#painful to see how shes ignored when shes spreading important news | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purple-babygirl · 5 months

Text

in the far corner of the forest III

Pairing: Orc!Bucky Barnes x human!f!reader

Word Count: 6,540

Summary: For the longest time, the kingdom has used Bucky as their number one fighter, forcing him to win their wars for them. The only thing he asked for in return after he was done was that they give him a wife, and they did. They handed him the orphan he picked on a silver platter; it wasn't like anyone would miss her. It would've been perfect if she actually wanted to be there though.

Warnings: hand injury, mentions of blood, wound sutures/stitches, angry behaviour, jealousy, fighting, crying, racism against orcs. I think that's all.

A/N: this is the longest part yet because it might take me a while with part 4 depending on how the very important interview i have on the 17th goes. please send me good wishes on the stars if possible i would really appreciate it. And please enjoy this one and let me know what you thought if you can xx💜💜

“I got you something, little human,” Bucky said, his tone softer than it was that same afternoon as he scratched the back of his head.

He was new to courting, and it wasn’t exactly normal that he was courting his already-wife. Still, he was doing everything possible.

Bucky’s life has all been about fighting and wars. He didn’t do love or courtship. He didn’t do coddling or romancing. But there was a first time for everything and he was trying his best.

“Thank you,” she replied without looking up, pretending to be focused on folding laundry.

She was ignoring him.

Bucky had let his voice get loud a couple of hours ago after he had found her lost in the forest again. Only this time her foot was already messed up and she needed the rest, but she wouldn’t listen.

It hurt him how much pain she was willing to go through if it meant she could get away from him, but he wouldn’t let it show.

Instead, he yelled in frustration as he brought her back to their cottage.

She seemed like she wouldn’t quit, and so he wasn’t going to quit either.

Despite her constant rejection, Bucky refused to give up, his determination fueled by a newfound sense of purpose. He was willing to endure anything, face anything, if it meant earning even a glimmer of acceptance, or even affection, from her.

“You didn’t even see what I got you,” Bucky tried again, hoping she would at least look at him.

When she did, he gave a tiny smile and walked to the cottage door, bringing something inside.

“Here.” He dragged in a shiny wooden chair and placed it before his on their small dining table.

“You bought me a chair,” she said, pretending to be uninterested to hide the warmth that just spread throughout her heart.

“I made you a chair,” Bucky corrected, proudly palming the smooth wood, swiping his tongue over his tusks.

Bucky knew gifts were an essential part of courting and he didn’t like how she had to eat on the bed while he ate alone on the dining table because he only owned one chair.

He knew his days as a loner were long gone and it made his heart swell that he had her to share his house and life with now.

So he got to work and decided to make her her own chair out of an old oak tree. Being a lumberjack who had a woodworking shop had its perks after all.

It was going to be a weekend surprise, but he thought now was better timing after the fight they just had.

“You— you made this? From scratch?” She stood up in surprise, laundry forgotten for now.

“Yes.”

“For me?” She asked, not able to hide her emotions at the kind gesture anymore.

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled, taking a step back so she could examine the chair.

She sat down and a big smile found its way on her lips when she looked up at Bucky. The chair was comfy and new and hers.

No one has ever gotten her anything, let alone made her something so beautiful. It was so special and a flood of emotions washed over her at the idea that someone had actually thought of her enough to make her a chair. That Bucky had made her a chair.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breaking eye contact so that she wouldn’t tear up.

Bucky only nodded in reply, internally celebrating the win with his heart doing backflips. She liked the chair.

She stood up and closed the small distance between her and the orc, getting on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, “welcome home.”

She quickly put the clean laundry in its place in the closet and went to the kitchen to start dinner, leaving Bucky with the most idiotic smile on his face as he shifted back and forth on his feet like a teenager.

She was punishing him for yelling at her by not making dinner, but that chair and the effort behind it deserved a good meal.

She was cleaning up after dinner later that night when she heard Bucky moving stuff outside. She didn’t pay it much mind; it was his house after all.

“Come outside, little human,” his voice called for her and she tentatively stepped out of the kitchen.

Bucky was standing by the open cottage door, a hopeful smile on his face as he encouragingly nodded for her to come over to him.

She didn’t know what to think, but any chance not to stay cooped up inside the cottage was going to receive a yes from her.

It wasn’t like she was ungrateful. She was certainly thankful she had a roof over her head and warm walls that she could hide inside from the rain and the cold.

But again, her situation wasn’t the most ideal either. If it was up to her, she would have stayed at the orphanage with the rest of the girls because if her fate was drawn for her to be an isolated orc’s wife, she didn’t want to be married.

When she stepped outside, however, marriage and Bucky didn’t seem that bad for a second.

“I thought we could watch the stars now that the sky was clear,” Bucky explained, internally nervous that she might call him ridiculous and refuse to sit with him.

He had waited for a day without rain and laid out a thick blanket on the ground before their cottage, the way lit for her feet by a close by lantern he had put out.

She was enthralled, mouth open and breath stolen. Tears welled up in her eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief engulfing her.

Bucky has even went as far as bringing out the shawl he had gotten her just in case she felt cold.

It was just like… a date.

Her heart raced and she smiled shyly at the orc, making him smile too as he watched her sit down on the blanket, holding her knees to her as she glanced up at the night sky nervously.

She has never been on a date before in her life, the town’s boys always picking other girls from the orphanage to fool around with, but never her. She was never really anyone’s type.

She slightly shook her head to shut down her insecure thoughts, knowing that none of those player town boys could have ever brought her on a date like this.

“Is the ground too cold?” Bucky asked as he draped her shawl over her shoulders.

She hugged the soft material around her body, smiling gratefully at the orc as she shook her head.

She was too shy to even speak at this point, her mind barely registering the amazingly romantic end to her day that Bucky had brought into existence.

Bucky then laid down on his back, wordlessly urging her to do the same.

She got on her back, eyes mesmerized by the sight of the stars. She has never seen so many before, her view from her room’s window at the orphanage was very limited.

It was different here in the middle of the woods because there were no town lights to take the view away from the sky and it was gorgeous.

“So beautiful,” she whispered with a smile, observing how the stars sparkled above them.

“Yes, the most beautiful,” Bucky whispered back, watching her as she watched the sky.

He wished she could one day look at him the same way she was looking at those stars; the same way he was looking at her.

In his eyes, there was a mix of determination and yearning, reflecting his unwavering commitment to win her heart despite her initial reluctance. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her, drinking in every detail as if he couldn’t believe she was really here, right next to him.

She turned her eyes to him, her shy smile widening, “thank you for this, Bucky.”

Gods, the way she said his name was something else.

“You’re welcome, sweet thing.” Bucky smiled back, turning his eyes back to the sky as to not make her uncomfortable under his stare.

As they silently continued stargazing, she felt her heart become lighter. She felt so serene, so content, and she had suddenly forgiven Bucky for raising his voice at her just hours ago, wanting nothing but for this peacefulness to last for as long as possible.

Was it imaginable for marriage to be this good? Could her life finally be turning around?

She couldn’t help but want to see Bucky in a different light in this very moment.

She knew that he was harsh sometimes, but she also knew that she wasn’t making it easy for him either.

Maybe she didn’t choose him and didn’t choose this marriage, but Bucky was trying with real effort and she wasn’t blind to it.

Bucky cared for her when she was sick. He provided for her. He brought her gifts, filled up her half of the closet for her with anything and everything she could need. And he, most importantly, apologized when he was in the wrong, which wasn’t something common for the human males of this kingdom. He also respected her boundaries and hadn’t tried touching her after their first night together.

Could this all be preparation for the purpose of bedding?

No, it couldn’t be. Bucky didn’t need to do this to get her in his bed. He had already had her there and he had willingly let her go. He could have his way with her anytime if he really wanted to.

She wanted to believe that this moment was real so bad. She wanted to believe that Bucky was trying to win her heart.

So she did.

And if Bucky was trying, she was going to start trying too.

She knew just the thing to do actually.

She was going to make Bucky strawberry jam tomorrow to show him how grateful she was.

She might have not much to offer, but she knew she made the most delicious fruit jams and marmalades. It was her specialty at the orphanage. All the other girls always managed to ruin the jams, adding too much or too little sugar, applying too much heat or not enough, eventually producing something inedible. But not her. No, that was one thing she knew with her whole heart that she was good at.

She might’ve not been the prettiest of the girls, but she deserved a good life and she was now determined to build one. With Bucky.

She wasn’t in love with him, she knew that, but she didn’t need love to have a good marriage. Respect and effort were going to be enough.

This marriage could be her chance at building a life worth living.

“Could you bring home some strawberries tomorrow?”

“Oh my gods, this is amazing!” Bucky exclaimed, sliding another spoonful of strawberry jam in his mouth.

“I’m happy you like it,” she replied proudly, a smile plastered on her timid features as she brought a basket of sliced bread to the table.

It felt so good to have someone other than the orphanage girls taste her hand’s making. Receiving Bucky’s praise felt so much different than all the compliments she’s ever received before.

It felt… way better.

“It’s really good, little human.” Bucky was too busy adding jam on the piece of bread in his hand, groaning as he slipped it into his mouth and chewed, “how much of this did you make?”

She laughed, “well, I wanted to start with a small pot because I didn’t know if you liked jam and I didn’t wanna throw out any of it, but we have enough if you finish this and want more!”

“None of this is getting thrown out, little human,” Bucky told her seriously, “I asked because I wanted to take some to Sarah. She has a sweet tooth and she would love this.”

A frown quickly replaced her smile at the mention of another female’s name. She suddenly felt like wanting to take the bowl of jam away from the orc. Hell, she felt like she wanted to get back the jam he had already ate and swallowed.

“Who’s Sarah?” She asked, trying to act nonchalant as she greased her bread with some jam.

“She’s Sam’s sister,” Bucky answered innocently, oblivious to the way she hummed with her jaw clenched.

“And who’s Sam?”

“Oh, right, you don’t know Sam. He’s my best friend; and my partner in the shop. Great guy,” Bucky told her, more interested in the jam than her reaction.

At least Sam was a male.

So just to be clear, Bucky wanted to take the jam she made to his best friend’s sister so she could have a taste and satisfy her sweet tooth? Yeah, she didn’t like that very much.

“Is she, like, married?” She wondered, trying hard not to show her anger.

“Who?” Bucky asked, chewing the bite in his mouth, the foreign question finally gaining his attention.

“Sweet tooth Sarah,” she answered with a somewhat bitter tone that Bucky has never heard before, her thumb swiping under his plump lips before she could stop herself as she harshly wiped away jam from the orc’s face.

The realization as to why her mood had suddenly turned sour made Bucky smile as he hurriedly swallowed his food, “little human,”

She looked up at him with a silent glare.

Despite her efforts to appear unaffected, there was a vulnerability in her eyes, a hint of insecurity betraying her true feelings

“Are you… jealous?”

Bucky’s amused smile made her even angrier as she watched his lips literally twitching.

Jealous? Pfft, of course not! Why would she be jealous!

“No!” She replied aloud defensively, “it was just a question.” She stood up, collecting the plates from the table without asking if Bucky was done eating.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Bucky laughed, holding onto the small bowl of jam.

“Try to save some for your Sarah,” she snapped, snatching her hand from the orc’s as she let him have the bowl.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her surprising reaction, his widening smile still glued to his face.

She frustratingly sped to the kitchen, violently twisting the water tab open as she rolled her sleeves up and started washing the things in the sink.

She had went through all this trouble and used all of these bowls that she now had to wash just for him to want to take her jam to another female to eat.

Who did he think he was?

It was her fault for trying to do something nice in the first place.

He didn’t even answer her question, and that Sarah was probably unmarried. She was probably an orc too. Yeah, it made sense that Bucky would be attracted to someone similar to him. Those two ‘friends’ were probably part of his clan.

The clan he never introduced her to.

How naive was she to think this marriage could actually work?

Bucky was outside still smiling to himself like a fool as he finished the rest of her sweet jam.

She was jealous. She was jealous over him.

He didn’t want to upset her though, so he didn’t say anything, letting her calm down first.

He took the empty bowl to her, setting it in the sink as she avoided looking at him.

She heard him chuckle as he left the kitchen and it made her punch the sponge in her hand inside the bowl, pounding it angrily as she ‘washed’ it clean.

When she was done cleaning the kitchen and brushing her teeth, she stomped out to the bed, getting in and covering herself from head to toe as she gave Bucky her back.

Bucky walked to the lanterns and dimmed their lights before joining her in bed.

He laid on his back, innocently waiting for his good night’s kiss.

A minute passed. 2 minutes. 5 minutes. The kiss didn’t come.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered as not to startle her in the dark, “we had a deal. Where’s my kiss?” He put a hopeful hand on her shoulder, trying to twist her to face him.

“Have Sarah give you your kiss,” she replied with a deadpan tone, masking her fury as she pushed her pillow over her head, shrugging Bucky’s touch off her body.

Bucky stared at the back turned to him with an open mouth as he took his hand away and laid back, disappointment replacing his surprise and filling him up.

It was the first time since she had started feeling well again that she has refused to give him any of his kisses. Yet, respectful of her feelings, Bucky let her.

Maybe making her jealous wasn’t all that fun after all. But he didn’t even mean to make her jealous, he was just talking!

Bucky sighed, turning on his side as well as he fell asleep staring at the hidden back of her head.

The next morning as she put his breakfast on the table, she didn’t sit or eat with him, preferring to scrub the kitchen sink while Bucky ate even though she had just washed it the night before.

She didn’t give him his good morning kiss either; didn’t even speak to him.

She was still mad at him. This was serious for her, he realized.

Bucky might have found it fun last night, but today as she deliberately ignored his existence, he wanted nothing but to make her understand that what was in her head was nothing like the truth.

“Here, I packed jam for your sweet tooth Sarah,” she said harshly as she set a small jar of strawberry jam on the table before him.

“She’s not my—”

“Hope she likes it,” she cut him off, disappearing into the kitchen again.

Bucky sighed aloud, running a hand over his face as he stood up. Grabbing the jam, he took one look at the kitchen entrance before leaving the house for work with a clenched jaw.

She peeked outside when she heard the door shut to see the table empty. Bucky had taken the jar to Sarah.

Oh, that was it.

She could take being given to an orc against her will. She could take never having been chosen or given the chance to choose. She could take not being loved.

But she couldn’t and wouldn’t take being cheated on.

Was that why Bucky had decided to relieve her off her wifely duties in bed? Because he had another female? Was it because he had someone else to keep him warm and wet where he needed to be?

She couldn’t even think about the idea without feeling herself gag.

Why would he ruin her life by bringing her here when he already had that Sarah?!

How could she be so dumb, trying to meet him in the middle like that? Starting a peaceful life with this orc was never going to work!

She tried to pick the lock on the door like she usually would, but the new lock Bucky had put in wouldn’t budge.

She groaned in frustration before hauling herself up and out of the cottage window, running off to gods know where, hoping that luck would be her friend for once and maybe lead her somewhere out of these woods for good this time.

This marriage ends today.

Back at the shop, Bucky was as exasperated as they come as he used his chisel to shape the rough piece of wood in his hand.

After everything he was doing, how could she think that he had someone else? What was he doing wrong? What was missing?

Bucky had only ever wanted her. He thought he was the luckiest orc just because he got to fall asleep next to her every night.

How could he make her see that?

As his mind ran with thoughts and before Bucky could stop it, the chisel slipped and sharply cut the inside of his palm.

“Gods, fuck!” He shouted in pain as blood started flowing from the fresh wound.

Bucky tried to get the chisel from the floor so that no one would step on it, but his hand hurt more when he tried to squeeze his fist around the item. He grabbed it with his metal hand instead, rushing to the supply closet to find a clean towel to wrap around his cut.

He couldn’t continue working like that; couldn’t do anything with his hand.

Sam insisted on sending for his sister after seeing the amount of blood staining the cloth around Bucky’s hand.

Sarah tried to be efficient while messily stitching the wound as best as she could, wrapping it up carefully with gauze before advising Bucky to take a few days off work until his hand was healed. She was no doctor but she did her best for her friend.

Bucky thanked both siblings, giving Sarah the jam jar before leaving to go back home as his friends insisted.

He thought that his day couldn’t get any worse, but then he opened the cottage door to find the place empty and he could all but forget about his injury as he slammed his fist against the wall, crying out in anger. If his wound had started bleeding again, Bucky didn’t care.

“What the hell did you think you were doing out there again?!”

Bucky was enraged. He had found her wandering around the forest, as lost and as stubborn as ever.

“Getting as far away from you as possible.” She crossed her arms, her stare upset and unbending.

“And going where exactly!” He shouted, the idea of her spending the night inside a cold cave clawing at his back.

“Anywhere but here!” She yelled back, her face so hot she could feel sweat forming on her hairline in the middle of winter.

“It’s going to snow soon! Do you wanna get sick again?” Bucky held her by the arm, not too roughly as he didn’t really want to cause any real damage.

Neither of them noticed his blood staining her clothes.

She was too infuriated to notice Bucky’s hand wrapped in gauze. She saw nothing but red.

“I don’t care. I just don’t wanna be with you!” She retorted, snatching her arm out of his hold and pushing at his chest.

Though he didn’t move, her touch too weak to do anything to his colossal body, Bucky was hurt.

“Are you doing all of this just because of a little jealousy? Gods, human females are just—” Bucky shook his head in frustration.

“Jealousy? Hah! You think I’m jealous?” She faked a laugh, “this is not even a real marriage! What’s there for me to be jealous over?!” She continued raising her voice, the mention of her jealousy provoking her further.

Her words hurt Bucky more, the real gash now slashed across his heart.

Not even a real marriage.

Despite everything he was doing and trying, she still didn’t consider their marriage a real marriage.

“Well, do you wanna make it real, little human?” Bucky growled lowly, bringing her closer to his heaving chest by her arm, painting the sleeve of her dress in more of his blood.

Her heart thrummed in her ears at the proximity, her breath trembling as she imagined what the orc could do to her if he only wanted to.

“Let go of me,” she whispered as tears clouded her vision, hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear how scared she was in her voice.

Bucky complied, hating how nervous she got in the span of a second.

She ran to the kitchen at once, a hand on her chest as she felt her heart trying to escape her ribcage.

What an audacious orc! He was already with someone else and he dared threaten her with taking her to bed?! Damn, she was so stupid to think they could make something good out of this marriage. So stupid.

Bucky took a seat on the bed, face in his metal hand as he tried to gather his thoughts.

He had almost lost her for the millionth time today.

Was it going to be like this forever? What could he do to make it stop? How could he show her that this life with her was all he ever wanted? That he never wanted anybody else?

“You’re not gonna eat with me?” He asked when he saw her slam one bowl of rice on the table.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied curtly, her eyes on the ground and her jaw tense as she waited for him to get off the bed.

Bucky moved away understandably, taking a seat on the dining table instead as she climbed in bed, burying herself under the covers and hiding away from him.

Bucky knew she wasn’t asleep and he needed to talk to her; or at least see her face.

How was he supposed to have an appetite to eat if she wasn’t on the table with him, her beautiful eyes facing him and her shy smile greeting him every time he would moan over the taste of her delicious food?

“Hey.”

She felt the bed dip next to her as it took on Bucky’s body, his warm hand on her shoulder just like last night.

“Let your sweet tooth Sarah give you a kiss,” she spoke before he could say anything.

“This is not about the kiss. And She’s not my Sarah,” Bucky told her, turning her on her back so she could see his sincere face and hopefully believe him, “she’s not my anything. She’s just a good friend.”

She snorted, not buying it as she turned back to face the wall.

Bucky brought her back to him again, “she’s not married. She’s a widow, who is loyal to the memory of her husband, with two kids that are her whole world.” Bucky answered her earlier question, not wanting to hide anything from her.

“That’s none of my business.” She pretended to be uninterested, giving him the cold shoulder for the third time as she turned away, covering her head with the blanket.

Deep inside, she knew she was relieved to know that Sarah wasn’t interested though.

“It is your business,” Bucky sighed, taking the blanket away from her hands, making her look at him again, “it is your business when you think I’m involved with her.”

“You can do whatever you want.” She shrugged, acting indifferent, making Bucky more frustrated.

He released a loud exhale, “you’re what I want, little human.”

She remained silent, not expecting the orc’s patience or this admittance.

He had told her he wanted her before, but that was on their ‘wedding night’ when he had forced her to get completely naked for him.

This one was different. It sounded different and felt different.

“You don’t have to say all these things. We both know how this marriage came to be a thing.” She tried her best to hold her tears in.

“How did it come to be a thing?” Bucky wanted to see inside her head.

“How?” She sat up, her voice loud yet wobbly with emotions, “they gave you an orphaned girl you didn’t get to see or pick beforehand to make up for making you go to war for them, that’s how!” She felt bad for him, but even more for herself.

So she had read the contracts.

“Who told you I didn’t get to see or pick you?” Bucky swallowed.

“What do you mean?!”

“I’ve seen you before, little human. More than once. And I asked for you to be my wife instead of the noble man’s daughter I was originally offered.” Bucky came clean about the truth behind their arranged marriage.

“You what?!” She became even angrier.

He did this? She was here now because of him?!

“I willingly picked you, little human.”

“Why! Why me! Did you ever stop to think that I might not want this? Or you?!” She practically screamed in anger.

Who was he to decide her future for her? Why didn’t he just take the nobleman’s daughter!

“I did. But you were the only human female who has ever caught my attention. I couldn’t take my eyes off you every time I won a glimpse.” Bucky confessed, his light grey skin gaining a tint at the cheeks as he bared his heart to her, “I knew I couldn’t continue if I didn’t have you, little human.”

Won a glimpse

Couldn’t continue if I didn’t have you

No one has ever used such words to describe an act so normal as looking at her. No one had ever wanted or needed her. Why was her heartbeat speeding up? What was that orc doing to her?

“The minute you entered my cottage, you became my one and only. I don’t want anyone but you.” He promised, squeezing her smaller hand in his, “I will live and die loyal to you, little human.”

She knew he was telling the truth because she had heard the stories. Loyalty was very important to orcs and their mates were for life.

She just stared at Bucky, words stolen from her throat by the way he was looking at her.

No one has ever looked at her like that. Like she was the most beautiful thing they could see. Like she was the only girl in the world. Like she was the only one with any sort of control over this orc’s mind and heart.

“When I suggested gifting Sarah some jam, I was only thinking of doing something nice for a friend.”

She listened with a frown, a little angry again at the mention of the other female’s name.

“If it wasn’t for Sam and Sarah and the boys, I wouldn’t have survived a lot of things. They are my only friends and the only ones I can share nice things with.”

“The only ones?” She pouted, turning her face to the dining table in discontent.

“That’s not what I meant! I just— I’m not used to saying such things, but—” Bucky took a deep breath, squeezing her smaller hand closer, “I was so proud of you being my wife and knowing how to make such delicious things that I wanted the important ones in my life to share it with me…”

Bucky didn’t have to know, but those words were everything to her because when she thought about it, no one has ever been proud to know or have her. No one has ever been proud of her for anything.

But Bucky was, and he wanted to show her off.

When she looked back at the orc, he was staring at the blanket covering her thighs, doubtful to meet her gaze.

Bucky looked… nervous, if you will.

She smiled, eyes tearing up despite herself as she waited for him to look back at her.

When he did, Bucky was instantly smiling back at the sight of her grin. That smile was the whole world for him; it sent him up on cloud nine.

“Have dinner with me?” He asked, his metal thumb wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

She nodded, her smile bigger as she got up and walked to the kitchen to make herself a plate, her heart going a hundred miles per minute as she couldn’t make her smile leave her face.

She wanted to be angrier over the fact that he got to choose and she didn’t, but then again, if she was being honest with herself, she probably could have never dreamt up a husband as good as Bucky was to her if she tried.

She believed that everything happened for a reason and she was too dreamy not to imagine that this whole marriage had to happen exactly the way it did just for her to meet this orc, and maybe, against all odds, have her happy ending with him.

Taking the lid off of the rice pot, she finally saw it: her palm covered in fresh blood.

“Oh gods!” She quickly washed her hand under the water, seeing and feeling no injuries, the realization that it must be Bucky’s blood sent a pang to her chest.

“Bucky?” Tears blurred her vision as she found the orc in the bathroom, trying and failing to remove the wrapping around his right palm with his left one.

She had been forced into this marriage, a union she never agreed to, but as she watched him struggle to tend to his wound, something inside her softened.

How did she not notice that he had come home with a covered up hand?

“Are you okay?!” Bucky asked, troubled to see her crying even when he was the one bleeding above his bathroom sink.

Her heart clenched at the sight; at the care in his cerulean eyes, “what happened to you?”

She sped up to get the first-aid box from him, getting out everything she was going to need as she looked at his bloody palm.

“It’s nothing, sweet thing,” Bucky told her softly, hating the look of anxiety on her precious face even if it was for him; even if it was making him feel all sorts of things, “just a scratch, really. Nothing I can’t handle”.

She tenderly finished unwrapping his hand, gasping as she saw the bleeding gash across it, “this doesn’t look like nothing!” She cried, more tears streaming down her face, “how did you get this?”

“I just hurt myself while working…” Bucky’s metal hand hesitantly pat her shoulder.

“Bucky.” She looked up at him, not believing that that was the only reason because the wound seemed to be loosely stitched and it was obvious that something had happened to make the wound bleed after it had been stitched.

“And I might have punched the wall when I came home and didn’t find you,” Bucky mumbled lowly, not wanting to make her feel bad.

It was just a silly scrape compared to what he had to endure back when he was still fighting wars, really.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into the back of her hand, feeling terrible for all the things she has been putting him through ever since she came here.

“Hey, I’m okay.” Bucky’s metal hand cupped her cheek, his smooth thumb sliding across to wipe her tears.

“No, you’re not.” She shook her head in deep regret, not believing that he was still the one reassuring her in such a state.

“I am, I swear on our marriage.” Bucky wiped under her eyes patiently, caring about nothing but her heart carrying no burdens.

She was speechless because did Bucky just use their marriage to swear? Was it really that important to him that he would swear on it?

She didn’t care that this was an arranged marriage in possibly the most twisted of ways, a woman knew love when she encountered it and that orc’s eyes were showing nothing but pure love.

In the middle of her heart’s longing for a person to care about her, she couldn’t bring herself to step on Bucky’s. Trying to calm her down when he was the one injured and dripping blood? Yeah, that was an orc worth trying, caring and staying for.

“I’m— I’m gonna need to redo the stitches, is that okay?” She sniffled, relaxing herself as she wordlessly promised those concerned blue eyes to give them and this marriage her all.

“Yes.” Bucky smiled when he saw her wipe her tears away and the smile she gave him back made his heart soar.

“It might hurt a little, but just for a short bit, okay?”

Bucky nodded, not believing how delicately she was handling his huge hand with her smaller ones.

He was glad she never had to witness him back then or the actually deadly injuries he had had inflicted on him during wars. He wouldn’t have been able to take that look of fear in her eyes after every fight.

“Who did those sloppy stitches anyway?” She wondered in dissatisfaction with the work and Bucky swallowed hard.

She looked at him knowingly when he remained silent, “it was sweet tooth Sarah, wasn’t it?” She asked with half a smile as she started cautiously taking out the old stitches with the tweezers.

“Yes.” Bucky nodded sheepishly, “but Sam only called for her help because they don’t offer me help in the kingdom’s infirmaries.”

“What?!” Her head snapped up angrily.

They don’t offer him service at the infirmaries?! After all that he had done for this kingdom?

“I’m no longer a soldier of their own so…” Bucky shrugged with a sad smile.

Her expression went from angry to devastated to angry again in less than a second, “this is gonna sting a little.” She warned as she disposed of the old sutures in the bin.

“Don’t be upset, little human.”

She looked up, not knowing what to say or how to apologize to the orc about the terrible treatment of this kingdom’s people, but his smile told her that everything was going to be all right. She couldn’t help but smile back.

Her eyes swayed between his palm and his face as she started disinfecting the wound with the piece of sterilized cotton in her hand.

Bucky hissed and winced, making her stop at once.

“I’m sorry! I’m so so—”

“Ha, fooled ya! It’s not that bad,” Bucky laughed, amused at her reaction, instantly earning himself a slap on his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Hey, you can’t do that to the injured!” Bucky whined playfully.

“Can’t I?” She teased, biting her smile back.

He smiled wider because she could.

Oh, she could do anything to him and he would take it with a smile and thank her for it.

For a heartbeat, the world around Bucky seemed to blur as he focused solely on her, engraving every detail of her smile into his memory. It was a sight he never wanted to forget, a ray of light in the darkness that had clouded his years for so long.

Everything was going to be okay, Bucky thought as he brought her to his chest with his metal arm, praying to the gods she wouldn’t pull away.

“I’m— I’m almost done,” she muttered coyly, trying to make him let her go so she could finish tending to his injury.

But then she felt it: her husband’s tusks were pressing gently on her scalp as Bucky kissed her hair.

Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of surprise and tenderness washing over her as she felt herself wanting to stay longer inside his embrace.

“Thank you, little human,” he whispered lovingly.

As she tilted her head slightly to meet Bucky’s captivating eyes, she found herself lost in the depths of their oceans, catching a vulnerability she hadn't noticed before.

She looked deeper and she realized that beneath his rugged exterior lied a heart capable of great tenderness, a heart that might just beat for her and her alone.

She beamed again as she softly replied, “you’re welcome, Bucky.”

Yeah, they were going to be okay.

Part IV

Tag List:

@harrysthiccthighss @tinystudentfirepurse @lavendercitizen @tumblin-theworldaway @pretty-pop-princess-hs @lilymurphy03 @idontwannagomrstarkk @glxwingrxse @littlelioncub43 @mathletemadison @canned-rootbear @pandaxnienke @loveisallyouneed1125 @floral-recs @littlemoonkiller @hallecarey1 @vespasianphantom @vicmc624 @winters1917 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @blkmystery @millercontracting @trappedwriter @am-3-thyst @obsessedwithquinn @sydnielauryn @alittlerayof-pitchblack @olipiaa @peterparkersgirl-blog @buckybarnessweetheart @thealyrs @colorfulbluebirdpainter @stuckysgirl27 @ihavetwoholesforareason @princess-bee0 @pastel-noah168 @steeph-aniie @buckitostan @onthr-dream @sapphirebarnes @123iloveyou456 @ciaqui @lindasweetie @justherefortheficandsmut @xxdiaqiaoxx @morgthemagpie @wintrsoldrluvr @goldylions

402 notes · View notes

fettuccinealfred0 · 9 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 2

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the little time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

Read on ao3

There’s a knock on your door the next morning, but you ignore it- too consumed by the throbbing pain in your head and the feeling of tiny knives stabbing at the back of your eyes. This is what you get for crying yourself to sleep.

At some point last night, you had managed to pull yourself off the floor and into the bed, still wearing your gown. You had barely thought to pull the pins out of your hair before you were curling in on yourself under the covers, pillow dampening under your cheek.

But there are no tears left this morning, only anger burning through your veins.

Anger felt easy, anger felt familiar. Anger masked hurt and gave it a purpose. You were hurt by Astarion because he made you feel special and you were angry at yourself because you had been too caught up in the fantasy and believed him. The two sentiments twisted and warped in your mind until you were left angry at Astarion for tricking you.

There’s another knock at the door and it infuriates you. Why couldn’t you be left alone to grieve? These people would have the entirety of your life to bother you. Did you not deserve one day to yourself? You pick up one of your shoes from the floor and hurl it at the door as you yell at the person on the other side to leave you alone.

Thankfully, your message must have been received, because for a few moments, there’s nothing but glorious silence. You let your eyes drift closed again, but your mind is too quick to turn back to last night- how easy it had been to dance with Astarion, how his arm had felt wrapped around your waist, the solid line of his body as he had pinned you to the wall and threatened you. And through all those memories is your new fiancé’s stupid, perfect, beautiful, lying face.

The way you see it, you have two ways of getting out of this wedding. Either you manage to escape or figure out how to kill Astarion.

How do you kill a vampire, though? You try to pull the stories you were told as a little girl from the recesses of your mind to see if you remember any weaknesses or weapons you can use against him. You’re supposed to drive something through their heart- a wooden stake. The elegant wooden bed posts are perhaps the most reasonable candidate, you just have to figure out how to saw through the thick wood. At this point, you’re desperate enough to start gnawing on one like a beaver. You’re studying the posts and losing hope at the feasibility of turning one into a stake when the dark haired woman from last night bursts her way into the room.

“Get out!” You practically screech at her, reaching down to pick up your remaining shoe to throw it at her. The woman simply dodges the shoe and continues wheeling in a cart of food.

“You weren’t answering the door, my lady,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes you want to grab the butter knife from the cart and jam it into her throat. The way she looks at you makes you feel like you were the one inconveniencing her and not that she is complicit in your captivity.

The butter knife had you thinking again, though. It was not the best weapon by any means, but it was perhaps the best defense you would have access to. You rise from the bed and move toward the cart under the guise of investigating the food on it.

It is a lavish spread. Someone had obviously gone through great care to make sure you would find at least something on it appealing and your growling stomach is tempted by some of the sweet-looking pastries. Nevertheless, in your scheming this morning, you had already decided that one of your little acts of revenge will be to refuse food. Astarion can’t very well keep a prisoner who is dead. Or at the very least, it will be a great inconvenience for him and that thought fills you with the tiniest spark of joy.

You press your hands to the cart, continuing your fake investigation of the breakfast. The servant has her back turned to you as she remakes the bed and you take the opportunity to carefully slide the knife off the cart, concealing it in the pocket in the folds of your skirt.

“I’m not hungry,” you finally declare, as you settle at the little table in the corner of the room. You feel better, now that you’ve got your secret little knife with you- more prepared, and at least a small step further on your plot to get out of here.

“Lord Ancunin will be worried about you if you don’t eat,” the lady answers, but you can tell she is growing a bit exasperated by your antics. She prepares a plate of food anyway, setting it on the table in front of you. Passing over the food, you instead pick up the cup of tea she’d poured in an attempt to soothe your stomach.

“Astarion can worry all he’d like. I’m not going to let him fatten me up like I’m some pig he’s readying for slaughter,” you push the plate back toward her as you speak.

Astarion might have gotten what he wanted for now, but you were by no means going to make this easy for him. You were going to fight and claw and resist him in every way you knew how. A dark, vengeful part of you smirks at the idea of his pretty face marred by your claw marks.

“If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” the maid says, though her face does soften a bit, full of pity. You hate her for that, for pitying you. Had you really fallen so far that you were seen as nothing more than a helpless little snack for a vampire Lord?

“At least let me help you out of that dress. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes,” she says and even though you’ve decided that this woman is your new enemy along with Astarion, she might be right that you would feel better in new clothes. You debate whether you should accept this offer of help or not, worried that if she were to help you out of your dress, she would find your precious knife tucked in the pocket.

She seems to notice your internal struggle and offers, “Or I could bring you a new dress and you could change on your own?”

You do end up agreeing to those terms, but quickly discover that you have vastly underestimated the difficulty of removing a ballgown. You weren’t used to dressing by yourself and the tiny buttons down the back of your gown seem too slippery and impossible to manage on your own. For a moment, you consider giving up entirely and just wearing this dress for the rest of your miserable life, but now that the idea of changing your clothes has gotten in your head, you want out of the stupid dress that is so full of reminders of last night.

You quickly tuck the knife underneath the pillows of the bed so that the woman cannot find it in your skirts before you swallow your pride and hesitantly knock on the inside of the door. It whips open almost immediately, the dark haired woman looking at you curiously, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

“Can you help me? I can’t get this dress off by myself,” you say, but you can feel your voice is tinged with embarrassment.

She enters the room again and undoes the slippery buttons on the back of your dress with dextrous fingers. Her speed is irritating since you had just spent the past half hour hopping around your room with your hands twisted behind your back like a fool.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask, as she’s helping to undo your corset.

“Shadowheart, my lady.”

“That’s a…” you struggle with the words, trying to be polite, “unique name.”

Shadowheart snorts out a laugh and you appreciate that she seems to have a sense of humor. “I’m not from around here.”

The dress she helps you into is soft and simple. The pale blue cotton is light and will keep you cool during the warm summer afternoon and the thin lace trim around the neckline is delicate and refined, hinting at your fiancé’s wealth. It’s the complete opposite of what you would have expected for the bride of a vampire. A part of you had even considered that Astarion might keep you dressed up in gaudy ball gowns for the rest of all time. He did seem to have a flair for the dramatic. Your initial pleasure with the dress sours when you realize this dress was just another reminder that as your husband, Astarion could completely control every aspect of your life, right down to the clothes on your back. Or the lack of clothes, though you shudder at the thought.

“We can go to a dressmaker soon and get you new clothes,” Shadowheart says, when she notices you plucking sadly at the material. “Or we can try writing a letter to your father and organize having your old clothes sent here, if you’d rather?”

Her offer makes you question if you might have been too quick to judge Shadowheart, who has been nothing but kind to you this morning, even when you have screamed and thrown things at her. Perhaps you could manage to turn her into a useful ally in your escape, after all. You couldn’t allow yourself to think that you might grow friendly with her over time. No, right now, all your mental faculties need to be dedicated to getting out of here before the wedding, before you would be legally bound to Astarion.

“The dressmaker is agreeable to me- though, it would be nice to have some of my old items sent here. Personal belongings and books and whatnot,” you answer and she gives you a small smile. Truthfully, you’d rather not have your old wardrobe sent here, especially since you planned on leaving before it would arrive. Those dresses hold memories that at this point, you’d rather forget. But, if you were to be stuck here forever, you would certainly miss your little collection of books and you also long desperately for the necklace your mother had given you before she died- it would provide a small bit of comfort in this very stressful time.

You hesitate to tell Shadhowheart that the necklace is the real purpose of your request. If your father was given any inclination how much that necklace meant to you or how much it was likely worth, it would certainly be missing if your belongings ever did show up.

“That can certainly be arranged, my lady,” she gives you another sweet smile as she guides you to sit so she can work on your hair. She looks like she’s debating whether or not to speak for a moment before she says, “Believe it or not, but everyone here really does want what’s best for you. This was just the only way for Astarion to ensure you kept his vampirism a secret.”

You scoff, immediately dismissing her words. You hadn’t missed the way that she had mistakenly called him Astarion rather than Lord Ancunin. There was a familiarity that was suggested at her use of his first name and it sat wrong with you- this idea that Astarion could be respected or, gods forbid, friendly enough with his staff that they would feel comfortable using his first name.

“But what about the woman he was drinking from last night? Why does she get to leave with her freedom?” You snap back at her, the hypocrisy of it all fanning the spark of anger within you again.

“The Lord has a longstanding agreement with several local people.” Shadowheart explains and when you let out a huff of annoyance at her answer, she continues, “There’s a level of trust and predictability there that isn’t present with you. You’re a wild card.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” you grumble, though you aren’t entirely sure if there was any truth to your words. You hadn’t really had time to think about what you would do after the ball since you were too focused on trying to escape Astarion. Perhaps you might have told your father on the carriage ride home, but he would have probably used it as an excuse to send you to the nuthouse and finally be rid of you. You would have still ended the night locked in a room, though admittedly one with worse interior design.

Even after Shadowheart excuses herself from the room, you sit glumly over this realization. It seems predetermined that your fate was to be imprisoned- in the asylum, in this room, in a marriage to Astarion or a marriage to that rat of a man who had been with your father last night.

The escape efforts continue in your mind, but you grow half-heartedness as the hours continue to tick by.

Shadowheart returns a few hours later with lunch, a spread of meats and cheeses with breads and dried fruits. Your fingers pass reluctantly over the dates, which were always a favorite of yours, while you reach to pour yourself a cup of tea. It’s dark and rich and you only realize after you’ve drunk the whole pot that it’s filled the room with a hint of a lovely bergamot smell. Your heart twinges when you realize that Astarion has taken this from you now, too- that bergamot has become intrinsically linked with him in your mind

You spend time staring out the window at the view of the garden, watching the servants come and go as they clean up after the ball and you can’t help but wonder if your view is by design or if this room is just the most equipped to hold a prisoner. Since your room is on the top floor, the distance to the ground makes jumping impossible. The drop could potentially kill you or at least leave you so injured you wouldn’t be able to get very far. It takes about an hour to tie together the sheets from the bed and see how long you can fasten the makeshift rope, if maybe you can climb down the side of the building before you jump. Ultimately, you don’t have enough material and the drop would still be too far. You remake the bed, disheartened at your lack of viable escape options.

When Shadowheart returns a few hours later, she lets out an annoyed sigh at your uneaten lunch, replacing it with dinner, roast duck on a bed of fragrant rice. The aroma wafts through the room, but you hold strong, letting the bowl sit untouched on the small corner table. Once again, you greedily suck down the tea, grateful that you were given an herbal blend that smells of lavender rather than bergamot.

The lack of progress you’ve made in escaping today has you feeling defeated, and you resolve yourself to the fact that your only available option is to fight your way out. After retrieving your hidden butter knife from underneath the plump pillows, you wait by the door. Strength isn’t your strong suit, so the act of surprise will have to be your weapon. You aren’t entirely sure how much damage you can do with the dull knife, but a poor weapon is better than no weapon at all. Hopefully, you can subdue the next person who comes through that door and negotiate your way out. Shadowheart would likely be back to help you prepare for bed soon and as guilty as you feel at the prospect of using her as a hostage, your own well-being was paramount.

The doorknob twists and you pounce. It’s perhaps the worst or the best possible option of who has opened the door.

“Oh, I rather like being in this position with you. Tell me, dearest, what will you do with me now that you’ve caught me?” Astarion practically purrs with his beautiful, lilting voice.

You have Astarion pinned to the wall in the perfect mirror image of last night, your arm against his chest so that the knife is pressed firmly against the column of his throat. You don’t allow yourself to look at his neck longer than it takes to position the knife, too scared you will be distracted by the way the muscles curve and dip into that delightful hollow at the base of his throat.

But you do catch the two distinct puncture wounds on his neck. The crude markings looked as if a wild animal had ripped their teeth into him carelessly. They can only be one thing. Bite marks.

The twin scars were an obvious clue to his true nature, a birthmark left from when he was reborn anew as a vampire. The high collar he had been wearing last night had covered them but the scar tissue is jagged and rough against his pale skin and they stand out unmistakably now.

Ripping your gaze from his neck, you glare into his definitely-not-distracting eyes as he regards you with a hint of amusement that just serves to irritate you further. You were supposed to be intimidating here, not amusing.

“Really, what was the plan here?” Astarion seems to grow bored at your lack of a response, lips turning up at the corner as he lets out a breath of laughter, “To stab me to death with a knife that’s not even sharp enough to cut a slice of bread?”

Your arm holding the knife up to his neck wavers and Astarion’s fingers trace a gentle path across your arms until he grasps your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip. The pain makes you involuntarily open your fist and the knife clatters to the floor with a clunk. Astarion’s quick to move his boot to step on it so you’re unable to pick it up.

With the threat of the knife removed, Astarion still lets you keep him pinned to the wall. “I see you got at least something out of the breakfast I sent for you.”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in my room,” you snarl back at him.

“Yes, well, when you start to earn some trust, I’ll let you out. But you’re not off to a strong start with the knife, darling.”

Darling.

You think of how he had called you darling last night as he swept you into his arms and danced, how it had sounded like a hymn dripping from his lips that caused a sweet warmth to pool in your belly. Now, you practically hiss at him using the words, hackles raised in defense like a wild dog.

He pokes your cheek, lips curled up in a smile, “Very scary.”

“I hate you.”

“A shame, really. We could’ve had so much fun together,” Astarion’s hand sneaks down to curl around your back and rest against your hip while he talks, pulling you closer against him. The position is so similar to how he had held you while you danced last night and for a moment, you give in, letting yourself enjoy his touch rather than immediately shaking his hands off.

His voice is deep and sultry, hand tightening where it clutches against the fabric of your dress, “If only you hadn’t ruined my plans for last night… I would have come back from my midnight snack, satiated by blood, but starving for you. I would have taken you to stroll the gardens, fed you a line about how the roses were jealous of your beauty and I would have even cut one off for you for you to remember me by.”

You’re struck by how similar his plan was to your daydream last night, as if Astarion was intimately familiar with your deepest desires.

He’s leaning closer and the soft brush of one of his white curls against your forehead is nearly divine as his words continue to hypnotize you, “I would have kissed you, over and over and over again, until you couldn’t think straight.”

“I could’ve touched you,” he emphasizes his words by dipping the hand on your waist just a fraction of an inch lower. The warm smell of bergamot is flooding your senses and his mouth is moving so, so close to yours, only a hair’s breadth away from your own as he speaks in a rich, seductive voice. Your lips part in anticipation, breath hitching in your throat at the thought.

“Have you ever been touched before?” His gaze feels like a caress as it slides down your neck to your collarbones, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to refocus your gaze on his lovely face.

“No, not a proper little girl like you. I can’t imagine how pent up you are. I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.”

“Enough,” you shake your head, placing your hand against his chest to press yourself a step away from him. His eyes are dark and hooded as he follows your movement and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the flaming heat you feel licking at your face.

It’s cruel of Astarion to imprison you and then come in here and fill your mind with delicious fantasies. Perhaps this is his way of playing with his food- to visit you and shame you for how desperately you wanted him. It was cruel of him to demean you for your desire, not after he pretended to need you just as badly last night.

“You don’t get to mock me,” you say to him, once you’ve collected your composure.

“I’m not mocking, pet, I’m teasing.” He’s still leaned against the wall, arms casually crossed across his chest. “It’s what good lovers do to each other.”

“Lovers?” you splutter.

“I’m teasing again, dear. Gods, you make it so easy.” Astarion finally pushes himself off from the wall, leaning down to pick up the knife and tuck it in his own pocket.

You glare at him while he moves, attempting to assert your dominance over a situation that you were quickly losing control of.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Astarion breaks the silence, eyes softening a bit. He sounds genuinely concerned and his pretend sincerity has you wondering if you could be quick enough to grab the knife back out of his pocket and give him a good stab in the side. He doesn’t get to be concerned about you. Not when he is the one causing you distress.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by choosing that moment to grumble. You know Astarion heard it. Damned vampire.

“My, my. Well, you’re either lying or you’re dying of some weird stomach condition. And as much fun as the latter would be, I’d really prefer you stay alive until our wedding.”

Refusing to respond to his taunts, you cross your arms over your chest and continue glaring.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, darling. That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion says, rolling his eyes. You know that he catches how you stiffen at the mention of blood.

“Oh,” he draws out the word all long and self-important now that he thinks he has you figured out, “So that’s what you’re worried about, that I’m going to drink from you. Dearest, as fun as it was chasing after you last night, I prefer meals that are a bit easier to catch.”

You remain silent, still, and Astarion takes a step closer to you, his fingers brushing affectionately against your upper arm. It’s nearly impossible to hold back the shiver that threatens to run down your spine.

“Just promise me you’ll eat something,” his eyes have got that stupid soft-ness to them again that makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s saying just to spite him.

You remind yourself that you can’t believe a word he says. Astarion has proven himself as a liar and a cheat. In fact, his whole act tonight is probably a part of his masterplan to sacrifice you for your virgin blood or something.

“I won’t promise you anything!” you cry, incredulous.

Astarion moves to leave but pauses in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob. If he would just open the door, you could try to rush out around him.

“How do you feel about a nighttime wedding?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“Whatever pleases you, husband.” You hiss back at him. “My opinion on our upcoming marriage hasn’t seemed to matter so far.”

“Yes, well, you do forfeit some right to make your own choices when you exhibit poor decision making capabilities and sneak around, following scary monsters in the dark,” he snarks, which sets off a fresh wave of anger within you.

Astarion closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. You feel a bit of pride that you seem to be getting under his skin just as much as he is frustrating you.

“You like roses, right?” Astarion asks.

“Yes,” you reply. The initial pleasure that he had remembered a detail about you from last night fades as you begin to grow wary about his motives in asking.

“Good, I’ve planned for there to be plenty at the wedding tomorrow night. I’ll be the handsome devil standing at the end of the aisle,” he shoots a wink over his shoulder before the lock clicks behind him. At this point, the familiar sound nearly makes you sick to your stomach.

—---

Shadowheart comes in to see you sulking a bit later and draws a bath for you. The warm water feels wonderful, but does nothing to tamper the heat that has been rising under your skin since the moment Astarion let you pin him to the wall.

You don’t sleep very well that night, anger and something else coursing through your veins. Astarion’s words from earlier stick with you in your dreams.

I would have kissed you, over and over and over again.

I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.

And a day ago, you would have let him, would have been driven half mad with ecstasy at the prospect. But Astarion had to ruin that. Astarion had to ruin everything. He was the subject of all of your daydreams and the architect of all your nightmares.

You do manage to sleep, eventually, but you wake up hot and sticky with sweat, the taste of Astarion’s lips still a whisper in your mind.

And yeah, okay, maybe you do snag a pastry at breakfast when Shadowheart isn’t looking. She doesn’t say anything, but you know she notices. You can only hope that she doesn’t report it back to Astarion.

In the morning, you watch the gardens as they’re prepared for the wedding, observing how the ornate flowery archway that you suppose will be your altar is constructed at a moment’s notice. You feel like you are marching to your death as the wedding crawls ever closer, your chance of escape slipping further away with every passing moment.

Shadowheart returns in the late afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony. The dress she carries with her is far simpler than you expected, less intricate even than your dress from the ball a couple nights ago. The dark material is offset with shimmery, golden thread embroidered into the material in beautiful floral patterns. You wonder if Astarion just kept this on hand or had managed to contact a dressmaker who could make this dress so quickly.

Shadowheart pins your hair up in tasteful braided style and you do have to admit that you look beautiful when you look into the mirror. That familiar rage is burning in you again. You don’t want to look beautiful for Astarion, you don’t want to drag this out any longer or harder than it needs to be.

You dread the thought of tonight. You were not as naive to the world as your father might have thought; you had heard the whisperings of other ladies when they discussed the horrors of their marital beds, heard the talk of greedy husbands and so much pain. On a normal wedding night, even the best of men could turn into a savage and you shudder to think what it might be like with a man who is already a beast. How much worse would it be for you?

But were you not a hypocrite? Had you not dreamt of coming undone on his elegant hands just last night? You force yourself to stop before you can continue down that train of thought and get carried away with silly, romantic notions. No, it was best to prepare for the worst. Tonight would be a worse torture than your two days locked in a cage. And you had to attend a stupid party about it first.

Shadowheart seems to be able to sense your nerves, probably because you’ve spent the whole afternoon alternating between fiddling with your hands and sighing.

She kneels down in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that lets you know her next words will be very important. “You know that I am your lady’s maid. That I default to serving you over the Lord, right?”

“Deep down, he is a good man, but if anything, and I mean anything, happens tonight that makes you uncomfortable, you call me and I will drag Lord Ancunin out of here bruised and bloody. I don’t care if it’s as simple as him attempting to hold your hand when you don’t wish him to.”

Her words comfort you even though you wonder how much time that would really buy you. After all, it was part of your wifely duties to satisfy your husband, to bear his children. Although you aren’t entirely sure if it’s possible to have children with a vampire, you’re going to operate under the assumption that it’s possible until you’re told otherwise as part of your ‘prepare for the worst’ strategy.

“Thank you,” you sincerely tell her because you want to let her know that her words have comforted you even if you doubt that she would be able to fight off a vampire.

“If you really wanted to help, you could get me out of this marriage,” you offer up, partially as a joke and partially to see if maybe the solution to your problems is really that easy.

“We both know I can’t do that,” Shadowheart says, because it never is that easy. Once again, she’s got that stupid, sad smile on her face again that makes you want to knock her pretty teeth out.

“Thought I’d try, at least.”

Your feet seem to have stopped working, so Shadowheart has to practically drag you out of the room and dump you in the garden. She’s, unfortunately, much stronger than she looks. Who knows, maybe she could take down a vampire?

The floral archway you had spent all morning looking at is even more breathtaking in person. The deep, red roses are braided in against beautiful ironwork. You hate Astarion for remembering that you liked roses, hate him for feigning kindness and trying to do something that you would like.

Astarion is standing at the end of the altar, as promised, and damn it all if he doesn’t look like Lucifer incarnate- the most beautiful angel hiding an evil and twisted soul. When you get closer, you can see that his waistcoat has matching floral embroidery on it.

So, you’re matching now? That’s what the world has devolved into. It takes everything in you to not rip the stupid dress off right then. But, you refrain yourself because you’re in public and you’re a lady (and definitely not because you were humbled by the button fiasco yesterday).

You practically snarl when you meet Astarion at the altar but he ignores you, his finger reaching out to trace along the petal of rose embroidered on your dress, right next to your collarbone. If he were alive, you would be able to feel the warmth from his hand.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“You have ruined roses for me,” you spit back at him. Astarion’s brow furrows for a moment before the man standing next to the two of you is awkwardly clearing his throat. You recognize him from the ball, as the man who interrupted your and Astarion’s dance. He must be Astarion’s valet, serving him as Shadowheart does for you.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” The valet tries to sound enthusiastic but he wilts a bit when you shift your glare to him.

You can feel Shadowheart standing behind you and you know that if you try to run, she’ll simply grab you and drag you back.

“The quicker this is over with, the better.” You say and can’t resist looking at Astarion and adding, “Though, I’m sure you know a thing or two about finishing quickly, darling.”

You can tell that Astarion’s valet is holding back a laugh at your comment.

“Continue, Gale.” Astarion finally instructs after a few seconds of stunned silence.

The man, Gale, holds up a stack of papers that he begins to read from. Oh my, were all of those pages filled with words? You might be here all night.

“What is marriage? A contract, yes, but also the blessed union of two souls, sealed together in eternal love. The marriage bond is sacred and divine, but we must not mistake it as pure. No, real love is never pure. It is messy and confusing and the both of you will make many mistakes as you grow together.”

Hang on, was this guy even married? Who the fuck is he to be out here spewing nonsense about the sanctity of marriage? And when did he even have the time to write this? You’re so confused by the situation that your anger at Astarion has managed to dissipate completely.

Gale is somehow still rambling on, minutes later, as you stare at him with an open mouth, “And although, the two of you are entering this contract under… less than ideal circumstances, we can only hope that your love will grow to flourish. In fact-”

Astarion finally cuts him off. “We can do without the fanfare, I think.”

Gale gives a disappointed sigh, grumbling about how he was just trying to make this a nice moment.

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

You slide the rings on each other’s fingers and Astarion’s cool skin against your hand feels wonderful amidst the balmy summer night.

There’s no after-party, no fanfare. You simply say the words and sign the paperwork and leave immediately, content to go wallow by yourself in your room as you wait for Astarion to consummate your marriage.

You’ve half sent yourself into a panic as you pace, even if Shadowheart’s promise from earlier rings comfortably in your ears. You wish you hadn’t already wasted your knife yesterday. It would at least provide some false sense of comfort for when Astarion came for you.

You sit and you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Astarion doesn’t come.

You feel your eyes struggling to stay open and only when you catch your chin falling down to your chest do you snap yourself awake. This isn’t like you, to just take something lying down. The only solution left is to confront him. You jump to your feet, crossing the room with the most determination you’ve been able to muster all day.

For the first time, the door to your room is unlocked when you turn the handle. Surprised, you poke your head out, scanning left and right down the hallway to check that there’s not some sort of booby trap. That seems like something Astarion would do- offer you hope of escape and then callously snatch it away at the last moment.

Candlelight flickers in the doorway a few rooms away. When you peek into the room, Astarion is reading something, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the desk looking like the arrogant asshole you know he is. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at all, just turns the page of his book.

“The door was unlocked,” you say, because you aren’t really sure of how else to greet him. Hello felt far too simple after you had spent the past two nights pinning each other to walls and playing mind games with one another.

Astarion hums in affirmation, eyes still focused on the book in his lap. “Yes, I only had it locked in order to keep you here long enough for us to get married. Do what you’d like now. You are the new lady of the manor.”

It seems unreal, that the past two days of torture were ultimately going to amount to… nothing? Perhaps this was just another one of his tricks to catch you unawares? If you stopped thinking of him like a threat, stopped expecting the worst in him, or gods forbid, if you lowered your guard, it would be that much easier for him to trap you.

“So, I’m free to leave?” You try asking cautiously, expecting his red eyes to snap up and for him to hiss out an angry no, for him to laugh at you and snatch away your freedom right after he had teased you with the unlocked door.

“I’d suggest you wait until the morning, but yes, feel free to leave and continue on with your life however you please. Or stay. I really don’t care.” He says instead, turning the page of his book again. Was he even bothering to listen to you?

“Then why did you force me to marry you?” You cry out because nothing these past two days has made any sense to you. Nothing has made sense to you since you saw Astarion standing in front of you like a holy angel who had been blessed with all of heaven’s beauty, when all you knew was that this man had been made to ruin you.

And now, everything about Astarion is a contradiction. You hate him and yet you crave him. He offers you hope while crudely stabbing through your back with a knife. He imprisons you and shackles you to him by law and offers to let you go free. Even now, as you stare at how the candlelight sends shadows dancing across his pale skin that make his jawline somehow appear even sharper, you aren’t sure whether you want to kiss him or kill him.

“Well, I doubt anyone would believe a new bride when she says her husband is a vampire. They’d chalk it up to a newlywed squabble or perhaps think that you just don’t understand the sensuality of a good bite. And if you do choose to leave, the longer we aren’t together, the more people will assume you’re spreading nasty rumors because we’re estranged.”

That… actually makes a lot of sense. You had been too caught up in your panic and your anger to look at this situation with any real rationality.

But now, faced with the choice, where would you go? If all the freedom in the world was yours, what would you do with it? Certainly, you wouldn’t go to your old home, with your angry father and unsympathetic brothers.

You would want a garden, you think, perhaps one to rival the Ancunin’s. You would want to fill your days with reading and gardening and walking. For the first time, you wonder if perhaps the life you’ve always wished for has been offered up to you on a silver platter. Your mind had been so tainted with your hatred for Astarion that you didn’t even imagine that perhaps you could be happy here. That perhaps you could be happier than you even were before.

“I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” your shoulders drop in realization, fingertips nervously running along the pretty embroidery of your dress. It feels like an admission of defeat as you stand in front of him, as if you’ve been eviscerated and are trying desperately to keep your insides from falling out on the floor in front of him.

“Stay here then,” Astarion answers and he looks so bored with the conversation that the familiar fire of anger is burning in your veins. How dare he callously act like his actions have had no consequence on your life? How dare he act like he didn’t have the legal authority to control you as your husband if he wanted to? How dare he act like he hadn’t flipped your world upside down the moment he first swept you into his arms?

You force yourself to take a deep breath, to soothe the anger that sits deep in your chest and you finally decide to bring up the issue that’s plagued your mind all day. “You didn’t come to my room tonight.”

“Do you want me to?” He looks genuinely shocked and finally closes the book and drops his feet from the desk. He takes a moment to collect himself before leaning forward, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I know I’m irresistible. There is still plenty of time tonight for me to ravish you, if that’s what you’d like.”

You know it’s an act, know he’s probably teasing to get a rise out of you. But you can help the panic that bubbles in you and you immediately shout a refusal to his offer.

Astarion leans back in his chair, hands coming to rest under his chin. His fingers are long and slender and oh, so elegant as they press together as if in prayer. This man, who could destroy faiths and desecrate holy ground with just the flick of his pretty wrist.

It dawns on you that the gold wedding ring you had slipped onto his finger hours ago has already mysteriously disappeared from his hands. And though it might be hypocritical of you, who removed your ring almost immediately, you can’t help but be a little hurt that he apparently wasted no time in casting you aside, either. Have you already been so cruelly disregarded?

“I don’t go where I’m unwelcome, darling.” He curls his lips up at the corner in a devilish smile, “I’d much rather wait until you’re so desperate that you beg me to have you.”

You’re determined not to give Astarion the shocked, embarrassed reaction you know he’s itching for.

“And what if I want you to be the one to beg?” you ask him instead. His eyes flash with a wicked gleam, so red you can’t help but remember the blood running down his chin in the moonlight.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged, darling.” Astarion keeps you locked in his fiery gaze for another moment or two before he sighs and breaks the tension. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, so I suggest you go to bed. Get some beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

And yeah, maybe you do have to hold back a laugh at that stupid line.

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to go back to your room.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” Astarion calls after you.

And for the second night in a row, you dream of crimson eyes and elegant hands that have you waking restless and unfulfilled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

For the record, I absolutely love Gale, but lets not pretend that he wouldn't go SO over the top if he was allowed to officiate a wedding.

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! ETA for the third chapter is next Sunday, 12/31.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #reader insert #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #til death do us part

250 notes · View notes

molarbeardoc · 7 months

Text

HI I’M SORRY FOR THE SPIVE ANGST SORRY CHAT PLEASE LOVE ME I’M SORRY PLEASE LOOK I’M DOING FLUFF TO MAKE YOU HAPPY PLEASE DON’T PLACE MY HEAD ON STICK PWETTY PWEASEEEEE I’M JUST A BABY A BABY WRITER DON’T HURT MWEEEEEEE

Fanfic based off THIS LOVELY PERSON’S ART PLEASE SHOW THEM SOME LOVE NOWWWWW 💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤

Anyway fanfic starts now :3

Mornings…

Who would want to leave the soft and warm comfort of their bed? The embrace of one’s sheets wrapped around them as if they were but a small infant once more.

There was not a single person in the world who actually enjoyed getting up.

Absolutely no one..

Not a single person…

Nope!

Okay that might have been just a teeny tiny lie…

Well… Not really a lie? How am I supposed to know, I’m just a narrator get off my back!

Moving on…

There really was one person who enjoyed mornings. For her, that meant she had lived to see another day. That she had evaded capture once more. No one could catch a genius, a reborn, intuitive Einstein as she would say. That’s right! Bive was the smartest cookie there was!

Mornings were a sign of hope, that she still had a chance to spread the truth! A chance to save everyone. Of course some were too far gone to be saved and would have to suffer the consequences for when the clowns came and snow soldiers took over but they picked their poison. They made their bed. They dug their graves. Now they had to lay in them when the time came.

Besides! Even if she couldn’t save everyone, she could save some of them! She could use her cleverness to think of plans to save those who listened. Her brains to find solutions to their biggest problems. She could accomplish anything as long as she was wide awake, as long as the gears in her head were constantly turning!

…

So why weren’t they spinning now?

She stared at her corkboard, her expression dull as she leaned against the brick wall of the maze. She felt horrible. Her head was killing her and her special brew wasn’t helping her in the slightest. If anything it made it worse! She felt top heavy and ill, her arms and legs acted as if they were a fruity gelatine. Maybe even a sweet lime flavour gelatine…

If that didn’t sound awful already. She was groggy and irritated. Her cat-like reflexes were more like a snail’s and her vision would occasionally blur.

What in the name of Clown Militia was going on with her?!

She let out an annoyed groan as she used the wall to keep herself upright before eventually succumbing and falling over. It was as if her own body were betraying her!

Useless vessel. Didn’t know she was the reason it was even alive! Talk about ungrateful…

There had to be someone she could trust to assist her. DrRETRO? No. That furball thought she was insane. Poob? No. They’d make it worse with their constant partying. Mark? He’d try and fix her with some sort of wood trick. Wallter? He trusts the flowers… Absolutely not…

Wait… God it was worse than she thought. She couldn’t even CONTACT any of them! None of them had her signal! Oh the fool she was! A complete and total fool!

Who had her radio signal..? Her memory was a bit fogged at the moment but she knew she gave it to someone..

Aha! Split! At least she thinks so? She couldn’t remember very well. She reached for her radio, twisting and turning the knobs as she attempted to reach the fruit-taur, letting out a cry of pain from the feedback and hissing through her teeth.

She let out a quiet sigh, trying to ignore the splitting pain that shot through her head, with every knob turn a new static frequency filling the air. Her voice croaking as she spoke into the radio.

"Split?"

"Split are you there?!"

The fruit-taur was sleeping peacefully in her own bed, a small banana-themed night light shining on her nightstand beside her alarm clock. It was still frankly early, only about 4am.

All was quiet…

"SPLIT!"

… Until it wasn’t…

Split immediately shot up, breathing heavily as she was suddenly awoken from her restful slumber. Her heart racing as she glanced around frantically.

"WHO’S THERE?! SHOW YOURSELF! I KNOW KUNG FU! I’VE SEEN ENOUGH MOVIES TO KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!"

Despite being unable to see, she immediately went on the defensive, tensing up as she tried to look as threatening as possible.

"Split…? Split are you there? Split..? Split!"

She turned towards her nightstand, the adrenaline dying down as it slowly became replaced with tired realization. She grabbed her glasses, putting them on before reaching for the radio.

"SPLIT?! Oh no. DID THE CLOWNS GET YOU?! OH GOD THIS IS AWFUL THEY KIDNAPPED HER?! WHAT AM I GONNA DO?! If they got her… THEN THEY’RE ATTACKING NOW! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! THAT MEANS THEY’RE COMING FOR ME NEXT! I GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE THEY CATCH ME AND-"

"Bivey, you’re spiralling again…"

Bive’s side of the radio went quiet, as if she were processing the moment before answering.

"SPLIT YOU’RE OKAY- AcK- Ow ow radio feedback ow."

Split couldn’t help but smile, finding her worry endearing before speaking up.

"Yes, I’m fine. What’s going on with you? It’s uh…"

She glanced at the clock.

"Four in the morning. I don’t even think the early bird gets up this early!"

"IT’S AN EMERGENCY! THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME!"

"What-?"

Well that was concerning news.

"What do you mean something is wrong with you?"

"MY BODY IS ACTING WEIRD. I THINK I MAY HAVE BEEN POISONED! SOMEONE POISONED ME!"

She listened as the detective rambled on and on, blinking as she tried to slowly put everything together.

"Poisoned-? Bive what-? No one poisoned you. You probably just have a cold."

"THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! I CAN’T GET SICK! I-"

"Okay okay fine! You’re not sick! Just calm down."

"HOW CAN I CALM DOWN WHEN I’VE BEEN POISONED?!"

"Oh my… Bive? Just… Stay calm for now? I’ll be over soon."

Guess she wasn’t sleeping in like she originally planned. She sighed as Bive rambled some incoherent words before the radio went dead, having no clue what she said before she got up. She was just in a comfortable T-shirt, that’s decent enough to go out.

It’s not like anyone would see her, it was too early for someone to be out and about on the elevator… Apart from her of course…

Bive was leaning against the wall, her head still throbbing and body still weak. She felt awful. There was no way she WASN’T poisoned. How was this even possible?! Even if they DID make it through the maze, how did they catch her off guard?! She was awake the whole time!

This was worse than she thought. Her enemies were getting smarter. They had found her location, slipped through the maze, and caught her off guard while she was on guard! Oh this was horrible. Truly terrible! How could she save anyone in her weakened state?!

The next hours were spent in agony. Well at least it felt like hours, it had really been only thirty minutes as she sat there patiently. Waiting for the Split’s arrival.

Speaking of Split, she was already stepping off the elevator, standing outside of the maze as she yawned. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, it wasn’t even dawn. She entered the maze, knowing her way decently enough to where she couldn’t get lost and only worrying about Scary Mike and an overly excited Fleshy, more so Mike, as she navigated herself through it.

Turning one of corners, she noticed the soft glow of a yellow light. Bingo. She quickened her pace down the hall, the strong scent of coffee wafting over her as the glow became stronger. Soon enough, she was met with the living quarters of the paranoid detective.

It was just as unorganized as she remembered, red string and empty styrofoam cups littered the floor. At least she listened to her the last time Split was over and picked up the thumbtacks, those were just accidents waiting to happen. Her floppy ears lifted as she heard a quiet and pained groan, looking down to see that Bive was on the floor, against the wall, with her head in her hands.

"Bive?"

She let out a startled yelp, trying to jump back only to met with a brick wall as she hissed through gritted teeth. That didn’t help with her headache and weak body at all… She looked up at the fruit-taur, a wave of relief and realization washing over her.

"SPLIT-! HI! HELLO…"

"Are you okay?"

"No! I’ve been POISONED! I’m going to DIE!"

"You’re not going to die."

"YES I AM!"

"Why do you think that?"

"BECAUSE THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME!"

She winced in pain as she felt another debilitating stroke of pain shoot through her head, gritting her teeth and using the wall to stand as she leaned against it. Seeing her state, Split grew concerned. Her being poisoned was a stretch but there was very well a chance she may have done or eaten something that could cause her this much harm.

"Can you tell me exactly what you’re feeling right now..?"

"Er-! A stupid headache… I feel a bit nauseous… lightweight… Annoyed with everything.."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes…"

"Have you had some water?"

"..Yes…"

"Have you slept..?"

"…"

"Have. You. Slept?"

"Uh… No…"

"When’s the last time you have?"

"…"

"Bive… When was the last time you slept?"

"Hold on. I’m trying to remember…"

"You shouldn’t have to remember! It should’ve been recently!"

"BUT THAT LEAVES ME VULNERABLE TO THE CLOWNS AND SO-"

"You’re also vulnerable to them if you DON’T sleep!"

Touché…

"Oh please, I’m not even tired!"

"Doesn’t mean anything!"

"I think it means a lot!"

"Do you want to feel better or not?"

"I do."

"Then go to sleep!"

"But-!"

"No no! I don’t wanna hear it. No buts! If you’re that worried about being attacked by someone, I can just stay with you! Problem solved!"

Bive stared at Split for a moment. She’s never had her stay over. But seeing how much the fruit-taur wanted her to sleep, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice.

"Fine."

"Thank you…"

Split watched as the detective huffed and left to go get ready for bed, smiling as she grumbled underneath her breath. Even if she wasn’t happy with the idea, it was certainly necessary.

She continued to wait patiently before Bive reappeared, no longer in her classic coat and pants but in her own sleepwear.

"I don’t like this."

"Too bad. You need it."

"Do I though?"

"Go to bed."

Seeing as she wasn’t going to be able to wriggle herself away from this situation, she groaned before heading off back to her room, falling onto the bed and just laying there while waiting for fall asleep. She wasn’t very good at this thing…

Split stood outside the door, still feeling sluggish but forcing herself to stay awake. She had no idea what time it was since Bive owned no clocks; something about time being stopped and how every other clock was a fake, but it felt as if it were still early. She felt herself dozing off, but tried to fight against it. Right as she was about to drift off to sleep, she felt someone tap her shoulder.

"Split…? I can’t sleep."

She jerked awake, staring down at Bive before sighing.

"Are you okay?"

"I’m fine! Just tired.."

"Oh…"

"…"

"Do you wanna sleep in my bed?"

"What?"

"I MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE TO! I just thought.. Ya know!"

She stared tiredly down at the stammering and jittery detective, a small grin appearing on her face.

"I’ll take you up on that offer…"

Bive paused, looking at Split before forcing out a nervous laugh.

"AHAH! Uh OKAY!"

She led the fruit-taur into her room, watching as she dragged her paws towards the bed. She paused midway before looking towards Bive.

"Wait. Where are you gonna sleep?"

"Uhh… I just… won’t? Since I’m not tired..?"

She gave her a nervous smile, flashing her yellow tinted teeth at Split. Unfortunately for her, the other’s gaze hardened.

"Alright, I’ll just fix it this way."

Before she could get a reply out, she was dragged into the bed with her, the fruit-taur was holding her close as she sighed.

"This… This isn’t necessary you know?"

"Yes it is."

"But-"

"Bivey?"

"… Yes?"

"Goodnight."

"… Goodnight, Split.."

Bive fell quiet, listening quietly as Split’s breathing eventually slowed into quiet snores. She laid there a moment, before clinging onto the other, snuggling against her before sighing. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her as she began drifting off.

"Goodnight…"

RAHHHHHHH FANFIC FINISHED. Sorry if it isn’t as good as my angst fic, I hope you enjoyed it though!!!!!

Omw to work on the Cheshire Cat doomed yuri fanfic someone double dog dared me to write now bye sillies <3

#regretevator #regretevator bive #regretevator split #bive regretevator #bive #split #split regretevator #bive x split #split x bive #regretevator spive #spive regretevator #spive #she regret on my evator

41 notes · View notes

yellowcry · 3 months

Text

Falling doesn't feel so bad when I know you're falling this way too

Alma wasn't sure how her entire life became focused on this performance. Hiding everything related to her birth identity. Pedro was her downfall and she knew it before she even met him For Madrigay days prompt 3: Performance

TW for transphobia (mostly internalized, caused by religious guilt)

Alma felt like she was a liar as long as she could remember herself. Cutting her hair short and playing in games she didn't enjoy. Being her family's pride. The heir that her padres waited for so long. When every action was calculated. Every movement was made so no one would notice her not liking something. Even so, there was something wrong with her. Always wrong. Because she never associated herself with a boy she was supposed to be it her family's eyes. But she had to be. If the god had made her man, it must be like this.

"Eres una maldita puto." She shakes, pressing her arm against the bruise, hiding in the corner. Shrinking at a sight of a small notebook. When blood pumped in pressure. Trying to ignore how Mamá desperately tried to protect her.

Alma spends days praying. She knows she shouldn't be a girl. Even if she wanted to. She shouldn't steal her sisters' clothes just to feel herself. The God didn't want her to be a girl, so she could not. Guilt gripped onto her with sharp blades, cutting again and again. Like a ruthless killer, twisting her lungs into a broad knot. Scratching insude the soft surface of her scull. She didn't want to be a sinner. Renegaded. Every time when she even thought of wearing femmine clothes, she took one step closer to burning hell. Where bad people are tortured.

She runned. She knew it was selfish to leave everything, everyone behind without looking back. But she couldn't live like this. Not when the whole village whispered about her. The rumors spreaded quite quickly. Amd she couldn't survive in the world that didn't seem to let go of her. Burying her into the dry sea waters. She could start a new life somewhere. Abandon all this "I want to be a woman" bullshit.

She didn't abandon anything. Alma wasn't even sure what happened. She just... Introduced herself as Alma to everyone instead of using her birth name. She learned how to make clothes so nobody had to take measurements of her body. Even forcefully making her voice higher, to a more femmine sounding. In just a blink, her entire life became a performance of hiding who she really was. Taking her entire time for every smallest inconsistency in her behaviour. Never allowing anyone to see past curtains.

Pedro was her downfall. Alma understood it since the moment when two pair of brown eyes locked on eachother. He attracted her like a magnet, forcing her to come closer. Stay with him. Open her body, showing her entire soul without a single question. And he flied to her like a butterfly to the light. Alma wanted him close, she needed him like air. Pedro was a drug that made her addicted before she even knew it. If Alma gave herself to a passion flow, if she was lost in the moment... She would lose everything. What would Pedro think if the sweet, social Alma wasn't born as woman? In the best case, he would stop even bother to talk to her. Good thing Pedro wasn't too kin to get their relationships to the bedroom either.

Alma hated lying to Pedro. She didn't have problem with anyone else. But he... Yes, he was the reason of her collapse. Somebody more important than anyone else. And Alma didn't want to lie to him. But telling the truth was painful. Even if Pedro didn't tell anyone, there was no chance to continue their relationships like this.

But... Was it fair to Pedro? To use him and his kindness? No. He had to know. He had to understand what was wrong. Why they could never be.

"Amor, you asked to come?" Pedro slowly entered a confined bedroom. Cletching his sweaty hands.

Alma took a deep breath. She placed the pale blouse she sew aside, leaving it on the bed sheets. Swallowed, tossing her pigtails behind. Twisting it between her fingers. "Yes..." She breathed out, wanting nothing more than to run. Escape. Don't let it all be ruined!

"Is everything alright?" Pedro kneeled next to her, taking her hand.

"You're going to hate me." Alma whispered. She still couldn't believe she was telling Pedro. "I... I'm sorry."

Her boyfriend's face widened in shock. Brows rised up. "Alma, Estimado, there's nothing in the world thay would ever make me hate you!" He assured her, panicked. Alma looked away, unable to face how his face would change.

"No, Pedro... I lied to you. To everyone." Her eyes were strangely dry even if she felt like tears were about to drown the entire village. "It's not just a simple fact. I will go to hell one day. I will burn like a sinner I am."

Pedro's voice melted in her head. Knowing him, he was trying to say that Alma was wrong. That she wasn't a bad person. That she wasn't going to hell. And she wished he was right. She wished she was normal. But it was a sad reality of her life. She would never be free. The last would never let her go.

"I was born as a man." Alma finally found strength to whisper. Just as this her tears dripped from her eyes. Here was it. Everything was over. Their relationship are over.

Pedro froze, not moving an inch for a moment. Before jumped on her, holding Alma between her arms. The woman winced. What was he doing? She felt his tears on her cheek, wet and hot. Why did he hug her even? Wasn't he supposed to hate her now? To be betrayed and disappointed?

Pedro laughed through his crying. "I was born as a woman"

This time even Alma couldn't hold back a waterfall of happy tears.

#encanto #alma madrigal #pedro madrigal #pedro x alma #fanfic #ao3 author #madrigaydays #madrigay days

13 notes · View notes

paperbackribs · 1 year

Text

The Gift (6 of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 5 You're Doing That On Purpose (Part B) next: Chapter 7 Answering the Question Content: steddie fic, 2K words

Last chapter, Eddie convinces Steve about which film to watch on movie night, Robin reveals she bagged a date with Vickie, and Steve unexpectedly saw a vision through Eddie's sight. This chapter, Steve would really like people to stop staring at how strange he looks and he confesses his fears and doubts about his Witch powers to Eddie.

Chapter 6 Help a Friend

“Steve! We need your help.” Dustin’s voice rings through Family Video. The couple in the corner look back over their shoulders. Probably startled by the sheer volume belting out of the little butthead, Steve thinks with irritation.

It’s the end of the Friday rush and everyone and their mother should be home with their new releases and weekly specials. The purple fluorescent lights shining down from the top of the ceilings banish the darkness from the outside, yes, but they don't create nearly as hip or appealing a psychedelic cast as ownership thought they would. The strain of the lights along with the burr of the airconditioner adds to the building pain in Steve's head.

The entire day has been a wash. It was Robin’s shift off, he's not been able to eat in hours, and, on top of it all, he'd had to endure Keith’s odd looks until the lanky man had left half an hour ago.

Just ask, Steve wants to snidely say. Point to my face or neck and say, hey man, what happened to you? Instead, he had put up with Knowing that Keith was looking at him throughout the afternoon while watching the other guy’s head whip away any time Steve turned to catch him out. The hypocrisy of it was grating.

Now he’s an hour from getting off and he wants to, at the bare minimum, have a shower to wash off the stink of the day before Eddie comes over to watch their movie.

Lucas follows behind Dustin with the embarrassed expression of someone who understands what an inside voice should sound like. But it’s Dustin who slams his open backpack on to the counter, pencils and two spare batteries rolling out to drop on the floor.

“Fuck,” Dustin disappears in front of the counter as he bends over to pick up his mess.

“Language!” Steve rubs at the headache pushing behind the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry Steve,” Lucas says before lighting up. “Hey, do you have Night of the Creeps yet? Max saw the trailer earlier this year and El says she thinks zombies are funny.”

“That’s not the important thing here, Lucas.” Dustin stands up with a fistful of pencils and batteries only to shove Lucas to the side, who then pushes him back with his gangly arms. The stouter boy looks like he’s about to ram into his friend, so Steve does the responsible, mature thing and pulls Dustin back by the collar and shakes him like a disobedient puppy.

“Yeah, look over in the Horror section. It should be in New Release, but no one wants to rent it out.” Lucas follows Steve’s thumb to stroll over to the direction he gestured towards. Pointedly ignoring his friend squirming by the tips of his toes.

“Now, what’s this about,” Steve asks, releasing him.

Dustin clears his throat, conspicuously looking over his shoulder to see if any customers have come closer. The lone couple have long since lost interest. Nevertheless, Steve wants to smack him when Dustin hisses, “I need you to do a love spell for me.”

Steve drops his head into his hands. He just needs a moment, in the dark, away from this fucking day.

“First of all,” he mumbles, glaring out between his spreading fingers. “Don’t talk about this in public, you little dickhead.” He leans in further, “What I told you all is private and should stay that way.”

“Sorry,” Dustin looks appropriately chastened for all of three seconds before he perks up. “But, ah, could you do the thing.”

“No, I can’t do the thing. Even if I could, I wouldn’t do the thing. Because whatever you’re thinking about has got to be sketchy as fuck. Aren’t you dating Suzie, anyway?”

Lucas slides over his chosen VHS, which Steve notes has a big fat R sticker at the top of the case.

“No.”

“Come on, Steve. You got us The Shining.”

Steve crosses his arms, “That was for movie night. And I was able to watch over you guys when we saw it.”

“It’s just for me and the girls, we’re responsible,” Lucas tries, winningly.

Steve grabs the case and goes into the back to get the cassette, grumbling. He knew he was going to give in, why’d he even try to talk Lucas out of it? At least, out of all of them, he can probably trust Lucas, Max and El... Huh.

He returns, renting the movie under his name on the computer but watching Lucas from the side of his eye. “So, you don’t need the same help as Dustin, then?”

Lucas purses his lips, “Nah, I’m okay. Max explained it to me, and I just have to share her with El. But me and El aren’t together. We have a schedule; it all works out.”

“Ah, okay,” Steve replies, uncertain about whatever is going on with this group but deciding the blame lies with him: he never should have asked.

Dustin, in the meantime, looks a bee’s dick away from pulling out his tightly curled hair. “Steve,” he whines. “Suzie hasn’t talked to me in a week. A whole week! She’s clearly fallen out of love with me now that the honeymoon phase is over. I need to — you know, get a thing.”

Steve wonders if he should have just let Dustin use the word spell. It’s wrong on so many levels; he’s not Elizabeth Montgomery, he doesn’t twitch his nose and make people fall in and out of love. But it might be better than having Dustin repeatedly and in the most grating tone keep saying thing.

“Have you tried talking to her,” Steve asks, patiently.

“She’s not responding to the radio.”

“Have you tried calling her, on the telephone,” Steve clarifies, even more patiently.

Dustin blinks. “But her dad?”

“You don’t know what’s happened, Dustin. Rather than panicking, try calling her. If that doesn’t work, send her a letter. If that doesn’t work, we’ll talk more. Not,” Steve points an officious finger in Dustin’s face as he starts to open his mouth, “about that.” Steve pushes the R-rated film into its case, slaps it into Lucas’s waiting hands, and directs that finger again towards the door.

“Good night!”

As they leave, Lucas looks pleased, and Dustin looks like he’s brewing up a plan. No matter what they throw at him, Steve congratulates himself, he’s a pretty damn good babysitter. He turns to the approaching couple with a practised smile.

His satisfaction lasts through the drive home and past his shower. But it’s when he’s wiping his sweaty hands over his jeans one last time that he’s stopped as he catches his reflection in the hallway mirror.

The amber of the wood frames his square face, forcing his gaze front and centre. Making him unable to avoid the white globe on his left or the red ring below his jaw.

He’s always been a little vain, having a healthy appreciation for the work he'd put into his well-coifed hair and the muscles that playing basketball and swim meets had put on his bones. If he puts the effort in to look good, then he should at least get to appreciate the results, right?

But Keith got into his head, and he can’t stop picking at the thought that between his cockeyed features and the fading line around his neck, he must look unpleasant to some people. People like Eddie. Who, even as the self-proclaimed master of all that is weird and wonderful, hadn’t been able to look away from Steve’s eyes when he’d first gotten out of the hospital.

Or maybe it’s just that the uncanny, which has always sat comfortably inside of him, is now visible to others. Shining through in a manner that compels even the most mundane of people to stop and stare.

After The Sacrifice, he thinks that perhaps the white threads of fate are reflected in his left eye. That anyone looking at Steve can see that he decided to play God and manipulate Eddie’s destiny.

What, he wonders, separates him from Vecna? Henry must not have started out as a sinister bastard; even as a child, he couldn’t have been purely evil from the get-go. Did getting his way, by using his powers, corrupt the child until the adult thought that torture and murder were justifiable as long as they were in service to what he believed was right?

He thinks back to Nancy's instant suspicion and, even though it was more subtle, Eddie's initial tenseness around him. Did people like Nancy and Eddie see a connection between the well-meant intentions of Steve to the malevolent actions of Vecna?

Out of the corner of his right eye, he sees a shifting body behind the frosted glaze of the front door before the bell rings.

Eddie.

Steve looks back at his reflection for a moment, unclenching his jaw and making sure that an easy smile graces his face when he pulls open the door. The warmth of the night air gently rushes against his body and the stars twinkle with a golden shimmer behind Eddie.

Eddie, who startles back like he hadn’t expected Steve to answer so quickly.

Christ, it must have looked like he was waiting by the door like some desperate loser. Steve runs a hand through his hair as he starts to stammer out an excuse, but the other guy is looking increasingly bewildered, so Steve takes a moment to pause, blow out a breath and try again.

“Sorry, weird afternoon, come in.”

Eddie crosses the threshold to follow Steve through, gently placing the six-pack on the table in front of the couch. “Are you okay?”

Steve thinks back to his promise on the kitchen counter, the truth. “Just struggling with looking like this,” he waves a hand over his face and neck, trying to encompass what ‘this’ is.

Eddie leans in to nudge him with an elbow, “A total smoke show?”

Laughter bubbles out of his chest and Steve looks on at Eddie fondly. “You’re right, what was I thinking,” he asks wryly.

“Hey, no, Stevie. I mean it,” Eddie grabs his wrist, a warm band connecting them. He raises his other hand to rest a finger on the skin by Steve’s left eye; the exact spot he had touched after he had been pulled back to life.

Eddie continues, sincerity ringing through his words. “Even if this is weirding you out, it’s a badge of honour. You made the world shift. You raised me from the dead. If you like me even a little, then you have to like the eye. Thems the rules.”

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek before admitting to the heart of what is bugging him. “I don’t regret it; I never will. But I forced an unnatural path and maybe that’s too much power for anyone to really wield.”

“So what?”

Steve blinks, “What?”

Eddie looks back at him, mismatched eyes unconcerned yet frank. “So what that you’re powerful. Good for you.”

He leans forward, gently tucking a lock of Steve’s hair behind his left ear. The tip of his finger trails the curve of his haircut to the base of Steve's neck, which Eddie loosely clasps, speaking earnestly into their shared space, their foreheads almost touching. “If anyone is going to be able to do good with what they have, it’s you. Have you ever harmed anyone?”

Steve opens his mouth to protest; he’s done plenty.

“No,” Eddie firmly stops him, shaking him in a gentler echo of Steve to Dustin earlier that night. “Anyone weaker than you. Or made someone do something they didn’t want to do, with or without powers. And I don’t mean that pissant peer pressure crap. We’re all guilty of that at some point or another. I mean, in your heart of hearts, if you had the chance to force someone to do something for your own gain, no matter whether it hurt them or not. Would you?”

He wouldn’t, realises Steve, taking comfort in Eddie's plain-spoken tone. He may have done some shit he wasn’t proud of back in high school, but he’s not that guy any longer.

The thought of what Eddie describes is repugnant and he gratefully holds onto that feeling; because that was what Vecna was missing, Steve suddenly understands. The utter repugnance and disgust at hurting the people around him, strangers and friends alike.

“You’re the babysitter, right? The protector. You don’t have to worry about any of that shit,” Eddie's expression is sweetly earnest and the clean relief of his words has Steve's head falling to rest on Eddie's shoulder. Who tentatively brings his arm up to embrace Steve.

Steve leans further into the hug, taking what comfort he can from Eddie and feeling the weight of the day falling away. Eddie’s woodsy cologne soothingly envelops him while the scratch of his recently shaved jaw catches strands of Steve’s hair as if to join them further together.

“Thank you,” he says softly into the warmth of Eddie's neck. “I had a shit day and I suppose it just piled up.”

“No problems,” Eddie murmurs lowly into his ear before drawing back, smiling into Steve’s face. “Now, how about we watch a true battle of good and evil?”

Steve nods in agreement before heading to the phone to call up Pizza Palace; thankful that he has Eddie in his corner and anticipating a night just for the two of them.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :) If I've missed you, definitely tell me because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bestwifehaver

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@everyrandomthing

@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@mightbeasleep

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #any unexplained references are detailed in chapter notes on Ao3 #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

42 notes · View notes

voylitscope · 2 years

Text

Stucky Recs: Timeline Jumping, Time Loops, and Alternate Selves

My birthday is this Sunday, so I thought I'd celebrate by sharing some fic recs. I'd like to do a series of these highly themed rec lists, and my birthday week seemed like an ideal week to get started.

So: twelve fics I love that play with time. (I realized I was making this that three of these fics are, at least partially, also Shrinkyclinks fics. Because, you know, time travel. Bonus?)

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Timeline jumping

🌙 After You're Gone | SD_Ryan | Explicit | 7,229 words

A timeline jumping fic that is also both a post-TWS recovery fic and a shrinkyclinks fic. Do you want to read about a fiery pre-war Steve popping up at Avengers tower to the surprise of everyone, including a sad-eyed post-TWS Bucky? Of course you do.

Quote:

He pulls Steve close, palm pressed to the base of knobby spine, rolling them until Steve is on top. He likes the slight weight of him, the easy way Steve spreads his legs around his hips, hands cradling his face while they kiss. He’s got the theory down but doesn’t remember specifics, and he wants Steve to run this show.

The man doesn’t disappoint.

Steve kisses like he’s leading an orchestra, all confident grace and subtle notes of whimsey, playing Barnes in a way that suits them both. Barnes even learns to follow along. It comes back to him in surprising flashes, the way Steve keens when Barnes sucks on his bottom lip, the soft groan drawn out with a scratch of stubble against Steve’s cheek. Muscle memory. History built anew.

🌙Cheat Days | Chicklette | Mature | 2,033 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

A quick read that might make you cry. Perfect for times you're already having feelings about Steve being lonely waking up in a new century.

Summary:

Other times it’s something else - something more cruel – a joke that he knows Bucky would find hilarious, a movie that Bucky would have loved, a book. Sometimes Steve is just so goddamned lonely that he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. Then he has what he calls a cheat day. A day when he closes up his apartment and uses the coin, and sighs into Bucky’s embrace.

This fic is so romantic that I don't really know how to handle it. Featuring a Bucky who is doing pretty okay, a Bucky who even makes it back to Brooklyn after the war, but also a Bucky who is achingly lonely — except during those brief moments in time, every five years, when Steve pops into his life.

Quote:

Steve says nothing. He lifts both dog tags to his mouth, presses a kiss or a blessing to them, and tucks them back against Bucky’s chest.

Steve leans forward to kiss him again and this time, he hasn’t even pulled away before Bucky is left aching for more.

Between one breath and the other, Steve leaves him. Bucky doesn’t see him go, but he feels him disappear. When he opens his eyes, it’s just him on his cot, with the lamp flickering in the empty quiet of his tent. Bucky takes in a hard, painful breath, and then, with devastation, presses his palms into his eyes until, eventually, he stops feeling Steve’s hands carefully worshipping his tired body.

🌙the time that's slipping | its_tortle @its-tortle | Teen | 4,585 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Listen, I just really think we all, as a fandom, need to read about Steve going back in time to talk to his mom about everything that's happened to him. I know I needed this fic in my life. Steve and Sarah's relationship in this fic is gorgeous and perfect, and their conversation feels so important.

Quote:

“Steven,” she says quickly. “No. Listen to me.”

His Ma sits up in her bed a little further, ignoring the way he reaches out to steady her. There’s a sudden urgency to her movements, a determined passion pumping energy through her tired bones. Her big blue eyes are alight with the fire Steve knows he himself inherited.

“Mo stór,” she starts. “You have the biggest, bravest, and most beautiful heart anyone could ever dream up. It’s not perfect, none is, but if there’s one thing I know it’s that it’s good. That it loves in its entirety and always stands up for what it believes in. If you followed your heart, Steve, you made all the right calls.”

🌙It remembers you | often_adamanta | Teen | 13,585 words

This one is: Timeline jumping, Post-TWS recovery, Shrinkyclinks, and Pre-war. Yes. All of that. Featuring the very most endearing pre-war Steve handling a traumatized and barely post-TWS Bucky in the sweetest way possible. Also featuring a pre-war Bucky who keeps going, "Steve, what the hell do you mean it's completely fine for this guy, who has my face, to just come into our apartment while we sleep? That's terrifying???" And a post-TWS Bucky who keeps saying things like, "You definitely shouldn't trust me because I am dangerous, but also I think when I was that guy you live with I was in love with you? But also I was never him. But also I brought you this bread? Wow, you're so good at art. I'm terrible and scary. You should tell me to leave. Oh hey, that cat on the fire escape is so pretty." This fic is so very darling.

Quote:

James yanks the earpiece out as quickly as he can with his unsteady hand, gripping it tightly in a fist against his chest. He can’t listen to Steve say good things about him, especially since they aren’t true. He can’t listen to Steve list all the ways he’s failed, the ways he’s not Bucky. He just can’t listen anymore.

When he goes to find food that night, he goes out even farther than usual. For the first time, he takes something with him that might be missed: a single glass tumbler, heavy and cold in his hand.

Steve and Bucky are sleeping in the main room, one of the mattresses pulled onto the floor so that they can curl up together. It makes it harder to move around the small room, but he sets the glass next to the sink in the kitchen and leaves again without waking them.

He puts the earpiece in when he returns to his spot across the street, able to rest easy knowing they’re safe, Steve’s head pillowed on Bucky’s chest as he drooled and kept Steve close with an arm around his waist.

🌙to memory now I can't recall | Etharei | Explicit | 102,600 words

A WW II Bucky and a post-TWS Bucky switch places, and two storylines take place. This fic will break your heart approximately twenty times. This fic, like a lot of fics on this list, follows rules of time travel that actually make sense, so WW II Bucky's actions in the future and post-TWS Bucky's actions in the past directly affect each other. They both know this the whole time, and they each know that they are the other and that they will be switching back. So, in a lot of ways, this fic is about Bucky's relationship with himself — about Bucky reconciling who he is before and after Hydra. It's honestly stunning.

Quote:

Steve's fingers twitch hard against his palm. Steve's face can occasionally manage to remain impassive when he's lying; it's a real pity he has about two dozen other tells.

Bucky stares at him. Steve practically flinches, at the same time as his grip on Bucky's hand tightens to the point of pain. Bucky feels like something is carving a chunk out of his insides.

"I died," he says, quietly. "Oh, Stevie. I died on you, didn't I? In the war?"

🌙wash the blood from your bony fingers | newsbypostcard | Teen | 63,134 words

You know how sometimes it's 2018 and you think a Hydra operative has de-aged your longtime super soldier boyfriend, except, surprise! It's actually that weird comic-science time travel has transported the younger version of your boyfriend out of 1936(and you guys hadn't talked about feelings yet in 1936)? And being the human that he is, the 1936 version of your boyfriend doesn't understand why, as a 5'4, 18-year-old, with asthma and a dozen other health conditions, it's not the best idea for him to immediately charge into battle as an Avenger or to, very literally, climb into your lap? Yeah, Bucky is facing some serious challenges here, okay? And that is just during the first chapter of this fic.

Quote:

"Why would you…" He gestures at himself, coughs out a laugh, and looks at Bucky with the kind of pure vulnerability that always knocks him flat. "Bucky, come on. Why would you…?"

Bucky feels the tension drag out of him, ebbing away into sympathy. "Come on, Rogers," Bucky says, softer than he'd like. "You know better than that. You're -- you're a force of fucking nature." He gives a fragile smile and swallows; clasps his hands together, nerves clustered in his throat. "There's nowhere you could go that I wouldn't follow, just to watch you try to take on the world. Including the future, apparently, god help us both."

🌙The Kinder Thing | Stele3 | Mature | 27,474 words | *Post-2016 Recs*

I don't think I've ever been as surprised by a fic as I was by this one. This fic does have all the things the tags and summary say it will. There very much is, of course, time travel! There absolutely is an age difference going on here — for most of the fic, anyway — because of the time travel! But, at its heart, this fic is about how there is literally nothing that can keep these two apart. It's shockingly beautiful.

Quote:

Bucky peers up at Steve through his eyelashes. “And how much longer have you got?”

Steve has no answer for that, either, and so he pulls Bucky into the bedroom. If this were someone else, he’d be barking at them to get their head on straight, he’s on a fucking mission right now, but all of that fades into the feel of his fingers skimming over Bucky’s chest as he pulls his shirt out of his trousers. It used to frustrate the hell out of him to watch movies where characters make terrible mistakes because of sexual desire; he’s never felt anything that strongly, certainly not enough to ruin his whole damn life, let alone jeopardize the space-time continuum.

When Steve bites down on Bucky’s shoulder, he gasps loudly in his small bedroom, his narrow body arching up against Steve’s, and Steve thinks, Yeah. He gets it, now. He thinks he’s been missing Bucky his whole life without even knowing him.

Time Loops

☀️offer me that deathless death | canistakahari | Explicit | 10,656 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Bucky relives the day he falls from the train over and over. Exactly as painful as sounds (but with a canon-divergent post-TWS ending, so we're okay.) Wartime Steve and Bucky romance that absolutely guts me. I can't overstate how much I love this fic.

Quote:

He reaches for Steve impulsively, cupping his jaw in his hand. “I can’t stand you,” he murmurs.

Steve raises an eyebrow, keeping still in Bucky’s grip. “Is that so?”

He really is unbearable. It’s hard to look at him directly, to see his smooth, earnest features screwed up with gentle concern. Steve’s mouth is soft and vulnerable and Bucky is helpless to give into the urge to press a kiss to his lips. The shape of him has changed in so many ways, but his eyes and mouth, his crooked nose, all remain achingly familiar.

☀️I can't remember how this started (but I can tell you exactly how it ends) | gwyneth_rhys @teatotally | Mature | 12,391 words

A time loop fic that sees Bucky continually reliving the day of the Project Insight launch and remembering/recovering more and more each time he does. Angsty and romantic and so beautifully done.

Quote:

When he opens his eyes, Bucky wants to cry. Maybe he is crying. They’re all staring at him as if he’s suddenly started tap-dancing and singing a song. He wipes at his eyes, and yeah, there are tears there, so of course they’re completely panicked. Codename: Winter Soldier isn’t exactly programmed to cry, so this is a major failure of the conditioning. He kills them as quickly as he can, because it’s just annoying to be stared at like that.

There may not be many good things in this day, but being able to kill some of the people who’ve tormented him for so long over and over and over again is definitely helping him work out some issues, as they say nowadays.

Bucky gets twelve more delirious, wonderful, hot days with Steve, rediscovering everything he loved about loving him. Sometimes it’s slow and tender and sweet, other times they fuck like rabbits in heat, but then it all goes pear-shaped.

Alternate selves

➿Asymmetry | Candlemaker | Teen | 46,423 words | **Post-Engame Recs**

I feel like this is fic on this list I've most often seen rec'd by other people, and I get why. This fic is a delight. Steve and Bucky, along with Sam, Clint, and Tony, find themselves in another timeline — a timeline where Steve and Bucky are married. Alternate timeline Steve and Bucky's relationship is unbelievably sweet, and this way of getting main timeline Steve and Bucky together is such a great balance of angst and fun. I also love this fic for using a trope I normally don't even like and managing to make me enjoy it very, very much.

Quote:

Steve watches them go in muted disbelief, eyes flicking from the back of his own head to their joint hands, metal and flesh fingers intertwined.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Clint coos to Steve and Bucky once their doppelgangers have disappeared down the hall, hands pressed to his cheeks and eyes wide like he is looking at a particularly cute puppy. When Steve can draw his eyes away from his own retreating back (there's no way his shoulders are that huge, right?) to risk a glance at Bucky, he finds his friend resolutely avoiding his gaze, arms wrapped around himself and hair shielding his expression from view.

“Clint-“ Sam warns, levelling the archer with a dangerous look and flicking his gaze pointedly between where Bucky is visibly distressed and Steve just looks lost.

“No, really, the cutest. I didn’t have you pinned as the settling down type, Barnes, but-“

➿Forcing All These Hollow Hearts to Feel Again | paperstorm | Explicit | 12,175 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Okay, so, I very much appreciate the way people take the — honestly incomprehensible — concept of timelines/time travel in the MCU as presented in Endgame and use it to write fic involving multiple Steves and/or Bucky in which: a) A large part of the premise is Steve and Bucky are together in all timelines b) There is a threesome/foursome/etc but everyone involved is Steve or Bucky. I'm very fond of this because: a) the 'in every timeline' thing is just ridiculously romantic, and b) I feel like the MCU would hate this particular use of their own time travel rules — and, whatever, but that brings me a little bit of joy.

Anyway, I've read multiple fics that fall under this general premise. For the purposes of this list, I'm rec'ing this very, very soft and lovely hurt/comfort one. This fic does a gorgeous job with Steve's guilt and grief, and also works as an Endgame fix-it of sorts.

Quote:

Steve nods. They walk, hand in hand through the mud, and slowly Steve pulls back the flap on the tent. His former self is on the cot, now, curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face pushed into the meager pillow, his big body tucked into as tight a ball as he can manage. Steve distinctly remembers, after the serum, missing being small in moments of sadness and wishing desperately he could curl up in Bucky’s lap like he used to, safe and protected. He doesn’t remember if that’s what he was thinking about in this exact moment, but given the circumstances, wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Fic Rec Series

#SteveBucky #Stucky fic #stucky fic rec #Fic recs #fic rec series #Me rambling about other people's writing #There are so many talented people who have and do write for this fandom #and I just like to talk to about it

126 notes · View notes

mynotsohealthyobsession · 1 year

Text

Disembodied Part 3/8

Warning: Mention of death // Angst // Fluff

Pairings: Adrian Raines X MC // Nik Ryder X MC

Words: 1.348

Part 1 is here and part 2 over here!

As always, tags in the reblog!

"Adrian." Amy called him, a tiny smile creeping the corners of her lips. He observed her for an instant, almost as if he could see beyond Alex's face. "It's so good to see you." A week had passed and every fiber of her body was missing him.

"Excuse me but I don't believe we have met before."

"I know this is going to sound crazy. Insane actually. But I swear it's true." He was looking at her with a cold analytical stare. It was intense and piercing. It reminded her of her first interview with him so many months ago. "I'm Amy." He stood stoic as ever. "Amy Miller. As in Amy Miller your, well, I was going to say assistant but I think that's not totally adequate."

"I think you mistook me for someone else," Adrian said, politely, turning on his heels, and heading to Raines Corp.'s front door.

"I had a free minute. Is this the candidate?" Adrian stood, turning to observe her once more. "To Nicole's annoyance, you interviewed me. You told me a story about a genie and a man. You hired me on the spot."

"That's not conclusive."

"You saved Lily for me. That night we kissed for the first time in the rooftop restaurant."

"You'll have to excuse my skepticism–"

"You told me about Charles and Eleanor." Amy took a hesitant step towards him. "You talked about them in your cabin when Vega set you up. We were with Kamilah. But we spent the night together alone and you said you would always be there for me."

"How did you–"

"You have a silver locket with Charles' drawing. It's the most important thing to you. You risked coming here with me to take it out of the safe before the fight with Gaius when you destroyed your labs. And after I stabbed Gaius and he attacked me back, you ran to me and held me." As the memories filled her heart with both pain and warmth, the emotion cut off her words. She blinked, trying to contain her tears, touching her chest unconsciously. "I died in your arms."

"Amy?" Adrian looked into her eyes, almost like he was expecting to recognize her soul. "How can it be you?" She took a step forward and before she expected it, Adrian had dropped his briefcase and was hugging her. For the first time in the last week and even trapped inside this strange body, she felt like herself. His warmth and his hand on her head, putting that perfect amount of pressure so typical of him, calming her nerves. Amy closed her eyes; letting the feeling spread. "I knew there was something off. It was your appearance but it wasn't you."

"You really noticed it?"

"Of course I did." She hugged him back, taking a deep breath. They stood like that for a while, ignoring the curious looks of the people walking past and the destroyed city around them. Finally, he gently pulled back from her, attentively observing her 'new' face. "What happened, Amy?"

"I don't know, I… I remember the fight against Gaius and then I woke up under the sun in New Orleans looking, well… Like this." His hands cupped her face, eyebrows furrowing with sorrow and concern. "Do you really believe me?"

"I do."

"Even with all the craziness?"

"Even with it." Amy focused on his eyes, that calm stare that always comforted her. "After all, we are getting good with craziness, don't you think?" She softly chuckled before becoming serious again.

"I have been so worried and scared, I woke up alone and none of you were around and I thought that Gaius–"

"We are all fine, Amy. I promise."

"I just… I missed you." She whispered.

"I missed you too." Adrian took a deep breath, leaning his forehead down with his eyes closed. “There are so many things I need to say to you. So much to ask you. I–”

"Sorry to cut off short such a cute encounter…" Nik's sarcastic voice said as he walked to them. Instinctively, at the sight of his bow, Adrian stood in front of her. Amy smiled to herself, remembering the first time he had protected her like this in Priya's fashion show. "...But I need to see if Alex is okay, Amy."

"I know, I know." She sighed and Adrian turned to her.

"What is going on, Amy? Who is he?" He asked her, suspiciously.

"Nik Ryder, Adrian Raines." Both men eyed each other. "You said it was my appearance? So, my body is here?" Amy asked Adrian.

"Seems like it." Nik took a step to the door but Adrian extended his arm, stopping him. "I still don't know who you are." Nik watched him clearly mad. "Until Amy explains everything, a nighthunter will not come into my building."

"Then you do know who I am," Nik smirked, smuggling.

"No. I just know your type." He replied, coldly, his stare stopping in all and each of the weapons that Nik was carrying with him.

"Now listen, bloodsucker…" Adrian narrowed his eyes at that term and stood his whole high, looking more intimidating than ever. "...I don't have time for this. I will come in with or without your 'permission'."

"Nik, cut it out." Amy said angrily, rolling her eyes. "Adrian, Nik is Alex's friend. The girl this body belongs to. We think that if I'm in her body–"

"--She is in yours." Adrian finished her sentence and Amy nodded. "Seems plausible."

"Okay then." Nik headed to the front door again but Adrian stopped him once more. "What game are you playing, Raines?!"

"I trust what Amy says without doubt but, before this, she doesn't know who you are." He was calm but firm, his body was taut, ready to take any course of action that was necessary. "Alex has to corroborate who you are. I'm not risking Amy's soul or body in the hands of a nighthunter." Amy smiled at him, gently squeezing his arm.

"I could say the same about you." Nik's voice was more similar to a snarl than actual words, however, Adrian kept his composure.

"I concur. That's why Amy is going to talk with Alex alone. Do you agree?" Nik simply nodded so Adrian turned back to her. “In that case.” He gave her the elevator key. “She’s in the guest penthouse. We will be waiting here."

"Okay."

"If you need me, call for me. I will hear you." He gently touched her cheek, searching her eyes like he was still trying to see beyond her features. "Take your time." He planted a small kiss on her forehead.

“Amy.” She whirled to Nik. “Tell Alex I'm waiting for her too.”

"I will." Amy took a deep breath and headed to the crystal doors, feeling her stomach twisting around anxiously. As she walked inside the building everything felt familiar but at the same time so different. Maybe it was because this strange face was reflected in all the glass instead of hers. The metallic doors were replaced by the wood ones that belong to the penthouse. Amy stood there, thinking about what she was about to find on the other side. To see herself like that, out of her body, was a scary thought without a doubt. And there was no way to know how Alex would react. If it was Alex at all. The seconds passed until she gathered the courage to lift her hand and ring the doorbell. She heard steps getting closer and closer as her heart sped up uncontrollably.

“Who is it?”

“Um, sorry to bother you but Adrian sent me here.” Even though it wasn't entirely the truth, it would be easier than saying who she truly was. It was a chat to have face-to-face, not with a door between them.

“That’s weird, he didn’t mention anything about someone coming–” Amy held a gasp when her own image swung open the door and the other woman looked at her dumbstruck, clearly not expecting the vision she had in front of her. “What the…?”

#choices stories you play #playchoices #choices fanfiction #adrian raines x mc #adrian raines #fanfiction writer #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #choices bloodbound #choices nightbound #disembodied serie

19 notes · View notes

forestshadow-wolf · 1 year

Text

Blossoms of love

Spit and Blood Pairing: Soap/Ghost Important tags: angst, hurt/comfort, hanahaki

Ao3 link for those who wanted it || Chapter 2

Ghost barked another formation to run the recruits through, ignoring the rough scratchiness in his throat that he’s woken up with early that morning, as some nameless private approached him. They stopped a respectable distance away from him, and stood a parade rest, waiting for his acknowledgement to start speaking. His mouth opened to do just that but a shocking wave of pain tore through his throat before a sound could escape.

“What is it private?”, he finally managed to grind out, his voice rougher than intended. The kid jumped at that, probably assuming he wasn’t in a good mood today. Granted he wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he was gonna bite their head off.

“Captain Price is requesting your presence in the briefing room, sir.”, they spoke in a firm voice. He blew out a silent breath through his nose. He really wasn’t in the mood for a new mission.

“Thank you, private…”

“Junesped, sir, private junesped.” they seemed surprised to be asked such a question, as if it wasn’t normal protocol.

“Thank you, private junesped. Dismissed.'' The private gave him a hasty salute before wandering off to do his other tasks.

He called the recruits back up into formation before dismissing them for a final time, before he turned to make his way into the building. Soap joined him in the halls, chatting animatedly about whatever came across his mind. Ghost kept quiet, focusing on the intense flare of pain razing his throat. He had a nasty inkling that he knew this kind of pain before, an inkling which he pointedly ignored as he tried to focus on the scot beside him.

It wasn’t long before the pair reached his destination. It wasn’t much of a surprise when Soap stayed by his side, seeing how he hadn’t requested to go on any solo missions recently. Gaz was already sat at a chair near the head of the table, so Ghost made his way to one a few chairs back on the opposing side. Soap was just settling into the seat in front of him when Price walked in, papers and documents in hand.

“‘Right, listen up boys. Laswell says she’s gotten intel that’s picking up suspicious readings here, here, and here.” he gestured to three respective spots on a map he’d spread across the table. “Now, it could be local crime pushing up, but we think it’s more likely that…” Price’s voice becomes non-important as claws began tearing at his throat from the inside. Ghost has to fight to clamp down on the hacking cough he could feel trying to escape him.

“We leave at 0600 tomorrow morning, review the files, pack what you need. You’re relieved of your duties for the rest of the day.” the man said, as he tossed three files onto the table. Shit. He’d been too focused on trying to control his body, and had missed all the information. Oh well, he’ll just have to go over the file when he gets to his room.

Soap was first to get up, saying he was going to grab lunch, Gaz was quick to join him. The scot walked over to the door, before pausing a moment and giving Ghost that show-stopping smile. Another harsh stabbing of pain flung the breath from his body.

“Ya wanna join, L.T.?” he asked, as cheery as ever.

“Not today, Johnny, got work to do.” he barely managed to force out, in a voice that he hoped only sounded wet to his own ears.

“Aye, see ya later then, yea?” he said, nodding, as he opened the door for Gaz. Ghost made a sound of agreement, as he got up to follow the sergeant out of the room; file in hand.

As soon as the two sergeants were out of sight he booked it to his room, at a speed that could just barely be considered walking if you were Usain bolt. The door shut just as fast as it opened, he discarded the file onto his desk. He pulled his mask halfway up his face as he B-lined for the jointed bathroom, flicking on the light as soon as he could reach.

He barely reached the sink before he was doubled over, his body wracked with the hacking cough from earlier, his eyes shut tight against his movements. It only let up when he was starved for breath and tears broke his waterline. His lips were wet, and his throat stung an almost similar, yet unfamiliar sting.

He forced himself straight again, the image that reflected back at him in the mirror was anything but pretty. Blood gathered in the cracks and crevices in his lips, and dark bags lined his - now red-rimmed eyes, as he looked into the mirror. He didn’t allow himself to look in the sink as he blindly turned on the faucet. Or as he cupped water in his hand to wash away the red he knew spotted the white porcelain. Or as he wiped the wet debris down the drain with his hand. Only after he was sure that it was back to spotless white did he look away from the mirror. Only then did he wash his lips of the now flaking red on his lips.

As he was taking a mouthful of water to cleanse the tang from his mouth, he was hit with a sense of deja vu. He’s been through this before, in a time long past, when the pain was so through it strangled the breath from his lungs. He spit the pink water down the drain, and turned off the faucet, and drew a steadying breath as he dried off his face. He pulled the mask back over his face, looked in the mirror one last time, and left.

---------------

@checkerscharlie @halb-nichts @heyitsropi @trekkie-in-space

#cod mw2 #cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghostsoap #soapghost #el rambles #hanahaki #Blossoms of Love

42 notes · View notes

bookwyrminspiration · 2 years

Text

Prompt: “Jeez, I don’t even wanna know how you got that battle wound there; sit down and let me fix it up, won’t you?“ for Sophie and Tam! (this one is platonic)

for the lovely @xanadaus, the first of the several dialogue prompts I'm working on :)

-word count: 3.2k

-warnings: injury, blood, as expected of the prompt

“As my charge, your safety is my utmost responsibility, and that cut should take priority over all else right now. I thought we agreed we would take you to see Elwin--not here.” Sandor’s squeaky voice growled out a few goblinese curses as he looked around, eyeing the grasses swaying in the night breeze as though they, personally, contained all the evil in the world and needed slaying.

Sophie’s focus was elsewhere. Namely, the infinite expanse of stone stairs before her, the absolute absurdity of a workout that stood between her and Solreef’s only entrance. She would’ve teleported to the top of the steps if she’d had any sense of reasoning, but her mind fogged and lagged, the pounding in her head unbearable. At least the moonlight wasn’t bright enough to make her headache any worse.

“Elwin can be next,” she assured him, already exhausted as she started up the first steps. “This is just…important. And they probably have first aid supplies inside, so you can stop your bodyguard whining and do…whatever it is you do when you set up security.”

It dawned on her that she had no clue what “security” entailed, but it was the least of her concerns at the moment. Sandor could bitch and moan all he wanted, but he’d still have to follow after her. He couldn’t leave without her, and right now, she needed to be here.

Solreef.

Her mind reeled, thoughts wandering through fog and hazes as she climbed, adrenaline from mere minutes ago still pushing her through the worst of it, through the stinging pain.

Sandor had given her a bit of cloth to hold to the wound, and she pressed it tight to the seeping cut in her bicep, ignoring how every step jolted it as they climbed. Heat spread from the area, hot blood rushing to escape the confines of her skin.

It could’ve been worse, she reminded herself. Could’ve been her leg, could’ve been a bullet, could’ve been a stab.

Just a neat slash across the bicep, that’s all. Not enough to send her running to Elwin just yet, not until she’d gotten to see Tiergan.

She just hoped he’d forgive her for waking him up in the middle of the night.

It’s not like she got to plan when she was attacked and the Neverseen let slip a new, vital piece of information. It’s not like she planned for it to concern Prentice.

“Would you like me to carry you the rest of the way? You’re getting paler--another excellent reason we should save this for later and go to Elwin.” Sandor’s hands couldn’t be tighter on the hilt of his sword, and if she hadn’t been there herself she wouldn’t have even known they’d just been involved in an impromptu attack except for his own leaking cuts. He didn’t react to them at all, stupid goblins with their stupid high pain tolerance.

Sophie sighed, refusing to admit how nice painkillers sounded right then. “We’re basically there already, so there’s no point.”

Just a dozen more steps and they crested the top, her knees wobbling as her head spun, the oxygen in the air failing to ease the woozy pounding in her head as it filled her lungs. Had the air gotten thinner up here?

“I can think of several points still, and if you grow any paler I will be hailing Elwin on my own to come see you right this instant,” he argued back, glaring at her. Even with the exasperation, she knew he meant well. Knew he wanted what was best for her--though sometimes they disagreed on what that was.

Because right now she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she’d relayed what she’d learned, until she’d gotten Tiergan right in front of her and talked him through everything. And then he could decide what to do next, how it would affect Prentice.

“It’s fine!” Her voice rang louder than she meant, and she cleared her throat.

Sweat beaded on her face, her skin sticky to the touch as her hair caught in it, fingers pallid and shaky as she raised her hand, releasing the pressure on her cut for a moment as she reached for the door.

Before she could rap her knuckles against it or press the doorbell, it swung open and she blinked, putting her hand back on her injury.

Tam blinked back, looking between her and Sandor. “...Hi.”

His eyes narrowed as he took in her face, and she didn’t want to know what she looked like at the moment, only wanted to not be standing anymore, to sit down and take a nap until the world ended and then keep on napping.

But she had something to do first.

“Hi,” she echoed, and they all ignored that it took her a few times to get through the word, tongue dry as it sucked to the roof of her mouth, the chill air only exacerbating the problem. “I need to…to talk to Tiergan?”

Sandor sniffed at the air, suspicion crawling along his features as he scowled. Something nearby had caught his attention, and he drew a small dagger as he turned away from the door. “I expect you to make this quick, Sophie. I’ll be scouting the perimeter to ensure nothing is out of place before I come to get you--and then we are heading directly to Elwin.”

He waited until she said Sure, sure, before he stalked off, Tam stepping out of the way so she could enter, the sweeping doors of Solreef shutting with a muffled click as he locked them behind them.

It took her mind a moment to figure out what to do next, eyes traveling along the walls as she tried to remember if she even knew where Tiergan’s room was. She’d seen his office, but doubted he’d be there after midnight.

Her grip had loosened on her cut, and she winced as she readjusted, keeping the pressure firm as she could with her shaky hands.

“Where…?” she started, trailing off as she turned to look at Tam, who had a bowl of some mysterious late night snack in his hand he was trying to figure out where to set before he gave up, resolving to hold it.

He frowned. “You don’t look so good.”

“I had no idea,” she mumbled.

“Do you need to like…sit down…or something? He asked, looking around the foyer, which was notably lacking when it came to chairs. Unless you wanted to sit on a rather spikey plant Tiergan had placed in the corner, but she’d pass.

“Nah, I’m so good,” Sophie told him. “Just need Tiergan. Do you…where is he?” She started to take a few steps into the house, peering through doorways and into an adjacent living room, a book left open on a table before it, but wobbled hard enough she had to stop to catch her breath.

“Woah, okay,” Tam said, catching her good arm. “Seriously, Sophie. You’re going to fall over--can whatever it is wait? How important is…whatever you’re here for?”

“Very important,” she managed, but her eyelids were fluttering shut, and not even several deep breaths could clear her mind. “Neverseen. I need to talk to him.”

Tam made a noise of surprise as she--against the orders she was giving her body--leaned against him as her legs started to give out, fingers holding on for dear life to keep the pressure on that wound, the cut ripped through her skin as it spilled her life onto the floor.

Holding her up more than she was holding herself up, something shifted in him. Any hint of that surprised, awkward Tam who’d opened the door turned into resolute command as his expression hardened.

His eyes scanned her over quickly and he shook his head, huffed out a breath. “Jeez, I don’t even wanna know how you got that battle wound there; sit down and let me fix it up, won’t you?“

She only hummed in response as he led her into the adjacent living room she’d been peering into, scanning it as though Tiergan’s sleeping form would, for some reason, be sprawled out on the couch when he was in his own home with his own bedroom.

He half-set, half-threw his bowl onto the table beside the book so he could put Sophie down on the couch beside it, the curtains across drawn in just the right way that moonlight spilled in a perfect section over her body, no more, no less, a spotlight on her as she tried to focus on her breathing.

Seriously, it was just a stupid little cut--why was her body being so whiney about it? Especially when she needed to talk to Tiergan, especially when she was only rooms away from passing along the crucial thing she’d learned when the Neverseen had decided to pop into her life in the middle of the night.

“Alright, stay right here. I promise I won’t be more than a minute, the emergency kit is upstairs. Keep the pressure on that.”

“You got it,” she said, but the words dragged and dragged from her mouth, tongue thick and starchy.

With each pulse of her heart thumping laboriously in her chest, she could feel it prickling at the hot edges of the cut, more of her life soaking that cloth practically glued to her skin with blood.

She counted them, the double noises of the muscle contractions that kept her alive, reaching seventy-eight before Tam’s hurried footsteps skidded outside the room and he rounded the corner, a fabric box of a bag in hand.

“Oh, good. You’re not dead.” He unzipped the bag, the clink of vials greeting her as he took a seat next to her, on the side with her injury.

Sophie snorted. “You wish.”

She could practically hear his brows grinding together, though she wasn’t looking. There was a particular scuff on the otherwise perfect floor she’d found, and staring at it was way better than trying to move. When she moved, so did the room.

“Give me your arm,” was all he said, and she dropped the cloth and held it out closer to him.

“If I sit still and be good, will you get Tiergan?”

He scrunched up his nose. “You’re clearly out of it, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. But sure. What do I care? I’ll get him--if you wait for me to clean this up.”

Sophie debated arguing with him further, but he could be more stubborn than even she was at times, and resisting would’ve taken precious energy she needed to save to actually explain everything to Tiergan.

“Fine. Deal,” she ended up saying, letting her eyes fall closed and her head thump against the wall behind her.

Tam pressed something into her good hand. “That should help with the pain.”

The cool glass of the vial had her near weeping from the feeling against her hot, somehow still clammy fingers as she opened her eyes just enough to pull the cork out with her teeth, downing the contents all at once.

Thick syrup coated her tongue, and she sent a thanks to whichever elf had discovered how to make painkillers instantaneous--seriously, how did that work--as the throbbing heat in her arm faded to a buzz, then a whisper, then to complete emptiness where her bicep should’ve been.

She couldn’t even feel a sliver of discomfort as Tam peeled away the soaked cloth, which had started to dry and cling to her skin. Nor could she tell when he cleaned the area, could only feel the icy shiver of it as it raised goosebumps on her arm, not even the sting of an antiseptic seeking through.

Some of the fog drifted from her mind, and she could look around without her insides trying to escape her body, but the dizziness hadn’t faded.

Tam saw her moving though, and dug around in the bag at his feet before placing another vial into her hand. The temperature wasn’t as shocking as the first time round, and she had enough sense of herself to actually process what was happening.

“Should I be worried about whatever's in these?” she asked, holding the vial up and watching the moonlight reflect off the crisp edges of the shape. “You could be poisoning me and I’m just drinking them, completely oblivious.”

Tam snorted, but paused. “It’s for blood-regeneration. Because you’ve clearly lost track of yours.”

“I know exactly where all my blood is,” she told him, but pulled the cork out anyway, hoping this one would get rid of the rest of the haze. It went down smoother, more watery, and she couldn’t help comparing it to the very fluid it was supposed to regenerate as she set that vial down next to the first one.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But it’s not supposed to be on the couch.”

“I’m bleeding on your couch?”

She jerked forward, messing up whatever wrapping Tam was putting on her bicep, a startled noise escaping him.

Sure enough, right between her and Tam was a pool of blood soaked into the couch cushion, wet, warm, and definitely looking like it was going to stain.

“Aw, shit. I didn’t mean to--”

“Will you sit still?” he grumbled, pulling her back so he could readjust the wrapping. “No one will care about the blood. We’ll wash it out. Now can I finish this so you’ll stop bleeding out and can talk to Tiergan? Wasn’t that the whole reason you’re here?”

He rolled his eyes as hers widened, mollified.

The seconds ticked by as she came up empty with a retort, so she stuck out her tongue at him instead.

He made a face back, but otherwise didn’t respond as he carefully and securely tied off his work. Neat and clean, enough so she could’ve fooled anyone into thinking it was Elwin’s handiwork.

“There. Now you just need to be gentle with yourself--not that you know how to, but if you did, that’s what you’d need to do,” he told her, wiping her blood from his hands with a clean cloth.

“You need to be gentle,” she responded on instinct, years of listening to her little sister’s petty insults and retorts spurring her tongue forward.

She held up her arm, twisting to look at the bandage, fingering the edges and poking at the layers, smiling slightly when it didn’t budge. Her smile deepened when she realized her mind was present enough to actually make those kinds of observations, noting the texture of the cloth, the warmth of her skin, assessing its tightness and how it felt to move her arm around.

Clearly, he hadn’t poisoned her, because those elixirs had blown the fog blearying her mind straight out of it; she could think again. She hadn’t realized how fatigued and slow her thoughts had become until they started racing again, which would be a huge help for why she was here.

“Thank you,” she finally said, letting her hands fall into her lap. “I, um, clearly needed that. Where’d you even learn how to do this? I was just going to call Elwin.”

Tam had been about to get up, presumably to go find Tiergan, since she’d been oh so compliant and good and had let him patch her up.

He paused instead, and shrugged, looking off somewhere she couldn’t follow. “In the Neutral Territories, you either learned or you didn’t get better. You saw the medical tent,” he added, and she nodded.

Horribly understocked and underfunded, worn away well past its years, the Boobrie Dude--she’d have to remember to ask for his real name someday--had only been able to use what he could make from his spoils found in the forest. He’d found various natural materials he could identify and put to use. But they weren’t exactly up to elven standards, and definitely not good if anything serious ever happened.

“Well…thank you. I’m sorry you had to learn that way.”

“It’s useful, sometimes. Like when people show up bleeding on your doorstep from mysterious injuries at one in the morning.”

A laugh escaped before she could help herself as she rubbed at her eyes, wishing she was a normal teenager who could be asleep at an hour like this without worrying for her life. Or for everyone else’s. Like Prentice’s.

But she wasn’t, and that’s why she’d come.

“Got it. I will not show up bleeding from mysterious injuries on your doorstep at one in the morning again.”

Tam made a face.

“I will show up at two in the morning instead.”

“You have to sleep at some point, Sophie,” he chastised, shaking his head at her, but it didn’t hide how the corners of his lips turned up for a moment.

Sophie snorted. “Says the guy who was awake at one in the morning…reading?” she hazarded, sticking out her chin to point at the novel still open on the table. She’d spotted it when looking around, but had been too woozy to look at it any further as he’d patched her up.

Now, however, she could see it had been left open to page 273--a number she could, to her surprise, actually read. Upon closer inspection, the words appeared to be written in gnomish, though it didn’t look like some of the other gnomish works she’d seen, journals kept in colored ink, bound and decorated with petals, pages stained different muted hues of whatever flora had gone into making it.

Tam scratched at the back of his neck, looking tempted to close it. “Tiergan thought I’d like it, so…why not? Oh, right, Tiergan.” He interrupted himself, pushing to his feet with a start as he moved towards the doorway.

On his way, he grabbed a handful of whatever was in the snack bowl he’d left beside the book. Given how long she’d been there, you’d think she’d recognize more of the food, but the elves were always pulling out new, random snacks with the most ridiculous names possible.

Ripplefluffs. Fluffcreams. Indigoobers.

She shook her head, listening to Tam’s fading footsteps as he went to find Tiergan for her as she scooted closer to the table to take a closer peek at whatever the book was about.

She got the vague sense it was some sort of mythology, but she didn’t want to turn the page to confirm her suspicions and lose his spot.

Instead, she grabbed a piece of whatever wafer-shaped thing he was munching on and popped it in her mouth as she waited.

Books and snacks in the middle of the night? That was definitely something she could get behind.

Maybe one day, one day when they had the time and peace, she and Tam could read together in the middle of the night, moonlight their only company as the time ticked past, bowls of snacks and treats--hopefully something recognizable--between them in the silence.

She’d like that, she thought. It’d been all too long since she’d last read for fun.

Yeah, once this was over, once she’d talked to Tiergan, once she’d seen Elwin, she’d ask him.

One day.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfic #quil's quill #sophie x tam #formatting is being annoying so if this looks weird I will cry /hyp #but also enjoy!#the first of the prompts! now I've got a particular pair I'm very eager to work on...:)#also would it be helpful/preferred to have these on ao3 as well?#i was just gonna do tumblr but now I’m reconsidering. thoughts? /g

65 notes · View notes

jeridoesntdourls · 2 months

Text

OH GOD its been so long since i posted something actually to do with the arcana BUT i have returned with more thoughts. On my old post about character dynamics and the such with my main 3 (Borea, Attis, Minos) I hadn't quite figured out who they actually were as characters. I had an "aesthetic" in mind, motivations and themes but they all traversed conflict in almost the exact same way so to me it always read as one character just reskinned. GOOD NEWS, i have fixxed this along with some other changes :3

So firstly, name changes. Borea's last name goes from Norche to just Norte (I thought Norte was a little too on the nose but Norche just doesn't sound latin enough to me LMAO). So her full name is now Borea Xandra Norte. Personality wise shes very withdrawn and prefers to spend time buried in paperwork than going to actual Syndicate meetings. The Syndicate is a council that gathers leaders from the various trades and professions that decide the actions taken by the nation of Tua. Borea is extremely well respected amongst her peers, being one of the only houses that sends only one representative to these meetings. She would love to sit them out but feels as if she has to live up to the expectations placed upon her by what seems to be everyone. Truly just a nerd who is very picky about the people who she lets see her more vulnerable side. She tends to be the organizer in a chaotic family, with siblings spread out across the nation and one even leaving to explore the lands beyond, she tries her best to nurture the tenderness and care her parents had sown into them. Because of this she yearns for some sort of clear order and reason to things around her but this instinct has a tendency to become wildly idealistic and removed from reality. She has some awareness to that and together with her fondness for rebels, as her parents both were, she has a soft spot for passionate and practical people, especially her younger sister, Eurus.

Attis Salvo is a golden boy through and through. He is the son of the leaders of an outcast group named the Brass Ring, responsible for mining the ores prevalent through Tua and using them to forge the first fire weapons. After his parents recent death he is left to wade through diplomatic relationships between the new Syndicate and the Brass Ring. Historically, the members of the Ring have fallen ill because of working in the mines and were common amongst the casualties of the revolution. Vesuvia had made a deal with the rebels to offer military aid, which they did not provide, forcing the Brass Ring to create primitive pistols and even armed turrets. Because of this, members of the Ring are against joining the Syndicate and their planned alliance with Vesuvia. Attis is barely scraping by, he knows he can deal with social predicaments much better than his sister but the pressure makes him less reliable, preferring to simply ignore the situation all together or treat it as something beneath him. He was a brilliant artificer in his youth but now he chases the high of starting new projects without minding the pile of half-done inventions lying around his tent. The only lasting happiness he can feel is when he can loose himself into his memories of when his parents were alive, but even that is momentary.

Mino's name is now Medea Ferne Moura! I'm still not too set on how I imagine them to look. Medea was born into the Heilist faith (basically fantasy Christianity), all of their close family and community at large spun around the church and in service to it. Heilsim is not native to Tua but was imported by their original colonizers as a way to pacify the masses, this included a doctrine which valued pain and sacrifice above all else as a form of holiness. Despite it's later reform "God Favors The Lost" is still the church's motto. It was once said as a way of encouraging the subservience of Tua's natives by dangling the loss of approval from God above their heads in case of a counter-attack, now it's a universal chant that God is beside the losers of history until they can stand on their own. This new interpretation has only just barely caught on popularity, there are still groups within the unified church that believe the old doctrine, including a handful of frequenters of the Church of Sebastium, Medea's workplace. Medea themself grew up with the old interpretation and is marked by it. Within them is a deep need to help those who are less fortunate but it is steeped not in a want to do good but in a want to be innocent and, in the conception of the old church, better than the violent revolutionary. Medea, despite rationally knowing better, sabotages themself and others constantly both out of religious need to be victimized and a subconscious want to be needed. They fear that when a person is no longer less fortunate they will be rejected and abandoned, further progressing their internal conflict. This violent battle is covered up by a facade of care and niceties that can not be ruled as entirely false.

#the arcana #the arcana oc #the arcana worldbuilding #attis salvo #borea norte #medea ferne #tua #Not too sure on their color pallets yet #might change Attis' signature color to yellow and Medea's to pink but I'll leave that for latter.

2 notes · View notes

everybody-loves-purdy · 1 year

Note

Honestly I just have like 90% of TigerDove shippers blocked at this point, it just. makes me extremely uncomfortable to see ppl ship them, especially after they’re made aware of the creepiness of it all. Nobody tries to go out of their way this hard to justify DustFern or SpottedFire (which are also bad ofc) so I don’t get why some ppl feel the need to defend this particular ship so much

I don’t understand it either

I do know a lot of people don’t remember oots properly and don’t remember how bad it started. So I completely understand there.

But I have had a few conversations with TigerDove shippers where I’ve pointed out my problems with the ship and I’ve usually been ignored. In one instance someone insisted they saw it like an 18 year old dating a 16 year old but it just isn’t? They met when he was a new warrior and she was a new apprentice. So when they met it would have been like a 12-14 year old meeting an 18 year old (and I feel even that might not be too accurate given that even Flametail has had time to get his medicine cat name at this point!). And at best by the time they started dating it would have been like a 16/17 year old dating a 20/21 year old. She doesn’t become a warrior until the book following them starting dating, and they meet several times before then so it’s not like she was on the cusp of being a warrior like some claim.

I just don’t get it why people want to defend this ship so hard. I think it’s because he dotes on Dovewing now, but that shouldn’t excuse the absolute disaster the relationship started out as.

I have found it to be an issue as well where because of people liking this ship they keep mischaracterising Tigerheartstar and ignoring how awful he is to other people and downplaying his actions in order to make the ship seem more wholesome. The whole point of him is to be a morally grey character, let him be that! But unfortunately I’ve seen the idea of him being nothing more than a silly wife guy with one brain cell be spread around more and more, but that just isn’t him. Lots of people I saw their main takeaway about his character in Shadow be that he makes dad jokes, but there’s so much more to him than that!

Despite my hatred of Tigerheartstar it pains me to see this reduction of his character. I hate him but I appreciate his character’s writing, so, so much, and I feel that given how important he currently is to the plot that the fandom should embrace who he actually is rather than shape him into something he is absolutely not. Otherwise we may end up in a situation where he does an absolutely shitty thing in his temper or out of pride and some may call it out of character when it’s the exact opposite and that just harms any discussions of the books and his character.

#TigerDove #Tigerstar #Tigerheartstar #Dovewing #malachaiiiii

15 notes · View notes

andyfire122 · 11 months

Text

Fictober23 day 23: "No, you won't understand, ever."

(Fandom invader zim. Ves things when she returned to earth.)

For once the group that was watching them didn’t have their weapons out. It was just a group of humans. It hadn’t been long since Ves had returned to Earth. It took a moment to get used to how much it changed.

It was harsh, but at least there wasn’t the usual trouble that seemed to spread in space.

She sighed. “Explain again what you’re trying to do?”

One of the groups stepped forward. Looked like a woman that V recognized from her father's lab. It made sense considering how everyone on this planet seemed to always look up to membrane labs to save the world.

I have a feeling I know where this is going, and I hate it.

"Gazoline, you are the heir to your father's legacy. Even with that technology on you, the people will understand." She was trying to be gentle.

It still didn’t change that they were asking a teenager to be a symbol for the world. The same world that called them a traitor for having a Pak attached to her.

Her eyes narrowed. "Let's ignore the fact you're still asking me to fix this shit show and I'm 14. What happened to the traitor to humanity?"

I kinda wish you were awake right now Zes. Though...with how this is. Rest more, I got this.

The woman flinched at Ves’s words. “We understand you might not have had a choice in that. I read your father’s report. With time, we could even figure out how to remove it.”

"No, you won't understand, ever." Ves finally pulled her hands out of her pockets. Part of the group gasped at how her fingers mutated a bit. Even without anyone's input, she knows. By now her body has become way too dependent on the Pak. The Pain was a good indicator that going back will never be an option.

The woman tried to reach out but pulled back. "Your right, I don't. Can you answer me then? Your father described that it was another mind within that device on your back. Are they giving you trouble?"

Ah, someone from Dad's lab who isn't a sheep. No wonder she's doing something important.

I can answer for myself...only if you're ok with it.

When did you wake up?

Just now..you were getting tense. I thought there was a fight for a second.

The Pak glowed as their posture changed with the switch. This was still very new to them. “I can speak for myself. Gaz..is my friend. We never asked for any of this to happen to us, but she doesn't want me to vanish. So I am here...I will protect her. Believe that is you don't believe anything else.”

Most everyone tensed at the fact it just seemed someone else was talking. The woman just calmed everyone down for a second before speaking again.

"I see now. You're both just kids. I suggest to get yourself to one of the bunkers. I can try to calm down at least the group we got if you need more help."

Ves just sighed. "No shit Sherlock. We were just leaving."

#fictober23 #invader zim #my writing #Ves #Invader zim gaz #Zes #hybrid #iz ask community

4 notes · View notes

percontaion-points · 1 year

Text

Lifeblood chapter 6 & bonus chapter 3

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 6

I spend the next day at home, trying to forget yesterday’s walk of shame. After Elizabeth’s announcement, I left the party and, after taking a few wrong Gates, managed to find my way back to the cathedral. No one came after me.

[...]

So far, all I’ve done is anger and upset the people I’m supposed to protect.

They haven’t done anything worth actually protecting. The only thing that they’re doing is causing further pain.

If you forget all else, remember this: love is always the answer. Love your realm. Love your people. Love yourself. This is right. This is good. Only when you choose love are you living in Light.

Even if you ignore Elizabeth, these people choose Ten because she serves a purpose to them. They couldn’t care less about her.

“Meet your teammates. The ones you’ll be working with directly. Everyone has a different specialty, and I believe you’ll complement each other well, despite the lack of experience. Like Archer, Victor spent time with Killian before he defected. And considering Killian helped you rescue Kayla and Reed from Many Ends, they’re the least likely to attack him and the most likely to aid you. Clay and Meredith love you and will guard you with their lives.”

He calls them “teammates”. I call them “all of the named characters”.

I step into my Shell...and this time, I stay put.

Chapter 6 summary: Ten goes home in a huff. Alone. Where she has another nightmare, and no Killian to save her. When she wakes up, she mopes around some.

Finally, because we need to have an actual plot, three men break into her apartment and drag her away. Elizabeth is the only one who seems pleased with this development, and Ten hates her for it.

But the men turn out to be Deacon, Victor, and Clay, who take her to Levi and a couple of other named characters. He tells her that there’s an urgent mission that requires her specific powers. See, Meredith told Ten about this Myridian disease that’s been spreading (I forgot to mention it because this book has no sense of importance to literally anything). Levi goes on to say that Secondking has hidden Mariee away after some threats made by Myridian against her, so Ten is the only one around. As untrained as she is. They’re going to give her a crash-course on how to do stuff in the Land of Harvest (aka the human world), where she’ll go face off against Killian for control over this young lady who has been infected. Oh, and Elizabeth is also on her team, as if the entire situation isn’t ridiculous enough as it is.

The first lesson is a shell, which is the only way to interact with mortals. Levi says some stuff about the weapons shells have, but again, it kind of feels like the author wrote a bunch of words, but none of them SEEM important. At least, not right now.

The first lesson in shells is simply to enter them. Which seems easy, but it’s actually really hard. Ten has to focus a lot simply to stay inside. But she’s determined, and eventually gets it.

Bonus chapter 3

A report of this exchange has been sent to your superior, General Levi Nanne.

Bonus chapter 3 summary: The first couple of “emails” are between Ten and Levi. Except that Ten sent them from inside her new shell, and she’s quite bad at working the keyboard; the message is literal gibberish, which Levi comments upon.

Then, there’s a long email from Killian to Ten. He said that Archer had given him a Troikan communication device before he’d died. He says that her dad is living it up, but that her mom has requested a trial date to switch sides, and Killian has his friends protecting her around the clock because of this.

When Ten tries to message him back (with some barely coherent nonsense), she gets an error message and a note that it’ll be reported to Levi.

#lifeblood #everlife series #bookblr #book review #scifi #romance novels #ya novels #dystopia #religious imagery

0 notes

cryingtulips · 1 year

Text

This Place is Not a Home

The pain meant he was repenting, and he needed to repent. If Lady Clara wouldn’t listen to his prayers for forgiveness, he would earn it another way.

CW: Religious themes, religious trauma

crossposted to ao3 || moodboard || Ch 4 || Ch 5 || Ch 6

~+~

Ch 5: I Only Want to Help

The next few weeks at Puffy’s were strange, but pleasant.

Puffy didn’t give him a chance to delve into his thoughts, something Tommy was thankful for. At first, Puffy assigned Tommy simple housework, too cautious to push him beyond his limits with his wings still healing. She asked him to broom, to dust, to do the laundry, to do the dishes, meanwhile, she was doing all the heavy lifting that Tommy should have been doing.

He was there to help, after all, and how could he help if he was constantly pushed away? It frustrated Tommy, to be babied and treated like glass. He wasn’t delicate, he wouldn’t break under the strain of a little weight.

Puffy would always argue otherwise, that she wasn’t babying him, but taking into consideration his back and wing muscles. “Have you even seen the state of your wings?” she would stress. Unknown to her, he hadn’t. Ever since his fall, he never properly looked at them.

He knew the state of his feathers when he first arrived. Half were gone, others frayed and damaged. What once was pure white and gold–bright enough to blind a human, was now a gentle gray, proof of his corruption. Whenever he moved, pain would spread throughout his back to the end tips of his feathers, some days it was manageable like a constant itch. Then there were the days where it felt like all the air in his lungs was punched out as his nerves burned.

He knew they were bad, but he never bothered to look at how drastic the state was.

He couldn’t.

He could never bring himself to.

He found himself scared, scared at what he would see, scared at what would come after. Not that his feelings mattered, because at the end of the day, his wings were meant to be a punishment. Whatever state they were in, it didn’t matter as long as it hurt, because if it hurt, that meant he was doing what Lady Clara asked of him.

The pain meant he was repenting, and he needed to repent. If Clara wouldn’t listen to his prayers for forgiveness, he would earn it another way.

But that was hard to do when Puffy would never listen to him.

At first, the arguments started small. Just little comments here and there, Tommy throwing an attitude whenever he saw Puffy, he even took to the silent treatment in a desperate hope that maybe she would finally see him, and listen to what he needs.

It never worked, and she would just send him off on another meager task. A month passed with no improvement, and soon, Tommy made the impulsive decision to act on his own.

It was after breakfast, and Puffy went out to feed the animals as Tommy was tasked to clean the living room. His back was itching, but it was nothing new, so Tommy ignored it.

Instead of doing as asked, Tommy stayed out on the porch, watching Puffy in the distance.

She was feeding the chickens first, seeing they were the easiest to handle as she spread the feeding over the grass. The hens were distracted, and Tommy watched as she gathered her basket as she headed into the coop, in the hope of more fresh eggs to sell that upcoming Sunday.

It was the monthly farmers market, one that Puffy had been preparing all week for; collecting homegrown fruits and vegetables and eggs, even preparing wool to sell. Puffy’s farm was small but well-known in the area, and this market provides Puffy some easy extra money.

Tommy knew how important it was to her, and had only wanted to help.

That’s all he ever wanted to do, was be of service like he was asked to do, both by his designation as an angel and by his deal with Puffy.

He ran to the shed that faced away from the coop, eyes flickering with no focus as the itch spread to something more painful, quickly overwhelmed on trying to decide what to grab in his haste to help.

He didn't know what to feed the cows and sheep, didn’t know what the different mixes were meant to be, or their measurements. Eyeing the shovel and wheelbarrow on the side of the wall, Tommy grinned at his solution. He may not know what the animals ate, but he knew for a fact the stalls had to be clean.

He grabbed the shovel, and threw it in the wheelbarrow without care, breath stuttering in anticipation. He grabbed the wheelbarrow, already planning the route to the barn that would go unnoticed. But the moment he tried to lift the cart, his wings and back were engulfed in pain, vision flashing as his body crumbled.

When he came to, it was to the muddled sight of Puffy’s face as the world blurred around him. There was tension in the lines of her mouth, and Tommy wanted to wipe the furrow away from her eyes. But everything was spinning and he felt nauseous, and the pain spiked when he attempted to move his wings.

He wanted to reassure her that he was fine, to put him down. But his limbs refused to move and his mouth struggled to cooperate and soon he found himself in darkness again, too weak to fight against fluttering eyelids.

When he finally opened his eyes again, certain he would be in Limbo, he found himself in Puffy’s living room. It gave him whiplash how much it resumed his first meeting with the human, all those days ago. He struggled to sit up, an ache to his limbs that felt alien and unfamiliar. He felt the blanket that was wrapped around him drop to his lap, and he turned his head to Puffy’s form.

She wasn’t looking at him but to the book in her lap. She wasn’t moving, and Tommy thought she perhaps fell asleep. He tried getting up, to do what he wasn’t sure, but he needed to get up. He didn’t want to be more of a burden, and needed to get up–to do something, anything. He tried getting up, only to freeze as his body strongly protested this idea, sharp breath hissing out from his lips. He tensed further at the sound of a book snapping close, slowly looking up into Puffy’s stare.

She looked mad, tense where she was sitting. Without meaning to, Tommy found himself flinching back, wings folding further up to hide him. Humans were fickle creatures, constantly changing and adapting their behaviors and attitudes. It used to fascinate him, their adaptability, but now only frightened him. Just because Puffy had never hurt him before didn't mean this would never change.

He was curled against the couch, fingers tightly holding the blanket. He watched as Puffy took a slow breath, eyes closing before opening up again to meet his own. She looked calmer, but Tommy didn’t fool himself into believing the anger wasn’t still there.

“Tommy,” she practically hissed despite her attempts to cool down earlier, “what did—what were you thinking?” She pushed the book away from her lap and leaned forward in an attempt to make eye contact with him. He refused to look her way. “Tommy, do you understand how much that scared me? I told you—I told you to rest, and you!”—Tommy wilted at her anger. He didn’t understand what he did wrong. He was just trying to be useful—” Why do you want to hurt yourself so much?”

Tommy didn’t understand what she meant by that. Tommy, Tommy didn’t want this. To be banished from the only home he knew, to have mangled wings that weren’t healing, to be such a fuck up that even Lady Clara is abandoning him. Tommy doesn’t want to be in constant pain or to be so lonely that silence feels like nails against his skin. He didn’t…he just wanted to prove himself worthy of saving.

Tommy picked at the skin around his nails, the sight of liquid gold filling him with relief at that divine proof that he hasn’t screwed up yet, that something within him still proves to pureness despite his selfish wants. The gold was proof he can still rectify his mistakes, to Lady Clara, to Puffy.

He can still fix things.

“I just,” he mumbled as Puffy’s rant ended, eyes still only on his hands, at the blood that stains them. “I only wanted to help you.” He rushed to continue as Puffy opened her mouth again, “The deal was that I helped you, and these tasks you keep–keep giving me, they aren’t allowing me to fulfill my part of the deal. How can I help if you don’t let me?” he pleaded at the end.

Tommy heard Puffy shift, but didn't look up to see what she was doing. “Tommy,” she sounded a lot closer, and he saw her hands reach out to his, curling both his hands into hers. He ignored how heartbroken she sounded. “Tommy, can you look at me?” He didn’t respond, couldn’t bear to.

He felt her hand nudge his chin, and his eyes startled open at the gentle touch. He didn’t know when he closed them. “Tommy, you don’t need to be useful or fix things for you to stay here. My top priority is your wings. They were healing so well!” But you ruined it was left unsaid, but Tommy heard it either way. Puffy didn't need to say it, he could see it in her eyes. He ruined everything.

“But, but the deal was I can stay as long as I help out on the farm! I haven’t even, I haven’t even done anything. I just, all I do is broom the floor or clean dishes. How is that beneficial for you?”

Puffy only sighed in response. “That is helpful,” her voice was firm, and Tommy knew any arguments couldn’t persuade her. “Keeping up with the farm, it’s a lot. When you weren’t here, I found some days when I was too exhausted to broom or dust the furniture. There was always a thin balance between making sure my animals were healthy and happy, and my own well-being. With you here,” she nudges him with her elbow, eyes indescribable, and if Tommy dared to hope, he would call them fond, “things are easier to manage.”

Tommy frowned at the explanation. He wasn’t content with the explanation, but if Puffy said it was acceptable, then. Then maybe Tommy shouldn't push it. “Ok,” he said, “ ok, but I’m still not happy about it.”

“Ok,” Puffy had the nerve to laugh. “How about a compromise?”

Tommy hummed in response, happy for the chance to still prove his worth.

“I will allow you to do more tasks with the animals, but only under my instructions and supervision. Your wings are still healing, and we can’t have you fucking up anything else because you’re trying to lift something heavy,” Tommy ignored the pointed look she sent him, just happy he would be able to do more.

“That works with me.”

#mcytblr au fest #mcytblraufest23 #this place is not a home #dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #c!puffy #dsmp tommy #dsmp captain puffy

0 notes