#like I have read some great ascended! fics

[astarions-wife]

Y’all i definitely don’t agree with ascending Astarion pls know that if you’re interacting with me KSKSKS I find ascended Astarion super intriguing but very devastating!! I will always write in terms of why it’s sad/not the best choice for him 🥹

[ghostgirl101]

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

══════════════⊹⊱≼ fin ≽⊰⊹══════════════

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hey :) Hope you're doing well, I read some of your Aemond fanfics, and they were great. I was hoping you could write a Jacaerys x Alicent daughter fanfic. Something about an arranged marriage, you can take it anyway you wish, but could there be some angst in there. with the prompts 1. ‘’My blood is not noble enough for a prince.’’ and 14. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

Thank you :)

Request: Alicent’s second daughter to marry Jacaerys to unite the houses

Thank you for the compliment on my Aemond fics <3 More will be coming soon. Also, I was not able to use the first prompt as it doesn’t work with the characters. Alicent’s daughter’s blood is more noble than Jacaerys since her father is king and his mother is princess. I hope you still enjoy what I wrote for you <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Twenty years ago, when Viserys made Rhaenyra his heir, the knights and houses who swore allegiance to him had no choice but to accept her as their future queen. She was the king’s only child. But now that the king had a male heir — and a spare —, there were possibilities that people would oppose her claim to the throne and demand Aegon to wear the crown. 

To prevent the situation from happening, the king and queen, along with Rhaenyra, made an accord that Rhaenyra would ascend the throne following the king’s death, but to unite the houses, the princess’s firstborn son — and heir — would marry Alicent’s second daughter and, one day, inherit the throne together. 

Like any political marriage, you nor Jacaerys had a choice or say. At least he wasn’t an older lord you had met once or twice. You knew Jacaerys — a little. He was kind, loyal and protective. He was a good man. 

Prior to that arrangement, your grandsire, Otto, had been talking to you about having a tourney to meet suitors, but your mother had been quick to oppose to the idea. She didn't want you to be the victim of his scheming like she had been at your age. 

You were drawing under the weirwood tree when Jacaerys stepped into the yard, having just arrived in King’s Landing. Its red leaves matched the color of your dress, making him smile. He liked you in red. 

‘’I was told by the servants that my wife was out here.’’ 

Immersed in your drawing, you didn’t hear the prince approaching. You only glanced up when you heard your new title, the sound of his voice almost making you drop your charcoal onto your dress. Your mother would have been furious.

A soft laugh left your lips. Moons have passed since the wedding, yet being called a wife still felt strange. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

‘’Me either,’’ Jacaerys admitted. ‘’What are you drawing, Princess?’’ 

You reflected his smile as he approached. ‘’Just some birds.’’

Jacaerys walked up to the tree and sat beside you. He had a bit of dirt on his jacket from sparring with Ser Criston in the training yard. 

‘’How was your training session with Ser Criston?’’ you asked, raising a hand to run through the front of his hair, fixing an unruly curl that was on the wrong side. 

The older he got, the more he looked like Ser Harwin Strong. He had the same dark brown curls. But you would never dare saying that out loud. Although you meant it as a compliment, the mere insinuation of his illegitimacy was a vile insult to the crown — to the princess. 

‘’I disarmed him twice…and I ate some dirt.’’ The brunet grimaced, the earthy taste still lingering on his tongue. ‘’It was a blessing that no one was watching.’’  

‘’Mayhaps you need an opponent that is closest to your age?’’ you suggested, not finding it fair that he was sparring against a grown man who had years of practice as a knight. ‘’You could ask Aemond to train with you? He is training for the upcoming tourney, but I’m sure he would a accept to help you.’’

Jacaerys hummed, then leaned back against the weirwood tree, taking a moment of rest. He watched with quiet admiration as you continued your drawing, fascinated by the way you could, with a few strokes of charcoal, illustrate pretty much anything. Birds, flowers, dragons, or portraits of your family. 

Much like your twin brother, you favored solitude over socializing. When the betrothal was announced to you, you assumed that this tranquility would be disrupted, but it turned out that Jacaerys enjoyed it too. Partially. While he often thrived on the excitement and duty that came with his heir title, he found it relieving that he could find peace and comfort in your silent company. 

‘’I’m going back to Dragonstone in the morrow,’’ the prince announced, breaking the serenity of the quiet.

‘’How long for?’’

Jacaerys shifted, fearing the conversation that was to come. ‘’No. I’m going back to Dragonstone…permanently.’’

You stopped drawing, a sudden knot forming in your stomach. ‘’And what of me?’’ 

‘’You can join. Or not. That is up to you.’’ 

‘’And what of us? What of our marriage, Jace?’’ you asked, turning your head toward him. 

When you got wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, you pledged to one another that you were one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Jacaerys returning to Dragonstone would break your duties to your House. 

‘’Dragonstone is easy to travel from and back on dragonback.’’ You began picking at your fingers, and Jacaerys noticed, taking your hand in his to stop you. ‘’I tried, but King’s Landing is not my home. I don’t belong here.’’

‘’I can’t leave my family.’’ 

‘’I left mine for you.’’ 

You pulled your hand from his hold and narrowed your eyes at him. Jacaerys moving to King’s Landing after the wedding ceremony was your father’s idea, not yours. How dared he blame you for a decision you didn't make?

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever

[clipartdinosaur]

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.”

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You

summary: the ascension changed the person Astarion was, or so you believed. you broke up and parted ways after defeating the netherbrain, thinking it was for the best, but when you see him again 6 months later at the reunion, you realize you never truly moved on.

and it seems neither did he.

rating: E

word count: 3.9k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader) (fic wide), shadowheart x you (chapter 1 specifically)

cw: 18+. angst, smut, porn with plot, porn with (some) feelings, ascended astarion, bad breakup, awkwardly avoiding your ex, alcohol induced sex, rebound sex (in the sense that youre trying to forget about your ex but you might have feelings for that other person too), oral sex, fingering, stalking, kidnapping, mild violence.

a/n: i have been working on this for over a month now, i have 2 other chapters also ready BUT im undecided on which ending i want for this, so yall get chapter 1 as a teaser, let me know whatcha think :eyes:

a/n²: this is the start of a long fic (my first one, phew)! i intend to update it weekly-ish, i GREATLY appreciate comments as it helps me test the waters on whats to come with it

Masterlist

read on ao3

next chapter

or keep reading down below~

I like (I like) what you like (what you like) Long hair (no bra) that's my type (that's right) You just told me, want me to fuck you Baby, I will 'cause I really want to

-

The ascension was complete. He actually went through with it. 7000 souls, gone. 

Astarion, The Vampire Ascendant.

He convinced you that it’s what was necessary. You thought this would bring him peace. It’s what he wanted. You loved him, and you would’ve gone to the ends of the world for him; in your eyes, after everything he'd been through, it's what he deserved.

“I can hear it at last, how all the lowly creatures of this plane are begging to serve.”

But now that it was done, you couldn’t tell if he was still him. If the vampire before you was still the same you spent that first night in the woods. That same one who admitted to have fallen for you. The same one who thanked you for taking a stand against Araj at Moonrise Towers. And if he wasn’t, who was he now? Did he have anything left from his previous self? And could you still love him if he didn’t?

"The world will stir in fear."

The walk back to camp that day was dreary. As Astarion walked ahead of everyone with his newfound confidence, you were dragging your feet behind the rest of your party. The weight of what you had done, slowly setting in. Your friends asked about your well-being and you reassured them all that everything’s fine! It was just a big day! And you simply couldn’t wait to finally rest. You didn’t have the heart to admit that you were regretting what you had encouraged Astarion to do.

Back at the Elfsong, you wave to your companions an early good night as you are heading to bed, before Astarion pulls you aside.

“My consort, we are so close to our triumph, I can almost taste it.” Even his tone was different. What you used to qualify as theatrical was now leaning towards dramatical.

You freeze and look at him dead in his eyes. Every part of you is looking for any proof at all that he was still himself. After all, you had no way to know if the 7007 souls sacrificed also included his own.

“I think we need to talk,” your voice comes out colder than intended.

“Little love, whatever could be the matter?”

“Just– what in the Hells happened to you in there?” The words come out of their own, tainted with sadness.

“It's quite simple, really: I became a better version of myself. The very best, dare I say. And I have no one else but you to thank for it.”

You cross your arms and evade his eyes, your shame for your actions creeping up on you. “I don’t feel great about it, honestly.”

“Well, what’s done is done, and there’s simply no point in dwelling on the past, is there?”

His disdain for the enormous sacrifice that was made makes you scoff, incredulous. “You’re nothing like the Astarion I knew before.”

“I know. I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Finally free of my past.” He smiles, satisfied. “I’m who I always wanted to be. I have everything I ever wanted, except you, by my side.”

His hand reaches out to you and you quickly understand the offer he’s making: to make you a spawn, his spawn. The whole situation is bittersweet to you; of course you’ve always wanted what he wanted, what was best for him, and you would've spent your lifetime with him in another context, but with how he turned out following the ascension, this future isn't something you can imagine yourself in. Now that this choice is given to you, you know better than to accept. 

You shake your head as you step back, “No… I won’t do it.”

He sighs, dropping his hand to his side, “Seems I misjudged you. I thought we might have a future together, eternity, even. Perhaps you’re not worthy.”

His condescending tone sparks a fury within you. “We’ll defeat the elder brain together. But after that, I want nothing to do with you,” you say as you try to contain the anger rising in your chest. His brows furrow, matching your energy. “So be it. You will regret leaving me, more than anything you live to regret.”

You give him one last angry look before walking to your bed, muttering to yourself as you feel tears swelling up. 

“I regret letting you go through with that damned ritual.”

—

You follow through with your promise. With the Netherbrain gone and your tadpoles vanished, nothing kept you together anymore. You parted ways with all your companions, going out on your own, wherever your next adventure guided you. Finally, a normal life, or something closer to it, anyway. You did miss most of them, for what it’s worth; you considered them your family. You often wondered how Wyll and Karlach were faring in the Hells, and how Lae’zel’s quest to take down Vlaakith was going; you even considered offering your help at one point, but after ending things with Astarion, you needed to be alone. The breakup hit you harder than you expected, it left your heart with a void. He looked happy following his ascension, so why couldn’t you be happy for him? Why was this so hard on you? It’s not something you had ever experienced in your past relationships, usually able to move to the next one rather quickly. You didn’t naturally get attached to people, you used to think that nothing lasts forever, and relationships weren’t an exception. This damned vampire proved to you once again that you were right, although you wished for once you weren’t. He took up all your thoughts, and you had to do something to wash him away.

You occupied your time best by helping people in need, taking bounties left and right, roaming the lands and fighting monsters. When you could afford it, you’d spend the night at the local inn, drinking to numb the feelings. On nights when you were most drunk, you ended up sharing someone else's bed, whoever proposed it to you on those nights. With the alcohol in your veins and your eyes closed, your mind let you believe that you were in his arms again. That it was all a bad dream, and you would wake up next to him, only to be hit by the harsh reality the next morning.

You did anything that you thought would help keep your mind busy. It did work for some time; as long as you were actively doing something – focused on the task at hand – you didn’t think about the past, but the moment night fell and you laid to rest alone, you were back at square one. 

You felt guilty about Astarion’s ascension. Guilty of the impact it had on him and your relationship, guilty of the power you let him have and the consequences that it meant. Even guilty of how you felt about it; it was a vicious cycle that plagued you.

It had been your one and only mistake. You let yourself be blinded by the rose-coloured glasses of your love for him, and although you meant well, you’re very conscious of the damage this decision had on him and potentially the city, but also the 7000 souls sacrificed in the process. Granted, they were already spawns and there was no way to save them from this fate, they could’ve at least have had a chance at living in the Underdark. Yes, you had saved the city – damages aside – lifted a curse, freed everyone and yourself from the Absolute, defeated the chosens of the Dead Three, bla bla bla, but your mind always drifted to Astarion’s fate. What if you had stopped him? Surely, your life would be different now. You would be roaming the streets with him, probably. Maybe living together in the Underdark. He would’ve stayed himself. You would’ve been… happier.

When you receive Withers’ invitation to the reunion, it’s the first time in months you’re actually happy, excited even, to see your friends at long last, but also anxious. Your mind drifts to the vampire you used to love. Would you see him at the reunion? Would he have changed at all? How has he been?

Did he still think about you, too?

Looking forward to the night, you treat yourself out to a nice outfit from the local seamstress. You settle on a simple, yet elegant, black long dress with an open back. The summer night is nice and fresh; you’re glad you went for a long sleeved dress. Your hair, which you decided to let down, also partially covers your exposed back, covering you from the breeze. You reach your old campsite to find out you’re the last to arrive, as you see all your friends already mingling. You decide to talk to Shadowheart first, as she was the one you missed the most, as you had grown particularly closer to her during your adventure. In another life, you would’ve been together, you think. You felt bad about not contacting her sooner, but her joy upon seeing you washes away all guilt. She greets you with a smile and a large embrace.

“Come here you! Gods, I missed you!”

You hold her tight, enjoying her strong hug. 

“Tell me everything! How have you been?”

“Oh you know, a few killings here and there, little shenanigans all around, I’m sure whatever you have to share is much more interesting.” You wish you could say something different, but your adventures really had been that bland. 

She rolls her eyes playfully at your deflection, “And how have you been feeling?”

“Greaaat, every day is a new adventure for me to discover.” You give a poor excuse for a laugh as an attempt to convince her.

She tilts her head forward and raises her eyebrow at you. She knew you better than you gave her credit for. “You know what I meant.” Her gaze points to the side behind you and you give a quick glance to see Astarion disdainfully looking at his surroundings, a silver cup in hand.

You sigh as you turn back to her, the facade falling at once. “I try not to think about it. I… hated what he became, and felt guilty about it. I did take part in it, I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t.” You cross your arms, recollecting your thoughts. “But I’m starting to think that maybe I jumped to conclusions too quickly when I left him. I miss him and it’s… frustrating. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Seeing him again so soon is more difficult than I originally thought.”

“Did you talk to him?” “I was actually trying to avoid him,” you confess.

“And you think that's healthy?” “It's the only way I'll be able to move on.”

“And how’s that been going?”

“I–” You’re unable to answer her, the truth being that it was going horribly.

She grabs you by your shoulders, bringing your attention back to her, “Hey, you know if you need anything, I’ll be there for you.” You smile, sheepishly, as she brushes your hair behind your ear, softly cupping your cheek. “And if you’re looking for some company to take your mind off of a certain vampire, well, I would be glad to offer mine.” You get lost in her eyes, with her hand soft and warm against your skin. Her invitation is tempting, and your gaze falls on her lips as you speak up.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Come meet me when the party's over.” She smiles back, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. 

You spend the rest of the night catching up with all your friends, always keeping an eye on Astarion, who you notice has been eyeing you as well, as if he was expecting you to approach him, but you never do. You’re convinced nothing good will come out of it and even if you did talk, you’re not sure where you would even begin, so you keep your distance.

As the night settles down, you bid your close friends farewell and sneak out two bottles of wine to share with Shadowheart as she walks you to the inn she’d been staying at. The road is peaceful, and you reminisce about the past with the cleric, indulging in the leftover drinks you stole from the party. When you finally reach the inn, you're both a giggling and stumbling mess, empty bottles of wine still in hand as you enter her room.

As she closes the door behind her, you hear some patrons through the walls yell at you to shut up – it was late and your entrance had been pretty noisy – and you mockingly hush your friend, pressing a finger on her lips.

“Shadoooow, shhhhh” you whisper, your speech slurred. “You’re bothering people.”

“Oh, I’m bothering people? Care to remind me who stumbled their way up the stairs?” She says, laughing, her cheeks blushed by the alcohol.

“Hey– it’s not my fault their steps are so high and your room is so far,” you pout.

“Oh, my apologies,” she takes on a chivalrous tone. “Does my lady require assistance to reach her bed for the night?” 

You answer, matching her tone. “That would be most welcome, dearest.”

You squeal as she picks you up in her arms with an impressive strength, and carries you to the large bed. You giggle when she drops you off, and she leans over you.

“Is my lady satisfied with my service?”

You fail to keep a straight face when you answer. “Most definitely. Thank you, my liege.”

She smiles back softly before crashing next to you, both of you staring at the ceiling, taking in the first moment of silence of your night. A second later and your mind is already thinking about Astarion and you sigh heavily. Your companion instantly notices your change of mood.

“It’s him again, isn't it?”

You groan, grabbing your hair in frustration. “Was I wrong? To let him go through with that damn ritual? Why does he get to live his best life and I’m still feeling awful abo–”

She cups your cheek and pulls your face close to hers, cutting you off with a kiss. 

“How about we get to work on ‘forgetting about him’, hm?”

You nod slightly as you stare into her eyes, and she grins, her hand curling around your neck before crashing her lips against yours once again. You moan into the kiss, feeling the heat spread across your face and to your chest. Her kisses travel from your jaw down to your neck. She pulls your dress down, gradually exposing your flushed chest, before pulling back to take a good look at you, her own face matching your colour.

“You blush so beautifully.” Her voice is soft like velvet, each word making your heart pounce, as she continues to kiss her way down your navel, eventually discarding your dress on the floor.

You hide your face between your hands, trying to conceal the warmth coming from your cheeks and she comes back up to take your hands in hers, revealing your flustered state.

“You’re too pretty to hide yourself like that,” she reassures you with another kiss. “Let me admire you.”

You struggle to keep eye contact as one of her hands makes its way between your legs, teasing your entrance. Her fingers slide easily between your folds, earning her a moan out of you. She finds your clit and rubs you softly, your entire body twitching in reaction to her touch, and you shut your eyes to focus on the feeling, throwing your head back. Shadowheart takes this chance to trace the curve of your breast with her tongue, closing her mouth on its peak and sucking over it. Her tongue works wonders on you, and you whimper as she lightly bites you. 

“Keep singing for me,” She says between kisses, her voice thick with lust. “I love the sound of your voice.”

Her name on your lips is like a prayer as she ravishes your breast, leaving a few love bites over your chest. She pulls back temporarily to remove her own clothing before climbing back in bed, resting between your legs. You barely manage to raise yourself up when she pushes you back down against the bed.

“Lay down love, and let me take care of you. Just the way you deserve it.”

She throws your legs over her shoulders and kisses the inside of your thighs, leaving more love bites and she makes her way to your cunt. Her tongue finally finds its way between your folds and she laps at your juices, making sure to lick you clean.

“Gods, you taste divine.”

Her hands dig in your thighs as she devours you and you arch your back at the sensation, taking in the feeling of her tongue entering you. Your hips soon follow the movement, wanting more contact, and she takes the hint, moving to your clit to give it the attention it deserves. You whine when she enters you with a finger, and a second one, slowly thrusting into you, as her tongue circles your sensitive bud. Your chest rises higher and faster as your breathing quickens, and she knows you're close. Your eyes are long gone, but she looks up to you, admiring your state before she speaks up.

“Let it go, love. Come for me.”

She sucks once more on your clit, her fingers pushing harder against that sweet spot inside of you. You throw your head back, grabbing the bed sheets at your sides as you scream her name with the remaining air in your lungs and a crashing wave of sensations washes over you. For a moment, your mind goes blank, there's nothing but pure bliss. You want to stay like this forever; finally at peace, content. As you come down from your high, your legs give out and you pant excessively, trying to catch your breath.

You feel the bed shift beside you and open your eyes to see Shadowheart lazily making her way next to you.

“But– what about you?” you ask, breathless and tired.

“You don’t think I enjoyed myself just now?” She laughs and kisses you. “You’re simply adorable.” She cups your cheek lovingly, brushing your hair away. 

“Tonight was all about you. Plus, I doubt you'd be able to accomplish anything in the state you're in. You can always make it up to me another night,” she grins and boops your nose, smiling tenderly, before snuggling against you.

You watch her as she drifts to sleep next to you, moments before you cave into your own exhaustion. For the first time in months, you get a good, restful night of sleep.

When morning comes, you’re awakened by a god-awful headache, the consequences of last night’s drinking catching up to you. On the bright side, you find Shadowheart wrapped around you from behind, with her face nuzzled in your neck. You smile and hold on to her arm around your waist, linking your fingers with hers. She awakens soon after and greets you with kisses on your shoulder. You turn around to properly kiss her good morning, but the pain throbbing in your head has you groaning and holding your head instead. She catches on quickly and casts lesser restoration on you, fixing your headache instantly.

“Thank you, doc.” You sigh, content, and turn your head to face her. “How will I ever repay you?”

“I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“Mmh, I might have an idea.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “Colour me intrigued.”

You flip yourself above her, pinning her down before kissing her lovingly. When you pull away, you find her looking at you with the same lust she had for you the night prior. Her eyes fall on your lips before she speaks again.

“You should follow me on my next adventure. I think it would help you clear things up.”

You pull back, now sitting on her, as you take a moment to answer. “I have a few errands to run, but I might take you up on that offer.”

“I still have the room for a tenday,” she raises herself up on her elbows and gives you a pensive look before continuing her thought. “Let me know when you make up your mind.”

You get dressed up and kiss her goodbye, eager to go back to your own inn to get changed and take a much deserved bath. Since the room you had rented was yours for a few days, you might as well take the chance to shop around while you were there; you were in dire need of new equipment for your next adventures. You spend those days getting upgrades for your gear, and visiting the city. Day after day, something felt odd; you had the weird feeling that you were being watched. Every time, nothing would happen, and neither did you see anyone suspicious, but the feeling never left. One night, as you were making your way to your inn, that feeling only got stronger. The streets weren’t busy per say, but everyone you could see was minding their business, discussing amongst themselves. You pressed ahead to reach the inn faster; maybe it was all in your head, but just in case your intuition was right, you didn’t want to take any chances.

As you turn the corner to take a shortcut in a back alley, two figures block your path. In the dark of the night, you can’t make out their identities, but their threatening auras are enough to make you back away. You bump into two more imposing shadows, somehow having managed to sneak up behind you, who quickly grab your arms before you can think of escaping. You try to fight against them but their combined forces pin you down almost completely. You were strong, you shouldn’t have had any issue fighting them off, but their strength almost felt… surnatural. If you had learned one thing during your misadventures, it was that when brute strength wasn't an option, you had to aim for their egos.

“Come on, four against one? How's that fair? Are you so weak that you can't face me alone? Let me get the chance to fuck you up, one after the other.” You smile cheekily, your blood running hot, ready for a fight. Karlach would be proud.

The bandits remain unphased by your taunting, with only one of them answering to your banter.

“We won't fight you. Our Master requested that you be brought alive.”

“Aw, poor lil pup can’t do anything without its master's permission,” you say, mocking them, and you laugh disdainfully at them. “You’re fucking pathetic.” 

The figure moves towards you and you’re slapped with a strength that would’ve made you fall to your knees, had you not been held by the two other goons.

“ENOUGH!” Another figure speaks up. “Remember the Master mentioned that she be left unharmed.”

You lift your head back up, your breathing ragged by your furor. “How about you bring me to that master of yours so I can show him who he’s messing with?”

You wish you could take back your words as another figure appears, stepping out from the shadows, this one all too familiar.

“Hello, my sweet.”

-

I bet they planned it all out like the shows Went everywhere I go Walked in the store right behind me Stood in line right beside me and followed me to my home I'm sure they figured it out early on That I would never run That they could shoot, but that's no fun 'Cause then they're killing the stolen son, oh

[azure-firecracker]

Fic Rec Roundup!

In honor of my going off to college (my posts will be slowing down), and finishing 3 seasons of TXF, I asked y’all what sort of “special post” you wanted me to make. You voted on a roundup of some of my favorite TXF fics, so here it is! Prepare to watch me gush profusely about the phenomenal writers in this fandom.

This will be in chronological order, so first time watchers like me need not fear spoilers:)

I’m not including my own writing here, but you can find it in my masterpost.

Without further ado, let’s get into the fics!

Season 1:

starstruck by @thursdayinspace (General Audiences, 671 words): Set post-Pilot. The title says it all. This is quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever read.

Something Bigger Than Us by Mungo_of_Maundery (General Audiences, 721 words): A nice coda to Deep Throat after Scully rescues Mulder from the air base. Internal monologue is great.

humans in nature by @theswisscheeserag (General Audiences, 2,733 words): Mulder and Scully’s conversations post The Jersey Devil. Philosophy mixed with fluff and some laugh-out-loud humor. Perfectly captures the vibe of early MSR.

Still Feeling My Father Ascend by @cecilysass (Teen and Up, 13,073 words): Mulder and Scully share some tender moments post Beyond the Sea. Both of them have a lot of healing to do, for different reasons. Some of my favorite MSR introspection can be found in this fic, and you can tell how much thought and care this author puts into the characterizations. There’s also several excellent funny moments - a true gem of a fic!

Egit Genius Loci by snow_and_rain (Teen and Up, 21,937 words): Case fic set right after Beyond the Sea. Featuring early-onset MSR, angst, mutual pining, and hurt/comfort. A little whimsical, a little eerie, a little sad.

Between Two Truths by @agent-troi (Teen and Up, 1,621 words): Missing scene from E.B.E after Scully’s speech to Mulder. An excellent internal monologue from Mulder’s POV followed by some top-tier MSR banter.

the progression (and regression) of first names by skuls (Teen and Up, 5,421 words): A series of vignettes exploring Scully and Mulder’s relationship as it evolves throughout Season 1. Pitch-perfect Scully characterization and several moments that really showcase her inner conflict fantastically, but also many wonderfully tender MSR scenes (keep an eye out for the coffee scene - my favorite!)

never learned to read your mind by @swinging-stars-from-satellites (General Audiences, 1,071 words): An alternate version of Season 1 where Scully leaves after Deep Throat. Profound, heartwarming, wistful and a bit sad, this takes an interesting concept and really tugs at your heartstrings.

Season 2:

distractions by @thursdayinspace (General Audiences, 1,181 words): Post-abduction. Mulder does his best to help. Absolutely heart-melting, sweet and tender and a little sad too.

The Safety of Guilt by the_status_clo (Teen and Up, 732 words): Mulder’s guilt post-abduction. Do you like to feel miserable? Do you like to slip into a pit of unwavering guilt and wallow in beautiful words? Read this!

Redial by @theswisscheeserag (Teen and Up, 7,423 words): A frequent reread of mine! Set during Mulder and Scully’s quarantine post-Firewalker and told through a series of phone calls. This fic has everything you could possibly want: introspection, angst, fluff, humor, friendship and romance all mixed into one…it’s just really good in 1000 different ways. Endlessly rereadable.

until it heals by @actual-changeling (Teen and Up, 2,351 words): A post-Irresistible fic that captures all of the poetry, panic, and drama that is Season 2 MSR. Incredibly tender with some stunning inner monologue moments. A perfect coda to my favorite episode.

Authority and Gravity by Xecotcovach (Teen and Up, 2,338 words): Another excellent fic where Scully (with Mulder’s help) tries to deal with some of her season 2 trauma. Their dynamic here is very tender and their banter is just the right amount of sassy and quippy. Set after Fresh Bones.

If You’re Sinking, I Will Jump Right Over by SammyLovesASOIAF (Teen and Up, 1,642 words): An alternate version of End Game where things go…badly-but then Mulder has to confront his emotions!An interesting alternative, angst with a happy ending. Lovely poetic language; I have some lines from this that I remember word-for-word.

Our Town by @leiascully (Teen and Up, 813 words): Scully’s thoughts during and after the climax of Our Town. Very in-character, appropriately intense, really conveys the fear and desperation intertwined with Season 2 MSR.

Season 3:

Light in Dark Places by @agent-troi (Teen and Up, 2,697 words): Set in Season 3 but it’s really about Irresistible and Scully’s insecurities in general. Peak hurt/comfort, this one makes your heart hurt in the best possible way, and then it feels like a warm hug with the resolution.

Got You(r) Back by @shearmouth (Teen and Up, 4,933 words): This is THE injury fic for me. Set post-731. The hurt/comfort levels in here are unmatched. Scully’s internal monologue is perfect. Mulder is an actual puppy and Scully takes care of him and it makes my heart melt in all of the right ways.

stay close, listen by @actual-changeling (Teen and Up, 2,667 words): Post Pusher. Very angsty, but in the best possible way and with an extremely satisfying resolution. This fic definitely wins best-written: it’s essentially poetry, and its uses of metaphor and literary references are stunning. I can’t recommend this enough.

find me defenseless by @impulsive-astrophile (Mature, 7,421 words): Case fic! Do you like Mulder torture? Do you like badass Scully? If so, you will love this fic because it has both in spades (plus-spoilers-a wonderful ending to make up for the pain). Whenever I’m fed up with the show’s kidnapping ratio, I read this: it’s probably my most frequent reread. I will say that it is more violent than anything I’ve written, so be aware.

Unconfirmed timing but spoiler-free:

unravelling by @actual-changeling (General Audiences, 2,208 words): Scully wakes up to a familiar voice theorizing on her television. What follows is as sweet and humorous as it is charged and just a little tragic.

Shakespirited by orphan_account (Teen and Up, 13,670 words): A fic that I’m pretty sure was written specifically for me. Mulder and Scully go undercover in a Shakespeare troupe plagued by strange murders. If you like TXF and are a Shakespeare nerd, you will love this. Definition of a good time (but there’s some angst too-how could there not be?) I think there are some minor spoilers in here, but nothing to really tell you anything as long as you’ve seen up to Anasazi.

Sometimes You Need to Have Fun by @baronessblixen (Teen and Up, 1,192 words): Fluff written by the queen of fluff herself! Mulder and Scully go ice skating. It’s as adorable and sappy as it sounds.

Stupid Cupid by @mulderwearingglasses (General Audiences, 5,325 words): A Valentine’s Day fic! This features jealous Scully (a delight) as well as some excellent humor and fluff. Overall just a lovely time. There may be some minor spoilers in here, but nothing that told me anything.

[tachibubu]

Hi hi, how are you?

Could you write an Aegon fic with the reader where she is pregnant with their first child (a girl)? But while the reader is in labor, it's being too risky, so when she asks everyone to leave, she leaves shortly after her room and as she passes through the hallway where Aegon's family is waiting for the news, they see her heading in. towards the garden, where the dragon is. The reader is afraid of dying during labor, so she asks her dragon Moraxx to set fire on her, Dracarys, but at the time Aegon appears and manages to prevent it, and in that, the birth ends up happening right there and everything ends up fine.

With You

∆ PAIRING ; Father! Aegon Targaryen II x Pregnant!Reader/OC/Self-Insert

∆ SUMMARY ; (Almost what httpjijikook said!) Aegon and (Y/N) expects to have a newborn baby soon. Though conflicts came and a dreaded question soon clouded Aegon's choices.

∆ WARNINGS ; childbirth and the traumatic shts it brings, angst with comfort, idk why fluff is a warning but fluffy ending, Aegon being a great father, Aegon finally standing up for himself, I DONT HATE ALICENT BUT ALICENT IS KINDA MEAN HERE, slight parallel to Laena's death but if Daemon fckin talked and helped her like hes supposed to fuckin do in the shows, it is not stated which house reader in so lets pretend you learned high Valyrian for aegon or you're from a house who speaks it whatever u wish

NOTE ; I kinda read the request wrong so I changed some bits of it, hopefully this didn't destroy your vision! Also there are High Valyrian in this fic, I italized the meaning beside it usually since I hate placing the meanings by the end of the story.

I was listening to Here With Me by D4vd while reading this so you might as well check it out!

Aegon was never acknowledged to be a loyal, dependable, trustworthy kind of person. The youthful prince is commonly portrayed as a womanizer, drunkard, and generally irrational person who has no desire to ascend to the throne. Of course, no one outside of the Red Keep is aware of the latter.

So you can imagine Alicent's astonished expression when her son asks to cancel the wedding with his sister and instead desires to be engaged to you, (Y/N), of a House who are loyal to Viserys and his heir Rhaenyra.

This did not sit well with Alicent, who perceived it as another ploy by Aegon to get her sympathy. Alicent was horrified that her son might be bewitched by you. Even after he promised to control his urges and impulsiveness, she still forbade it.

Even so, Aegon pursued you and planted a baby inside of you behind the Queen's back. Alicent became aware of this two months into the pregnancy. She considered giving moon tea, but Aegon saw right through her and argued with his mother about the upsetting idea. By drinking it, it could not only kill the babe but you as well, and he wouldn't forgive his mother for that.

When Aegon turned 180° during five months, Alicent gradually came to terms with the pregnancy and the request for bethrotal. This was acquired when Aegon, as his mother would have wanted, would study and get ready for the probable day of his reign. Aegon did not like doing this, but if it meant being with you, he would do everything.

You and Alicent were not necessarily close just because she welcomed you into the family. There were some pure moments in which Alicent prepped you for your first foray into parenting, albeit there were a few fake smiles thrown in because of your lineage and which side it was on.

As your belly grew bigger and bigger, Aegon's fixation with infedelity and other things gradually faded away. From a sour teenager to a tender-hearted, loving father. Yes, he would still occasionally flirt at court, but he would compensate for it by spending time bonding with you after his lessons and crafting an embroidered handkerchief by hand out of his new passion. (Helaena taught him, but Aegon wouldn't admit it. The man was too prideful.)

One month earlier than predicted, the water broke. Aegon and the Greens became concerned about a potential miscarriage as a result.

Your wails can be heard in the back, Aegon cried at the top of his voice, "Do something!" His fists seized the collars of the Maester as he awoke just a few minutes ago. "You bald piece of shit, I'll let you taste something worse than childbirth if you make any mistakes!"

Midnight was when it occurred. As you arched your back in agony, your face was drenched in sweat. You were in excruciating pain, and Aegon's yelling and threats did not help. Your lady in waiting was standing next to you, wiping your sweat and encouraging you softly as you tried to push once more before howling.

Ser Criston, a well-known knight, trudged into the room, saying, "My prince, her grace requests your audience first at council."

"She never liked (Y/N), and now she wants me to miss the birth of my child? Is she fuckin' crazy? What the fuck does that bitch want?"

The white-cloaked knight said casually, "I advise you both discuss this one out, my prince."

Before Aegon could proceed to step out of the door against his own will, he softened when he heard your pleas, crying out for his name. "A-Aegon..."

"My love?" Just by hearing his name, he rushed towards your side. He knelt next to you and gently stroked your hands.

"Please don't leave." Your eyes were red, as was your nose. Aegon was always sensitive regarding his feelings, whether it be anger or sadness. So, seeing you in this position, begging and hurting, he couldn't help but start to weep as well.

His other hand supported your head while his thumb wiped away your tears, saying, "I won't. I'll come back quickly."

"Please don't..." you weakly muttered.

He kissed your forehead and murmured, "I promise," before getting up. He is aware that in order to gain their trust in this marriage, he must comply with his mother's, or rather the queen's, expectations. So he walked towards Ser Criston, but not before saying, "Avy jorrāelan", a pledge of love in High Valyrian. The words mean, 'I love you'.

"Take me to her," he growled as he walked irately past the knight.

The council's discourse was the same as it always was. Pertaining to the heirarchy and how bearing a son would support his claim to the throne. Aegon pondered if this gathering was even worth paying attention to as he fidgeted with his wedding ring, something you had suggested to Aegon. Although not traditional, he found it lovely and continued along with it amidst the disapproval of the septon.

But his worries soon became a reality as the Maester hurriedly entered the room without any introduction, drawing raised eyebrows from the small council. Aegon's heart sank when the old man said that it was either the baby's life or both the infant and the mother would perish. He hurried over to your quarters but discovered it to be empty. He learned that the midwife, who was in charge of keeping a tight eye on you, was preoccupied enough to let you pass through the door. Aegon grew furious and almost killed the poor old lady. However, this was only momentary as a stableboy entered the room in a pant and announced that he had seen you enter the garden near the horses.

On your side, only you could hear your cries for help. When you heard the maesters speak about the possibility of your baby and yourself dying in childbirth, you couldn't bring yourself to meet the stranger on the bed. You had wished for a dragon-rider's death alongside with your baby. So there you were, facing your dragon, Moraxx, as it sent a curious, beguiling glance your way.

"Dohaeris, Moraxx!" As you drew closer to the dragon, begging to be killed with fire, you yelled at it to serve you while leaving trails of blood in your wake. "Dracarys!"

"Kostilus.." you begged, your body in pain yet still holding up. "Dracarys!"

Alicent halted Aegon in his tracks before he could continue after you in the garden. She started by pressing both of her palms on her first child's face, attempting to soothe him down. However, her eyes were filled with conflicting emotions: "She won't survive this Aegon, nor the kid. I trust that you will make the right choice. It is your obligation as a husband to choose wisely."

His face showed pain and betrayal before he shook off the hands on his face as if it was mere dirt. "Screw duty, I'd rather be fucking dead with the one I love than be the crown's slave."

He entered the gates without any more words, his hair ruffled at how fast he fled inside. When he had spotted you almost laying on the floor in front of your dragon, screaming for it to burn you, he began to sprint towards you as if his life depended on it while yelling in panic, "Lykiri!" He screamed for you to calm down and stop amidst his run, "Kelītīs!"

When he eventually got to you, he assisted you up while cursing at you and shaking your shoulder vigorously. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Please, Aegon, please kill me, I beg you now.." You pleaded with the frightened prince.

"I wont fucking do that!"

"I can't handle it anymore, please..."

He stroked your face as you both exchanged glances. Fear, despair, and love for one another were all seen on both faces. "(Y/N), look, and listen carefully. Remember our talk when we visited Highgarden? About death and such?"

"Skoros morghot vestri?" He asked, 'What do we say to death?' it meant, though the way it was said seems like he demanded or ordered you to. When you hadn't replied and your breaths were shallow, his tears didn't stop from flowing before he asked it again, stuttering, "(Y/N),... S-Skoros morghot vestri?"

Your eyes would have almost succumbed to the haziness if it weren't for Aegon's pleading eyes and voice. With your new-found determination, you felt yourself regain a bit of energy. Using it, you held his shoulders as you forced yourself to push out the life inside of you. His eyes never left yours until you had finally felt something release inside you, and you slowly laid down on the pavement with him helping you down with worried eyes.

With a final push, the new baby was born. It wasn't a boy, but Aegon loved her regardless, as he took the baby and held it in his hand. His one hand cradled it while the other held yours. Slowly, he started with a mere chuckle before he let out an excited laugh. He shared both looks between his daughter and his wife, muttering "gevie," Beautiful, he said.

You smiled at him, taking slow breaths before giving him a loving kiss. You answered his question from before, "Tubī daor". A response in which he smiled properly before responding. "Yes, it is not today."

The maesters and a few knights were summoned to help you and the healthy infant back to your chamber. Aegon was by your side the entire time you were mending. Your husband placed a chair next to your neatly made bed and slept there as you did. You both fell into a deep slumber, holding hands. Tiredness consumed both of you as you were both woken up by the maestar on the morrow, congratulating you both on a successful birth.

"You did so well, my love." Aegon whispered as you cradled your baby in your arms before you heard your husband thank you in your shared native words. "Kirimvos, for not giving up."

You smiled before kissing him, "avy jorrāelan."

Tell me why is fuck aegon the first thing that popped up in hashtags as i add my tags HXHXBDBDNDN

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending: A Chaconne Story (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Five years after leaving your heart in New York to chase your dreams in Vienna, you're finally a rising star in the classical music world. After scoring your biggest gig yet- a soloist job for a summer concert series in LA- you discover that the past isn’t as distant as you’d thought.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Hello friends, welcome to the Chaconne sequel, The Lark Ascending! This story is very near and dear to my heart and I’m so excited to be posting it. The inspiration for this fic is from one of my favorite pieces of the same name, The Lark Ascending. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

Being a musician was all about sacrifice; you had to be willing to get to the top by any means necessary. You couldn’t just give it your all, it had to be more than that. But what happens when that wasn’t enough? What happens when you have it all just within reach, but no matter how hard you try you can’t quite get there? Those were the questions you had asked yourself when you first moved to Vienna. It seemed like no matter what you tried, how many hours you practiced, it wasn’t right. There was something missing. You did everything you should have, you moved to Vienna (although that wasn’t entirely your idea to begin with), you performed night after night with your blood, sweat, and tears, all while healing a broken heart.

It felt like you had all of the pieces to the puzzle in front of you, but they didn’t fit together. Or rather, you didn’t fit. There was something missing, and no amount of practicing could fix that. There was a small voice in the back of your mind whispering that there was a reason you didn’t make it into the Manhattan Symphony. Agatha would always say how much progress you were making, how much potential you had, that there was promise, but you wondered just how true that was; how much of it she really meant. You had been doing a lot of thinking on your relationship with Agatha lately.

The first few months after you moved to Vienna, you couldn’t even say her name without crying. There were reminders of her everywhere you turned. The coffee shop near your apartment, the rehearsal hall where you spent most of your time, every park you strolled through. You’d stumble upon small things, like a review for a new play, or interesting theories on post-modern music, and subconsciously want to share them with her. A beautiful sunny day, the flowers blooming in the ground, the wind whistling in the distance, the way the dew sparkled on the grass after a thunderstorm, everything was Agatha. You knew they called Vienna “The City of Dreams”, but you never anticipated all of your fantasies to revolve around the same woman. How were you supposed to get closure when she was thousands of miles away?

Your solace came, unsurprisingly, in the form of music. Vienna was the birthplace of some of classical music’s great forefathers, and there was inspiration all around you. Performing with Natasha and her chamber orchestra was like a breath of fresh air, and with every performance you slowly found yourself again. It wasn’t entirely true when they said time heals all wounds, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heal from the scar of leaving Agatha, but with every month that passed you found it hurt less and less. You often thought you would always love her, but this was for the best, you knew it was.

Eventually, it felt like everything was falling into place. Performing with a prestigious group that featured world renowned soloists like Wanda Maximoff meant you were able to make the right connections. You worked harder than you ever thought possible, and channeled your grief into your music to push you forward. It paid off in the end, and with Natasha and Wanda’s help you eventually entered a rising soloist contest.

Getting over your fears of inadequacy was another story. You knew that the one thing that was missing was your ability to believe that you were good enough; that you had always been good enough. No amount of practicing could convince you of that either, it had to come within yourself.

In the days leading up to the competition, you had a breakdown in front of Wanda that changed the way you saw yourself.

You set your violin down on the piano, ignoring Wanda’s concerned glance in your direction. “I think I need to drop out of this competition. I’m nowhere near ready.”

Wanda frowned, looking over the sheet music you had handed her earlier. “What are you talking about? You have everything memorized. You sound really good.”

“I don’t feel ready,” you argued, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the tightening of your chest at the thought of competing that weekend.

“No one ever feels ready for these sorts of things,” Wanda pointed out, and you knew she was trying to help, but you weren’t in the mood to hear it.

“I’ve never had the best luck with these sorts of things,” you reminded her. “I think I need to accept that this kind of dream isn’t feasible for me.”

“Why do you keep getting in your own way?” Wanda questioned, moving the sheet music to the side, her tone curious.

“I’m not getting in my own way,” you politely informed her. “I’m being realistic.”

“Nothing about this, about what we do is realistic,” Wanda corrected you, standing up from her seat. “I never thought I’d make it as a soloist, but I had to believe in myself enough to try. If you can’t even give yourself that, then you’re right; this isn’t feasible for you.”

Her words sat with you for a moment, and as you took it in, you felt the tightening in your chest begin to break until you could breathe again. She was right, you knew it deep down. As silly as it sounded, you had to give yourself a chance.

That ended up being the first competition you ever won, much to your surprise and Wanda’s delight.

Things began to look up after that. You slowly entered more competitions, and eventually you made enough of a name for yourself to begin soloing with various orchestras. It was nothing you could have ever imagined in your wildest dreams, but it was real. You did it. In spite of the heartache and pain, you did it all.

The past year proved to be your busiest yet. You had been booked solid with performances across the U.S. with a wide variety of orchestras, and your schedule wasn’t slowing down just yet. You would be spending your summer in Los Angeles, and you were still in disbelief.

If you had told yourself five years ago that you would be the featured artist in residence of the Los Angeles Symphony’s summer season, you would have thought it was a joke. Being the premiere performing symphony on the entire west coast, they had a stellar reputation and drew in huge crowds. Stephen Strange was a legendary conductor who you had always dreamed of getting to work with. It almost felt too good to be true.

You made it to the symphony center a little earlier than you planned, but with the unpredictability of LA traffic you didn’t want to risk being late. All that was on your agenda for the day was a meeting with the CFO of the board, Tony Stark, and a short rehearsal. But, you were hoping to get a quick peak of the concert hall while it was still empty. There weren't many people around this early in the day, but you had little trouble navigating yourself around until you found the backstage door.

The concert hall was pitch black, and you fumbled with the switches backstage before managing to flip on a single stage light. You wouldn’t need anything more than that, surely. Stepping on the stage you looked out at the vast concert hall, which seemed to hold hundreds of empty seats, and you pictured what it would be like to step out to thunderous applause. None of your previous experiences performing as a soloist had ever been for an audience of this size, and you silently came to the realization that the crowd at the Hollywood Bowl would be even larger. A familiar tingle of nerves coursed through your system as tiny thoughts of doubt twirled around your brain. Were you ready for this?

Absentmindedly tapping your fingers against the music stand at the podium, your eyes swept across the room. A quick glance at the schedule confirmed that no one from the orchestra would be here until later in the evening, so you’d have the place entirely to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you unpacked your violin and began to tune, taking note of how the sound bounced all around the walls, and gradually felt yourself relax. It was funny, you mused as you lowered your violin, how easy it was for you to discredit how much you had accomplished over the past few years. You weren’t just some conductor’s assistant anymore, you were a professional violinist, and a good one at that. It was unclear if your hesitation to accept your success came from the fear of being considered overly cocky, or if it derived from years of low self esteem and an inferiority complex.

Taking another long, calming breath, you swept those thoughts aside. Raising your violin, you rolled your shoulders back, turning so you were facing the front of the hall. It would be foolish to play the entire piece hours before rehearsal, as you would be wasting energy that you would desperately need. Performing was a lot like running a marathon, you couldn’t blow through everything you had in the first few miles and be left with nothing for the end. No, you needed to be intentional with every movement of your bow and shift of your fingers up and down the fingerboard.

The Lark Ascending was a majestic sixteen minute piece that was filled with swooping melodies as the violin sang higher and higher with every measure. Vaughan Williams was a composer during the late Romantic Era, crossing over into the Contemporary, and he had been inspired by a poem of the same name written by English author George Meredith. Vaughan Williams was able to create such stirring imagery with the notes on the page, that it was easy to get lost as you were playing and get transported to this dreamy, astral realm. Filled with a gorgeous blend of vivid colors and clouds, you felt like the lark Vaughan Williams was depicting, soaring through the clear skies.

The piece was filled with vulnerable cadences where you played without the orchestra’s accompaniment acting as a safety net in case you fell. You had to be completely sure of yourself, a hint of hesitation of your fingers or incomplete bow changes would ruin this picturesque painting. Rolling your bow to the frog, you internalized what you wanted your first note to sound like, settling on working on your opening phrase. Placing your fingers on the string, you closed your eyes and began. Your introduction was a stunning cadenza, with the tempo gradually increasing as you began your opening runs, your fingers gliding across the strings.

There was freedom with the tempo, allowing you to take your time and savor each note, your vibrato ringing through the hall. As you climbed higher and higher into the stratosphere it almost felt like you were the lark, ascending into the open air. Performing like this had unlocked a new sense of freedom you always yearned for; the countless hours of practicing turned into an almost effortless sight to any audience. It was as natural as breathing, and each exhale you took matched the strokes of your bow. Nearing the end of the phrase, you tried a new stylistic technique as you shifted your fingers gradually down the fingerboard, making note to try it again later at rehearsal.

As your bow stopped moving you made a few other mental notes of where you could add more vibrato, or improve your dynamics, when all of the lights in the hall turned on, snapping you out of your inner thoughts. The abrupt sound of loud clapping is what startled you the most, as you thought no one else would be using the stage until tonight. You turned around to find the stage door was still ajar, just as you left it, but you noticed a figure lingering in the shadows, and you nearly jumped at the sight. The building was secure enough that you weren’t going to be murdered, right?

“Can I help you?” You asked as politely as possible, setting your violin in its case.

“I have to say, dear, you certainly know how to leave a girl wanting more,” A familiar voice rang out, amusement clear from their tone as they stepped into the light. “You must have had an excellent teacher.”

Agatha Harkness leaned against the door frame, hands folded across her chest. Her dark hair was splayed against her shoulders in their usual messy curls, and you were surprised to find her in more casual attire consisting of a pair of black jeans and a lightweight button-up sheer white shirt. She arched an eyebrow at your shocked expression

You felt your heart stop as you stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Agatha?”

Her lips twisted upwards, smirking, a familiar glint in her eyes. “Surprised to see me?”

Time stood still as you were frozen in place, millions of thoughts dancing around your brain. You were unsure if it had been five seconds or five hours, all you could do was try to remember to breathe. Agatha was here, but how was she here? Were you imagining it? It wouldn’t have been the first time, as you’d lost track of the number of appearances she had made in your dreams over the years. They were all of slightly different variations, but would all end in the same heartbreaking fashion of reconciling with the conductor and feeling a sense of happiness you’d long forgotten…until you inevitably woke up alone.

Blinking, you took a timid step towards her, your hands uncomfortably folding behind your back. “Agatha, what are you doing here?”

Ignoring your question, she walked over to your violin case, and, despite your protests, she picked up your violin, examining it. “I see someone got a new instrument.” Gently turning it, you watched her trace the scroll, her fingers dancing around the pegs. “A shame, really, I was quite fond of your old one. But this is nice too, I suppose. What is it? Italian? German?“

“Swiss, actually,” you lightly corrected her, holding out your hands, signaling for her to hand it over.

As she disregarded your wishes for a second time, you felt a familiar pang of annoyance at how stubborn she could be. Picking up your bow, she raised your violin, setting the bow on the string, before releasing and producing a G-major chord. As the chord echoed throughout the hall you relished in the sound. Agatha had rarely used your violin before. She had always insisted that her talents remained with conducting and the piano, but you recalled a few memories of convincing her to play a scale or two on your violin.

You were normally extremely protective over your instrument, often refusing to allow anyone else to even hold her. However, you recollected, it had never been like that with Agatha. There had been some deep, unspoken level of trust that you had never felt with anyone else.

“Impressive,” Agatha remarked, appearing to admire the sound quality, before finally handing it back to you. Her hands briefly brushed against yours as you wrapped your hands around the neck of your violin, and it was as if you had been zapped by lightning.

But as quickly as the sensation overcame you, it was gone. Agatha retracted her hands, deep blue eyes boring into yours with the same intensity she always seemed to carry.

Clearing your throat, you broke eye contact, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

The conductor released a thoughtful hum, as you watched her move towards the edge of the stage. “Now is that any way to greet the Los Angeles Symphony’s guest conductor, dear?”

Guest conductor? Your face scrunched up, surprise coloring your features. None of your recent internet searches of the conductor revealed she would be in Los Angeles for any upcoming performances. Now, you weren’t exactly stalking Agatha, that would be creepy. You just liked to occasionally see what she was up to. That was normal, right?

“Tony never mentioned a guest conductor when I spoke with him earlier,” you pointed out, leaving out your internal ramblings as you were sure Agatha would get far too much pleasure from hearing you had looked her up.

“Well, it appears that Stephen contracted a rather nasty stomach bug, and I just happened to be in the area.” Agatha explained, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Now, you weren’t claiming to be an expert geographer, but something in your gut told you that she was lying. “So you just happened to be in California when you live on the East Coast?”

“Something like that,” Agatha tossed out, teasing you ever so slightly, and you scoffed.

She had always been elusive; that had been part of her charm. You never entirely knew what to expect when you were dealing with Agatha Harkness, and that used to excite you. She often reminded you of a raging hurricane, with her occasional fits of anger and passion all mingling together like the waves crashing against the shore. There had been a gentler side to her, of course, located in the eye of the storm. That had been the Agatha you were most familiar with, underneath all of the sarcastic quips and horrible temper was the woman you had once fallen in love with.

Nothing about her had ever been direct, which nearly drove you mad. But the subtlety of how she offered her affection more than made up for it. Nearly every night she insisted on driving you home, and you had quickly learned she detested the subway. She had been horrified when you had revealed you almost never cooked, so she made a point to teach you her favorite recipes (while only gently mocking your lack of skill in the kitchen in the process). It was clear she hadn’t been used to expressing her emotions, but then again you had never been an expert in that field either. Still, she loved you in her own way, and deep down a small part of you knew she loved you enough to let you go all those years ago.

But standing here now, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was really doing here. Did she know you were set to premiere with the orchestra? There was a fleeting thought where you dared to wonder if she came here for you, but you knew that was too foolish to even imagine. It had been so long without any word from her, why would she come to you now? You had performed with a few other orchestras in the States over the past year, and there had been a few brief moments where you hoped she would show, but she never did.

She was looking pleased, far too pleased for your liking. A rather dark thought crossed your mind, and you shot her an incredulous look. “Oh my god, did you do something to Stephen?”

Agatha let out a loud cackle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m a conductor, dear, not a homicidal witch. What exactly do you think I could have done, beat him up with my baton?”

That painted a rather interesting image in your head, but you frowned at her, unamused. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing here, are you?”

“You always were a fast learner, darling,” Agatha quietly remarked as she took a step towards you, the once familiar pet name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I must say, I was surprised to learn you had selected Vaughan Williams.”

“Why?” You questioned, noting how she slowly inched her way closer to you.

“I suppose I assumed you’d pick something with more flare. Tchaikovsky perhaps, or Sibelius.”

Shrugging, you vaguely called to mind one of the first things Agatha had ever said to you. “I don’t know, I guess I always preferred something more subdued, you know?”

You watched her eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and it was clear she knew what you were doing. “Something more subdued, hm? Not a fan of the dramatics?”

“I think that’s much more your genre of choice than mine,” You retorted, feeling the air in the room begin to thin as she circled you like a shark.

Agatha stepped in even closer, and her fingers reached up, playing with the loose strands of hair that fell around your shoulders. You felt your body react to her touch, a sensation you’d long forgotten. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, so low you could barely hear her.

“You haven’t seen me in over five years,” you pointed out, feeling a wave of nerves hit you over having her so close. “I’m sure my hair’s changed a lot since then.”

“It looked longer in Chicago,” she mused, still twirling the strands around, and you were stunned. Chicago? Your most recent performance was with the Chicago Philharmonic last month, and that would mean that…was she there?

“How would you know that?” You pressed, and her fingers ceased their movements, as you searched her eyes for a glimpse into what she was implying.

You could feel millions of unanswered questions dancing between the two of you, the tension thick in the air. Agatha’s hands abruptly dropped your hair as if she had been burned, and you briefly yearned for her touch again.

“My assistant showed me a recording of the performance on their phone,” Agatha explained, folding her hands against her chest. “Your stage presence certainly has improved, but you were late coming out of your cadenza.”

Ignoring the slight dig, your brain honed in on what she said prior to that. Her assistant. You couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had kept the same assistant since you left. A brief, but intrusive, thought made you wonder if the dynamic between Agatha and this new assistant was similar to the one you once shared. Did she call them the same terms of endearments she had bestowed upon you? Did she introduce them to her favorite old movies that you used to beg her to turn on? Did she go out of her way to fluster them, as she once took pleasure in doing to you?

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t as if you were together anymore, Agatha was free to do what she liked and to see who she pleased. You had a few short-lived, meaningless flings while living abroad, so it would be hypocritical to judge her. But, there was a voice screaming deep inside you, questioning how special your time together truly was if she could have replaced you so easily?

“Right, your assistant.” You tried your best to keep the bitterness from seeping through, but could practically taste the venom in your mouth.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, but refrained from commenting on your change in tone. Instead, she turned to walk down the stairs of the stage, leading to the aisle. “I only heard the last few bars of your cadenza, and it isn’t terrible, but it could certainly be better. Now, I don’t have my score on me, but it sounds like you’re losing too much momentum as you come down the fingerboard.” She sat a few rows back from the stage, crossing her legs together. “Could you take it again from your last run, and try to make your decrescendo last longer? We want to elongate these phrases to draw the audience in.”

There had been a time when you would have done anything Agatha had asked of you without question. Your daily practice sessions with the conductor had been grueling at times, as she was incredibly nitpicky, and had an impeccably well-trained ear. Any missed entrance or a note that was even just a hair flat she would pick up on. You had worked with a lot of gifted musicians in the past, but none of them could dream of coming close to Agatha Harkness. She wasn’t just a conductor, she possessed the rare ability to take the notes off the page and transform them into these brilliant, colorful works of art.

You used to live for her praise, and would often go out of your way to receive it. It had been your worst fear to disappoint her somehow, even if it meant sacrificing your own dreams to please her. But things were different now, you weren’t her assistant anymore. The burning desire to gain her approval still lingered somewhere within you, but it wasn’t as strong anymore. You knew that you would be okay without it, as you had to learn to live without her.

Giving her a pointed look, you decided to test the waters. “You do realize you’re not my boss anymore, right? I don’t have to just do whatever you say.”

Agatha looked momentarily stunned, and you could practically watch the gears turning in her head. “If I recall correctly, you used to enjoy having me tell you what to do.”

Looking down, you forced yourself to not remember just how much you used to enjoy that. Clearing your throat, you thought of something to fire back with. “Well, they do say memory is the first thing to go.”

“Funny, dear.” Agatha deadpanned, but as you lifted your head you were able to see the corners of her lips were turned upwards. “But I’m not paying you to just stand there and look pretty.”

“You’re actually not paying me at all, the orchestra is.”

“Technicalities,” Agatha said dismissively, waving her hand to signal you to hurry up. “And as you just so kindly pointed out, I’m not getting any younger. Any day now.”

It was clear Agatha wasn’t going to let up, and you weren’t in the mood to keep arguing with her. Grabbing your violin, you gently rested it under your arm. “Should I start at my last entrance?”

Agatha had a thoughtful expression on her face, and you couldn’t help but focus on her fingers tapping out indecipherable rhythms on the top of the seats in front of her. “Hmmm, let’s take it from the top. Do you need your sheet music?”

Shaking your head, you raised your violin. Placing your bow on the string, you tried to rid yourself of the nerves you could feel start to overtake you. Your first few notes rang through the hall as you tried to perfectly time each shift of your fingers and vibrato. Everything had to be fluid; any jerky bow changes or careless finger placements would risk destroying the exquisite illusion you were painting. Some violinists would claim the most challenging pieces to perform were the ones with incredibly fast passages that were often impossible to master. Your brain had to be a few steps ahead of your nimble fingers so you could anticipate what the next notes would be, and one small slip up would send you tumbling down.

While you agreed that exuberant pieces were extremely difficult, you would argue that the hardest pieces to perform as a soloist were the more melodic ones. The pieces filled with stunning melodies, warmed up by gorgeous vibrato. They weren’t packed with thrilling runs up and down the fingerboard, instead they were notated with sweet, heartbreakingly beautiful lines that required you to pour your heart out. Yes, it was scary to have to nail a few hundred notes coming out one after another, but the hardest feat to master on the violin was the ability to play achingly slow, glorious passages. It was to fully captivate an audience with every elegant swish of your bow and dance of your fingers on the strings.

You were so swept up in the notes you had memorized in your brain, you barely heard the soft creaking of the stairs leading up to the stage. There was a particularly bare section halfway through your cadenza, where you were so high up the fingerboard that you needed to extend your elbow to allow your fingers to reach. It wasn’t good enough to merely play the right notes; you had to be confident your left hand was pressing down on the correct spot on the string, while your right hand held the bow but didn’t press too hard down. If you applied too much pressure when you released the bow, it would produce a screeching noise on the string.

Continuing on, you kept your fingers on your bow relaxed, but you could gradually feel your shoulders begin to tighten. This happened on occasions when you were feeling particularly nervous or antsy, and it was usually difficult for you to relax them. As you tried to refocus your breathing and attempt to get your body to calm down, you could feel a familiar presence lurking in the background. Even though you could not see her, you knew she was right behind you. You had found yourself in this exact scenario with the conductor too many times to count. She would always promise to stay in her seat while you were playing for her, but would almost always end up on the stage within mere moments.

As if she could sense you about to stop playing, you heard her voice ring out. “Don’t stop now, dear. I’m just observing something.”

You wanted to turn around and ask if she was observing your ass, but you knew she would merely retort with something to make you blush furiously in response. So you kept going, trying not to picture what she was doing.

As the line slowly started to take you down the fingerboard with every new phrase, you put all of your attention into your intonation. You could hear her take yet another small step towards you, to the point where she was nearly pressed up against you.

“You need to relax.” Agatha uttered, so close to whispering in your ear that you reflexively shivered. She put one hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. “Your posture is giving me horrible flashbacks.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to remember the correct notes when she was closer to you than she had been in so long. Her other hand rested on your hip, the sensation almost causing you to drop your violin. It had been so long since you last felt her touch, and you could just barely hold onto the melody in your memory. A small voice in the back of your brain begged for more, but you ignored it.

“Relax.” Agatha repeated, her voice firmer this time, and you felt your body obey her command. Your shoulders finally went down to their correct position, but her hands stayed on you. “There we go, good girl.”

Your brain buzzed at her words, feeling your cheeks burn and you were thankful she couldn’t see the effect she still had on you. As you reached the end of the cadenza, you slowly lowered your instrument, trying your best not to fall over from the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “So, what did you think?”

Using the hand situated on your hip, Agatha swiftly twisted you around to face her, moving the hand she had on your shoulder down to help secure your violin. You stumbled just ever so slightly, but she steadied you, her grip tightening on your waist.

“Easy there,” Agatha lightly teased, and you thought you saw her eyes hungrily rake up and down your body. “Have you always been this jumpy, or are you just excited to see me?”

There was so much you wanted to say, but there was a lump in your throat that grew bigger with every tug on your waist, drawing you impossibly closer to the woman your brain refused to let go of. She was infuriatingly high-handed, extremely egotistical, and was single-handedly the most stubborn individual you had ever encountered. She was obsessive, and aggressive, and had her eyes always been so blue?

“Agatha…” you managed to breathe out, desperately trying to clear your head and regain some sense of self control, but your brain felt slippery.

The combination of the heat from the bright stage lights and the intensely burning gaze from the conductor had you feeling more unsteady on your feet as the seconds slowly ticked by. You’d spent the past year performing in sold out concert halls, yet you were never more nervous than you currently felt being face to face with Agatha Harkness.

It was unclear how long you stood there, staring at each other. You knew Agatha well enough to know she had something to say, it was written all over her face. But she remained silent, one hand situated on your waist and the other gently holding your violin in place. There was something about the way she was looking at you, as if she thought she’d never see you again.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a loud buzzing noise began to ring through the hall. The moment was broken as she released you, sighing as she reached to her back pocket, revealing her cell phone.

Squinting at the screen, and you suddenly remembered the difficulty she had of reading off her phone without her glasses, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my assistant.”

You took a step backwards, feeling burned. “Right. Your assistant. Best not keep them waiting.”

Agatha gave you a brief, perplexed glance before answering her phone. “What do you want now?” Loudly sighing, you watched as she closed her eyes, clearly vexed. “I already told you, for the millionth time, it’s the box in my study.” Pausing, as she listened to her assistant reply, she held up a finger to you, signaling for you to wait for her. “For the last time, no, nothing else. Just the box in my study, the singular box. Make sure Scratchy is ready to go as well.”

It appeared the assistant had more questions, as you watched Agatha pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation. “No, no, no, stop,” she then paused, and looked at you again. “I have to deal with this, I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

She stormed away without another word, squawking orders over the phone, and you were left in the aftershock of the earthquake that was Agatha Harkness.

Next Chapter

[hwanchaesong]

↗🏢 Entering 4th floor: Of all the roads you took, it all led to him. So get lost in his soul as he eats you inside and out to fill in his hunger. 🌌

🎧: Chase Atlantic - Moonlight

wc: 885

genre & warnings: fluff, slight angst, forbidden love au, poor reader x noble tae, confession, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Paradise Hotel series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"A very good evening to you, my lord." you bowed respectfully at the man, making him chuckle at you.

"Good evening to you too, Y/N. Must I remind you again about formalities?" he replies, arms wide open whilst he turns around to fully face you.

"No, Taehyun. I believe I still have the recollection about the said formalities." you return his smile, standing up to your full height and entering the embrace he's pulling you in.

"Good, and you're late." he murmurs against the crown of your head and you couldn't help but pout.

"The chores kept me like shackles in that damned villa." you complain, detaching yourself from him and straightening your sleeping attire.

Your eyes scanned the person in front of you who seems to be deep in thought.

"Taehyun, are you all right?" you asked, putting a hand on his left shoulder to catch his attention, to which you are successful.

"Apologies." he lets out a little giggle, one that you found adorable. His hand then grasps yours, tugging you in the opposite direction of what is supposed to be your usual spot for rendezvous.

"Where are we heading?" it was an endless inquiry on your side but you couldn't help it. The man, Kang Taehyun, is full of surprises. One that you wouldn't expect out of a noble.

You accidentally discovered him in the forests when you went out after your duties, fully intent on enjoying the company of the trees and flowers. Then you stumbled upon him, picking up mushrooms and was about to eat a poisonous Amanita.

It was safe to say that you educated him about nature, in which he was thankful for. He is not dumb per se, but he is a curious being.

He wanted to test out what would happen if he eats a poisonous mushroom. He read something about it in a book and was about to try it out. Thank god you were there to stop him or else he would've ascended to heaven right then and there.

That is when the two of you started a beautiful friendship, pillared by your love for knowledge and nature.

The difference in status is not a hindrance, as he did not care about it.

He did not mind that you are a mere maid in a nearby distinguished family, and frankly, you also did not care that he is the heir of one of the great families.

Truly, a magnificent pair that would be looked down upon by the society, but the two people involved did not dare to cut the connection.

Simply because of sentiments that are yet to be revealed.

"I have gone weary of the meadows." Taehyun answered you, still trudging on the surfeit of trees, shrubs and grass, "I think it is time for a new scenery, is it not?"

"My L- Taehyun." you corrected yourself when he threw you a nasty look when you called him by title, "May I know what kind of scenery you are pertaining to?"

"You will know soon enough." he laughs when you jut your lower lip in response to his vague reply, a charming pout on your face and he has this urge to kiss it away, but held himself back for the meantime.

After a few minutes of walking around the dim forest, illuminated by the glow of the moon and stars, you finally arrived in the fields. Then, Taehyun guided you towards some thick bushes, and alas! A gorgeous view was revealed.

Who knew that lies beyond these meadows and forests is a cerulean ocean, ready to be sailed and explored.

"My word.." you trailed off, in awe of the beauty of mother nature.

The white sands seem to sparkle at night, the light of the moon reflects on the clear waters of the sea, and the milky way combs through the inky skies.

You can't help but admire the landscape, "This is gorgeous."

You failed to notice how your companion's eyes never left your astonished figure, silently agreeing with your statement yet for him, the compliment is more directed at you.

You look at your sandal clad feet, then in pure impulse, you remove your footwear, toes digging in the sand and you make a run towards the water.

You paid no heed to Taehyun's shouts, instead relishing in the fresh breeze of the ocean, soaking in the salty water and not minding how it seeps into your nightgown.

"Woah there!" Taehyun laughs, finally catching up to you, and he thinks that it's the perfect time to say what he's been meaning to tell you for a while now.

"Listen, Y/N, I have a proposal." he speaks and you turn to him, confusion written over your face.

"Proposal? Surely not marriage, right?" you joked, and it kind of hurt you when he shook his head, but then your heart raced when his next sentence reached your ears.

"No, not marriage. At least, not yet." he holds your hand in his, grasping it tightly like he's scared that if it's loose, then you will slip away from him.

"Taehyun, what do you mean?"

"What I mean is, I want this place to be the spot for our tryst."

Ah, seriously, who are you to say no to your soon-to-be lover?

taglist:

@hyunjinheartbreakprince @lun4kazumii @once27 @purrplegyuu @yawnzsof @baeksofty @shakalakaboomboo @eclipse-777

[elwenyere]

Crafting Comments on Fics

So with Comment Fest approaching - and with the possibility of bot-generated comments undermining the value of reader-writer engagement - I thought it might be helpful to provide a short explanation of some different approaches I use in crafting comments, in order to identify a few places to get started for anyone who has wanted to leave more (or more detailed) comments but who feels unsure how to get going. 

This is far from an exhaustive list, and the categories are designed to allow for a mix-and-match construction with varying levels of development (from basic to more elaborate). At the heart of it, I think of commenting as a practice of paying attention to what I notice in a story and then crafting language to share those observations with the writer. So each of these categories starts from something we might notice when we read.

1. Affect: how the fic affected you/made you feel

This is a great place to start if commenting feels intimidating, because you’re drawing from your own emotional responses. A basic template might be something like “_____ made me ________.” You can pick a particular moment (the scene with the tooka infestation, the kiss in the Denny’s parking lot, the moment we realize character x was dead the whole time, etc.) or focus on the fic as a whole; and you can describe the effect in simple terms (made me cry, smile, laugh, feel soft, etc.) or extravagant ones (made me want to roll myself into the sea, made me feel like I had ascended to a new astral plane, shook me so deeply it registered a 10.3 on the Richter scale). The idea is to take one or more responses you had to the fic and let the writer know what they were/what about the story produced them. 

2. Memory: what from the fic has stuck with you

If a story has an especially strong effect on you, you might also let the author know what particular moments, lines, or images are going to linger in your mind after you finish reading. After identifying the detail(s) you want to flag (if you were going to bookmark this fic with a note to remind Future You which one it is, what image or scene or plot premise or line of dialogue would go in the “the one with the ___________” slot?), you can describe the way it’s sticking with you in general terms (I’m still thinking about it, chewing on it, rotating it like a Hot Pocket in a microwave), or you can point to some of the reasons why it’s sticking with you (it captures character x’s whole deal so well, it reminds me of y moment in the film/tv show/comic, it crystallizes a larger theme in the story so effectively). 

3. Appreciation: what in the fic seems beautiful, artful, striking

In this approach you’re giving a writer a sense of what stood out to you aesthetically about the story: the moments that made you feel like “put a frame around that fucker because I want to keep staring at it.” This category can feel tricky because there might be terminology specific to the form that we’re not familiar with, so it can feel hard to describe what exactly makes a moment strike us as well-crafted. But we might think about the appreciation approach as having a basic template: “_____ is so ________.” The first slot can be either general (the whole story, a larger scene, the way the author writes dialogue or description or a major character) or very specific (copying and pasting a particular line or passage, identifying a pattern of imagery, pointing out the way the author narrates a specific kind of experience). And the second slot can be just one adjective (beautiful, visceral, unsettling, powerful, stunning, lyrical) or a more elaborate evaluation (so effective at conveying emotions, so hard-hitting after the slow build-up, so vivid I feel like I’m actually there). 

4. Discovery: what the fic showed you/made you think about

Sometimes you read a fic that makes you think about the media/the ship/the characters in a new way, and that’s a really powerful thing to share with the writer. As with the other approaches, you can frame this in terms of the fic as a whole or pull out particular lines or plot points, and you can either describe the effect on your thinking in general terms (this changed my brain chemistry, this blew my mind, this is canon for me now) or in specific ones (I’d never thought about x moment in the film that way before, but now I’m going to think about it that way every time; the line where character x says y was like a lightbulb moment for me - it clarified so much about x’s motivations; I would never have thought about this show as being about z theme, but after reading this fic, I’m seeing z everywhere). 

------

So there you have it: a non-exhaustive list of things we notice about stories and some ways to talk about that. I hope it’s helpful. And of course, when in doubt or when pressed for energy, a string of emojis, a keyboard smash, or an all-caps “I LOVED THIS!!!” are also wonderful ways to share a little love with fic writers.

[unreadpoppy]

Fic recs

In light of some stuff I saw, I decided to make this post to briefly talk about some fics I really like and recommend them. All are BG3 related and most are Raphael. Also, there's some authors that write a lot of great fics, I'll try to keep one fic per author or else we'll be here forever (but definetly go check everyone and their other works out!)

...

Cheerful Oblivion by @sassyandsodone - Read the tags before reading this but Love me dark stuff, the writing is amazing (legitimetly gasped at a few points) and the mix of Tav not remembering what happened and the dehumanization aspects were the cherry on top. It

I Don't Think About You Anymore (But I don't think about you any less) by @sky-kiss - This fic put me in a lot of different feels, ESPECIALLY SAD (which i do like, love when stuff makes me feel) and the ending was unexpected to me but it made it all worth it. Shed a tear or two

Devil's Debauchery by ChildofYugotth - One of the first fics I read on the Raphael tag, the first chapter lives in my mind rent free for many, many days, and I really like how the three chapters kinda go like regular raphael, haarlep and then ascended fiend, like a progression. Also read the tags.

Fallen in Flame by @cambion-companion - Love the dynamic between the two characters and how their relationship developed and the conflicting feeling that Tav has of like, being an aasimar and dealing with a devil

The Devil that knows you by @timesthatneverwere - Cat!Tav was not something I knew I needed before reading this. The relationship between Tav, Raphael and even Haarlep in this one is VERY interesting to me (and has lowkey inspired me some times) and I love seeing Raphael keeping secrets and manipulating people (also i have to mention, this fic gave us the mephisto fuck chamber)

Let the dream begin by DiscordsMuse - POTO inspired, this has hit me in the feels with relating to Morrigans struggles of feeling rejected, and honestly, Raphael as the Phantom was amazing.

finirà bene by @inaconstantstateofchange - A Halsin/Astarion/Tav one for a change, this is such an interesting and heartbreaking concept, but there's also this sense of mystery that I think is really well done. Also, beware the ANGST

Her soul will burn all the way down by khapikat222 - Read the tags, another dark fic that I loved, and this one had this manipulation and fucking with someone's fears that I really liked. Also, props to the author for making the lullaby fit, it was a great cherry on top.

Baldur's gate 3 infernal oneshots by @hrefna-the-raven - chapters 1-4 are a little story between Raphael and Tav that I really liked. The dynamic of raphael being more protective and the cat and mouse analogies were really fun!

The Intimacy of Pain by @bearhugsandshrugs - This is an Abdirak/Tav fic which I found so delightfully good, like the descriptions of how Tav was feeling and the mix of pleasure and pain were really well done

The Devil's Hour by @adarlingwrites - Also one of the first fics in the tag that I read, and what made me like OC x Canon, love the complicated but also interesting to read relationship between Fortune and Raphael, and another aspect that I really liked was Fortune's relationship with art and her parents being brought up like (like idk why but those two things really stuck with me)

Sweetening the Deal by @adevilyoudo - I have to admit that I'm a bit behind on some chapters BUT it's a great work, love seeing this side of Raphael of trying to convince Tav to take this deal (and in a way, almost confusing her even more) and I loved to see the side of the Emperor constantly being in Tav's head, I think it really conveyed well how that feels like when playing the game

The Devil You Share a Room with by @djmorn - Really fun concept and the shennanigans between the two in the beggining, when Tav is reluctant to share a room with Raphael, was a delight to read and really really fun.

Damaged by @dark-and-kawaii - This is a Rolan/Tav one, it's dark but it also tugged at my heart in a sad way, with Rolan feeling all these things and doing what he does because of the abuse he suffered and Tav also trying to understand that. Like aaaa it just, it's some good stuff this fic

Who's the Daddy by Follyfall - This fic is the definition of fun and a good time, I legitimetly laughed a lot while reading it. The writing is fun, the concept is hilarious and the relationship between Raphael, Tav, Haarlep, the baby and Wyll is really really fun.

...

Also, keep in mind that there's A LOT of amazing writers in the bg3 community and i haven't read every single written work in the tags ever, so feel free to also reblog and add reccomendations of your own, or make your own post!

[thedomesticanthropologist]

okay so for the ask game: Astarion. any questions, not sure if you wanted us to specify a specific one from the list or not sorry 👉👈

The ask game was for shipping but I'll play with this!

Who do I ship him with: Astarion has a lot of in-game flirtation with Wyll, and I think they'd actually do quite well together in a Spawn ending, as well as extremely tragically in an Ascended ending, where Wyll would have been trying to give him everything he wants only to have to become the Monster Hunter who takes him down in the end. Chefs kiss.

I also love Karlach/Astarion. Astarion joining her in Avernus where he never has to fear the sun again. Karlach never being alone again. They compliment each other in many other ways as well, and they highly respect each other in game. She is so proud of him, and he treats her with a gentle sort of love and kindness that he doesn't show to any other companion in canon (reference: if you ask to date them both at the same time, astarions dialogue is so loving toward karlach and her needs)

I do not think astarion and Laezel are good for one another but I haven't had anyone convince me yet. Even though they sleep together, I can't see the chemistry. She uses him as a service and he provides and imthe it fizzles.

I DO think Halsin and Astarion would be good *stepping stone* partners. I've written drabbels on this before. I love them as the kind of partners unbeholden to each other, who come together and separate sometimes for years at a time. I do not see them as true love that settles down and lives together forever.

I do not ship Bloodweave but I am no hater, I've reblogged great art about it and I've read some fics, I just can't understand on a deep level where they'd /genuinely love each other as people/. I do like the dialogue in Act 3 where Gale says he'd join Astarions hedonistic little party if he threw one. I think these two have good enemies to annoyed to friends dynamic

Shadowheart and Astarion I see respected friends only I see no chemistry, personally. Again, not a hater tho

I shop Jaheira and Astarion as Step Mom and Step Idiot

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 1/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,809 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Yes this is a repost. My blog is still new so Tumblr didn't allow my original post to appear in the tags. (Shout out to the 10 of you who still managed to find & like the original 🥰)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You climb the last flight of steps up to the fourth floor of your apartment building, stomping each stair into submission as you go. You’re still fuming from the blind date you just escaped. That is the absolute last time you ever let Erin set you up with one of her stock broker bro coworkers. You don’t care how hot or rich they are; you are done. Done, done, stick a fork in you. You love your bestie but by God does the woman have terrible taste in men or what.

Both of the pricks she handpicked for you were narcissistic know-it-alls with egos the size of Texas; a pair of swine in designer suits (who, to Erin’s credit, were smoking hot but that’s beside the point.) Once the pig from tonight decided that you weren’t trophy wife material he became far more interested in his phone than he was in you. And the last pig coddled you like you were a delicate, empty-headed damsel in distress who was lucky to be granted the honor of his company and conversation. You should’ve learned your lesson after that first failed date with Dalton Rockefeller-Vanderbilt (or whatever old money asshole last name he had) but you’ve been feeling lonely lately, especially after Ash introduced you to the fab guy she’s dating (an accountant with a perfectly plebeian name of Abe).

You glare down the hallway as you ascend enough to peek over the top of the stairs. Oh great, you think sourly, pursing your lips, your face hardening into a study in once I step inside that door I’m downing a shot of whiskey before turning up an overflowing glass of wine. You stare molten daggers at the tall, brawny guy in your sights. It’s the hot asshole who lives beside you; the last person you want to see tonight. He’s standing, hunched as ever, in front of his door, key poised for the deadbolt, wearing that same teal baseball cap and red hoodie that he never seems to take off. Your jaw tightens. You’ve tried to be nice to the brute—flashing him a smile, saying hello—but all you’ve ever gotten in return was a scowl, if he deigned to acknowledge you at all. Well, you’re fresh out of smiles tonight, jerk.

A flutter of unease tickles your tummy as you step onto the landing, into the narrow hallway with him, your back turned to the only exit, a six foot tall sus man between you and your apartment. You stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders, trying to make yourself look and feel taller. It’s late, and your building is eerily quiet while the city is abuzz with incessant sirens. The usual ensemble of notorious nutjobs are fighting yet another battle in their never-ending war with their rival nutjob who dresses up like a Bat.

Nutjobs like this guy…

You reach into your handbag and grab your keys in your fist, sliding the sharp ends between your fingers, ready to stab at some eyeballs. (You regrettably didn’t have room for your taser or mace in this bag so you have to improvise.) It’s your own fault that you suspect the guy’s a sociopath lying in wait to jump you. You made up a serial killer backstory for him—the result of one too many true crime podcast binges—despite not even knowing the guy’s name. You can’t help it. He gives off serious Ted Bundy vibes. Well, maybe that’s unfair to Ted. Ted would’ve at least smiled at you before bludgeoning you with a crowbar. This guy though…

This guy doesn’t have a scowl for you tonight. Actually, he seems startled by your sudden appearance in the hallway, dropping his keyring to the floor with a clatter that shatters the uneasy silence, causing you to jump. He ducks his red-hooded head between his hunched shoulders as you pass by, warily eying him, ready to stab those icy blue eyeballs of his if he tries anything.

You arrive at your door and take out your keyring, sighing with likely unnecessary relief as you slide the key into the lock. The guy’s probably a harmless weirdo incel who never learned how to talk to a woman. You steal one last peek over your shoulder at him, and watch as he stabs at his deadbolt with his key, hitting everywhere but the keyhole because, you realize with surprise, his hand is shaking too much to hit the target. This dude’s a disaster, you say to yourself as you turn the key in your own deadbolt. Then, as he misses the keyhole yet again, you hear yourself ask, “Do you need help?” in an annoyed tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy but whatever. He shouldn’t be such a bitch to you.

He seems to jump at the sound of your voice, and his keyring clatters to the scuffed wood floor again. You stare back at him incredulously. Is he wasted or something? You wonder as that unsettling feeling creeps back in, prickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Your grip tightens around your doorknob as your pulse picks up speed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in response without sparing a glance in your direction.

“You don’t look fine,” you grumble back at him, the flames of irritation rekindled by his rudeness. Why should you care if the jerk’s too drunk or stoned to get in his apartment. Let his rude ass sleep on his doorstep. You shove open your door and take a stomped step across the threshold—you really need that glass of wine. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend down to pick up his keys, then hear him groan like he’s in pain. You poke your head back around the doorframe, curious, and notice he’s doubled over now, clutching at his heaving chest, breathing hard and fast like he just ran a 5k or—your heart leaps inside your own chest—like he’s having a fucking heart attack. You watch, mouth agape, brows furrowed, as he sinks to his knees, a handful of red fabric still clenched in his trembling fist, then falls forward onto his free hand while he struggles to get control of his labored breathing. Crumpled on the floor like this, fighting for a breath, makes him seem so small, vulnerable, and not the least bit threatening; more like a boy who needs your help and less like an NFL quarterback who murders women on the side for fun.

Just go into your apartment, pour that extra large glass of merlot you’ve been fantasizing about since John Preston Anderson III introduced himself with his full name. Curl up on the sofa with In Cold Blood or a horde of shirtless, oiled, bronzed, and heartily-muscled Dothraki in your Game of Thrones rewatch. Who cares if the hot asshole serial killer next door has a heart attack? But you care apparently because you rush over to him instead, ignoring The Stranger Beside Me audiobook narrator inside your head warning you that this is a textbook Ted Bundy ploy, you idiot. You bend to help him, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and when your fingertips brush against him his entire body jerks away from you, like you zapped him with your taser. He throws up an arm to warn you off. “Don’t,” he snaps breathlessly before gulping down a lungful of air, then rasps: “Please don’t touch me.”

You bristle at his harsh rebuff but keep your temper in check since the guy’s clearly in crisis mode. “Should I call an ambulance? You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“It’s… it’s not a heart attack… it just… feels like one.” He bites off each word, every breath precious. The fingers of his free hand dig into the hardwood floor.

“At least let me unlock your door for you,” you suggest shortly, biting your tongue before you can add: since you weren’t able to manage that yourself, then feeling guilty for even thinking that. What had the poor guy done to you tonight except happen to be standing in your shared hallway after some other asshole pissed you off?

He gives you a small, grudging nod so you retrieve his fallen keyring, wondering why a man needs so many damn keys. “The bronze one,” he grunts, as if he read your mind.

You unlock his door with the bronze key then push the door open while he drags himself to his feet behind you, huffing and groaning. The dimly lit apartment that greets you is sterile, spartan; that doesn’t help the serial killer vibes at all. One of the furnished units, you presume, since the furniture looks like it was plucked from the lobby of your building. The walls are white and bare; no art or posters or photos of him scowling beside a lover. And the place is spotless—you’d assume it was vacant if you didn’t know otherwise. A vision suddenly fills your mind, a vision of him on his knees, bright yellow dishwashing gloves pulled halfway up his muscular arms, an uncapped bottle of industrial bleach at his side as he scrubs at a puddle of blood while the lifeless corpse of the last girl who wandered in here lies wrapped up in blood-stained plastic behind him. Oh God, you even smell the bleach. But then you notice the stacks of paperback books here and there, the open sketch pad on the sofa with pencil-scribbled notes and drawings, some charging AirPods beside an iPad, another red hoodie—one that zips up the front—hanging from the back of a dining room chair, a gym bag, and atop the kitchen island, a rather happy-looking houseplant which, you have to admit, is kinda cute.

Before you can take in the rest of his place he staggers past you, bumping into your shoulder with a bruising force that knocks you sideways and nearly off your feet. Then with one last little wheeze, he topples over like an uprooted oak tree in a windstorm, smacking face first into the hardwood with a meaty thud that rattles the floor beneath you.

“Oh my God!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands. 

A shot of adrenaline pumps through your veins, spurring you into action. You snatch your phone from your bag with rubber fingers, nearly flinging it aside in your panic, and frantically dial 9-1-1, forgetting all about the emergency shortcuts created for just such an occasion. Your stomach dips at the sight of the bulky body lying prone at your feet, still and silent as the grave. As the phone rings—the long-familiar trilling sound now seemingly drawn out as if it will stretch into eternity—you kneel beside him to check his pulse and see if he’s still breathing, praying he isn’t a corpse, when you spot something that knocks the breath from your lungs and stops your heart dead in its tracks. With a cold, trembling hand you push up the tail of his hoodie…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator asks by rote, voice booming through your phone’s speaker, but you barely hear it over the alarm bells clanging inside your head. You’re gaping at the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, unable to form any sort of response around your heart lodged in your throat.

“Hello?” the operator asks irritably.

“Hi, uh,” you start with a squeak, eyes still fixed on the textured grip of that deadly weapon, but then smack your lips shut. What are the cops gonna think when they see that gun? And what if he’s wanted for a crime or something and you get him arrested? He said it wasn’t a heart attack, acted like this had happened to him before. You can always call back if he’s actually dead or dying…

Why the hell does it matter if he gets arrested?? Your brain shouts back at you. Why are you even here in the first place when there’s an unopened bottle of merlot waiting for you in the safety of your apartment only a few footsteps away, where there’s not an unresponsive armed man who’s built like a tank, who doesn’t even need the gun when he could snap your tiny neck with those massive hands of his? Could the universe give you any clearer signals that “you in danger, girl”? Have you learned absolutely nothing from hours upon hours of Karen and Georgia? “Stay sexy and don’t get murdered”—this guy isn’t even nice to you! Don’t you dare hang up that phone…

“Um, I’m so sorry. I thought my neighbor was having a heart attack but-but he’s fine actually. False alarm. Sorry to bother you!” Your words tumble out in a rush then you smash the “End Call” button before you can get questioned further or chewed out for wasting their time. In the back of your mind you hear the recording of this 9-1-1 call replaying on the My Favorite Murder episode starring you, before the hostess pair warns their listeners not to make the same foolish mistake you just made.

You sit back on your heels, clammy hands kneading your knees while that chunk of baleful metal glares back at you from his waistband, like a coiled rattlesnake peeking out from beneath a rock. Your mind is racing as fast as your heart through scenarios that all end with you getting shot. Then your hands are moving with minds of their own, fingers curling around the textured grip, getting your dainty fingerprints all over the murder weapon as you slip it free. It’s heavier than you expected, you note as you grip it tighter, careful not to get your finger anywhere near that trigger. Heavy, but not heavy enough for something that can end a life in an instant. The thought makes you shudder. You place the gun on the floor then give it a shove, eager to be rid of it, praying that the damn thing won’t go off automatically as it slides across the hardwood floor out of reach. You’ve never touched a gun before this moment and have zero interest in shooting yourself in the face.

Now your attention shifts back to the poor guy who's still out cold. You lay your hand on his back and feel its steady rise and fall. Still breathing, thank God. Then with a grunt of effort and a mighty heave you manage to flip him over on his back. Immediately your hand shoots back to cover your mouth and you suck in a horrified breath as his pale face, previously hidden beneath the shadow of his hat and hood, becomes visible in the lamplight. 

You were expecting the weals on his chin and forehead, the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip swelling from where it busted when he fell flat on his face. What you weren’t expecting to find was dried blood smeared across his cheek up to his ear, or the J-shaped scar beneath his eye that you’d noticed before (it’s unfortunately hard to miss, despite his best efforts to hide it) weeping beads of fresh blood from where someone traced over it with a knife you assume, carving deep into his skin. But it wasn’t the sight of the blood or the crimson J that pulled the gasp from your throat and made your stomach nosedive like you were on a rollercoaster. Nope, that was your reaction to the angry red furrows encircling his throat around his Adam's apple, deep indentations where someone wrapped rope or wire or cable around his neck so tight that it embedded in his skin; ligature marks from where someone fucking strangled him.

You grab your phone then pause, biting at your lip. Maybe you should call 9-1-1 again. What if his windpipe is crushed? What if that’s why he was breathing so hard, why he fainted? Those marks are so deep… he could be seriously injured. But if he was seriously injured, why had he returned to his apartment instead of going to the ER? It seems like he made the choice for you.

You open your phone’s browser and type: how to treat strangulation injuries, then quickly skim over the top result. Ice. That seems simple enough, you tell yourself, noting that you can clean his J cuts with soap and water, at least until he wakes up. And if he doesn’t wake up soon? Well, then you’ll call the cops. After all, he’s probably a law abiding citizen who’s licensed to carry that gun; a guy that you just pinned as another one of the nutjobs because you always get paranoid about every stranger you see after your true crime binges. In your defense, this is Gotham-fucking-City and you’re a young single lady who lives alone. You’d be a fool not to be paranoid.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Thanks you everyone who read the intro!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The main hall is bright and spacious. As alluded to by its name, Jade Hall is adorned in varying shades and cuts of the stone. Gilt frames, golden trays on glass lamps, crystal sconces housing amber flame, veined marble, and polished stone. 

The large plinths at the base of the staircase seem unsuited to the statues atop them. Curling snakes of shining gold with great jade eyes and long curved fangs. A long rug of eastern patterns and tassled edges leads the path to the steps, arched and lined with curling banisters.

"Madam," the groom addresses your mother, "I will show you to your chambers."

"Thank you, sir," she accepts nobly as you give a dignified nod.

"You may refer to me as Parson, I am the master's personal groom. He has tasked me with your welcome."

"Oh how gracious," your mother remarks with a fawning grin, "he sounds like a true gentleman."

"He keeps an orderly house," the groom affirms.

"Immaculate," she looks around with her hand to her chest, "ugh, absolutely resplendent."

The groom bows his head and waves towards the stairs before proceeding. Your mother trails him and you follow after her. You glance around at the tall portraits, a woman with loose golden hair with a single haloed braid around her head. Another of a man with dark hair and thick beard, gleaming blue eyes, and an indomitable square jaw. His clothing belongs to a previous season.

You ascend and ease out a stunted breath, exhaling in short spurts as your heart races. You continue down a wide corridor, a standing jade vase beside a whitewashed table beneath a bowl of white lotuses floating in water. A peculiar decore but quaint.

A set of double doors is presented to your mother as the groom faces her with another respectable dip of his head, "Lady Thea, I will allow you to accommodate yourself. Then I shall show the younger to her own chambers. You will be summoned for lunch."

"Thank you, sir," your mother preens, "you must send my gratitude to your master. The duke is very generous."

"Yes, my lady, I will be certain to inform him," he avows, "lady," he looks at you, "you are not very far, just the very next."

He leads you onward as your mother enters her rooms with a dreamy sigh. Her mood has lightened since you left your father's estate. Perhaps being far away from home has cleared her mind of mourning.

You are stopped before a door carved with winding vines. The groom steps back to allow you to pass.

"My lady, if you require anything, there is a bell you may ring and I will be certain you are attended. I will have your maid join you shortly, and your luggage."

You look at his shoulder and attempt a smile, it might look more a grimace as your cheek strain. You swallow and muster some strength, "thank you, sir." Your last word floats at the end, not quiet a sharp R, more aw sound.

"Most honoured, my lady," he responds without pause, "and welcome home."

You bat your lashes and slowly turn to the door. You try to restrain your nerves as they swirl to a maelstrom. Home, is this truly it. Are you truly to be the Lady of Jade Park. Married to a man in place of your sister. An imposter.

You march through the door and the groom pulls the door shut in your stead. You bring your hands up, folding them over your chest. You have a blackness in your heart. You feel as if the world is empty. As if you're lost in it. As if you don't belong to the land of colour and light and life.

It is as much grief as it is dread. You miss your sister, you long for the past, and you fear the path ahead. The unknown is underlined with a certainty, deep inside, that you will as ever be less than you should.

🔹

There is a knock at the door. You break from your trance, reluctantly releasing the window sill and turning away from the sight of birds winging over the gardens. You sweep to the door and open it, facing the servant in their evergreen attire. A man with lines in his cheek and a dourness that darkens his sockets.

"My lady, lunch is served," he declares in a brittle timbre.

You nod and thank him, mouthing the word as your voice refuses to rise. You are taken down the corridor and the man fetches your mother from her chambers as well. She emerges with the aroma of roses. You suspect she was anxiously primping all the while.

You descend the stairs, the noise of the kitchen and shuffle of servants drawing you around to the sunroom near the rear of the house. A round table is set near the tall paned doors, open to let in the summer air. There are tiered trays of cut sandwiches, a tureen of creamy soup, a plate of colourful pastries and sugar cookies, along with a silver tea set and elaborately painted porcelain dishes.

You are shown to your seat and sit with some trepidation. It is only you and your mother amid the rush of servants. Where is the duke? Has he seen you and changed his mind? Is he not eager to meet you?

You keep your hands in your lap, squeezing a fold in your skirt as your mother admires the high ceilings and embroidered edges of the tablecloth. She comments on every detail; the thick brocade curtains drawn to the side, the settee with the knobby birch feet, the round-bellied fire stove set into an alcove; a mixture of eras mingled in a most natural allure.

"Parson," the deep voice chokes you and you shakily tilt your head, peeking form the corner of your eyes as you hear the approaching steps, "how can I be tardy when I am the host? Do not pester me."

You rise as your mother does for the entrance of the duke. For it must be him. He as good as announced it and his appearance all but confirms it. Tall, sleek, with a chin set high, and a nose just short of aquiline. He is handsome, pale, but sardonic. His green eyes remind you of the jade stones set into the serpentine statues near the stairs as he considers the table first then deigns to glance between you and your mother.

He approaches her and bows, his posture eased but refined.

"Lady Thea," he proclaims, "what great effort you did take to be here. No doubt a strenuous journey in this heat."

"Your grace, how generous of you to welcome us," your mother responds, "and I do apologise that our arrival was so delayed."

"Mmm," he shifts and lets his eyes wander to you, "and I regret the news of your firstborn."

"We hoped she would strengthen but... we also did not want to renounce our contract. My husband is a man of integrity."

"Surely, he is. I did think him much so when we met," he says as he strides towards you, fully turning in your direction. He offers a smaller bow, "you do look rather different than your sister."

You blanch. You don't know what to say. You thought he hadn't met Edith.

"However, we cannot always trust a portrait's likeness," his eyes flit in a way that unsettles you, "and I do know how different siblings can be."

Your mother gives a small hum, a reminder and reproach at once. You fix your shoulders and do your best to meet the duke's demeanour. You bow.

"Yaw gwace," you raise your head slowly.

You see the subtle twiddle in his long fingers, the way he brings them to touch the trim of his jacket, the tick in his jaw. The long breath that says more than he ever could. He leans back on his heel.

"Honoured to welcome you both," his tone betrays his judgement. How could he not notice? How could he not hear it? You are defective, not only in appearance but all else.

"And we are so grateful to be here. That we can continue on in this union of our names," your mother sits as a servant holds the back of her chair. The duke lowers himself as you do the same, watching the table.

"Mmm, yes, I have yet to discuss the amendment with my father but I'm certain they care not for which daughter I wed."

His meaning is clear. You are not as stupid as many believe. His father will not care but he very much does. Your insides freeze, cold and stiff, and you feel as if you might shatter. It is as bad as you expect, yet expectation rarely meets reality. No, it is worse. To sit and stew in being unwanted.

🔹

You sit at the vanity, watching your lips move. Over and over in the silent repetition. Slowly, painfully working at curving them, shaping them just right. In your head, you imagine the words clearly. ‘Your grace’. 

You still and stare at your reflection. You summon your voice and pronounce the words aloud.

“Yow gwace,” you declare to yourself.

You try again. And again. Anon until your mouth aches from your endless attempts to get it right. The words are wrong. Two simple words and you can’t say them. Two syllables. You drop your head forward as you plant your elbows on the table and catch your forehead.

You see the duke’s disappointment. You feel it still. How could he not be utterly repulsed by you? He alluded to a portrait, no doubt he was sent an image of your sister, and how he would have been surprised to find her even more attractive than the artist’s rendering. But in you, he is entirely dissatisfied.

You blow out a long exhale and prop your chin up on the heels of your hand. You look at yourself through bleary eyes, tears wobbling just on the edge. You sit back and drop your hands, smoothing the front of your dress and over your skirts.

The embroidered brooch draws your gaze. The oval pendant your sister made you, a blue bird on its face. Your most treasured piece. She reminded you of it when you said your farewell and you assured her you could never forget it. She asked you to wear it at the wedding.

You cradle it in your hands and give a bittersweet smile. You think of those days you played in the pastures and hopped over the fence where the sheep chewed on grass. How she would fearlessly run between the thick-bodied beasts as you worried for being bit. She has always been the braver of you two.

You pin the brooch to your dress and admire it in your reflection. You push your shoulders back and force a smile. You look yourself in the face.

“Yow gwace, I am so honawed to be yow wife.”

Your words hang like a noose. You throw your hands up and grunt in frustration. Stupid! You sound insipid. No matter how you try, or how the words sound in your head, they just come out all muddled.

“Edith,” you whimper, “I cannot…”

You lean forward and hold your head once more. You sit, ears thrumming, temples pulsing, your whole being hot with despair. The futility floods you and makes it hard to breathe.

There’s a knock at the door. You push yourself up, dizzy as you teeter on your feet. You swallow and stand as straight as you can. You lift your chin.

“Come in,” you beckon firmly.

Doreen lets herself through and you can’t help the relief that flows through you. You could not face your mother or the duke or another stranger. You lower yourself back to the stool and rest an elbow on the table, sideways as the maid eases the door shut. She lingers there, her hand on the oblong handle, as if she thinks to pull it open and flee.

“Doween,” you murmur as concern winds its way up your spine and tingle in your nape.

“My lady,” she faces you and you hear a sudden shriek. Your mother.

Doreen lowers her lashes and puts her hand to her chest. A shroud falls over you, even as the sunshine casts a yellow glow through the room, even as birds titter without, and ornaments sparkle all around. Her tone says more than any words can. You slump and stare at the maid’s wool collar.

You feel along the front of your own dress and clasp your fingers around the brooch.

“Edith is dead,” you say before she can.

She sniffles and comes forward. You shy away, turning to the vanity as you unpin the pendant. You lay it down and stand. The maid halts, hovering as you walk to the window. The tweeting of the sparrow grows to cacophony then silence all at once. The sky fades and the greenery hazes to an ugly smear.

You told Edith you would be brave. So you must. You can never replace her truly, but you can keep your promise. For her.

[bg-brainrot]

Astarion/Tav Fic Recs 📖

Hi! Not only do I write fic, but gods do I enjoy reading it too 🌝

Here are some fics I like in a few categories, all Astarion/Tav, mainly with F!Tav or GN!Tav, unascended Astarion unless noted because I'm a softy. Check the tags/summaries for CWs!!!

Oneshot Smut (with plot)

This Lethal Light Falls Softly by loquaciousquark: F!Tav, post game, soft and loving

all my ghosts by theycallmesuperboy: GN!Tav, met-before AU, covers the whole game

Not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again by makesometime: F!Tav, post-game romance after in-game Karlach romance

eternity by ChaosFroggy: F!Tav, ascended!Astarion, kidnapping doesn't work for Cazador

Oneshot Smut (no plot)

honey i laugh when it sinks in (a pillar i am of pride) by chloe_petrichors: F!Tav, mirror sex!

Angelic Slumber by mitangy: M!Tav, soft and consent focused

Mine, if Only for the Night by Dogbinary: F!Tav, tiefling party reimagining

Oneshot Fluff

You Have A Type, Don't You? by pokemon216: GN!Tav, the drawing-Astarion fic (also writes a lot of great other fluff)

first light by noyaspeach: GN!Tav, nice morning hangout~

Oneshot Hurt/Comfort

Force the Door by loquaciousquark: F!Tav, injury panic

you can leave a bruise by eyes_of_the_lamb: M!Tav, blood drinking and introspection, great series too

Series (in progress)

Someone to shed some light by thedreamlessnights: GN!Tav, Prince!Astarion AU

shook the love from me by chloe_petrichors: F!Tav, durge retelling

The Fangs Between Us by feyascorner: GN!Tav, deliciously angsty

Series (finished)

Any kind of life (without you, dear) by QueenMaria: F!Tav, feign death goes wrong, angsty Astarion

Seducere by Tlon: GN!Tav, less romance, more Astarion, seriously one of my all time favorites

I Want It All by ShenanigansEnsue: F!Tav, violin playing leads to feelings

Like Stones, floating on Water by Cirrocumulus: F!Tav, beautiful look at their relationship through Astarion

There are definitely more (I read some before I even made my AO3 account, so I had to go digging to find them), so I'll probably have another list down the road.

Also, a lot of these are pretty popular, but I want to go digging around for less popular fics in the big ol' sea of them so if you have recs for any along these veins that need a good reading/kudosing, let me know!

[williaml0ver]

—♡ Confessions to make: a Kevin Ayuso Valentine's Day Special ☆ <3

[💌] word count: 2723

[💌] warnings: male reader, a little sad/angsty? but ends up very fluffy trust me, my first ever proof read work where is my five minute long standing ovation

[💌] this is my first ever regular fic instead headcanons and my first time writing for a male reader AND my longest work up to date and i am so excited to finally share it!!!! My apologies if there are grammatical errors, english is not my first language. Happy valentines' day guys 💃

💌 💌 💌

You're down bad.

Quickly following your entry to the infamous Manor you had a strong feeling in your guts that your life's about to change for good. I mean, who's life wouldn't change after residing in a big mansion after being invited to live there by some sketchy letter? Who's life wouldn't change after having to play a dangerous game of survival along several other odd, strange people? All that, yet never in your life would you think that those terrifying things would be the least of your worries - as the centre of your worries, fears and delusions was now a peculiar cowboy.

Kevin Ayuso.

That man is about to cause a great commotion in your life.

Opposites attract, they say. You two were absolute opposites. The north pole and the south pole. Two sides of the coin. He was tall, overly brave, outspoken, and, most of all, flirty. Very independent, however clingy. Meanwhile, you were the timid kind. A rather silent person. Looks like destiny was being very cruel towards you - making you much fond of the handsome, lively man. Of course, your instincts quickly came to a conclusion to bottle up your feelings, shove them inside you, thinking it's just a small, temporary attraction.

The plan was simple, right? To gush secretly over "your" Kevin for some time, until later the affection is gone with the wind. But easier said than done. He was absolutely everywhere both in reality and as a metaphore. Him being continuously in your mind, your dreams, but he wall all over the Manor in the real world as well. You just can't bring yourself to not notice him. Sure, because of his cheesy flirting nature he was often made fun of, but still, he is very respected by everyone. Everyone trusts him a lot during the matches, you could always depend on him. You weren't unpopular around other survivors, in fact, a lot of them appreciated you - you'd always listen to their rants and stories - on top of that, you also felt somehow confident in kiting during your games. It wasn't a rare sight to see the hunters simply giving up after chasing you for so long. Your company was very appreciated. You never expected anything in return, you just desired to make others feel better. Little did you know, all those people that you'd spend hours listening to them venting to you, would play a huge role in helping you overcome your biggest fear and dream. You confessing to the Kevin.

You believed you were extremely discreet about all that. It would be so embarrassing if anyone found out! You couldn't be more wrong... when one of the survivors asked you about him post match, you felt like combusting.

At first, you felt shocked. What?! You thought your not so little anymore crush wasn't noticeable. You never confronted any of your new friends about it. You barely even talk about yourself! How would they even know? ...what you did not consider is that they could easily tell how different you acted near him - the gentle blush on your cheeks, shaking legs, your voice more silent than usual. Now when you think of it, it is very true. You always admired him from afar, how he's so much taller than you. You secretly wished for a hunter to start chasing you, just so Kevin would come to the rescue. Whenever he'd carry you to safety, you felt like literally ascending. It was not rare for you to mess up a cipher because your eyes were on him. It truly was THAT obvious.

THAT obvious, but he himself never noticed the pair of eyes on him. Of course, he was busy with trying to flirt with the ladies. You knew that. One of the reasons why you never even considered confessing is obviously because of his ladies man nature. You just didn't stand a chance against all those pretty girls, it did make you feel insecure. All those roses he gave them, the random pick up lines, you didn't know if they made you feel more sad or envious. Despite that, Kevin indeed had nothing against you. He recognizes you as a good kiter, and has heard that you're a great listener to the point that several survivors confide in you. You weren't ignored, on the contrary, you two would actually do some small talk here and there. But that was it. He thought of you just as a normal person. Of course he did. You weren't that special. You knew that if you don't be the one to make the first step nothing really will happen, yet you are firmly unsure. Sure - if you gained some courage eventually the lingering thoughts terrorizing your brain would end - but would you be able to bear the possible feeling of rejection? You felt actually miserable because of this tough decision.

After much consideration, you decided to begin your plan starting with small moves. When Kevin's done with his match you quickly come to him, asking if everything is in order, then, you'd take your time patching up his bruises and wounds. The realization of being close to him felt amazing, and on top of that it made the cowboy be grateful a lot, resulting in him dashing as fast as he can when you get chaired in future matches. Those post match visits became very frequent. Other than that you also stared a lot. A LOT. You go to the nearest corner and just glare coldly at him. You're just so nervous about it all. You don't necessarily realize that slowly your crush becomes even more obvious, just when everyone thought this was impossible. They knew you are trying but just couldn't bring yourself to make a confident move, therefore, they decided help their friend. After all, you've done so much to make people in the manor feel cared for, understood and comforted - it was only fair to help you back in return.

The next day, you wake up to one of the butlers knocking on your door. Once opened, he explains that you're expected to go to the dining room part of the manor. You felt puzzled. Yes, you often were asked by others to support them mentally, but this time it was something diffrent. The butler didn't say anything else. You felt overly curious, maybe a little stressed as well. Finally, you get dressed and leave the dorm, braced for whatever is to come. To your surprise, the group who demanded your arrival was quite large. You see Emil, Ada, Emma, William, Memory and Lily nibbling their meals. If you felt puzzled when the buttler came to you, now you feel like you were a chicken and a truck was about to ran you over. Did they ALL need help from you? Couldn't they ask Ada? And what even is Ada doing here? She wants to vent too? With Emil? Did she bring him for emotional support? You decided to break the silence and ask what exactly is going on. You expect something actually reasonable, but once the answer lands you feel like not ran over by one truck, but by three.

They all came together to help you confess to Kevin.

You felt stunned. Yes, that is indeed a kind gesture! But just the thought of confessing made your temperature rise up. How were you supposed to do that? You felt like burning up and they knew. Through the whole conversation you acted absolutely paranoid, looking everywhere just to make sure HE isn't here. You spoke as silently as you could. It felt awkward here near everyone. The point of the meeting was to come up with a proper solution on how you should admit your love to the cowboy, a conversation in which you didn't take much part in. While you were staring at the ceiling, calculating who would survive if the chandelier randomly fell, they were in the middle of a huge brainstorm. Hmmm... there is just so much options, but which one would be the most suitable? Flowers, a necklace, words of affirmation and a cute place! ... I'm sure Kevin would appreciate something small - says Emma. BORINGGGGGGG - William would reply - a honest confession while being chaired would be the best! The dining room was now full of chaos. Was anyone even listening to each other? Truth is, you've already came up with your own idea. And who were you to not trust your intuition?

You've suddenly stood up from the chair and explained your motives. It was very kind from other residents that they wanted to help you so much, however you came to a conclusion that despite good intentions they won't help much. You stated that you'll do it on your own. Everyone was shocked, silence filled the room until loud cheering could suddenly be heard. Those people really hyped you up because you felt like you can actually do it. The only favour you asked for is for someone to notify Kevin that his presence is expected and Emma to give you a simple flower and leave the garden area of the manor just for you. You wanted to do it today because you knew that you won't be able to sleep at night with those endless thoughts filling your brain.

And so, the times was slowly coming. It was already getting a little dark. You were currently sitting on your bed, feeling like exploding. Your stomach hurt a lot. You had your elegant clothes on, and a small rose from Emma in your palm. Now or never. You took a deep breath and started approaching the garden area. You've quickly noticed the familiar silhouettes staring at you proudly.

"Go go go go go!!!" the Cheerleader yelled.

"If he's a dick towards you I WON'T hesitate to throw hands!!" the Forward said out loud.

You've entered the garden and sat on one of the benches, awaiting your special guest. You'd lie if you'd say you weren't stressed like crazy. You've found yourself in a big turmoil of emotions - you feel excited, anxious, bold and shy at the same time. Will he feel the same? To be honest, you don't feel like that. He just doesn't seem like the type to be into guys, and if he was, he'd probably only have a thing for the adventurous ones. Minutes passed and your self doubt became even stronger, you felt absolutely terrible. Your heart was beating faster than ever from the fear. You felt like on the edge of a meltdown. You decided that this is too much, while you appreciated everyone's will to help, but deep inside you're feeling like it's just a waste of time, none of this is going to work out! With tears slowly forming in your eyes, you head back to the exit, but... before touching the handle, the doors were opened by someone from the other side.

Of course by no one other than Kevin.

When the cowboy was told that someone is waiting for him, he immediately went there, curious about why is he suddenly so needed by someone. You stare awkwardly at him thinking it's all over, you felt humiliated. Kevin didn't exactly pick up on what's happening at first. He thought that since you often helped patch him up maybe you've grew closer to him and vent a little to him. You support others so much and now you are the one in need. If it was someone else Kevin would probably act like nothing is happening to not embarrass the person, but when it came to you, he felt sorry for you. He ordered you to sit on the bench you were previously sitting on. You sat on the left part making yourself as small as possible, meanwhile he sat on the other side, but despite that he is now basically occupying more than a half of it. You always loved how straightforward he was. How kind he was towards people in need how... how... hold on, he is asking something! Just like always, the handsome man made you forget about your worries, and well, the other things too.

Now you knew that this moment is the actual now or never. This conversation can change your life. While avoiding his gaze you stare at the window and suddenly see... Lily and William?! Those people really want to help. You decided that, not to waste their effort, you will say the truth. Once again, now or never. To be or to not be. You turn to Kevin and give him the rose, raising your trembling hand and then, you explain it all: how you perceived him during your early days in the manor, how you developed a crush on him, how visible it became to others, how ashamed and anxious you felt, what you think of him now. All of it. You don't think anyone in this manor has ever seen you this honest, you were shocked a little, too. And Kevin? He felt shocked, but not in a bad way. All those small conversations and patching up sessions were out of your love for him? How did he never notice? Now it was his turn to feel ashamed. Was he the one to make you feel so many bad emotions? He was desperately trying to flirt with women without much in return, but turns out his true love was around him all the time, without him suspicing anything.

You were prepared for the worst, at least God will know you tried, and you did not want to dissapoint the pair of four eyes gazing at the both of you. If anything bad happens, they will blackmail you for the rest of your life! But you didn't care. You did try to stay calm, albeit all of this was just too much. You muttered a silent sorry and started crying again. But Kevin was having NONE of this. He put you on his lap, wiped your tears and placed the rose in your hair. You felt flabbergasted, the man you had so many feeling for you likes you back. Nothing else mattered. You hugged him and you both started talking. Neither of you were aware, but more than two hours managed to pass and it was already pitch dark and on top of that cold. The cowboy noticed you yawning to the point the coldness didn't even bother you, yet he still took of his cowboy jacket and hat, quickly putting them on your body and head. You both stayed silent for the next ten minutes, with you just hiding from the world in his embrace. He was like a human heater.

Kevin asked you something, though he did not receive any response. Little did he know that you actually were pretending. He decided to leave the cold outside and go back to the manor - he picked you up bridal style and started walking towards his dorm. On his way he encountered many other manor residents, sure, some of them indeed were night owls, but did really so many people have trouble falling asleep on the same night? He heard Naib cheekily whistling at the sight of the two of you. He started grinning at the sight of Eli, his owl, Ada, Emil, Emma, William and Lilly smilling and silently cheering - something was up, he just didn't know what... were they celebrating that you've found your significant other, or are they just happy Kevin won't be bothering anyone anytime soon?

You eventually found yourself in Kevin's room, you were gently tucked in, and Jesus, you're surprised how you managed to keep a poker face through all of this. His large bed is comfortable and smells... like him. Finally, Kevin laid next to you and started hugging you. To be frank, you were REALLY tired at the moment, this time for real. You discreetly opened your eyes, which ultimately didn't work out, as he was staring at you and smiling. You gave him a quick kiss on his lips and hid your face in his chest. The last moment you remember before falling asleep was him muttering you a gentle goodnight and the soft feeling of your knuckles being kissed.

You sure were thankful to your friends. Now HE was down bad for you, too.

💌 💌 💌

I'm proud of this work, yet that's my first ever proper fic so i am a little unsure of how it ended up. If anyone has some tips i would like to hear them 😭 I love my silly boy Kevin dhdjskdjsjs. Once again, happy valentines' day to you all!! Together or alone it's a great opportunity to take care of yourself.