay, and you always answered with a shrug and a smile, saying you were just tired from work. Though he could tell that definitely wasn’t the full story, he didn’t want to push.

His patience seemed to pay off, as one evening you invited him into your apartment again for dinner. You’d said you wanted to repay him for knocking the one jerk’s lights out, and who would he be to resist a chance at dinner with you? Let alone a dinner made by you.

Bartolomeo showed up at your door right on time, again wearing a flannel he’d forgotten about. He wondered if he should invest in some nicer-looking clothes, before shaking the thought away — he never before cared about the way he dressed, and he’d only start caring if you said something.

When you answered the door, his heart melted, seeing you again in the blue sailor dress he liked when you... when that Pretty Boy attempted to go out with you. His heart melted further when you hugged him before leading him inside, his stomach doing backflips at the contact.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” you said, beaming and heading back into the kitchen.

“No prob,” he said, sitting in the dining chair closest to you. “You don’t have to go through all this effort for me, though.”

“I want to,” you said, again making his heart weak. “I’ve actually been wanting to give you a proper ‘thank you’ for a while. Honestly, probably since I got stood up by...” you paused. Your back was to him as you stirred the pot on the stove, and you tipped your head back in thought. “Shit, what was his name again?”

Bartolomeo’s posture stiffened, and he bit down on his tongue. Pretty Boy. Cavendish. But he wasn’t supposed to know that. “I dunno, you never told me.”

You shrugged before returning your attention to the pot. “Well, either way. You put up with me then, and then you saved my ass the other night. I think that’s more than enough reason to go through the effort.”

He smiled. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Something in the back of his mind, however, began to gnaw at him. He started chatting your ear off to stop thinking about it.

Part way through your conversation about the difficulty of mahjong in Yakuza 0, it started pouring rain. You cussed, taking half a step away from the stove before freezing, then looking over your shoulder. “Can you do me a favor? I don’t wanna leave this alone.”

Bartolomeo jumped up from his seat. “Sure — you need me to watch it?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” your eyes then flicked toward the hallway. “I just left my fan in the fire escape window. Do you think you could pull it in and close it?”

He nodded, turning his body instinctively toward the hall and taking a step toward your bedroom, before freezing. His brow then furrowed — would it be weird that he already knew which room the fire escape was in? By process of elimination it wouldn’t be hard to figure out, but... something felt wrong about immediately going for your bedroom.

“Which room is it in?” he asked, trying to ignore the hairs standing on his neck.

And then he saw it. Your shoulders sank just slightly, and your gaze softened. Like you were relieved that was his response. “It’s in the bedroom. Just down the hall and to the left.” You then pointed accusingly at him with a slotted spoon and grinned. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Bartolomeo nodded again, heading for the bedroom and being careful not to trip over Luffy on the way there. He opened the door and hesitated, glancing around. It was the first time you’d willingly let him into your bedroom, and he tried not to think too hard on how you’d looked at him — maybe you were just relieved he was doing you a favor.

As he pulled the box fan out of the window frame and slid the pane shut, something falling to the floor caught his eye.

Flakes of chipped paint and bits of rust, littering the floor by the fire escape.

Fuck.

“Everything okay in there?” you called.

“Yeah, just. Distracted.” He quickly set the fan down over top of the debris and hurried back out, looking just a hair paler.

You cocked your head at him. “You feeling okay?”

He nodded, sitting back down. “I’m fine. You’re room’s just... cute.”

You gave him that thousand-sun smile, a faint blush in your cheeks as you continued cooking. “Thank you. Food’s almost done.”

The rest of the evening went surprisingly smooth, especially considering Bartolomeo was now paranoid that you were catching on to something he really didn’t want you catching on to. He didn’t think that you noticed the debris — after all, it could have been something that just happened. But that little gnawing feeling in the back of his mind told him that it may have been happening for a while, and he wasn’t as good at covering his tracks as he thought. Then it hurt him a little, to think that if you did notice it that you didn’t bring it up to him. He pushed that thought aside quickly, deciding that you were far too good to keep something like that secret from him.

Nevermind that the gnawing feeling tried to convince him you were trying to trip him up.

As Bartolomeo laid in bed that night, after jacking off for the umpteenth time since he’d started stalking looking out for you, he worried at his lower lip, his teeth dangerously close to digging in and drawing blood. The solution was easy — just. Back up off the break-ins again.

Far easier said than done.

Meanwhile, your dreams about Bartolomeo ramped up in frequency. Sometimes he came to you as the beast-like creature, his mouth dripping with blood and drool. He always brought gifts, your tired mind’s way of accounting for the weight of a kitten on your chest. He’d so far brought a heart, a hand, and something that shifted between being a head and a liver.

There was once when he appeared normal, grinning at you like he’d just seen the sun for the first time. It was a smile offset by the broken skin on his knuckles, and the red stains on his shirt and the cuffs of his jeans. It was arguably a more unsettling dream than the monster ones, as he then approached and talked to you like nothing was wrong.

And those were just the dreams where he wasn’t fucking you. Over the kitchen counter, on the couch, in your bed, in what your brain could only imagine as his bedroom. Always moaning “mine” in your ear and leaving bite marks on your shoulders. To your immense frustration, you always woke up before you came.

Apparently, the efforts you had made to try and prove his innocence weren’t enough for your nerves to settle down. You decided to try one more idea.

After much further deliberation, you had a plan. It was pay-day, but you already declined to go out for the usual drinks. You were texting Bartolomeo when he told you that, by some miracle, he didn’t have to work, and you were going to try something a little riskier. That morning you made sure Luffy’s gravity feeder had enough food and his water fountain was still running and full, so you knew he’d be okay by himself for a little longer than usual. Then, during your shift, you pulled Robin aside. After explaining the situation to her, with only the slightest bit of judgment that you didn’t come to her sooner about the part where you worried about a stalker in the first place (though she figured you had your reasons), she listened to your plan.

“I need you to hold on to my apartment keys.”

She nodded, holding her hand out. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see if Barto’s tall enough to reach the fire escape.” You shuffled through your purse and handed them over. “If he can reach it and unlock my apartment from within, then that might be enough to prove he’s been breaking in this whole time.”

“What if he says no? Or it turns out he can’t reach it?”

“I’ll text you and ask if you can swing by the archives to get them when you guys are done with drinks.” You shrugged, blushing faintly as you added, “I’ll hang out with him until then.”

Robin considered for a moment, before nodding again and dropping your keys into her purse. “If he does agree to help, what’ll you do then?”

You paused, frowning. You hadn’t thought quite that far ahead.

Robin could sense as much, and gently took one of your hands. “If he does it, still text me. I’ll come get you and you can stay with me for a little while until we figure it out.”

You stared at her with wide eyes, then tears began to prickle in your periphery. Without much warning you hugged her. “Thanks, Robin.”

She laughed, lightly hugging you back. “You don’t have to thank me. If this will bring you peace of mind, I want to help you. Rooster’s been good to you, so I hope he’s not behind all this.” She then held you back by the shoulders and gave you a look that sent chills down your spine. “And if he is, I’ll castrate him.”

Bartolomeo heard loud cursing right after the elevator ding. He looked out the peephole to see you digging through your purse, cussing up a storm and bemoaning, “How the hell did I lose them?!”

He opened his door a crack and leaned out. “You good?”

You huffed, frowning. “No, I’m not. I can’t find my keys.”

“Oh, shit.” He fully stepped out and shut his door, trying to subtly lean over and see into your purse. “Where’d you last see them?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “I think I forgot them in my work locker. Fuck.”

He couldn’t see them either, not from the angle he had. “Maybe the landlord can let you in?”

“And risk him finding Luffy?”

“...you got me there.”

“So, short of breaking and entering, I’m not getting in until I find my keys.” You pulled out your phone and started texting, before you paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to lockpick, do you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I might. But it’ll risk messin’ up your lock and you’ll have to pay for a new key.”

“Damn,” you huffed, then eyed him up and down. “...Do you know where the fire escape is from the outside?”

He froze. “Uh—”

“Maybe you could climb up and get in for me? Open it from the inside?”

Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit FUCK. Panic slithered through Bartolomeo’s veins, and he tried to look anywhere but your face. You were on to him. You had to be. Why else would you ask him this? No — no, this was innocent enough. You did say short of breaking in, so maybe you had — what was the word? an epiphany? — or whatever. But... if you were on to him, and he did as you asked, how long would he have before you left him high and dry? Or worse?! After all the work he’d put into knowing you — shit, he was taking too long to answer!

“I dunno,” he said. “Those ladders are pretty high off the ground. I’m pretty sure I can’t reach them.”

You deflated. “Well, how tall are you?”

He swallowed. “Seven-three.”

“Come on, that’s plenty tall enough!” You looked up at him with puppy eyes. “Please? Can’t you try?”

Bartolomeo almost cursed you for having such pretty eyes. How dare you use them against him like this? With every ounce of resistance he had, he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even if I could, I don’t wanna break the window tryin’ to open it from the outside.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, your eyes searching his face. He really hoped you couldn’t see the sweat forming on his brow. Please stop lookin’ at me with those eyes. Please, please, please I’m beggin’ you.

You sighed, finally looking down. “Okay, fair enough.” You then returned to texting. “I’ll see if Robin can bring them to me. I think she has keys to the archives.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, passing it off as a sigh of his own. Another few seconds and he would’ve broke. His mind then circled back around — you couldn’t be on to him. You just couldn’t be. And if you were, how was he going to gain back your trust?

“Shit,” you hissed. “That’s right, it’s pay-day. I wanted to skip out on drinks tonight, but Robin’s still going. She doesn’t know when she’ll get to the archives.”

After a moment, Bartolomeo realized the opportunity before him. Not only could he regain your trust, but maybe... just maybe...

“You wanna hang out at my place for a bit?”

#i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time #ifdyokaat #one piece x reader #bartolomeo #bartolomeo x you #reader insert #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #yandere #PHEW #CHONKY chapter #sorry it's about 50/50 on the barto content but there was a lot of set-up and deliberation i wanted to get through #next chapter.... next chapter we'll have some fun <3

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couldsewyouastitchandsavenine · 4 months

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Dancing In The Dark [Javi Peña] 01

summary: Javier Peña knows all the answers to all questions but one... what if? pairing: javier peña x fem!reader word count: 3.7K a/n: my first Javi fic. feedback is appreciated.

warnings: language, mention of self-esteem issues,

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

Javier Peña was no friends with sleep.

To him, sleep was a dance he would consciously opt out of, never quite catching the rhythm—perpetually a step behind.

Throughout the years, Javier Peña had mastered the skill of pretense; with his eyes shut and body appearing relaxed and at ease, yet sleep remained a territory he intentionally steered cleared from.

For Javier Peña was all too aware of the things that lay in wait when he’d close his eyes.

The harrowing memories of what he had seen, all the horror he wished he could unsee, and the lingering cries that never seem to fade. Every ally he had lost, every enemy that had been born, and all the innocent lives entangled in the web he helped to weave.

The irony of it all was almost laughable.

By day, Javier Peña was the epitome of unwavering strength. His bravery unchallenged. Yet, when the night draped the world in darkness, he allowed himself a different truth; he was afraid, too hesitant to welcome the vulnerability that came with being asleep.

Thus, Javier chose to stay awake, inhabiting a space where he could maintain a safe distance from his inner demons. It might have been the easier choice, the lesser evil, so to speak. But, in his mind, it was still better than facing the ghosts that sleep would so easily usher in.

And it was in the midst of his self-imposed insomnia that Javier’s attention was abruptly drawn to an unusual sound that night. A strange, distinct rattling, right outside his door, slicing through the noise of the city’s distant hum and the intermittent barking of a stray dog that echoed from a few blocks away.

Rising from his seat, Javier’s hand instinctively reached for the cold metal of his weapon, buried amidst the chaotic sprawl of reeking dust and aged ink that had consumed his days, perhaps weeks.

Each scribbled one, every photograph and file, all the tapes and transcripts, they all blurred the lines between his duty and existence, between the man that Javier was and the role he had assumed.

Advised to never bring his work home, Javier had not only brought it, but allowed it to become a tangible reflection of his overburdened mind. So much so that his modest apartment had long since ceased to be a sanctuary, but a vast repository for fragments of his professional life, making his few personal items seems almost foreign.

Moving with the kind of stealth and silence born of experience, Javier cautiously approached the door—the gun in his hand providing a near-comical sense of comfort. It felt like shaking hands with an old friend; familiar and oddly comforting in its solid presence.

Javier paused. Held his breath. Took a moment to collect himself before leaning in to peer through the peephole. As he did so, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly—a flicker of recognition flashing across his face.

With a swift, deft motion and a heavy exhale, he slid the lock open, pulling at the door-handle with more force than intended.

"¡Hijo de puta!" Javier exclaimed instinctively as his gaze fell on your figure on the other side of the brassy chain. "What are you doing here at this hour, nena?" he blurted out, stealing a quick glance at his watch while subtly tucking his gun behind his waistband. Even though he knew you were no stranger to the constant presence of his weapon, brandishing it now felt strangely out of place. "How did you even get here?"

Your response was a broad, unabashed smile, radiating a confidence that you half-suspected might annoy him.

"I biked over," you declared, stretching up on your toes. It was was as much an attempt to diminish the height difference between you and Javier as it was a reflection of your restless energy.

"You biked over?" Javier echoed, his tone a mix of disbelief with a touch of concern.

"Yes, I biked," you affirmed calmly, observing his eyebrows knit together in a frown. Then, with a quick motion, he unhitched the chain and opened the door just wide enough for you to sidestep into his world.

As you moved past his shirtless figure, Javier instinctively leaned forward in order to scan the dim corridor. Gripping the door frame with firm assurance, his gaze shifted right, then left before eventually settling on your old bicycle, chained to a metal pipe outside. The racer, adorned with rust streaks, appeared strangely out of place in this setting—a seemingly uninviting target for theft, yet it was secured with a robust, heavy-duty chain as though it were a rare jewel.

Javier mentally noted to have a word with Murphy about giving you the bike. It was a foolish decision on Murphy's part, rivaled only by your own eagerness to accept it without hesitation.

"There's nothing wrong with biking, Javi," you called out with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as though navigating through the streets of Medellín in the middle of the night were nothing more than a casual evening adventure, rather than a flirtation with potential danger.

Javier reacted instantly to your casual demeanor. He closed the door with a resounding thud, a sound that echoed in the cramped apartment and made you flinch. Locking it quickly, he followed after you—his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in either an attempt to fend off a headache or to perhaps stall his rising irritation.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out at this hour?" he asked, his tone stern. "You could've been followed, robbed, or worse—"

"—Javi, please, look at me," you interjected, a blend of humor and seriousness in your voice as you gestured towards yourself. "I seriously doubt I'm anyone's top target for kidnapping."

Despite giving your best, your attempt to lighten the mood didn't seem to alleviate the concern etched deeply in Javier's features. If anything it only made him more annoyed with you—his posture rigid with unease.

Deciding to shift the conversation, you effortlessly took off your backpack and began unzipping it. “I thought you might want some food.”

Javier's expression then morphed into something almost humorous—a mix of annoyance and disbelief, tinged with a reluctant smile at your boldness.

"You brought food?" he echoed, his voice laced with surprise. "At two in the morning?"

“Empanadas,” you clarified, presenting the plastic container wrapped in a crinkled bag, as if the unconventional timing was an insignificant detail.

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to protest, but then as if realizing that it wouldn’t make any difference to you, he wordlessly accepted the food from your outstretched hands.

With the container now in Javier's hands, you slipped your own into the back pockets of your worn, stain-splattered jeans before following him to the kitchen, leaning against the chipped counter near the sink—its door hanging off one hinge.

"Thanks," he mumbled, breaking the quiet before opening the refrigerator, which gave a angry, buzzing hum. As he placed the container on an upper shelf, you noticed the rows of similar, mostly untouched containers inside, resembling abandoned relics in a museum dedicated to his usual diet of nicotine and alcohol.

You've seen those containers before. After all, it was you who meticulously packed them.

Strangely, the fact that he, more often than not, ignored the food you brought him, didn’t bother you. At least, not anymore. If anything, your tango of offering and overlooking has become an accepted, if not slightly amusing part of your friendship.

“Looks like Steve hasn’t been dropping by much lately,” you commented lightly, a teasing tone in your voice. "He's always had a thing for Lupe's lentejas.”

Javier acknowledged your comment with a grunt that seemed to carry more weight than a simple throat-clearing as he delved in the fridge, emerging with two bottles of cold beer. Using the edge of the kitchen counter to pop them open, he held one out to you, his lips curved into a half-smile, tinged with irony before walking towards the living room.

You grinned to yourself before following, navigating the path to the seating area with familiarity, only taking a halt once Javier paused to casually put on a crumpled tee.

As his muscles shifted under his tanned, taut skin, a routine gesture of always making sure to be dressed in front of you, turned into something more.

Something that made your gaze linger. Something that made your eyes trace the lines of his form—a reaction that hadn’t occurred before, leaving you momentarily unsettled.

The moment stretched, filled with the uncomfortable ripple that made waves inside your chest, before you quietly cleared your throat and looked away, a slight warmth rising to your cheeks.

"I was actually asleep," Javier said suddenly, turning to face you as he reached for his Marlboros on the cluttered coffee table.

His words seemed to hang in the air, their lack of conviction almost making them seem like an afterthought. They floated, as if trying to find a place to land, yet they never quite did.

You could tell he was lying.

Over time, you had come to understand Javier Peña in a way he might not fully realize himself.

However, you chose not to confront him about it. Instead, you opted to play along to his charade. "Oh, did I wake you? Should I leave?" you asked, injecting a hint of feigned concern into your voice.

Javier responded with a casual wave of his hand, brushing aside your question as he focused on retrieving his cigarette.

In his eyes, though, there was a resigned but silent invitation, a non-verbal cue suggesting you should stay. So, you obliged, sinking into the armchair that carried the familiar scent of tobacco and an unmistakable trace of Javier himself before letting the silence settle between you.

—

After over a decade of wandering through Colombian cities, it was in Medellín where you unexpectedly found yourself pausing, staying longer than in any other place you had considered home as an adult. Initially, you had no plans to stay beyond a few months. However, the deep, lingering sadness from your father's passing and a life that seemed to drift aimlessly compelled you to seek solace and stability with your Aunt Lupe.

Her declining health was another reason; the thought of leaving her to fend for herself while unwell was something you couldn't bear, had only further anchored you to Medellín.

In the warmth of her presence and her offer of a permanent roof over your head in exchange for some care and company, you found reasons to stay, to find some solid ground once more. Part of that plan involved attempting to re-enter school—an effort to piece back some normalcy and purpose. However, instead of classrooms and heavy textbooks, you ended up behind the bar of a local spot, nestled just a stone's throw away from the DEA's imposing presence.

The bar was like any other slightly rundown establishment in the area, with its chipping paint and a jukebox coated in a layer of dust. Yet, in this unassuming place, you found an unexpected sense of belonging. It wasn't just your haven, but also a refuge for the regulars who frequented it, and a slice of respite for those burdened by the weight of their badges—their holsters as much a part of their attire as the deep lines of worry, etched across their faces, narrating the tales of silent worries. Stories that were perhaps too deep, or simply too raw too be voiced

Among them was Javier Peña — a man as intricate and tough as the streets of Medellín themselves.

You quickly became acquainted with the rumors, swirling around him. Tales of his sharp intelligence, relentless determination, and a certain ruthlessness in pursuit of his professional goals seemed to float through the dimly lit bar, much like the cigarette smoke, lingering in the air. Then, there were other rumors; whispers about his private life—open secrets, passed in hushed tones from one patron to another, or shared among his colleagues in a blend of admiration and disdain.

A smooth-talker and a maverick, an enigma to some and an asshole to others.

Unpredictable.

A living, walking paradox.

Straightforward in his professional dealings, but layered in his personal life.

Tough, yet had a charm that was hard to ignore. And he wasn’t shy to use that charm whenever he pleased, especially with women who unabashedly flocked towards him as if he was the the flame to their moths.

The kind of man whose activities in both business and pleasure often took him to the darker corners of the city, the parts where questions were seldom asked and answers were rarely needed.

From the very beginning, your resolution had been firm and clear: maintain a respectful, cautious distance from Javier Peña, consciously steering clear of the seemingly endless procession of the lonely, the lustful, and the longing that perpetually trailed in his wake.

However, on a particularly quiet Wednesday evening, breaking this self-imposed rule felt as natural as pouring a glass of aguardiente: smooth, effortless, almost instinctive.

That night, he appeared different, enveloped in a visible weariness — his gaze distant and unfocused. It was a sort of melancholy that seemed to weigh heavily upon him, a kind of sorrow that the parade of drinks sent by hopeful women – who had become almost as much a fixture of the bar as the stools they perched on – could not dispel.

And that caught your attention. It stirred something in you, a sense of understanding. You knew what it was like to feel that kind of loneliness; it was a feeling you had become all too familiar with.

Without a second thought to the why or the what-ifs, you reached for another tumbler and the familiar bottle of amber whiskey. Weaving through the crowd, you moved with determined steps toward him, where he stood as a lone figure by a high table near the entrance.

“You know,” you started, your voice carrying a light, almost teasing tone as you poured whiskey into the glass you set down in front of him, “even without ordering anything yourself, you’re surprisingly good for business tonight.” The fact that his eyes only briefly met yours before drifting away again didn’t deter you. “Seems like you’re a bit lonely tonight.”

"For someone who needs a step stool to see over the bar, you sure keep tabs on everything," he shot back, a flash of sarcastic amusement in his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he lifted the glass he was drinking from to his lips.

You grinned in response, casually gathering empty glasses with your free hand—their clinking a familiar tune to your ears. “Not here to force you do anything, but maybe a bit of appreciation for your admirers could lift your spirits,” you suggested playfully, hoping to break the awkward silence.

"Tonight, it's just me and the drinks," Javier responded, his shoulders dipping in a faint but unmistakable gesture of resignation. He took a moment, seemingly lost in thought as he studied the cigarette smoldering between his fingers before continuing, “Though, I might reconsider this one,” he mused. “So, whose generosity am I indebted to this time?” he asked, casting a half-hearted glance over his shoulder.

Briefly, his eyes, met those of a tall brunette at the other end of the bar. She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary—a playful, inviting smile playing on her lips. But his interest seemed to wane as quickly as it had been piqued.

He turned back his glass, seemingly unperturbed by the brief flirtatious moment.

"Oh," you responded with an easy shrug, noticing out of the corner of your eye a group at the bar trying to catch your attention. With a quick and familiar gesture of your free hand, you signaled that you'd be right with them, then turned your focus back to the brooding agent. “That one’s on me.”

Without missing a heartbeat, Javier’s gaze returned to you, less subtle this time, searching. His eyes dragged themselves over your silhouette and your hand-me-down outfit, as if trying to see what might be hiding underneath the layers of denim and plaid. There was a brief pause where he seemed to contemplate something, finally settling on whatever answer to his unspoken question.

And when his eyes met yours again, they carried an unmistakable glint—lips curling into a smile that held more than just friendliness. It was suggestive, loaded with charm that brought out his right dimple.

"And what's in it for you?" he asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and cautious probing—eyebrow arching in a silent, questioning challenge.

Your response was calm, accompanied by a small, knowing smile as you turned around, ready to walk to tend the rest of the bar. “Nothing, really. It’s just a drink, agent Peña.”

—

“C’mon, nena, out with it. Why are you really here?” Javier’s voice cut sharply through the quiet of the room, scattering your thoughts like fallen leaves. You made a mental note to collect them later, lifting your gaze to meet his. “You didn’t cycle all this way just to drop off empanadas,” he pressed, fixing his gaze on you.

Your reply came with a casual shrug as you rested your eyes on the bottle you were holding—your fingernail absentmindedly picking at its peeling label.

“You just haven’t been around much lately,” you said, not quite sure what more to add.

“Sounds like you missed me?” Javier teased, a hint of fatigue lacing his smirk.

Leaning back slightly, he took a long drag from his cigarette before languidly reaching over to tap the ash into a tray on a nearby table. His movements were unhurried, characteristic of someone who was comfortable in his own skin yet weary from the world.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Peña. Just got me worried, that’s all,” you grinned, setting your beer down on the table as your eyes caught a sight of a pair of women’s underwear, poking from underneath the coffee table. “But it looks like you’ve been managing just fine,” you added with a suggestive smirk.

“Sharp as ever, aren’t you, nena?” Javier shot back with a hint of admiration.

"Doesn't take a detective to notice, Javi, especially when you don't clean up after your... 'girlfriends'," you said, the word 'girlfriends' lingering a bit sourly on your tongue even as you managed a grin. Standing up quickly, you leaned over and deftly hooked the garment with your index finger, lifting it with a combination of amusement and feigned surprise. Settling back into your seat, you held up the red fabric, examining it. “Wow,” you breathed out, “this doesn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, does it?”

“That’s the point, nena.” He quickly reached over before smoothly taking the underwear from your hand, flinging it to the other side of the room with an effortless gesture—his demeanor unfazed and confidently indifferent. Looking back at you, he pinched the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he leaned into the seat again. “Tell me.”

You started hesitantly, attempting to maintain a casual air. “It’s probably nothing,” but your voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

“It never is,” he countered, his voice holding an edge of seriousness.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a knot of apprehension in your stomach. Taking a deep, subtle breath to steady your nerves, you glanced down briefly, gathering your thoughts. When you looked up again, your voice was casual, but your eyes were intently focused on the faded print on Javier tee, unable to face him.

"There were some people at the bar the other night. Not our regular crowd. They seemed... out of place, a bit shady."

Instantly, Javier's relaxed demeanor shifted. He straightened up, putting his cigarette out with a deliberate, careful motion. "Shady how? Did they talk to you? Did you interact with them?" His questions came quickly, his voice laced with a newfound urgency, the usual weariness in his eyes replaced by a piercing focus.

"They just made small talk, nothing noteworthy," you responded, maintaining a casual facade. "They seemed more interested in observing the crowd than engaging in any deep conversation. I ended my shift early, and Chema took over. That's about all I saw."

Javier’s expression hardened, mirroring his deepening concern.

“Listen, you need to stay alert. Those guys might be involved with the cartel, even sicarios.” His expression was growing more stern with each second as he looked at you intently. “You shouldn’t be talking to those types of people or getting involved in conversations with them,” he cautioned, his voice heavy with concern.

“I was just doing my job, Javi. I’ve been at that bar long enough to know how to handle different types of customers,” you interjected, a touch of annoyance creeping into your voice at his overprotectiveness.

"You know that it isn't that simple. You're in a prime spot to overhear things, see things. This isn’t about your experience at the bar, it’s about the dangers you might not see coming—"

"—I'm fully aware of the risks," you snapped back sharply, interrupting him.

Javier's jaw clenched in response, his eyes reflecting the deep-seated concern of someone all too familiar with loss and danger. "If you truly understood the risks, you wouldn't be so casual about this," he shot back, his tone edged with frustration.

Reacting to his words, you leaned back slightly, as if physically distancing yourself from the gravity of his concern. Your eyes momentarily shifted away in a silent display of rebellion, then returned to meet his gaze. You crossed your arms, not so much defensively, but as an instinctive effort to compose yourself under his intense gaze.

The room was then enveloped in a heavy silence, charged with words left unsaid. Javier’s intense stare didn't waver from you, betraying the whirl of thoughts behind his stern facade. After a moment of palpable tension, he broke the silence with a firmness unusual in your interactions.

"Okay, that’s it. No more biking around Medellín, not day or night. It’s too dangerous."

Raising an eyebrow, your independent spirit surged, laced with a touch of sarcasm. "Really, Javi? And what do you suggest I do instead? Are you going to be my personal chauffeur around town? Maybe drop everything mid-mission because Lupe needs her asthma medicine?"

Javier didn't respond, and you gave a self-assured nod, almost rhetorically confirming your point.

Of course, he wouldn’t, couldn't do any of that.

For a moment, Javier just looked at you, his expression a blend of concern, frustration, and a deep-seated sense of responsibility. But then, abruptly, he stood up—his movements decisive, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade.

"You're also staying here tonight," Javier declared firmly. "It's not safe for you to go out alone at this time."

The seriousness in his voice left no room for argument, you knew that, but you still immediately began to shake your head, ready to refuse his directive. However, his stance was serious.

“This isn’t up for discussion, nena. It’s too dangerous out there right now.”

“I can’t stay here,” you insisted firmly, hoping to assert your independence, but quickly softened your expression and your tone. “Can’t you just… drive me home?”

“No, I can’t,” he answered as he took a few steps towards the window, peering out into he darkness. “This isn’t about me being controlling. It’s about what I know, what I've seen out there. You may not be used to taking orders, and I’m not the type to give them, not to you. But when it comes to these things, I can’t compromise.”

You watched him, his attention still captured by the world outside the window. His usual confident posture was now replaced by a hint of weariness, revealing a seldom-seen vulnerability beneath his tough exterior.

"So, this is your 'saving the damsel' moment, huh…,” you trailed off—the dry response sounding harsher than you wanted it to be.

“Think what you like, nena,” he said, definitely done with conversation as he moved towards his bedroom. “The couch is yours for the night. You know where the blankets are.”

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