#almost like a person can be afraid but STILL stand their ground and fight even with that fear deep inside of them

[depressedhatakekakashi]

I don’t know how people are even making stupid jokes anout ‘oh how did Kakashi become Hokage?’ When Kakashi is the only Hokage (before Naruto) shown to actually be chosen by any of the people he would be leading

Shikaku voted for him

Naruto was excited for him

Gai supported him and was excited for him but also recognized it was not a role Kakashi particularly wanted.

Meanwhile past Hokage’s were being chosen in the battle field by their predecessor (Hiruzen) as last ditch choices because the first and second choice weren’t viable (Minato) and as a secondary choice because (once again) the first choice wasn’t viable/didn’t want the damn job (Tsunade)

Kakashi is also a strong leader and his leadership qualities are highlighted time and again throughout the series. The same people he’d be losing a battle against Tsunade, Minato, and all other past Hokage’s except Hashirama are losing to.

Kakashi was the best option and would have been originally chosen and gone to the Kage summit if Danzo hadn’t used Shisui’s MS to change the Fire Dynamo’s mind so he was chosen.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's at a party, lunch box in tow, and he's making a fucking killing.

He sets up shop in the crowded kitchen, but that doesn't stop him from spotting King Steve in the living room. Harrington's face is still fucked up from the fight with Hargrove, and he's tipping a cup almost vertically into his mouth. He's not too surprised when--the next time he spots the jock--he has a can of beer in each fist.

More customers flood up to him, and he can't help but be a little grateful for the distraction. Harrington is one unrequited crush he just can't kick.

Lunch box cleaned out, Eddie heads outside for a smoke. He's fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket when he hears a snuffling sort of shuffle that sends his heart racing.

He edges forward, just enough to make out the heap of a person half-heartedly sitting up against the house. A person in fitted blue jeans, tight polo, and Member's Only jacket; swoop of chestnut hair catching in the flash of fire from Eddie's Zippo.

"Harrington?"

The guy startles, stability wavering, eyes blinking too much. "Munson?"

"You alright, man?" He asks, though he can already tell that Steve is most definitely not.

Steve shrugs. "Why do you care?" It's not mean, sounds genuinely curious.

Eddie gets it. He has no reason on earth to show concern about King Steve. In answer, he taps his boot against Steve's sneaker, giving him a small smile. "Not sure. But I'm here, so..."

"Just needed some air. Clear my head."

"How much have you had to drink?" Eddie asks.

"One or two,"

"Dozen?"

Steve laughs. "You're funny. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I've heard," Eddie says, can't help but laugh a little too. "Wanna talk about what's going on?"

Eddie thinks that'll be a "no," but then: "Nancy dumped me."

"Yeah, big news."

"Ugh, people are talking about it?" Steve whines. It's really cute and Eddie hates himself for noticing. Hates himself more when Steve loses his balance, tips onto Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie doesn't tip him back.

Eddie can tell that Steve isn't fully with him anymore. He's a little afraid to leave the guy alone, so Eddie talks about the latest Hellfire campaign. Sober Steve Harrington probably has no idea what dnd is, but the drunk version is kind of a rapt audience.

He's just explaining about owlbears when Steve's voice, soft and sad, says "I just want someone to love me, you know?"

The admission renders Eddie speechless for a second, his chest fucking aching for the jock. He says "Oh, Stevie," knows he sounds too sad, is sure of it when Steve's nose wrinkles (it's cute; it's so fucking cute. Eddie hates himself for noticing).

Before he can backtrack, Steve slumps over, body going limp as he passes out. "Jesus H Christ," Eddie barks.

With a heavy sigh, and way too much fondness, Eddie stands. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

He gathers Harrington up in his arms--dude is heavy--and carries him around to his van.

---

Steve wakes up, head throbbing and tongue fuzzy, with no idea how he got home and into bed. Can't really recall anything after he stumbled outside, aside from talking to Eddie Munson. But maybe that was a dream? Either way, he's home, not really any worse for wear. It's enough to let him forget all about it; what's one drunken party in a life full of them?

That Wednesday, he opens his locker after the final bell, and a Hershey bar falls out. He picks it up, flipping it over to see a note on the foil wrapping, "thought you might need something sweet to cheer you up." It's not signed, and Steve slips it into his backpack, knowing he's got a silly smile on his handsome face.

The little gifts continue to show up once or twice a week. Candy, plastic vending machine toys, sketches of the school grounds, caricatures of classmates and teachers. Sometimes they even come with a note in handwriting he doesn't recognize.

Along with the little treats, he starts seeing Eddie Munson kind of everywhere. And it's not like Steve hadn't seen him before--guy was hard to miss--but he was never around this often. Wasn't around this often and he and Steve had never shared a smile, a quick bob of the head, a quiet hello.

It isn't long before they're talking. Nothing much, nothing serious. Complaining about teachers, about classmates; sharing weekend plans. Only now Steve can't pretend to not notice the way Eddie dimples up when he smiles, the subtle muscles that bunch under the sleeves of his Hellfire Club shirt, the long litheness of his legs. Steve knows he's attracted to other guys, it's just that he didn't realize he'd be attracted to Eddie.

The gifts keep coming. Once, he opens his locker to find a plastic ring fashioned into a golden crown and a note that says, "made me think of you, Stevie." There's something about the "Stevie" that catches deep in his brain, but he can't make it connect to anything.

A few months later, Steve opens his locker and pulls out a drawing. This one--it's of him. He's gazing out into space in a way that managers to be dreamy and wistful. The Steve in the drawing is lovely, and it makes something clench deep in his gut, that someone sees him like this.

Steve tries to be more aware of the people in his surroundings, to figure out who his admirer is. He's not very good at it, even as more sketches of him--all depicting him as a gorgeous, ethereal thing he definitely isn't--show up in his locker. Especially when, so often these days, the person he sees the most is Eddie.

---

The presents in his locker continue into April, and would probably last until the end of the school year, but Steve's got a migraine starting. He keeps aspirin in his locker, gets a hall pass out of English to get some.

When he reaches his locker, though, someone is already there, with the door open. Someone in ripped black jeans, heavy black boots, a black leather jacket, and patch covered denim vest.

"Munson?" He asks. His heart beats so hard it reverberates in his ears, making it hard to hear.

Eddie jumps back, hands fluttering, face flushing bright red. "Ste--Harrington! I--uh--," he's backing up, his hands held out from his body, like he's pushing Steve away even though they aren't touching.

"Were you--?" Steve tries to ask, but the words won't quite come. There's familiar warmth low in his stomach, a twisting that has nothing to do with his impending migraine.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear," Eddie says. He's breathing hard, eyes too bright, and Steve thinks he might be about to cry, but then the metalhead is turning away, starting to run.

"Eddie, wait!" Steve calls, chasing after him without much thought. "Please!"

Eddie doesn't stop until after they've crashed out one of the side exits, are alone outside.

"It was you? Leaving the--?"

Eddie nods, presses his hands to his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Harrington. I just--"

"Don't be sorry," Steve begs. "It's been--I liked it."

"Even now that you know they're coming from the freak?" Eddie spits. He still hides his face behind his hands.

"It's sort of been the best part of my year, if I'm being honest."

Only now does the metalhead remove his hands, blink back at Steve, dark eyes wide with shock. "Really?"

"Yeah. It made me feel-- important, I guess? Like, maybe someone saw me as something more than King Steve."

Eddie smiles now, looks down at the pavement. "I just didn't want you to think that you weren't--" he stops then, presses his mouth tight.

"Didn't want me to think what?"

"That you weren't loved, Stevie."

The statement hangs between them, Eddie's face pinking again, as the words wrap their way around Steve's heart. Loved. That he's loved. It clenches at every part of him, and he surrounds himself with the truth of it, what all those little presents were saying without words.

"Eddie, I--" he's overwhelmed by the gesture, the meaning, the reciprocal buzz in his chest, because Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson, loves him, and this fact is turning Steve's world on it's head in the best way.

"I'm sorry, Steve, really. Please don't hate me, or--or--"

"It means so much to me," Steve says, his voice a little broken. He reaches a hand out, slow, telegraphing the movement. "Can I?" He whispers.

Eddie nods, and Steve strokes the skin of his face with his thumb. "Thank you."

The metalhead nods, leaning into Steve's touch, they shift close, until their foreheads meet, until they share the same air. They stand that way for a while, long enough that they hear the bell ringing, and only then does Steve break their quiet. "Eds?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"You wanna hangout some time?"

Eddie laughs. "Yeah. I really, really do, sweetheart."

[theelfsongbard]

Astarion has a Nightmare Drabble (sfw + angst)

Cw: Cazador abuse

Summary: based on a prompt where Astarion slips into a proper sleep when Tav strokes his hair instead of going into an elven trance.

Astarion can feel the walls of brick closing in on him again. The air is sweet, rank, almost intoxicating and damp, so thick with moisture that he may as well be wading in the rotting breath of the house that has swallowed him. He has walked this path thousands of times before, knows it better than the tumblers on a lock that opens at his touch, and yet the way he feels his stomach drop in silent acceptance is still a familiar presence. Compulsion carries him where his feet do not wish to take him, whisking him obediently through the labyrinthine halls until he meets his master and is forced to his knees before him.

“Will you not even deign to greet your father when you see him, boy?” Cazador doesn’t even turn to face him, doesn’t need to when the authority in his voice is enough to make his household grovel for him.

The compulsion throbs behind his head, and he replies despondently. “Master.”

“Ah, so it seems you have not entirely forgotten your place,” turning around, he sneers down at his subject, the contempt clear as he notes his posture. Terrible. “And how many times have I told you to keep. Your. Back. Straight? You are a disappointment to my name. You should be grateful that you even have a home to come back to and a family to take you in, you worthless boy.”

Astarion keeps his eyes on the ground, taking note of the rivulets carved into the cold stone floor. His mind drifts to a place far from here and the noise that Cazador makes barely registers in his mind as he straightens up, waiting for the inevitable. But it's the *pain* that brings him back again. The pain and the loss of Cazador’s compulsion as his body threatens to crumple into the ground while the cursed knife he wields bites deep into his back, across his spine.

He is being tested. Punishments will be his undoing if he moves. But his mind fights against his better judgement and he twists himself, catching the knife between his hands just so he can make it stop.

||But there's a familiar voice in the din, echoing through the room, filled with sunlight and love and concern for him. He furrows his brows, tearing his concentration between stopping his master and trying to focus on the source of the voice. It feels so warm, so inviting… so different from the eternal cold that the chambers of Cazador’s palace are shrouded in.

“Astarion! Wake up!”

These stony floors, this master, this is no longer his reality, is it? Who is he? Where is he?

The voice returns with increasing urgency. “*Please!* I’m here for you.”

Suddenly he feels restrained, warmth envelopes him and he doesn’t know whether he should be afraid or give in to it. Instinctively, he lashes out against it, fear dominating his need to survive.

“ASTARION, you’re home, you’re safe. Please.” The voice breaks and there’s an overwhelming sadness that fills him, to hear them sound like that, as though they are a part of him that he doesn’t even know yet, dragging him up and out of his mind, breaching the bubble of subconsciousness until…

Gasping, he bolts upright sweat dripping and wracked with shivers. Looking down, he sees fresh linen. He’s on a clean bed, in a room that feels luxurious compared to what he once had. He has someone beside him, crying, long red lines etched across their arms.

What had he done?

The memories of the night before return, flooding him with realisation. He had been lying across their lap, their gentle hands running through his silvery curls. Their touch had been so inviting, so tempting. He had fallen asleep, slipping into the turbulent current of an uncontrolled dream. And now he had hurt the one person who had promised to stand by him through everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, closing his arms around them, his hands running over the welts he had created on their skin. “I… I was dreaming. That I was back with Cazador. There’s no excuse for this. I’m so sorry…”

Would you push him away now? Had he ruined the one good thing he had attained?

Dread filled the pit of his stomach as he waited for the inevitable. Yet it never came. Gentle hands swiped away at his tears, lingering on his cheeks with affection. Confusion clouded him and through the blurriness of tears, he could see them smiling.

“I’m just glad you’re home.”

What had he done to deserve this at all, he wondered.

[lilbagdermole]

Hello! It's always great to meet another Taang shipper!

What do you love most about Taang?

I hope you have a great day!!!

Hey!!

Oh, it's so nice to see that Taang is still loved by so many people (and it's always really nice to see active blogs about them ^^)

What do I love most about Taang?

I love their dynamics. They bounce off each other almost harmoniously, because they are opposites in so many aspects of their lives: beliefs and morals, elements, backgrounds and childhoods. They clash and struggle and are far from perfect, yet, no matter how big the storm, how complex the disagreement - they always reconcile, they always listen to one another, they always learn and grow and strive to become better people. They respect one another so much to work around their oppositions and thus balance and understand one another in ways that no other member of the ATLA cast can replicate (with Aang and Toph).

And though they are natural opposites, they still have so much in common if you delve deeper. Aang and Toph are the youngest in the Gaang - and share the same love for teasing and joking; they share a very deep connection with the the original benders of their respective elements (Toph with the Badgermoles and Aang with Appa); they both runaway from their homes at a young age because of paramount expectations; both are masters of their bending - even inventing a new form/bending style at 12 years-old (air scooter and metalbending).

Aang represented all Toph needed in her life - freedom, loyalty, companionship and a friend. He saw her beyond her perceived weakness and never underestimated her capabilities as an earthbender and his potential master. He taught her to trust and confide, understood her when no other person did and soften the hard edges that she'd constructed to protect herself from her suffocating reality. In a sense, Aang was a breath of fresh air in her life.

Toph, on the other hand, represented all Aang needed - stability, confidence, strength. Aang, being the Avatar, had been coddled and protected by almost everyone - Katara, Sokka, admirers, etc. He wasn't Aang, he was a symbol - a symbol of hope and peace. But Toph didn't care about his divine-like power, didn't care that everyone around him praised the very ground he stepped on - in Toph's perspective, Aang was Aang. A kid just like her and she treated him as equals; never afraid of pushing him to further his growth; she taught him to stand his ground, face his enemies head on, become a stronger, confident bender. She was the ground that anchored him to the mortal world and made him feel normal.

It's also poetic, in the finale - Toph is in the air whilst Aang is mostly on Earth. And, may I add, that at the end, whilst Zuko and Katara ultimately did teach him plenty so he could face the Firelord, Aang's preferred bending style, that was not his own, was Earthbending. The element that had once stumped him, frustrated him; the hardest element to master, his opposite... and now, he used it to protect himself, to shield and fight. He used every technique Toph taught him - rock armor, crushing earth, even seismic sense... Toph ultimately saved Aang during the Finale.

I can go on and on about them, but I'm in the midst of writing a dissertation on Toph and Aang's development and potential in ATLA - so I'll save most of my thoughts for that whenever I get to completing it.

And... let's be honest. Aang and Toph together just look so beautiful. They would be the IT COUPLE in ATLA - their canonical height difference should be reason enough to stan Taang. Avatar and The World's Greatest Earthbender... come on now! And it would just fit right - Aang as an adult would have to travel the world and Toph would gladly travel alongside him since she doesn't have a "home" (Aang is her home); and, as adults they could built Republic City from the ground up whilst also balancing raising a family... UGH! IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD!!!

[silverynight]

Greedy hearts

(Slightly) dark fic, possessive characters

***

It's been a year since he finished his training with Urokodaki and started going on missions to destroy demons. Tanjirou can't say it's been easy, but he's doing the best he can.

Then, as he tries to defeat the spider demon family, he realizes that his best might not be enough this time. He keeps fighting until his body hurts and feels on fire from the pain and for a moment thinks he won't be able to save Nezuko. That's when Tomioka, the person who saved him and his sister that awful day, arrives.

He's with another person, a small woman who moves as fast as he does. They get rid of the demons like it's not a big deal and the pretty young woman starts giving the kakushi instructions and telling them to help anyone they can.

Getting nervous and knowing he can't protect his sister against other slayers, Tanjirou tries to crawl in Nezuko's direction.

"Nezuko, get in the box, I–"

"It's okay, Tanjirou," Tomioka says; the redhead is surprised when he realizes he remembers him. "I talked to Oyakata-sama. You'll be safe."

"You'll be fine and your sister will be too. I'm Kocho Shinobu, by the way," she smiles at him. "Oyakata-sama has explained your situation to all the hashira."

"Hashira?" Tanjirou is confused and hurt, he doesn't know what any of that means and he has no idea who the hashira are...

At least Nezuko is back inside her box.

"I'm going to take you to–"

"No," Tomioka cuts the kakushi off, prompting her to shiver and take a few steps away from Tanjirou. "I'm the one who's going to carry him."

"And I'll take the wooden box," Kocho adds with a sweet smile on her face.

Tomioka carries Tanjirou on his back and even though the redhead is exhausted and in pain, he doesn't want to be a bother.

"There's no need. I think I can walk," he assures them. "You two have done more than enough for us. I'm pretty sure you have more important–"

He stops when he feels a hand on his cheek and realizes that Kocho is caressing him gently.

"Now I know why are you so taken with him, Giyuu..."

Tomioka takes a few steps back from her.

"Don't touch him."

"You can't be possessive," she chuckles. "Not after that message Oyakata-sama sent to everyone about this cutie. It's obvious that all the Pillars will be taking care of him from now on."

"We'll see."

Tanjirou is not sure what they're talking about because his eyes can't stay open, he feels he's losing consciousness...

***

When he manages to open his eyes again, he realizes that he's on Tomioka's lap, however, when he tries to move, gentle hands keep him in place.

"It's okay, Tanjirou. You're safe."

"Where's Nezuko?"

"In her box," Kocho assures him. Although she's not the only one there. There are a lot of people gathered around him or maybe they just want to see Tomioka since Tanjirou is in his arms at the moment. "They're hashira too."

"They're the most powerful swordsmen in the Demon Slayer Corps," a kakushi says then. There are a couple around, kneeling with their heads bowed, but keeping their distance. It's almost like they're afraid of the Pillars.

Although Tanjirou doesn't blame them, the people gathered around him certainly look intimidating and most of them are staring at him.

"She's still a demon, I don't know why Oyakata-sama wants us to protect her..." One of them, one who has white hair and scars all over his chest, hisses. "We should get rid of her–"

Tanjirou's body moves on its own, he jumps away from Tomioka's embrace and stands between the box and the hashira with a permanent scowl on his face. He looks genuinely surprised for a moment.

"I won't let you," he bares his teeth. "She's the only thing I have left and I'll protect her until the end."

For a moment it looks like he's going to growl at the redhead, but then he changes his mind; it's like he understands what Tanjirou's feeling.

"Shinazugawa Sanemi."

"Kamado Tanjirou," he says in return before collapsing, well... he doesn't actually hit the ground because Shinazugawa catches him before that happens. "Thank you."

"Give him to me, you don't know how to hold him," a young one says, after introducing himself as well.

"You're too small to carry him!" Shinazugawa protests, glaring as Tokito keeps getting closer.

But then another one takes him in his arms; Tanjirou looks back at a gentle face and the first thing that comes to mind is–

"Are you on fire?"

The Pillar laughs and he's not the only one who does. Tanjirou starts blushing and he's ready to apologize...

"No, this is how my hair looks," he says, amused. "Although I am the flame hashira."

"I'm sorry... I'm just–"

"You don't have nothing to apologize for, Tanjirou," he assures him, nuzzling against his cheek. "We all know you're exhausted."

Then he and the others introduce themselves.

"Yes, but–"

Rengoku protests when Kanroji leans to kiss Tanjirou's cheek.

"What about my hair? Do you like it?"

"Yes, it's really pretty... Did you braid your hair yourself? I always wanted to do that for Nezuko..."

"I can teach you, sunshine!"

"Thank you."

Himejima pulls him into his arms this time, although he touches Tanjirou's face gently first.

"You're hurt..."

"I'm fine," he suddenly relaxes. Himejima is so warm... "I feel safe now."

"You'll be safe with us from now on, pretty," Uzui winks at him, making Tanjirou blush.

"If Mitsuri likes you then–" Iguro chokes when Tanjirou pets Kaburamaru and the serpent hisses affectionately at him. "I mean I..."

"You're so cute," Tanjirou tells the serpent, missing the way Iguro's expression softens immediately.

"It seems that he charmed you already. Good."

Everyone turns around and all the Pillars kneel in front of the man with black hair and a white eyes, he also has some sort of scar on the upper part of his face, but his smile is kind.

"Tanjirou, welcome to the hashira headquarters. I'm Ubuyashiki Kagaya and these two are my daughters."

Tanjirou tries to move, but Himejima pulls him closer against his chest.

"It's okay, Tanjirou."

One of the little girls tells something to her father and Ubuyashiki nods.

"It's alright, Tanjirou. I understand you're hurt. Gyomei, can you bring him to me?"

The stone hashira does that and when he's close enough, Ubuyashiki starts touching Tanjirou's face just the way Himejima did.

"I understand now," he comments, amused, before Himejima steps back with Tanjirou in his arms. "Please Tanjirou, tell us your story."

He knows what they want and even though it'll hurt he's aware it's necessary for them to hear what happened that day.

At some point Tanjirou starts sobbing and even though he can't see clearly because of the tears, he knows the other hashira are gathered around him again. Someone strokes his cheek.

"I should've gone up the mountain, I should've come back to them..."

"You wouldn't be here," Tokito says, frowning. "And that's unacceptable."

"But–"

"No one will ever hurt you or your sister again, Tanjirou," Ubuyashiki promises and the Pillars echo that same promise. "No one."

There's something dark about his tone when he says that but Tanjirou doesn't think too much of it because he's still exhausted.

"Shinobu, take him to the butterfly estate to recover and when he's better bring him back so he can have tea with me and my daughters."

***

Tanjirou gets to know the other hashira a lot better while he's recovering in the butterfly estate; they're really good and kind people who constantly visit him and bring him food and basically anything he wants.

Although Zenitsu is a bit tired of it; Inosuke is constantly asking them to fight him, but they don't pay too much attention to him.

Tanjirou has caught Aoi rolling her eyes at them very often, he's not sure why.

When he gets better, he goes back to the hashira headquarters and meets Ubuyashiki's wife and has tea with her, her husband and her two daughters.

The young ones are really curious about Nezuko so Tanjirou tells them as much as he can about her.

"I think I'm ready to go on another mission already," he says happily, but stops smiling when he notices that Ubuyashiki tenses significantly.

"You came back in a bad shape last time," Amane reminds him as her two daughters nod, looking worried.

"Yes, but I'm feeling better now."

"I'm sorry, Tanjirou, but there will be no missions for you at the moment," Ubuyashiki says and although he's calm and his voice is gentle, Tanjirou knows he's not going to change his mind.

Well... He must have his reasons. But Tanjirou is sure he'll give him another one eventually.

***

He starts working in the butterfly estate meanwhile; Tanjirou has never liked to stay still, especially when the hashira and Ubuyashiki always make sure he and Nezuko have everything they want and need. However, he has to insist a couple of times to get the position.

When he's there taking care of other slayers, he starts hearing rumors about the Pillars going on extra missions, some say they're covering for the ones who can't go and others are sure they're just going instead of one of them.

Although Tanjirou knows it's not good to listen to rumors or believe in them... So he decides to let it go. Besides, why would they be interested in going on easy missions to cover up for someone? It doesn't make sense.

Tanjirou learns quickly to patch people up, but doesn't give up on training. He meets a lot of slayers and kakushi, but for some reason they don't keep Tanjirou company for long, especially when the hashira are around.

Most of the time the Pillars come back tired or slightly bruised and even though they're mere scratches, they always go to Tanjirou to patch then up.

"You're taking a lot of missions lately... I mean all of you," Tanjirou mentions casually as he cleans a wound on Rengoku's arm.

"Yes, but it's totally worth it, don't worry about it!" The flame hashira assures him, before pulling him into his arms and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

That's another thing... They have become a lot more physically affectionate lately, although Tanjirou enjoys it so he never protests.

***

"They're going on extra missions so he doesn't have to, right?" A slayer whispers, watching from afar as the wind hashira lifts Tanjirou up, just to make him laugh. Rengoku doesn't protest because he knows Tanjirou is having a good time. He even brings him food.

"Shut up!" Aoi scolds her. "Do you want them to get angry? Tanjirou isn't supposed to know!"

"So it's true," the slayer mumbles, in shock. She thought it was just a rumor. "Why?"

"They want to keep him safe."

She's about to ask why again when she watches as Tokito and Kanroji arrive and immediately start arguing with Shinazugawa to share Tanjirou with them.

They're in love.

"All of them?"

"Yes," a kakushi boy appears out of nowhere, startling Aoi. "They basically worship him. But they're also very–"

"Possessive," the slayer girl says, nodding at him; she's seen it and she's heard about it, that they don't let other people get to close to Tanjirou because they want him only for them. And they have decided to keep him in the hashira headquarters and the butterfly estate so he doesn't get hurt again.

But he has no idea.

"They're obsessed..."

"Could you shut up already?"

Both of them ignore Aoi completely. At the other corner of the yard, Iguro jumps down from a tree to show Tanjirou what Kaburamaru is doing.

"Listen, the other day I had to be present during one of the hashira meetings," another kakushi gets closer, lowering his voice. "And Tanjirou was already there, sitting next to Oyakata-sama himself! He was exhausted because he spent the night taking care of the crying, blond boy who got sick during a mission... So at some point Tanjirou just falls asleep over Oyakata-sama's lap and none of them get upset! They just keep reporting about their respective estates, but very quietly so they don't wake Tanjirou up!"

"And Oyakata-sama allowed it?"

"Yes, he even started running his fingers through Tanjirou's hair!"

"I was there too! I volunteered to take Tanjirou back to his room and all the Pillars hissed at me! It was terrifying!"

"I think Uzui-san took him to his room that day..."

Aoi shushes them just in time to see Kocho, Tomioka and Himejima walk in the backyard, ignoring everyone else as they rush to where Tanjirou is.

Uzui gets there seconds later and as everyone finally gathers around a very happy Tanjirou, the slayer realizes that their kind of love is slightly dark; yes, they keep Tanjirou safe and take care of his sister and they're very gentle and kind to him, but they also don't want him to get out of their sight or spend time with other people...

It's really curious that as she thinks about it, the circle of Pillars around Tanjirou closes completely until the sunshine is hidden from everyone's view. Now only the hashira can stare and talk to him.

***

Patreon

[xopinkroses]

Oh boy this one is kind of heavy but I'd like to see Sparda men (and maybe some other dmc characters if you want) reaction when their s/o unfortunately get into a situation that the guys have to mercy kill them. You can skip this ask if you don't like

DMC boys Being Forced to Mercy Kill Reader♥

Summary; Something terrible happens to you, leading to Dante, Vergil and Nero having to make the most painful choice of their lives. Warnings; Death, mercy killing, heavy heavy angst, swearing, descriptions of blood and fatal injury.

MASTERLIST🌸

Dante

How could everything go so horribly wrong in just a few seconds? You're laying in your bed, the one you both share, and you're crying. Short sobs of pure agony as your blood burns like acid through your pulsating, discoloured veins. And all Dante can do is watch. Watch and know that there is nothing he can do for you. Too afraid to even touch you. 

You were infected with something while fighting a demon, too slow to dodge the spray of poison it projected to you. The effects were almost instant, and Dante knew instantly how this was going to end. 

There is no cure. No hope. Sitting by your bedside, he knows what he should do. But he doesn't have the strength to end your suffering. He's a coward, he can't deny it. 

But how can he be expected to do such a thing? To… kill the person he loves most. How is that fair? 

You're not stupid. You know that your chances are nonexistent. "I'm sorry," you cry. "I love you." 

The only thing you could feel other than pain– is guilt. You did something incredibly stupid, and now you were going to have to leave Dante all alone. 

Your words do nothing to comfort your distraught boyfriend, serving only as a sick reminder of what he is about to lose. Somehow making this even harder. 

He rocks back and forth, hugging himself like he's physically trying to hold himself together. "I love you too," He manages to say, voice shaking with the spasms in his chest. "Fuck– I love you so much." 

"Please, can you hold me?" You don't want to die alone, all you want as a last request is to die in the arms of the man you love. 

Dante finds his resolve in the finality of your request, and carefully scoops you up into his arms. The contact hurts, but you cling to him anyway. This is your last moment together. You want to imprint the feeling of him close to you into your memory, something to take with you when you go. 

Dante finally lets his tears fall now that you are unable to see them. He places a kiss to the top of your head, allowing himself to just be here with you as you cry into his chest. His hands brush up your neck to hold the back of your head. You don't see it coming. 

'snap' 

Your body goes limp in his arms. Head lolling unnaturally, swivelling on a broken neck, to fall against his shoulder. He can't look at you, knowing lifeless, hollow eyes will be the thing staring back at him. 

Dante screams, but you don't hear him. You can't. 

Vergil

The scream that rings through the clearing has Vergil freezing in his tracks. He turns around just in time to see you suspended in midair– impaled through the abdomen by one of the demon’s clawed tentacles. Time stands still and all he can do is watch as you weakly struggle against the pain, a waterfall of red splashing into puddles below you. 

Then the demon yanks itself free of you, and you come plunging to the ground. Vergil is already moving before his thoughts can even catch up with the events unfolding. He catches you before you make contact with the ground, gently lowering you down as he cradles you in his arms. A numbness has settled inside of him, and he’s grateful for it. There’s no way he can handle this otherwise.

“Hold on,” He says, an uncharacteristically pleading tone to his voice. “I will return for you.”

Stepping away from you, his demeanour is one of ice cold fury, a raging storm that could rip up entire civilisations out of existence. In a haze, he makes quick work of the demon that did this to you. The sound of his own screaming failing to reach his ears– all he hears is an echo of your cries. They only begin to quiet down when the evil being’s insides are splayed out before him. But with it dead, Vergil has no choice but to look at you.

You haven’t moved, he notes, looking you over in a detached kind of observation. The colour has drained from your skin, having bled out from the gaping hole in your midsection. The area around you has turned dark crimson with your blood, it seeps into the earth and surrounds you like your very own hellish aura. 

Willfully ignoring the squishing blood-soaked dirt under his knee, he kneels down beside you. His face is grave as he looks you over. Any other person would fail to decipher the emotion on his face, but you know him too well.

Vergil’s heart is actively being cracked open, and it only shatters more with your next few words. Only a few… but enough to haunt him for the rest of his miserable life.

“Vergil, honey,” You croak, coughing. “Please, make it stop.”

Vergil has always been able to compartmentalise his emotions. Tuck certain things away to deal with later, he forces himself to do this now. He agrees to grant your final request. The word ‘yes’ tasting rotten on his tongue. With an unbearable heaviness in his bones, he slowly straightens up to his full height. 

He’s stalling for time as he looks down at Yamato in his clenched fist, skin stretched white over bone. One swipe is all it’ll take, he muses. Just one.

“May we meet in another life, my love.”

He gives you no time to prepare for the blow, making it quick. Your life snuffed out in the blink of an eye– Along with his very soul. You were struck down in the heat of battle, a true warrior's death. Vergil wishes that fact could bring him any comfort. But there is no comfort for people like him, only pain and suffering. For him and the ones he cares about. 

What a sick joke, he thinks as his composure breaks and an anguished sob tears up his throat.

You deserved so much better.

Nero

He’s in a living nightmare. One that he wants nothing more than to wake up from. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to do this.

“Please wake up! Please wake up, please!”

His hands are sticky with red, clutching onto your cold, limp figure as he sobs into the crook of your neck. The Red Queen is tossed a good few feet away, blade covered in blood. Your blood.

You remain unresponsive in his arms, but beyond all logical reason; Nero tries to convince himself that you’re just sleeping. You got knocked unconscious during the fight but you’re fine. It’s not your blood– it’s not! But he can’t, because he’s all too painfully aware of the events that just transpired before his very eyes.

He didn’t want to do it. You gave him no choice! 

You were possessed, he later learns. You didn’t want to hurt him either. But right now, all he knows is that his lover launched themself onto the blade of his sword after trying to kill him. Impaling yourself and ensuring you couldn’t hurt him again. He can’t process his thoughts through the panic, the guilt and the begging. Begging for forgiveness, for you to come back, for anything.

This is how his uncle and father find him, screaming and crying hysterically, holding you in a desperate embrace. 

“You’re okay, angel– everything’s gonna be okay–” 

Knowing they can’t leave him there, alone with the corpse of his lover, Dante and Vergil have to pry his hands off your body and drag him away kicking and screaming. He curses at them and pleads for you to answer him. But you don’t. 

You’re dead.

And Nero will never forgive himself.

~ 🖤

[caitlynmeow]

Hey, really enjoy all your work. Could you wright about how each member of Alcina's family (Miranda, Heisenberg, Donna, Moreau) reacted after the birth of each daughter and their relationship regarding each of them in your modern AU ?

i know i said i'll write this as a fic (which i will do!!) but my brain is too fried to do that these days so it's just a post on here.

i put most of it under read more because it got LONG lol

ok, here goes!!

Miranda:

Bela:

When Alcina was pregnant for the very first time, Miranda was very clear: she wasn’t going to be that grandmother who was always around her grandkids. She has a life and she isn’t about to be tied down. The child can visit with Alcina, and it will always remain with its mother. Simple as that. When Bela was born, Miranda was among the first people who saw her. A slimy angry creature wailing and not having a good time at all. She picked her up later on, hours later when it was just the two of them in the large hospital suite. With golden eyes and golden gifts of hair, the infant had some distinctive features and she was certain to attract a lot of attention. As time went by, Alcina did visit with the little tyke. During those visits, if one is to look closely, one can see that the infant is almost always nestled in her grandmother’s arms. As Bela got older, Miranda began demanding that her daughter be the child over when she was visiting. Miranda admits Bela isn’t like most children. She is smart and neat. She likes being around her mother and grandmother and Miranda doesn’t mind taking the child with her to the many different errands she’s running every day. When Alcina enrolled her daughter in nursery school, Miranda was mad. “She is young still,” was the older woman’s argument. Bela was almost three at the time, and Alcina was well into her second pregnancy she needed a distraction for her daughter. Miranda relented eventually. Though she’d often be seen picking her granddaughter up from school on most days and taking her out before sending her back home. As Bela continued to get older, Miranda enjoyed doing more things with her. She knows that she’s a rare breed and she is proud of what her young granddaughter is like.

Cassandra:

While Bela’s birth was somewhat uneventful, Cassandra’s was the opposite of that. Flirty five hours of labor, only then did she finally decide to come out. Nonetheless, by that point, Miranda knows that her grandchildren are different from other kids. And while Cassandra is no Bela, her second granddaughter had her own personality that she was displaying from early on. Though, Miranda admits, the second daughter is not as easy as her older sister. She is stubborn and picky and gets bored easily. Miranda can’t take her anywhere without a long list of complaints that even Bela doesn’t know what to do with. Cassandra never listens and believes that rules are there to be broken. Ironically, it’s this trait that makes her good at— solving problems. She often gives warnings, so no one can complain, but when Cassandra loses it- well, it’s the other person’s fault for 1- making her mad and 2- for not looking at the warning signs and not backing out. Cassandra is fierce and very protective. She is also very sensitive and can easily fall into jealousy. She needs a lot of reassurance, both verbally and physically to keep her grounded. But one thing remains unchanged: Miranda is very proud of her second granddaughter because when Cassandra strikes out, she makes an impression that lasts for a long long time. While, as a family, Miranda is often frustrated that nothing can stand in Cassandra’s way, she knows that this is a huge asset in life. Yes, fighting in school isn’t all that good but that boy should have listened when Cassandra told him not to touch her toys. Is it really her fault for lashing out at him? No. And this is what Miranda says every time she goes to school for these things. Cassandra never starts trouble, but she isn’t afraid to finish them if someone keeps pushing her like this.

Daniela:

Daniela might have known long before she was born that she is the third daughter to be born and this, competition is fierce. Daniela is all action— she decides on something and does it instantly, never even pausing to think or consider anything. Extremely impatient is what the youngest daughter of Alcina is. Miranda has lost count of the number of times she told her “wait” only for Daniela to not process the word at all.

Miranda wouldn't expect it from her. It only took two hours after Alcina's water broke for Daniela to be born. By the time they made it to the hospital, she was ready to come out and she did in record time. A far cry from what her older sister did. Despite that, the youngest child of House Dimitrescu is not without her own set of personality traits that make her very endearing. Again, because she felt like she was coming late into a competition, Daniela comes with a lot of charm. Even when she argues and gives everyone a hard time, no one can really get mad at her. Certainly not Miranda nor Alcina. Again, when the girls were young, Miranda had no issues taking her granddaughters with her anywhere. But she also learned to be strategic about it. Taking the girls out individually is good. Taking all three is a disaster because Cassandra knows how to push all of Daniela’s buttons and it’s just… chaos. Bela and Daniela together are good. Bela and Cassandra are also good. Cassandra and Daniela are not something for every day. All in all, Miranda adores all of her granddaughters. She does believe that they have not only warmed their mother’s heart, but they have a similar effect on the rest of the family.

Heisenberg

Bela:

Karl didn’t believe that his sister was going alone with her crazy plan. But holy shit she actually did. He was startled when Miranda called him late at night, telling him to get to the hospital because his dear older sister was having her first child. Karl always thought children were slimy and slippery. He doesn’t like touching them or carrying them because what if they slip and fall? Then what? That psycho with severe anger issues is going to decapitate him and he wasn’t about to deal with that. Bela was fun until she got a little older and was usually stuck to whatever insane rules her mother came up with. The girl just… doesn’t have that much sense of adventure and he learned what sorts of things he can do with her and what he can’t.

Cassandra:

Now that is a fun child! If anything, he’s giving the second daughter points just for always going against what everyone says. She doesn’t hide it either. Confrontational and brave. She does all kinds of crazy shit while maintaining eye contact because the girl got guts! Bela usually reacts with “Are we gonna get bitten?” When he takes them to see the wolves, Cassandra is always up to playing with the beasts. Of course, he isn’t going to endanger her well-being. He only allows the smaller pups around her, and he’s always close by ready to interfere at the nearest sign of aggression from the feral animals. With time, as Cassandra got older, her fierceness only grew. She soon displayed interest in all kinds of weapons he had in his storage room. Knowing that if he prevents her from being there, this one in particular is going to find a way to sneak in (not sure how, but he knows that she’ll do it) that's why he decided to do the honors himself. Once a week, he’d bring his niece to the big warehouse and teach her about the different weapons he had there. Going from daggers and sickles to rifles and shotguns. Cassandra was always fascinated. And as time went on, she developed her own interest. When she was fourteen, Karl had a special sickle made just for her. He gave it to her as a birthday present amidst loud objections from his sister and mother. But he didn’t care, the kid didn’t care either.

Daniela:

Karl would say that the youngest daughter of his sister is an odd mix of her two sisters. And she’s moody. One day she’ll be all “yay let's go hunting” and on others, she’s like “Ugh this is boring I'm not doing it,” there is just no telling when it comes to her. He knows that she’s adventurous, and is into breaking rules and pushing the limits just like her big sister. She likes the pups and shows interest in hunting. But truth be told, she isn’t nearly as good as Cassandra. She tries though, and he gives her credit for it. Cassandra is more natural at it though.

Donna

Bela:

Donna loves Bela with all of her might. Her eldest niece has always been sharp and attentive. Often, she’d be reading a book or learning about flowers and plants while her sisters were roughhousing somewhere. With Bela things are tranquil, and they can talk about many different things. Bela has always been wise. She’s responsible, and Alcina does put a lot of emphasis on her being the eldest. She is her mother’s right hand when it comes to her sisters and many other things. It’s no wonder the girl grew up to be a great leader albeit she’s under a lot of pressure.

Cassandra:

Donna knows that Cassandra is a bundle of many things. She is very complex and smart. Very capable and it’s— advised that she learns how to hone in on her anger and try to channel it. She’s not angry in nature, only when she’s provoked. Really, people need to learn not to push her buttons and she’s good as gold. But not many are willing to understand her niece. Cassandra knows what she’s capable of. And she tries to back out. One instance is when Cassandra came to her one day and said “Can you deal with this problem?” To which Donna responded with “Why can’t you deal with it?” And the poor girl confessed that “because if I deal with it I’ll go to jail,” And it’s true. Donna knows that it’s true just as her niece does. Cassandra is mature enough to know what she is capable of, and sometimes it’s better for everyone that she distances herself from a bad situation and moves on. Donna adores her. Cassandra is her very picky niece with a dash of poor life choices. The woman prides herself in cooking things that her niece likes and she understands what turns Cassandra away from many kinds of food. Sure, there isn’t a lot of variety, but Donna is satisfied with how things are going with Cassandra food-wise. Cassandra has bad habits. When the girls stay over, and can tell who has a messy sleep schedule that Alcina would never allow but Donna is the cool aunt who’d never tell. She did put her foot down one time though. Having caught Cassandra mixing two shots of espresso with an energy drink nearly sent the woman to a heart attack. It was the first time she had to be firm and tell this girl ‘no’. Cassandra complained that she was tired because she only slept for four hours. Wonderful, Donna said, “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll wake you up later,” but the girls had plans to go out in a bit and Cassandra wasn’t going to miss that. Tough luck. She was going to miss it because of her poor choices. Unfortunate as it is, Donna’s firm side pops out every now and then, because Cassandra needs to have those clear boundaries before she self-destructs. Donna hates upsetting her, but she can handle pouts and crocodile tears as opposed to watching her niece harm herself.

Daniela: Daniela is playful and very curious. The youngest daughter loves flowers and gardening, often spending hours upon hours taking care of plants with her aunt. She’d also read copious amounts of books about certain plants because this girl is both smart and curious. She almost learned how to crochet also. But she’s too impatient for it. She never stuck around it for long. Daniela is quiet and tends to keep to herself. When around her sisters she can either be quietly watching TV or reading, or annoying her sisters because she’s bored, or playing hide and seek and pulling pranks— there is no telling with her. Daniela is adored by everyone. She’s warm and fuzzy and loves being physically close to those she loves. She might be a bit of a brat at times, but it’s all wholesome and she never hurts anyone (who doesn’t deserve it at least). All in all, Donna loves the three girls with all of her might. They all have different personalities and she loves them all.

Moreau

He is the recluse family member who prefers staying in his own house to going outside. Despite that, he loves his family, especially his mother. Often, his siblings are fighting which makes him anxious, and his mother doesn’t seem to notice anything aside from Alcina (she’s very scary) and Karl (he’s very loud). He went to the castle with Miranda to see the babies. He’s always been fascinated by them. Watching them grow from small unmoving bundles to walking and talking toddlers was almost jarring. They kept growing, and by the time the girls started school they were finally resembling normal humans and he was comfortable interacting with them. While Moreau struggles with finding words, he is never short of making the girls happy with gifts and presents. Bela loves high-quality trinkets and jewelry. Cassandra loves antiques and artifacts from all over the world. Daniela loves classical books and he always finds her the oldest and most vintage editions. He loves them all just the same, although, as the girls got older, they took a lot after their mother. They’re usually less angry and condescending, but they can be just as scary sometimes. Since the girls were young, Moreau always enjoyed having them over. He has a huge lake at the back of his house, and the girls love going over there, especially during the warmer months. He always makes sure that he is well prepared; with chairs and fire and lots of snacks. He also has built a big screen, where in the evenings he can use a projector and they can all enjoy watching movies at night outside. Tho there was one time when Daniela forgot to apply sunscreen and ended up with burns on her skin which made Alcina run after him but this is a story for another time.

[littlestarofthewest]

F Reader x Arthur

During massive argument with Arthur, Reader flinches? Some fluff and comforting please ☺

Not sure if that is at all what you wanted, but I tried 😅 Turned out more as gn!reader too.

Tags: shouting, Arthur punshing sth. in anger

Pairing: Arthur x gn!reader | Words: 627

You're standing in the doorway, holding your ground while Arthur paces outside, once again too stubborn to listen to reason.

"Why doesn't that go into that thick head of yours?" you ask, your voice growing louder. "I told you, I can handle myself."

"And I told you it's too dangerous, goddammit!" Arthur shouts and his fist hits the doorframe just next to your head, making you flinch.

Seconds tick by while you stare at Arthur and he stares at the broken wood under his fingers. When he looks at you, you take a step back without even thinking.

It's a normal reflex to protect oneself, but Arthur deflates, a horrified expression on his face. "Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry."

He seems to shrink in size, the fight leaving him, and he takes a step back as well. You move closer to the door, though.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," Arthur says, watching his hand. "It's bad enough when I lose my temper out there, but here… with you…"

Arthur trails off, and you take another step forward. "You're not a bad person, Arthur."

"You flinched. I scared you." You can hear the guilt in Arthur's voice. "Over something so stupid."

"So, you admit it's stupid?" you ask with a deliberate smile, taking a step closer to him.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm serious."

"So am I," you say, leaving the cabin and walking up to Arthur. He takes a step back, but you follow and grab him by his shirt, making him stay. "I'm not afraid of you, just because you lost your head for a second."

"But I shouldn't," he says, barely looking at you.

"You wouldn't, if we didn't get into these stupid fights."

Arthur takes a deep breath, his eyes still not meeting yours. "I know. Of course you know what to do. It's none of my business."

You know Arthur means well, but he sounds weird, sad almost. Although he likes to take care of everybody in the gang, you've never seen him this upset.

"Why do you only give me such a hard time?" you ask.

Arthur takes your hands away from his shirt and shakes his head as if to deny it, but when he moves, you grab him by the wrist and for the first time, he actually looks at you.

"I don't-"

"Arthur!"

"I don't know," he growls, but you hold on to him and Arthur glares at you. "I can't risk losing you."

You huff. "I'm not even really good at anything. The gang doesn't need me."

Arthur snaps his arm away from you, his whole body turning back to anger. "I need you. You ever care to think about that? It's stupid, and selfish, and I'm an idiot for it, but-"

You don't even care to hear more. Instead, you grab Arthur again and plant a hard kiss on his lips.

Everything goes quiet then. All you hear is your own heartbeat and a long breath coming out of Arthur as if he's been holding it for years.

"Better?" you say, and when Arthur nods, you make him look at you. "I can do that whenever you need it, alright?"

Arthur takes another shaky breath and nods again. "I feel like I'm getting angry again."

"Don't overdo it," you laugh, hitting him in the chest.

"No, really. I'm mad," Arthur says, despite the smile that's dancing around his lips.

You kiss Arthur again, much more careful now and he melts against you. Running your fingers through his hair, you rest your head on his shoulder, and your eyes fall on the spot where Arthur's fist landed. 

"I'll be careful, I promise," you say and Arthur squeezes you as if he never wants to let go.

"Thank you."

[bettathanyou]

The Choices That Make Us, Part 2

Look at that, a double feature! I know the quotes of his memories don't align chronologically with Sofia calling him "Ceedric", but we're doing it for the sake of angst. Final Part will actually be not as gut wrenching, pinky swear it

TRIGGER WARNINGS

IMPLICATIONS OF SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, AND COMMITING THE ACT. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Cedric stands at the balcony again, the same siren song beckoning him to hop the railing and just do it- to jump off, feel his world slow down as his body raced to the cold, hard pavement below and then finally, every ache and raging storm within himself will quiet.

That's what Cedric really wanted. For everything to be still, all around him but most of all inside of him.

To be in a position of royal sorcerer was already stressful enough, but to be dragged around like a mutt on a leash- only to be beaten down with verbal stones when he can't perform a trick correctly.

To say he felt dehumanized was an understatement.

The sorcerer groans, holding his head in his hands as the embarrassment and shame wrack his body again, tasting the tang of blood in his mouth as he bites the inside of his cheek- an old habit that has now become compulsive whenever bad memories resurfaced.

"Stop! You're making it worse!"

I know. I'm sorry, Cordelia. My hands ruin everything they touch, and I've never stopped trying to atone for it.

"Not much of a sorcerer, is he?"

I tried, didn't I? Wasn't that enough? ....Why wasn't that ever enough?

"Just as bad as that Cedric guy from Enchancia..."

Yeah... I suppose I really am a bad, piece of shit person. No one believed I was good anyways, and I think I'm starting to see why.

"We're stuck with him..."

Cedric gulps, well, gasps really- his lungs can't seem to find oxygen now, and his tears were free flowing rivers of torment running down redden cheeks.

Blinking away more tears, he realizes he was leaning over the rail again- when did he start doing that tonight? Was it just muscle memory now, to look down at the ground beneath him with an aching, burning feeling in his chest that could only be described as longing?

"You won't... be stuck- with me forever..." Cedric's voice garbled out the words between gasps, feeling the bob and sway of his balance fighting against the pull of gravity. His throat burns, a lump forming in his throat- good. There was nothing much left to say now, his mind was made up, and-

"Mr. Ceedric?"

A sweet, innocent voice cuts through the haze with the sharpness of a knife, making the sorcerer still. Whatever breath he had left was stolen, coming out of his mouth in a wheeze.

Shit.

Why now, must he be disturbed? Can he truly not get one goddamn moment to himself, for once?

"Mr. Ceedric? Why are you hanging over the railing like that-? It's not safe!"

He purses his lips shut tight, afraid of what words might come out of his mouth and even more afraid that if he tried to talk he would break down into tears right then and there.

He hopes in vain the princess would just leave- maybe if he stood still long enough, didn't make a sound, she'd leave. People seem to have no trouble ignoring him... Well.

Almost everyone, it seemed.

"Mr. Ceedric...?"

He feels the briefest touch of small fingers wrapping around the fabric of his robe, tugging to get his attention. Cedric flinched from the contact, harder than either of them expected. He hears her small heels scrape against the stone floor, clearly startled by his response.

Hot, boiling shame courses through his veins, and of course, whenever Cedric is faced with shame, somehow anger is the only thing that he defaults to, to cover it up.

"It's CEDRIC, Ced-ric!" He retorts, barely keeping his voice steady as he furiously swiped the tears off his face. Cedric's lanky body slides off the railing, on the side that kept his feet planted on solid ground once again.

He inhales a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from racing. Cedric felt like it was thundering so loud in his ears, surely Sofia could hear it? Either way, he didn't want to know.

"What do you want-? And why didn't you knock, princess, you always knock!" He asks defensively, meaning to scold the child- but out loud, there was evident panic lacing his voice. Panic at the idea of having being caught, of having someone- no, not just someone, Sofia, almost witness him commit-

"I did knock, Mr. Ceedric...!" Sofia protested, biting her lip in a nervous manner.

Cedric blinked, a clumsy, half-hearted "What?" being his only response.

"...You didn't answer, so I..." Sofia pauses, a skittish air about her that makes Cedric want to jump off the balcony right then and there, for making such a sweet girl feel scared around him.

"I got worried."

[vampsquerade]

crashing in through the wall like the Kool Aid man and asking for some König hcs. Listen bestie, Glaz is my first (97th) love, but I'm a sucker for a big tall scary man with the biggest daddy milkers this planet will ever see. I want to eat him whole like a snake. ALSO I HOPE THIS GOES THROUGH THE FIRST FUCKING TIME. fuck dumblr !!!

YESSS BESTIEEE i got you! also fr fuck dumblr cause there deadass wasn’t even a repeat ask that you might have sent in so thank GOD you managed to get it in! thanks as always for requesting ilysm MWAH kiss (IM SO FUCKING SORRY I’M LATE TOO MAN FUCKING HELL HCs WERE SO EASY FOR ME BEFORE AND NOW THEY’RE HARD)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

General König Headcanons

Trigger Warnings: fluff, and angst, graphic depictions of violence, anxiety, bullying, fighting, obsessive tendencies,

♡ As much as I’d love to believe in the whole “Oh he’s just a big anxiety baby he can’t do anything by himself :(“ stuff, he is a grown man standing at probably between 6’4” and 6’6” (~193cm-198cm) tall

♡ BUT!!!! This does not mean I will not make him a soft man at some points here. And this will mostly be tame; no NSFW unless somebody asks for that. And a friendly reminder that these are just HCs I personally have, if you agree or not is up to you. This is all for fun c:

♡ He’s spent so long hating his height because of all the people that bullied him and those who only see him as a towering beast, but he’s slowly coming to terms with that

♡ Like the whole “Oh yeah, I’m a pretty big guy. There’s tons of random people as tall as me, and in history, even taller!” type beat you know?

♡ And I feel like this anxiety has caused him to be wary of new people, but not flat out afraid; he’s deeply aware he has to interact with people and does his best

♡ He also does not talk about his past, feeling a little embarrassed to do so in the first place; nobody’s going to have time for it!!

♡ Except for when he’s drunk; then he’s talking about some parts. The ones that aren’t too concerning, just the times he’s laughed about it now that he’s older

♡ Convinced he’s one of those people that uses words in German rather than their English counterparts in the middle of a sentence

♡ And then when someone stares at him like “Huh?” he apologizes and translates the words or sometimes full on phrases

♡ König is also pretty awkward as a result of his bullying, methinks

♡ Like he can interact with people all fine and stuff, but he can easily detect when someone’s not worth interacting with, so sometimes he’ll just walk away (bonus points if it’s in the middle of a conversation)

♡ I personally believe when he has anxiety attacks, he just isolates himself; nobody should see him this way, he doesn’t want to seem weak still

♡ Relationship wise…I’d like to think this is where his anxiety acts up the most

♡ König is definitely terrified of getting his heart broken, not wanting to have more pain inflicted on him

♡ And if his partner seems promising, I feel he’s very, very possessive and protective of them

♡ Defo the kinda guy to pull them close, glare at the person even thinking about coming near his partner, and kissing them.

♡ Also convinced he’d be obsessed with his partner

♡ König would do anything to keep someone’s attention on him, relishing more in praise than he would degradation

♡ Practically worships the ground they walk on, almost like his partner were some ethereal being that’s taken pity and pride in how much they love him

♡ He’s so normal

♡ König the kinda mf to, if his partner is shorter, lift them up and hold them close whenever he can

♡ He’s like a giant teddy bear, and adores to cuddle with his partner

♡ You know how muscles when at rest are super squishy? König’s secretly in love with how muscular he is

♡ Why? Because when he’s relaxed, it means he can get squeezed all over

♡ Bro likes his pecs getting squeezed, not even getting aroused from it or anything; he finds comfort when someone squishes his muscles and tells them how much they love him

♡ Now all that anxiety aside…König, being the grown man he is, is willing to fuck anybody up

♡ I mean…his character description describes König as someone who’s excelled in fighting hand-to-hand

♡ As much as he had wanted to be a sniper, even having the proficiency for it, he’s an amazing insertion specialist

♡ Bro has definitely killed somebody by slamming their spines on his formidable thighs, breaking noses and several other things with his knees and fists and elbows

♡ He gets a kick out of fighting; have you heard some of his voice lines?

♡ “They. Are. No. Match for me.” has got to be his hottest voice line (because he’s so fucking right—the man breaks down doors easily and can grapple and manhandle anyone)

♡ He relishes in the fight, becoming a much different person entirely than his anxiety allows

♡ And I personally would like to believe he actually likes hand-to-hand much more than he lets on

♡ König probably just sees his role as an insertion specialist as a way to not only release the pain he feels inside, but also as a method in which he can prove how menacing he can be

♡ Nobody should ever think about crossing him, lest they wanna end up going home in a body bag or a box; sometimes not even at all.

[drewmorg4n]

Oh! Hey 😊. Could you do a Regan AU fic where they're younger and going right to the college?. ( I think we barely get to read this kind of concept of them being at university). It could be enemies to lovers or any direction you want to give it ofc 😉.

No Way Out

pairing: rick grimes x negan smith (college au)

wc: 5k

ao3 link

summary: When Rick runs into a group of guys who have been bullying him, he finds himself in a rough situation. How will he get out unscathed?

The warm, uncomfortable breeze hits him face first as he walks out of his building, attempting to make it to his first class of the day. He’s running late - as usual - so he quickens his steps, almost sprinting.

Fuck, he’s already out of breath. Rick doesn’t know why he decided to enroll himself in a class located all the way on the other side of campus. Not even a full week in and he already wants to drop out, not to mention the handful of frat guys from last year that are still on his ass for whatever reason. He’s not even halfway done with college and he desperately wants it to be over; wants to move out of his shitty dorm, find an actual full-time job doing what he loves. He can only dream.

Quite literally dream. He’s suddenly pulled out of his daydreaming by a hard shove to his shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground completely. He stumbles, drops his coffee then his book which of course happens to land in the puddle of coffee; said puddle growing by the second, flooding his book.

“Shit!” He yelps, bending down and grabbing his book as quickly as he can. He pays no attention to where the sudden shove came from, simply focusing on saving his book while he still can. If he still can.

“The hell are you reading anyway?” A voice comes from his side, harsh and demanding. Before Rick knows it, his book is snatched from his hands. He stares up at the guy - blonde, tall - and recognizes him immediately as one of the frat boys who bullied him throughout last year.

He quickly skim reads the back of the book, laughing. “A fucking gay book? What, dreaming about your fantasies because no guy wants you? Huh?” He pries, voice dripping with malice. The few other guys standing around him begin to chime in, laughing.

Rick’s heart just now begins to beat out of his chest, suddenly hammering hard beneath his ribs. No one knows he’s gay except for a few of his closest friends. Now, a bunch of idiotic frat guys know, which really shouldn’t be a big problem - they’re not in the stone ages - but these guys don’t like that apparently.

“Can you just give it back? I have class.” His voice is soft but he manages an eye roll, hopefully showing them he’s done with their bullshit.

They all laugh again, the tall blonde throwing Rick’s book right at his face, connecting with his nose. Of course, the one hardcover book he has is the one that gets thrown at his face.

He stumbles back, wincing in pain and reaching up to gently cradle his nose. He has no clue what the fuck to do. He can’t just fight these guys off; he probably can’t even fight off a single one. He might have a decent amount of muscle but he’s a bit short, so that immediately puts him at a disadvantage. The moment he looks up at them, realizing his hands are covered in blood, he knows he’s fucked.

“Hey! Dipshits!” A voice booms loudly from behind Rick, making him flinch with fear. He’s honestly afraid to turn around, afraid to face the person who holds a voice so recognizable to him. He doesn’t even get the chance to actually turn around, though, as the man comes around his side, stepping in front of him. “The hell are you stupid fucks doing?” He asks genuinely, softer than before.

Surprisingly, all of their faces go slack with shock, maybe a touch of fear, too. Silence fills the air, making Rick uncomfortable.

“I’m waiting for a goddamn answer!” He snaps, stepping closer and getting in the blondes face, easily towering over him. Said blonde backs away, mouth opening and closing as he searches for something to say.

“N-nothing…” The blonde - Gareth, Rick remembers - stammers softly, face pale.

Rick watches in awe as Negan mumbles something under his breath, too soft for Rick to hear. The group of guys immediately disperse once Negan goes quiet, practically running away. Meanwhile, Rick is still standing there, beyond confused, blood dripping from his hands and nose. He sees Negan’s shoulders rise and fall slowly - taking a deep breath.

Negan spins around, face to face with Rick again. “You alright?” He asks gently, possibly in the softest tone Rick has ever heard him speak in.

Rick is at a loss for words. Why the hell did Negan do all that if he practically does the same shit to him almost everyday? Well, maybe not the book to the face thing, but the teasing, yes.

“What-I…” He falters for words. Does he thank him? Tell him to fuck off? He’s starting to wish Negan never showed up; he’d much rather have taken the beating those guys were about to give him. “You tell them to fuck off just so you could tease me yourself? That it?” He snaps, somewhat surprising himself.

Negan’s whole face scrunches up in confusion, taken off guard. “What?” He asks bewildered, dropping his voice a bit. “I fucking told them to fuck off because they were about to beat you the fuck up, that’s why.” He raised his voice, unable to contain his anger and confusion towards Rick.

Rick rolls his eyes, not responding. He picks up his book again, shaking off the coffee dripping from the pages. He spent twenty dollars on this fucking book and now it’s absolutely ruined.

Negan stood idle, watching. The look on Rick’s face once he saw how destroyed his book was broke Negan’s goddamn heart. He might pick on Rick often, probably too often, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He just likes to rile people up for no reason; call it his hobby, if you will. Doesn’t mean he dislikes Rick - god, why would anyone dislike him? He’s the definition of fucking beautiful, soft and caring towards every person he meets. What’s not to like?

Maybe he just should’ve been nicer to Rick. Negan knows his teasing and smart ass comments can sometimes get to people - make them upset - but he assumed Rick didn’t care. At least that’s what it seemed like by the looks of it. After all, Rick is absolutely gorgeous; there’s no way in hell Negan would ever get a chance with him if he’s just an idiotic asshole who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

“You should probably do something about your nose.” He comments softly, gesturing to his own face. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” He adds, consciously making an effort to keep his voice calm and soft, the complete opposite of how he normally speaks.

“Yeah.” Rick replies blandly, no hint of emotion behind his voice. He tries to keep his fingers pinched on each side of his nose, applying firm pressure but regardless, the flow of blood doesn’t let up.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to my apartment. Clean you up.” He offers, nodding his head in the direction of his home.

“You have an apartment?” Rick asks, eyes wide and brows raised. He doesn’t even register Negan’s offer to help him, he’s more focused on how the hell Negan has an apartment as a college student.

“Yeah.” He nods, beginning to walk off, hoping Rick will follow. Only a short moment passes and Rick is by Negan’s side, keeping up with him with interest.

“How do you even afford that? Daddy’s money or somethin’?” He asks stubbornly, still not entirely convinced that Negan genuinely wants to help him. But, he’s quite literally following Negan to his apartment, so if this ends up being a trap of sorts, he asked for it.

“Oh, fuck off.” Negan chides, softly bumping his shoulder into Rick’s. “Well, half daddy’s money, half my own. So, you’re right I suppose.” He concedes, sighing heavily just to be dramatic.

Rick only huffs heavily, rolling his eyes. He has so many questions to ask, so fucking confused why Negan is helping him. He can’t find it in himself to ask anything, though, continuous waves of embarrassment flowing over him as he walks throughout campus with an extremely obvious bloody nose.

They walk in silence for a bit, maybe a few minutes until Negan notices the immense amount of blood pouring from Rick’s nose. “Shit.” He says, urgency and concern filling his voice. He begins to dig through each of his pockets, trying to find something Rick can use to slow down his blood loss. His hand digs into something soft. He pulls it out, retrieving a red scarf. He forgot he still carried it with him. “Here.” He holds out the scarf, waiting for Rick to take it.

Rick stops in his tracks, staring down at Negan’s hand. He’s holding out a red scarf. Rick contemplates on taking it but with the way his nose is bleeding, he’s surprised he’s not dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost.

“Rick, just fucking take it.” He sighs, waving around the scarf, beckoning Rick to accept it. When he doesn’t, Negan doesn’t hesitate to do it himself. He folds the scarf a few times, making sure it’s thick enough to soak up blood, then steps closer to Rick, removing his bloody hands from his nose. He quickly pinches Rick’s nose, the cloth between their skin. He settles his other hand at the back of Rick’s neck, pulling him closer so he can get a better grip on Rick’s nose.

It takes every single atom of energy inside of Rick to stop himself from making a desperate little noise in the back of his throat. He hasn’t been touched like this in years, and the jolt of want it sends up his spine is familiar to say the least. He wants to be touched, sometimes even feels like he needs to be. But this sudden touch from Negan doesn’t mean anything, there’s no way it could.

“Thank you.” Rick says softly, moving to replace Negan’s hand with his own. Negan backs away at that, removing his hands; removing his soft touch.

“Course, darlin’.” He smiles softly, offering a quick nod. He quickly begins to walk again, feeling a bit unsure about keeping eye contact with Rick for so long.

Rick’s body takes a moment to actually start moving again. He got so thrown off by what Negan said; what he called him. Darlin’. Fuck, he needs to get out of his head. He’s heard Negan call countless of people ‘darlin’’, it doesn’t mean anything significant, just a simple name he uses often. On the other hand, Rick isn’t exactly sure why he’s internally freaking out over this. Negan has been picking on him for almost a year now, which in turn caused Rick to dislike him. Why does he care so much about being called a stupid pet name from a guy he’s never even liked, let alone been friends with?

Nonetheless, Rick quickly catches up with Negan, once again trailing beside him.

In a few short minutes they arrive at Negan’s apartment. It’s nothing fancy - not that Rick expected it to be - but it’s better than the dorms.

They enter through the front entrance, hit with a wave of cool air. Rick hadn’t realized how much he was sweating until the sweat on his skin began to quickly cool off, sending a chill up his spine.

Negan leads the way, stopping at the third or fourth door; Rick wasn’t sure in all honesty. He unlocks it, holding the door open for Rick. When they’re inside, Negan is quick to run off somewhere - down a short hall - returning not even a minute later with a first aid kit. He pulls out a few packages of gauze.

“C’mere.” He mumbles, walking over to the small couch and sitting down. He unwraps the gauze, waiting for Rick.

Rick once again hesitates, eyeing Negan’s hands to see what he’s unwrapping; it’s gauze. Something softens inside him as he watches Negan, who’s looking at him with worried eyes. He knows there’s most likely no reason to be so hesitant now, considering Negan gave him his own damn scarf to try and stop the bleeding, even going as far as applying it himself, walking Rick all the way back to his apartment just to help him clean up a bloody nose. He doesn’t need to keep his guard up, at least he thinks he doesn’t.

Rick sets his backpack and book on the dining room table before walking over to Negan, sitting down next to him but making sure to keep some distance between them. Negan closes that gap between them, bumping his thigh into Rick’s as he gets closer. Fuck, this is not helping at all, Rick thinks. He needs to get away from Negan before he does something he’ll regret.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, you know. I’m not like those bastards. I just like to tease people and piss ‘em off for fun; it’s harmless in my opinion but not everyone thinks that.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes. He pulls out the gauze from the package, reaching up to replace the soaked bandana. Rick visibly flinches at the contact.

“I know. Just kinda thought you didn’t like me or somethin’.” He says softly, feeling somewhat embarrassed still, if not even more by his confession.

“Nah, takes a lot for me to really not like someone.” He says easily, tightening his grip on Rick’s nose in another attempt to stop the bleeding. He notices Rick’s hands, just hovering in front of him instead of resting on his thighs. They’re still covered in blood, of course but he can’t just leave him like that. “Let’s go get your hands cleaned up, yeah?” He stands, fingers still firmly gripping Rick’s nose.

Rick simply follows Negan’s lead, keeping quiet. When they start to walk, though, Negan’s still holding his nose. He’s walking beside Rick awkwardly, kind of shuffling sideways as they walk to the bathroom. They look absolutely ridiculous but this seems to be the easiest way to do it without being extremely close to one another.

When they finally get to the bathroom - albeit slowly - Rick washes his hands, scrubbing away all the dried and fresh blood. Negan still stands beside him, idling as he waits. The few times Rick has glanced up, looking at the mirror, he sees Negan staring at him. Whether it be the side of his face or his eyes, or even his lips and neck. His expression isn’t exactly easy to read, though. He doesn’t look disgusted at all, which surprises Rick to some extent. Instead, he seems intrigued in a way. Rick has no clue how this makes him feel; shy, embarrassed, flustered? Probably all of the above.

Once Rick is finished he quickly dries his hands off, reaching up and replacing Negan’s hand with his own. He couldn’t bear the other man’s touch for much longer, it physically pained him in a way; a way that confused him beyond belief.

They returned to the living room shortly after, sitting side by side again but farther apart. Rick has his head tilted back, resting against the couch. Hopefully this’ll get the blood to stop flowing permanently now.

Negan somewhat mimics Rick’s position, resting back against the couch. His head is tilted to the side, staring at Rick - again. Something about him is so alluring but Negan can’t put his finger on what it is. Maybe it’s his icy blue eyes, his dark curls, his pink and plump lips. Fuck, everything is alluring about him.

“I completely forgot I had class.” Rick says suddenly but soft. This would only be his first absence in any of his classes but that doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty, even though he almost got beat up and still currently has a bloody nose.

Negan is quiet, uncomfortably so. Rick had expected a response like, ‘fuck class’ or ‘you literally have a bloody nose and that’s what you’re worried about?’ but he hadn’t expected the piercing silence. Nonetheless, Rick goes silent again, too. He starts thinking about his book and if it’s still salvageable; probably not.

“I’m sorry about all the teasing and shit. I hadn’t really realized you took it the wrong way and thought I hated you because of it.” He explains monotonously. He watches Rick, trying to gauge his reaction. There’s not much to gauge, though. Rick’s expression doesn’t change at all - no body movements, no sounds, nothing. “Look, you don’t have to accept my apology or anything, I just want you to know I’m sorry and I regret it.” Negan is surprised by his own words. Somehow, Rick has such a tight hold on him it’s making him regret his behavior towards him, which has never happened before. Negan doesn’t regret shit, ever.

Rick is somewhat shocked by Negan’s apology. He doesn’t know the man well but he assumes he doesn’t apologize often, probably thinking he’s always right and never wrong.

“It’s ok, I forgive you.” He concedes, glancing to his side to look at Negan. He really doesn’t know why he didn’t hesitate to accept Negan’s apology; he didn’t even have to think about it, he just simply forgave him.

Silence falls over them again as Negan thinks. He hadn’t expected that to be so easy. What he did expect was for Rick to maybe go off on him, hit him with a few select words. He’ll gladly take this reaction over any other, though.

His eyes glance over to Rick’s things at some point, noticing his ruined book, still soaked with coffee. It reminds him of Rick’s bloody nose, how those worthless fucking frat guys had no problem with throwing the book at Rick’s perfect face - which is still perfect by the way, thank god. After observing Rick’s features up close, Negan still can’t comprehend the man’s beauty.

“Why’d they throw the book at you anyway?” Negan thinks out loud, realizing it later rather than sooner.

Rick sighs. He really doesn’t feel like explaining this. Of course if Negan finds out what the book is about, he’ll connect the dots easily and immediately know that Rick is gay. Not that Rick is ashamed, he never has been and doesn’t think he ever will be, but he prefers to keep his sexuality to himself when it comes to people he doesn’t know; or rather in this case, not familiar with.

“I don’t know. Guess they didn’t like what the book was about or somethin’.” He offers nonchalantly, hoping Negan doesn’t get too curious, but of course he does.

“Well now I gotta know what it’s about.” He smirks, standing from the couch and starting over to the table with Rick’s things.

“Negan, don’t. Please.” Rick tries, sounding completely wrecked, more than he actually looks.

Negan chuckles, rounding the table. “What’s so bad about a fucking book? Is it porn or some shit?” He teases, that devious smirk still planted on his lips. He picks up the book, reading the cover to himself - Red, White & Royal Blue - then flips it around. He reads the summary, beginning to end, word for word. “I don’t see what’s so bad about a gay book, Rick.” He deadpans with a soft roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t say it was bad, I just-“

“Hold the fuck on.” Negan interrupts, coming to a realization. “Did that fucking asshole throw this at you because of what it’s about?” He asks incredulously, brows furrowed.

Rick closes his eyes and sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore; he doesn’t want to have to practically come out to the guy who’s been teasing him since freshman year. Though, he assumes Negan isn’t homophobic, considering his nonchalant reaction to the book.

“I don’t really know. I guess? I mean, he made fun of me for readin’ that stuff, said I only read it because…no guy wants me or whatever.” Rick muttered, sort of hoping Negan didn’t catch that last part.

Negan puts the book down then makes his way back to the couch, sitting down. His knee brushed against Rick’s, eliciting a soft shiver from the smaller man.

“I’m sorry.” Negan says softly, turning himself towards Rick. He places a gentle hand on his lower thigh. “No one should be making fun of you for that shit. That’s not even something I would do.” He insisted, voice full of rage and disgust.

Once again, Rick is surprised. It’s not that he expected Negan to be homophobic, but he really didn’t expect the man to apologize for the second time, either. He appreciates it, though, especially coming from someone like Negan who is very rough around the edges.

“Thank you.” Rick replied quietly. Negan’s hand on his thigh felt warm, almost too warm - like electricity was emanating from his hand. As a quick distraction, Rick removes the bundle of gauze from his nose, checking if he’s still bleeding. Surprisingly, it’s finally stopped. He takes a moment to wipe away any remaining blood on and around his nose. When he’s done, Negan interrupts his train of thought.

“Here, let me take it.” He says, holding his hand out, palm facing upwards. Rick gives him an unsure look, brows furrowed. “For fucks sake, Rick. Just give it to me.” He pesters lightly, cracking a soft smile.

Rick hands the gauze over hesitantly until it’s abruptly snatched from his hand. “Thanks.” He offers shyly, somewhat awkwardly. He watches Negan get up and retreat to the kitchen, coming back within a few quick seconds.

The silence that falls over them is comfortable. Rick is still resting his head against the back of the couch, just in case his nose starts to bleed again. Negan is almost mimicking him, though his head is turned towards Rick, simply watching him. Despite the silence being comfortable, Rick is nervous and still a bit on edge about all of this. His knee bounces up and down continuously, his fingers rubbing at the hem of his shirt. Apparently, Negan hadn’t noticed any of it.

“Has anyone ever told you you have the most gorgeous fucking eyes?” Negan asks, voice low and raspy. He watches for Rick’s reaction which is only a soft, red glow smeared across his cheeks, eventually gracing the tips of his ears. How such a normal compliment managed to fluster him is beyond Negan.

Rick is quiet for a moment, trying to process what Negan just said. Many people have complimented his eyes before, so surely Negan isn’t flirting with him. There’s just no way; he won’t believe it.

“Well, uh-sometimes yeah. Usually not as vulgar, though.” His attempt at a joke is extremely lousy. He just needed a distraction from his own awkwardness, though.

Negan huffs out a small laugh. “Well, they’re fucking gorgeous, Rick.” He wants to add more, say how his eyes are just as pretty as the rest of him, but quickly decides against it. After not realizing his teasing was making Rick uncomfortable, he doesn’t want to push it.

Rick cracks a soft smile, more to himself than to Negan. “Thank you.” He says, finally having the courage to turn his head towards Negan and actually look him in the eyes. The same soft smile on his own lips is also on Negan’s, which makes his heart skip a beat. Rick quickly finds that Negan’s eyes are also gorgeous - they’re a soft hazel with streaks of green mixed in. “Yours are too.” He offers, unaware he had actually said that out loud. Negan’s soft smile is quick to turn into a devilish smirk, but it’s the most endearing thing Rick has ever seen.

Negan manages to subtly inch closer to Rick, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Would you be mad if I kissed you?” He asks, voice low and barely reaching a whisper.

Rick internally freezes when Negan wraps an arm around him. His touch is hot again and very foreign, but Rick finds himself leaning into it just slightly. The question is the next thing that makes him freeze even more, though. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? He doesn’t know. He’s quiet as he thinks, pondering for a response that doesn’t sound stupid. How would he feel if Negan kissed him? That’s another thing he has absolutely no answer to.

“Sorry.” Negan grimaces, only at himself, though. He really didn’t want to fuck this up anymore than he already has, but it seems like that plan fell through. He backs away a bit as he continues speaking. “If you couldn’t already fuckin’ tell, I get way too ahead of myself sometimes and-“

“No.” Rick interrupts firmly.

Negan furrows his brows in confusion. “What?” He asks a moment later, voice soft and wary.

“That’s my answer to your question.” He states simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Negan’s expression doesn’t change, though, so Rick tries again. “I wouldn’t be mad if you kissed me, Negan.” He reiterates soft and quiet. His knee has stopped doing that nervous bounce, so he supposes that’s a good sign.

“Oh.” Negan nods once, understanding. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Rick spits out quickly; quicker than he can even comprehend. He decides to take the reins, shuffling closer to Negan until he’s snug against the other man’s warm body. Negan takes it from there, though, leaning in slowly and hesitantly. Their lips brush against each others softly, barely even connected until Rick takes that bit of control back and presses in further. The warmth from Negan’s lips is so much more intense than his hand resting on his thigh - it spreads through his entire body like fire, reaching every crevice.

Negan’s free hand rests on Rick’s hip, gripping him softly. He wants nothing more than to snake his hand under Rick’s shirt, feel his warm skin against his hand. He refuses to push any further, though. For now, the soft, slow movement of their lips is enough for him.

It’s not enough for Rick. Within a very short amount of time, he opens his mouth, slipping his tongue out to lick against Negan’s lips. Negan’s mouth opens almost immediately, allowing Rick entry. He explores as he pleases, licking Negan’s tongue, lips, teeth - anywhere he can reach.

A surprised little moan slips out of Negan. He’d normally not give a shit, but with Rick it feels different. He has this need to go slower, to be more gentle with him. He still wants to peruse his plan of not fucking this up. He doesn’t relent, though. He digs his fingers into Rick’s clothed flesh, but much softer than he actually wants. The arm wrapped around Rick’s shoulders curls around his neck, slipping his fingers into Rick’s hair which is much softer than he expected.

As their kiss intensifies Rick’s hands are gripping each side of Negan’s neck, rubbing his thumbs across his soft skin every now and then. He’s so caught up in all of this that he doesn’t even realize he’s moaning, throaty sounds slipping through his lips almost every second.

Negan pulls away shortly after, lips pulsing. “If we keep going I’m gonna get too worked up, darlin’.” He breathes heavily, throwing in a soft wink just because he can.

Rick sort of shrinks into himself, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh-sorry.” He apologizes softly, retracting his hands from Negan’s space. He can’t help but stare at his lips - they’re swollen and pink, shining with spit. All he wants to do is lean in again and kiss him, but he knows he shouldn’t, as tempting as it is. “I have class soon anyway.” He adds after a long moment of silence.

“Me too.” Negan says, suddenly scrambling for things to say. He doesn’t want Rick to leave in all honesty. He’s enjoyable to be around, even the multiple times where Negan was just teasing him. Now that they both seem to be on the same page, Negan doesn’t want to leave his side. Call him clingy, but people don’t genuinely like him very often. He understands it’s hard for some people to be around him with how vulgar and bold he is.

Rick stands abruptly, heading over to the table with his things. He slips his backpack on and grabs his book, which is still soaked. “Thanks again for uh-cleanin’ me up. You really didn’t have to.” He concedes softly, stepping towards Negan again.

Negan stands, shaking his head back and forth. “It’s the least I could do after treating you like shit for a solid year.” He offers. He quickly scans Rick’s form up and down, taking all of him in for the millionth time. Negan won’t allow himself to think about all of the explicit things he wants to do to Rick, so he quickly interrupts his thoughts. “Let me walk you out.” He steps past Rick and makes his way to the front door, clearly hearing Rick’s footsteps trail behind him.

They stop under the doorway, both men suddenly becoming quiet and awkward. They only stare at each other for a moment, as if saying something with their eyes.

“Maybe we could hangout sometime? Get coffee or something?” Negan offers with a slight tilt of his head; just like Rick does so often.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Rick agrees with a soft nod, accompanied with a smile. Negan smiles in return and suddenly Rick loves the way it looks on Negan’s face. His white, bright teeth, his dimples; he looks perfect.

Negan leans in without thinking, pressing his lips to Rick’s. It’s a quick, chaste kiss but it’s more than enjoyable to both men. Once Negan pulls away, Rick’s cheeks are quick to turn red, color creeping down his neck. Negan wonders how far it goes.

“See you soon.” Is the last thing Negan says. He watches Rick’s retreating back and admittedly, his ass too. Nonetheless, Negan thinks he’s far beyond attached now with no way out.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 4k

Part 3/40

"I think I've come to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who I am." - Jenny Slate

Masterlist

“So, you think you’ll want to join our crew as we valiantly fight against the Darkspawn invasion?” Darcy pulled out his sword and started duelling an invisible enemy where they stood in the courtyard of Redcliffe castle. Old blood stained the grass beneath their feet, the bodies of the undead they’d fought only a few hours beforehand strewn across the ground like discarded playthings. The smell of copper and rot filled the air but Darcy seemed bothered by none of it, instead, it seemed to almost enthuse him. “I know you almost got killed,” he said with a flippant motion of his hand, his other resting on his hip, quickly moving past that unfortunate fact, “but you aren’t afraid to fight dirty and you took down those three undead all on your own. I’d be remiss not to ask you to join our team, we could use a rogue like you. We’d have Leliana for all the- well, whatever it is she does when she’s not talking about her supposedly prophetic dreams from your Shemlen God, and you, the intimidating aura and ruthless survival skills. A perfect combination.” Darcy clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes at her pleadingly.

“Uh,” Gwen said with all the intelligence of a wolf caught in a bear trap. Her head felt like it had been shoved full of cotton, and run over by a wagon, and the ringing music in her ears had only gotten stronger in her weakened state. 

“What our fearless leader means to say,” Alistair interjected while Gwen continued to blink at Darcy, at a loss for words, “is that we would be honoured to have your strong and ruthless fighting spirit on our side.” 

“Yes, that,” Darcy agreed. 

“Why am I being the tactful one here,” Alistair said with exasperation, “That’s usually not my strong suit.”

“Then you can rest easy, Alistair, intelligence would be a necessity, which you are sorely lacking,” Morrigan droned, her arms crossed over her chest, her robes covered in sprays of dark blood that did not belong to her. Out of all of them, she was relatively unscathed - the perks of being a mage. 

“Oh, well excuse me if I don't possess your level of intelligence, oh great and wise Bog Witch.” Alistair huffed.

“My hut was adjacent to a swamp, Alistair. Anyone with even the slightest semblance of wisdom would be aware of that fact.” Morrigan shot back, Alistair looking more and more miffed by the second. 

“Children, the both of you” Darcy cut in, stepping between the two with his hands up as though they were quarrelling school children, ”trading insults isn’t going to convince Gwen to join us.”

Gwen had been watching the exchange with tired eyes, barely hearing what they were saying in her exhausted state, still unsure how she was managing to stand on her own two feet. But at the mention of her name, she focused her gaze on Darcy. She had attempted to uncover any ulterior motives lurking in the shadows. He had seen her in action, swift and deadly with her daggers in hand. But beyond that, he knew almost nothing about her except for the way she could take down their enemy without hesitation. She wasn’t exactly the kind of person one would want hanging around your camp late at night. And yet, during their entire battle through Redcliffe castle and their talk with Lady Isolde - who was now dealing with the consequences of her poorly thought-out plan - she could find none. Darcy, Alistair, Morrigan, and even Barkspawn had had her back throughout the entire fight, save for when she had gotten separated, though that was as much her fault as it was theirs. Darcy had treated Lady Isolde with kindness and grace that she had returned with self-righteousness and a judgemental eyeing of Darcy’s ears. It had left Gwen confused as to why they were going to go out of their way to fetch a mage from the Circle to un-possess Connor at great personal risk to Darcy when it was the Arlessa who’d gotten them into that mess in the first place. She had caused the death of most of the castle’s occupants and had unleashed a horde of undead upon the people she was supposed to protect. The assassin mage they had freed from the prison had offered an easy trade, Isolde’s life for her son’s. It seemed simple to Gwen, but Darcy had refused and had instead offered an alternative that would have them making the trek back to Redcliffe from the Circle. 

By all accounts, Darcy was a good person trying to help everyone he came across, whether they deserved it or not. She wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted her to join them just because of her ability to fight, there had to be something else, some other reason he wanted to get her to travel with them. Perhaps it was as simple as having her ‘intimidating aura’ around so that others were less likely to take advantage of Darcy’s good-hearted nature, though Morrigan provided enough intimidation to scare off an entire army if she so chose to.

Did his Grey Warden senses pick up on what she hid behind her bandana? Was he trying to get her out of the town so he could put her down like the feral monster she was? It was certainly a possibility, yet he seemed too genuine to have anything sinister planned for her. 

“But,” Gwen furrowed her brow, “you don’t know anything about me.”

Darcy shrugged, “I’m good at reading people, and I can tell you’re the type of person who tries to do the right thing.” Gwen kept her lips pursed, that still didn’t negate the fact that she was hiding things about herself she had no intention of revealing, things that would turn them all against her in the blink of an eye. As if reading her thoughts, Darcy continued, “You’re a secretive person, I can tell you value your privacy, and I respect that. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, as long as you don’t plan on betraying us that is.” He grinned as though he’d told a funny joke. No one laughed. Morrigan looked as disinterested as humanly possible, and Alistair… Alistair was looking at her with barely concealed curiosity and a dash of hope that made her heart start to race. He was going to be a problem. He couldn’t find out what she was or what she’d done. Even men with the kindest of faces could be hiding viciousness underneath. She was sure that that curiosity would turn to disgust, fear, and hatred. Feelings she couldn’t afford a Grey Warden to have for her, not if she wanted to complete what she had set out to do.

Gwen rubbed at her eyes with a bloody hand, probably smearing it all over her face, but she found she didn’t care, “I guess I’ll join you, for now.” These people held the key to her salvation - answers about the Darkspawn and an end to the incessant ringing in her head that was slowly driving her crazy. She was determined to get what she needed from them, no matter what it took. And if they tried to kill her, well, she’d either kill them first, or she’d be put out of her misery. At least she could say she tried. 

Darcy squealed and clapped happily like a child being given a puppy for their birthday. Alistair's face lit up with a large, toothy grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement and Morrigan continued to look as disinterested as she always did. Barkspawn barked happily, his butt wiggling with the force of his enthusiasm. 

“But first, I need sleep and maybe some more health potions.” Gwen swayed on her feet, leaning a hand against the cool castle wall for stability. Alistair winced and took a step forward, reaching out like he intended to hold her arm, but stopped when Gwen shied away, dropping his arms and looking away awkwardly. She supposed it wasn’t entirely irrational, considering he had all but carried her into the throne room to confront Lady Isolde and the demon wearing her son like a skin suit. He appeared amiable enough, but on instinct Gwen had cringed away from him, her mind immediately going into survival mode. Every muscle in her body had tensed, ready to defend or flee at a moment's notice. It wasn't that she thought he would harm her, but over the years it had become ingrained in her the need to constantly be aware and prepared for any potential danger. She couldn't control these automatic survival instincts, they guided everything she did and they kept her safe. She didn’t correct herself or apologize either, she didn’t need him thinking he could just touch her whenever he wanted, that would lead to complications she wanted to avoid experiencing again. 

Darcy heartily agreed - Gwen was relieved to turn Alistair’s attention away from her - having already asked Bann Teagen to allow them to stay the night in the castle, he got the attention of a soldier who pointed them in the direction of the guest wing. There were only two spare rooms available that didn’t have dead, rotting corpses being cleaned out of them, so they had to split who slept where. Darcy, Alistair, and Barkspawn took one room, while Morrigan and Gwen took the other. Gwen wasted no time and quickly exited, making her escape to the room. Thankful that there were two twin beds inside the little room and just enough walking space to comfortably fit two people. The last thing she wanted was to roll over, have her bandana shift, and for Morrigan to wake up to a face full of unnatural split cheeks and sharp, pointed teeth. Having separate beds meant that Gwen could ensure that the covers stayed over her head while she slept to avoid any accidental face reveals. And a dagger in hand for good measure. 

The late evening light shone through the small window on the far wall, the orange and pink colours of the sunset illuminating the old wooden furniture, knicks and scratches carved into the surface speaking to the lives of those who had previously occupied the room, servants who were more than likely dead. A worn carpet that once must have been a lively shade of red now sat brown with age and askew, dejected on the cold stone floor. The pillows were indented in the middle as though they hadn’t been moved since their last owner had peacefully slept the night away, unaware of the dangers that lurked around the corner. Gwen’s stomach rolled and she quickly turned her thoughts to other matters, unwilling to stay on that distressing subject.

Morrigan followed soon after her, casting her a cursory glance before complaining about the lack of service and proclaiming she would leave to find a clean bucket of water to wash herself with. Gwen doubted she would be successful, but was pleased to have the room to herself for a moment so she did not point that out.

In her absence, Gwen peeled off her armour, blood-crusted clothes following suit until she was only in her smalls. She felt vulnerable in this state, her pale, blue-tinted skin like that of a corpse was littered with scars, most she did not care if anyone saw, but the ones that she did… well she’d rather not have to explain them. The most haunting were the ones around her neck, wrists, and ankles, as though something had dug into her skin slowly for a long time. They left jagged edges and indentations, discoloured skin and marks that at one time had clearly been worn down to the bone. Her back was more raised red scar tissue than regular skin, long strips intersected with smaller ones made her back look like a gruesome patchwork quilt.

She doubted Morrigan would ask questions, nor did Gwen feel compelled to answer should any arise. She didn’t want to talk about them and she hoped that Darcy had meant what he said about respecting her privacy. She’d never travelled with anyone before, so she wasn’t sure what to expect. But even if they didn’t ask, they were sure to come to their own conclusions, and she wasn’t sure if she liked that any better. 

Gwen quickly re-tied her bandana, ensuring that it was tight - almost too tight - against her face, and threw on her cleanest tunic before flopping into bed. She didn’t care that she was sweaty and covered in blood, there would be a lot more of that in her near future. And right now, her battered and bruised body, having consumed a few too many healing potions that were pulling on her body’s depleted energy stores to heal her many wounds, was too exhausted to do anything else but sleep. Thankfully, she had enough awareness to ensure that her favourite dagger was clutched tightly in hand and the blankets pulled up and over her head. It was comforting, a familiar habit she had developed in her youth - though the sheets of her childhood had been threadbare and stained a variety of disturbing colours and these sheets were soft and downy as one would expect of linen that was kept in a prestigious castle. As she curled up under the covers, she was quickly lost to sleep and her mind was consumed by familiar terrors. She was trapped in a relentless cycle of nightmares, as she was every night for as long as she could remember, another curse of her existence. Before long, she was lost in the depths of sleep's dark grip where her deeply suppressed memories came out to haunt her.

***

When Gwen woke the next morning, the early morning rays shining softly through the window, she was not surprised to find Morrigan gone. However, she was shocked to see a small glass bottle filled with a glowing red liquid, and a delicate porcelain cup filled with clear water that had been placed carefully at her bedside. Having rested and healed up quite well she had no current use for the healing potion and carefully to tucked it away for later. Gwen sniffed the water suspiciously and then decided she was being ridiculous, if someone - likely Morrigan as she was sure the castle servants were too busy to provide such frivolous items to guests -  had wanted to kill her they had plenty of opportunity while Gwen had been unconscious all night. 

She drank the water and didn’t immediately keel over. She declared it a victory, threw on her clothes, and went to find a bucket of water for a speedy sponge bath, hoping that with the continued cleaning of the castle, it wouldn’t be too hard to come by. It didn’t take too long searching to find one and haul it back to the still-empty room along with some bread and apples she had found stashed in the cellar. As she sat down to eat, a sense of relief flooded through her. She could enjoy a meal without Alistair's attentive gaze following her every move. The thought of being constantly watched while they were on the road together made her stomach churn. So for now, she took solace in this moment of solitude, savouring each bite as if it were her last. The quiet rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds provided a peaceful soundtrack to her meal, a temporary escape from the journey ahead.

She emerged from the castle's entrance, her eyes scanning the area for her new companions. She spotted them standing in a small group, their figures silhouetted against the rising sun. They were all armed and armoured, ready to set off. Despite the early hour, the sun shone brightly on them, highlighting their features and casting shadows along the gravel path. Behind her, the castle stood tall and imposing, with its stone walls and towers reaching towards the sky, unwelcoming and urging her to move out of its grasp. She nodded at them, not willing to say much more at the time, loath to admit that she wasn’t a morning person lest they learn that weakness.

“You snore in your sleep,” Morrigan remarked with disgust, before turning on her heel and marching off. Gwen's eyebrows furrowed, creating deep lines on her forehead as she tried to recall the sound of her own snoring, her lips pulled into a slight grimace.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Alistair said, coming to stand beside her, looking at Morrigan’s retreating form with a scowl marring his face, “She’s all bark and very little bite.” 

“It’s okay,” Gwen shrugged, “she reminds me of a barn cat I once… roomed with. It would hiss at me whenever I tried to pet it, but when I woke up at night it had curled itself into a ball at my back. I don’t know if it liked to cuddle or was just stealing my body heat, but I enjoyed it all the same.” She didn’t add that by ‘rooming’ she meant stowing away, it wasn’t relevant to the conversation and Alistair really didn’t need to know. No need to pique his curiosity any more than it already was. 

“That is… an oddly apt analogy,” Darcy murmured, shooting her a surprised look. 

“I think it has some room for improvement,” Alistair interjected, “how about instead of a cute, cuddly cat, she’s prickly lizard? Or maybe something that breathes fire and poisons everything it touches.” 

Gwen started walking after said prickly, fire-breathing, poisonous lizard, “It’s your head if she hears you calling her that.”

“It’s always my head with Morrigan,” Alistair grumbled, but he reluctantly trailed after her as they began their journey toward the Ferelden Circle. His heavy footsteps echoed against the cobblestone path, and he glared holes into Morrigan’s back, who seemed determined to ignore him.

While they left Redcliffe, Darcy quickly explained that the rest of their group, Leliana, the aforementioned rogue, and Sten, a Qunari warrior had gone ahead to scout for Darkspawn in the area. They were to meet mid-morning on the outskirts of Redcliffe. 

“Do you usually split up when heading into battle? Surely more fighters would be better,” she’d asked.

To which Darcy had nonchalantly replied, “It’s best to be prepared for whatever lies next so we don’t march headfirst into a trap after a particularly taxing battle,” he stayed quiet for a moment, “besides, if we were to all die then there would be no one to carry on the fight against the Blight. Someone has to make sure that Ferelden survives this.” His eyes were focused on the horizon, his jaw set, a subtle shift in his stance. The lightheartedness with which he had so far carried himself momentarily vanished as she saw a hint of the leader within him emerge. Despite the constant presence of Grey Wardens and their threat, she couldn't help but feel reassured by Darcy's fierce determination to end the Blight and silence the ever-present haunting music in her mind. For once, she felt like she might have made a good decision in following him.

They met up with the two other companions and Darcy regaled them with tales of their battle, acting out his most favourite parts, and greatly exaggerating how easy it was. Gwen thought about pointing out that she’d almost died, but felt like Darcy would take to that in the same way as a child would take to having their favourite toy tossed into the mud. Besides, the orange-haired woman - who Gwen assumed must be Leliana - was watching him with rapt attention, and she couldn’t bring herself to diminish the small woman’s joy. The large Qunari on the other hand seemed to have tuned out immediately and stared at the horizon, face set in what she could guess was a permanent scowl. She’d seen a few Qunari before, and his attitude seemed par for the course.

“Is he always like this?” Gwen tilted her head towards Darcy as she whispered to Alistair. He shot her a quizzical look. 

“Always like what?” 

Gwen waved him off with a shake of her head and he went back to eagerly watching his friend. 

As the story came to a close, Darcy officially introduced her to the two new companions, although she couldn't help but feel like she was actually the newcomer. Leliana bound excitedly up to her and expressed her joy at having another woman to travel with, and Sten followed up her statement questioning if Gwen was a woman at all, given that they could not see her face and her figure was hidden under her armour. Gwen held back a sigh as Darcy admonished him in a joking tone for being ‘blind to Gwen’s obvious womanly ways’. There had been many reasons why Gwen had never travelled with a group before this, but she could add a new reason to the list; constantly being around differing, colourful personalities was exhausting and it hadn’t even been an hour yet. 

Maybe ending the Blight wasn’t worth it after all. 

Once Morrigan started barking at them for their ‘ridiculous chattering’ and urging them to move on before the Blighted Army descended upon all of Thedas, the group started their Northward journey. 

It didn’t take long for them to share the details of how their quest had begun. The Teryn who commanded King Cailan’s army, Loghain Mac Tir, had betrayed the King and retreated during the battle of Ostagar when they had called for help, abandoning those fighting and resulting in the King’s death, along with Duncan, Alistair’s Grey Warden mentor and the man who had recruited Darcy only a week before the battle. Alistair had tried to hide the sorrow that had crossed his face at the mention of his former mentor, but even his witty sarcasm couldn’t hide that deep sort of pain. Gwen made note to not bring it up. If not for the timely intervention of Flemeth, the famed Witch of the Wilds, and Morrigan’s mother, Darcy and Alistair would have perished as well. Their current objectives were to invoke the Grey Warden treaties with the Dwarves, Elves, and Mages to get aid in hunting down the Archdemon and its Darkspawn Army. Darcy recited the tale to Gwen, who only responded with a grunt of confirmation. The amount of information was overwhelming and gave her a great deal to think about.

Gwen quickly learned how to tune out the sounds around her and focus on the road ahead. It had limited success as she was often roped into conversations by Alistair - which of course it was him trying to include her, he probably thought he was doing her a favour - but she did not care to partake in them, something that he didn’t seem to be able to grasp. Sometimes, a sharp glare was enough to get him to leave her alone, but once he learned that the glare was never followed up with acts of violence, he started to push more and more. 

Maker, it had only been two days and already she wanted to throttle the Grey Warden. She refused to let herself be pulled in by his attempted thoughtfulness. She didn’t need it, she didn’t need to be included, and she was quite fine walking in silence until she could get what she wanted. She knew better than to allow herself to fall for this, she was a monster, a freak, an unlovable creature. She did not deserve their kindness and the guilt of deceiving them into thinking she wasn’t rotten at the core of her being threatened to choke her. She had tried to go against her nature once, but that had only ended in pain, and she had never wanted to feel that kind of pain again, nor inflict it on others. She had kept to herself over the years, but now, surrounded by people, she felt that loneliness crush around her. It was silly, but seeing these people be able to joke around and be open with each other in a way that she would never be able to, only widened that aching space within her heart where… where she had been. This would be harder than Gwen had anticipated, but to get her answers, she would do just about anything.

Next Chapter

A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts!

[deathmetalangel]

BEAST OF THE HUNT (BLOODHOUND X F!READER)

warnings: slight violence, mentions of suicide, death, mourning, slight ooc bloodhound, leaving family behind

a lethal tracker with old ties to their villages renowned beast tamer and fiercest fighter

It was cold, a small reminder of home. Yet, not as bittersweet as the hunter that she eyed carefully from her vantage point. They were in the woods, why was she here? This was far from her village, but she needed to get away. Not forever, no. Never forever.

How good of a tracker can they be if they hadn’t noticed her yet? Or maybe it was because they had already noted her presence. “You should stop hiding úlfur. I heard you coming miles ago.”

“So you haven’t gotten rusty in all this time. I was afraid you weren’t living up to your name, Blóðhundur. Or worse, that Boone made you soft.” Bloodhound freezes, how much did she know?

Boone, their Boone. A sore subject still. “What do you know of him?” Bloodhound questions almost threateningly.

“I know he was weak. Too weak for the likes of you. And too dishonorable as well. You’re better than this, so why do you fight for his honor? He was scum that deserved to be in Hel with the rest of the cowards that died before us.” So she was there at the Thunderdome. Had she been on Bloodhound’s trail for longer than they realized?

The snapping of jaws catches their attention, Bloodhound looks down at the feral wolf snarling below the woman. “Don’t worry vinur, she’s harmless. Just a pup. I’d be more worried about Skepna.” Behind the adolescent wolf a set of eyes glowed from the shrubbery. A low hearty growl rumbles the ground below.

Large daunting steps near Bloodhound as a goliath of a bear towers over them and the wolf pup. “You didn’t come to kill me, so what’s your angle? Why after all this time did you decide to find me?”

Y/n drops down from the tree where she was perched. Her glowing eyes glare at Bloodhound with malice. “You never came back after Artur’s death. I tried to find you for years. And when I finally do I catch whiff of your trail I see your face plastered on billboards like some cheap entertainer. What happened to the ways of old? What happened to you?”

Bloodhound sighs, they knew they’d eventually see her again. Yet, nothing could really prepare them for how different she looked after all those years. Not quite as tall as they were, but still retaining a flattering yet full figure. A finely trained warrior for the hunt. Even as children it was clear Artur had faith in her abilities, yet Bloodhound was always ignorant to how much trust Artur had in theirs.

“The old ways are still dear to me y/n. I’m not an entertainer in the Apex Games, I fight for honor as a warrior to secure my future in Valhalla. I assumed you would understand that.” They could’ve came off as condescending, but it was the only way to get through to the pig headed woman.

“Fighting for money isn’t very noble Blóðhundur, we are supposed to die in battle for what is right, not for a reward like mercenaries. You really have changed. And to think I had hopes of you being just as I remembered.”

Both hunters stand off. The tension was thick, almost suffocating. “We can talk. Just come with me úlfur.”

Y/n swings her spear around before planting it firmly in the ground. “Or I can allow you mercy, and send you to Valhalla myself. As long as you put up enough of a fight that is.” Her wolf nuzzles into her open palm. He could sense the animosity brewing from the scorned woman.

Bloodhound makes no moves towards their axe, they’d never raise a hand to her. “Don’t be like this úlfur.”

“Don’t tell me how to be! You’re a liar and a disgrace to your uncle. Perhaps if you’d been any better of a hunter your old love would be standing by your side right now, able to protect you from the edge of my spjót.” She was on the brink of insanity, those years of solitude had taken their toll.

She’d fought in wars with more bloodshed most people would only see in nightmares. All for the sake of being reunited with the person she thought would always come back to her. Yet, they never did. “Freyja has blessed my travels, has Allfather given anything to you?”

“The Allfather guides my travels and blesses me with sight.”

“No your technology aids your sight. Allfather simply watches over you as you stray father from our people.” She snaps back. Skepna snaps his jaws at the increasing tension.

A fight was bound to ensue. No matter how much Bloodhound dreaded it. They did feel guilty, after all they’d spent all these years hoping their past wouldn’t come back. Especially once they made a name for themself in the Games. Y/n was always temperamental. Bloodhound knew that, but all these years away had diminished their ability to calm her temper.

Bloodhound makes no moves. They stand completely still while the woman sizes them up, as if she was trying to see what changed about them after all these years. Hel hath no fury like her. She wasn’t evil, far from it in fact she fought for honor. To honor her people and those who have fallen before her. She assumed that Bloodhound did the same.

“I do not wish to fight úlfur.”

“Stop calling me that! That isn’t my name. It hasn’t been my name in years. And neither is y/n. They are both dead to me. Much like yourself.” It wouldn’t make a difference, they would always be at odds. Bloodhound knew that. They still hoped they could break through to their, friend. Who were they kidding.

She wastes no time to charge forward ready to attack. Leaving Bloodhound no choice they grab their axe and block the attack. “If you don’t want to fight then kill me. Kill me and get it over with Blóðhundur!” She was practically pleading, whining for the release of death. She had come all this way for a reason. To die.

“You’ve gone mad úlfur.” She truly had. She can feel her body growing lighter. She’d been fighting non stop for the past week, and it had taken its heavy toll. Each step sent her muscles into a frenzy while her blood pumped even more oxygen through her body. She couldn’t keep this up.

But she had seen them, finally seen them. Her Bloodhound. Freyja looked down from her realm upon the grieving woman. Not even her gifts would help mend her inconsolable mind. “So what! What do you care? You didn’t care when you left! You didn’t care when I spent all those years waiting for you to come home! You didn’t care when she died!”

Bloodhound tenses. She, she. What had they done. They could see how manic she was, her sanity slipping from her grasp. Even her control over her gifts had been let loose. Her hair raised like hackles and eyes glowing a deep vibrant shade. Her teeth remain bared showing their sharp point.

Y/n moves swiftly and swings her spear forward with her remaining strength. Mystical wisps of color emit from her body that was currently about to give out. Her muscles were beyond torn and battered. Each painful swing put her in more danger. Bloodhound only has to place their axe to her throat and finally end her assault.

There she stays, forced to her knees to kneel before the person she once loved. Her neck stretched and ready to be decapitated. “I don’t want to do this y/n. Please.”

“You have won this battle. Your winning is my life, take it was you please.” She county even get herself to bark back. No more snide remarks left her mouth. Her eyelids flutter shut, dangerously awaiting slumber.

“Helena is dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Bloodhound sighs. A hearty sigh that carries the weight of the guilt. “When?”

“Last month, but she got sick a few weeks after you left. I tried, asked the gods for help, even begged the Allfather to heal her. I made a deal with Hel, but I would have to slaughter cities in order to cure her sickness. It was new, different than anything the village had seen. She died. And I had to sit and watch my daughter rot away.”

Her daughter. Her miracle from the gods that would always be by her side. How could it have slipped Bloodhound’s mind. The small child would always be caught up in her mothers cloak just basking in the protection she had. Their heart ached. Bloodhound looks back at the beasts who simply watched their mother anxiously.

“She asked for you, every day. Sometimes I think she could even see things I couldn’t. She would tell me stories about our glory days. When we’d go on hunts with Artur long before she was born, maybe he was with her. After all she was so close to the threshold between life and death.”

Y/n was young when Helena was born, but she was still a fully grown woman. She chokes back a sob as her body starts to give out.

“What did she say?”

“She would tell me stories about my coming of age hunt. Or the one where you almost got eaten and Artur had to pry open a beasts mouth just to make sure you didn’t get swallowed whole. Then, she even told me about the day she was born. I asked her how she remember. Helena told me that Artur would tell her about it when he would watch her when we were away.”

Y/n looks down and presses the blade into her skin. “Blóðhundur, why did you leave?”

“I had to y/n.”

“But you didn’t. You knew I still needed you, we still needed you.”

“I would’ve suffered if I had stayed. I have come to terms with my life.”

Bile rises in her throat at their words. Her rage reignited. “Like she suffered all these years? The years she was incapacitated by her illness and wondering why you left?! Like I suffered by watching our daughter wither away into nothing and die right in front of me. And you say I lived reckless. She didn’t get to live at all!”

Their daughter. Bloodhound had failed. They knew that. They shouldn’t have left. Bloodhound had lived two lives, their child had lived none.

“Kill me. Do her what she’s owed and bring her móðir back to her.” Bloodhound makes no such movement. They move their blade away when y/n jumps toward her nails aimed for their throat.

Instinctively Bloodhound tries to push her back, but their nearest free hand resided the blade that would cut clean through her arteries and bone. A satisfying slice followed by the crunch of leaves and bone fill the deafening silence. Then the cry of the wolf.

Bloodhound falls back on their bottom watching her body crumple for the ground and her beasts protecting her corpse. The pup howls out mourningly while she nudges her mother’s warm arm.

Skepna huffs and places his large muzzle on her abdomen. Bloodhound looks at her face, a slight smile gracing her features. Maybe she had seen her daughters face once again. Soon the forest reeked of blood. Her wolf never leaving her side nor allowing Bloodhound to come near. Until it gave up.

She lays down with his tail covering her face and y/n’s arm. She was attempting to keep the warmth that was quickly fading. Bloodhound slowly tries to come near. Skepna makes no moves, both of them were nothing without their mother. She had saved them both from death and tamed them through her own weird intimidation. What a woman.

“It’s okay young ones. I shall take care of you.” The wolf looks up at Bloodhound with the most uncanny eyes. The look makes them almost fall back in alarm. How strikingly similar they look to hers. Bloodhound holds out a palm to the pup for him to sniff. She presses her cold nose into their gloved hand. “Come on Lena.” Both animals rise slowly and look longingly at their mother before following Bloodhound.

Especially the young wolf who’d have to wait to see her mother again. Hopefully she’d be fine without her for a little while longer. Her other parent needed her now.

[irondad-defensesquad]

When you see yourself, are you far away?

Also on AO3. Things have felt bleak lately. I'm not in any danger. I just wanted to write these particular feelings down. Might be out of character for this reason. TRIGGER WARNINGS - suicidal thoughts, depression and mentioned character death. DO NOT SHIP TONY AND PETER. P/ROSHIP DNI.

Peter is back here.

He never thought he’d be here again. When was the last time?

As Spider-Man, sometimes he passes by, but he hasn’t stayed.

Peter chose not to bring his suit, knowing Karen would notify Tony, and the man would track him down. Then again, Tony can always track his phone. Peter turned the GPS off, but he doesn’t doubt what Iron Man can do.

As of now, Tony hasn’t found him.

It’s quite foggy today. And empty.

It’s dark, it’s almost like it’s evening. And yet it’s still mid afternoon, last time Peter checked.

He can’t see anything from up there.

Peter, however, hears it.

The water.

It’s somewhere in there.

There’s a storm brewing in the sky, far away from there. It might not even crash to the ground. Regardless, Peter is not afraid of it.

He really wants to know where the water is. To get a closer look. Maybe take a freezing bath, let the waves engulf him, and let the gravity sink him. Let the water embrace his tormented soul.

Except Peter has drowned before, with that failed parachute. It’s not a pleasant sensation. It was chilling and Peter was scared.

But for some reason, all the teen wants to do is to drown again.

He wants to feel alive again.

Peter leans in, still seeing nothing.

The only way he can find out…

He doesn’t sense a soul anywhere near him. No one is going to stop him.

Peter climbs the ledge, standing on it.

All he can hear is the wind and the water down below. His only company.

He gulps.

Why is he still hesitating?

For how long is he going to avoid it?

…

Well, for one, Peter can hear a car coming fast.

He doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or not.

And then, it stops.

Peter is getting down from the ledge, even though he didn’t receive any orders to do so. It’s not like Tony would force him.

Then, human steps are nearing him.

“Kid?” Tony calls him, sounding rather calm.

Peter doesn’t look at him.

“... How did you even find me?” He’s not surprised.

“May told me you weren’t at school, and you weren’t in your suit, either.”

“So you tracked my phone?”

“Actually, no. Your friend Ted texted me where you might be.”

Heck, even Ned texted Tony? Peter forgot the former had the latter’s personal number.

And now he remembers, the last time he stayed here was with Ned. It was shortly after Uncle Ben died. Peter had considered telling Ned about his powers back then, but chose not to. Either way, his best friend has always been aware of the darkness inside Peter. Whenever the latter disappeared, Ned knew he’d be in this very bridge, contemplating the faraway water.

Peter feels kind of bad for Ned and Aunt May right now, how worried they might have been to let Tony know.

“How long have you been here?” His mentor wonders.

“A while.” Just a couple of hours. Just forever.

“Did something happen?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess I did.”

His venom makes Tony go silent.

Then, the man is joining him, trying to make sense of the view Peter has. They stick there in quietude, in reflection.

“It feels… uncertain, doesn’t it?” Tony tries to describe.

Peter sighs, nodding.

“I know the sun is somewhere in there, but there's so much fog, it doesn’t reach me. And I can’t get myself out of here,” he narrates.

Pause.

“It’s like… I’m gonna die before the sun ever reaches me again.”

Tony inhales a bit harshly, like something caught up in his throat.

“I don’t think I can fight anymore,” Peter admits, “to get to the sun.”

The water sounds louder, somehow. It’s going to get to Peter before he jumps there himself.

“I don’t know why something always stops me. I’ve come here so many times… and I never tried to see what’s beyond the fog down there,” Peter vents, frustrated. “When I’m Spider-Man, I don’t even think about it. I just leap and I fly. Even when I’m scared, I fly. But now… I can’t fly.”

He’s leaning in again.

Tony is coming closer, but not too much.

Peter shuts his eyes.

“... I’m cold, Mr. Stark,” Peter says with the most intensity he’s felt today.

His mentor hasn’t said a word.

The only thing he does is listen.

And, eventually, a hand slowly grips Peter’s shoulder. Which isn’t meant to stop or trap Peter.

It’s meant to let him know that he’s not alone, nor crazy.

Peter shivers. From the weather? Or the warm, solid touch?

“I’m cold,” he repeats as though it’s unfixable.

“I’ll get you home.”

“It’s even colder there.”

“I meant upstate. And I’ll be there with you.”

Peter won’t open his eyes.

“You can do better than me, Mr. Stark.” You deserve better than me.

“Peter.” Tony squeezes his shoulder a little more.

The other gulps.

“... I know I can’t fix you,” Tony softens, “but you’re not unlovable for that. We can manage something. You don’t have to be alone. You don’t deserve to be.”

Peter opens his eyes again.

He’s… stepping back.

Tony is not pulling him.

Peter is doing it with his free will.

The water is quiet.

Some part of him wants to get it back. He wants to jump and let go of the soothing hand that’s grounding him. But Peter is backing down himself.

And he cries.

He’s so conflicted.

Tony has got him in his arms.

Peter sobs hard, it hurts.

Tony kisses his head as well.

He seems to be wrapping Peter in a hoodie, too. Maybe that’s Tony’s hoodie. It smells like him.

The storm is coming.

With that, Tony guides Peter inside the car.

It’s a quiet drive.

Peter apparently blacks out, because he doesn’t feel the most of the trip upstate. Maybe it’s Tony’s hoodie making him feel safe.

There, he’s lying on Tony’s massive bed. He can hear his mentor calling someone, maybe Aunt May to let her know Peter is here.

This warmth that isn’t necessarily the sun…

It makes Peter cry again.

Because…

It makes him feel alive.

He didn’t have to jump into the cold.

Tony lies down with him, caressing Peter’s cheek.

“You’re going to be okay,” Tony whispers.

It hurts so much.

But… Peter will try to believe Tony.

[sid3buns]

Cool little writing game I've been taggued in by @joeys-piano (thank you so much ! ) I've been writing SO MUCH lately to cope with the stress of several life events all happening at once and because I can't afford therapy, so this is the next best thing. I will post 3 snippets from published fics and 2 from current WIPs :3 I'm only tagging @fukurodani bc i think everyone else from my minuscule pool of moots who write have already been taggued, afaik ; but if not pls feel free to do it! Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too. Anchors | Windbreaker

All it takes to fall a man is to figure out where the hits are the most likely to land. This one was full of holes ; it’s a punch to the kidney, a swift hook under his weaker knee (the right one), and he’s on the ground, head bashing against concrete in a crack that might as well be the wind rattling a tree. Suo craves for more ; the song is not finished. If there’s to be an intro, a bridge, and a chorus, it needs a worthy finale. How easy it would be to smash your skull open, right now. He wonders if one hit is enough to see brain matter stain his kung fu shoes. He almost finds out ; his leg lifts on its own, it’s a hammer on a nail. One step away from being a coffin.

Bouquet | Blue Lock

” And what do you expect me to do about it, “ Barou hisses, busying himself with leaving wet circles of condensed water all over the table with his glass of beer. “ I don’t know him, I just prepare flowers for his wicked needs. “ That’s a half-truth ; Barou is starting to know Isagi. They chat for a bit whenever the man drops in, and it’s almost daily. He works nearby the flower shop, and it looks like it’s very demanding work. He has a dog named Müller, and he likes to watch soccer matches to unwind. They support opposite teams ; Barou gets to nag him about goals a couple times. “ Maybe just slip him a pamphlet, or something, “ Niko says wisely, staring at Barou from under his bangs. “ Or drag him to the back store of your shop and fuck his brains ou- “ The waitress has to intervene when Barou almost chokes Aiku to death at their table, and Barou gives her a nice tip.

Barou Shouei's Seemless Guide To Successful Dating | Blue Lock

“ What are you afraid of, Shouei ? “ Trust. His mom reads between his silences ; mothers are made of magic and stardust. “ Have you tried trusting this person ? “ and she knows the answer, because how could Barou even begin to understand how trust worked - he’s always been a lonely child, on top of his lonely mountain. “ Can you trust that they know you enough to understand all of the wonderful things you offer to this world ? “

Trying To Feel Alive (WIP) | Blue Lock

He’s surprised to see a flash of long, red hair, and he smiles softly as Chigiri continues to hit the dummy in diligence. Sweat falls in heavy drops from his drenched, beautiful skin, hair carefully braided to the side as always ; some strands have fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his skin, but Chigiri is elsewhere - there is anger in his eyes, and sadness, and rage. It permeates his kicks with something foul. Chigiri is not training - he’s fighting for his life, right now, and it makes Kunigami so, so sad. (It reminds him of himself.)

Déjà Vu (WIP) | Blue Lock

” Because sometimes, Rin drives how he ought to really drive. “ They reach the very end of the cliff, and car lights illuminate the night in the faraway distance. “ Like he’s the freest man on this goddamn earth. “ They’re finally in front of them ; it lasts for a split second, and yet it feels like eternity in Isagi’s eyes. It’s here in slow motion, time standing still, he sees it all on Rin’s face - this punch drunk madness called freedom, seeping through each and every one of his pores, reverberated in the halo of his smile. In that moment, watching Rin feels like staring into the sun - blinding and warm, all engulfing. Isagi’s heart shatters into a million pieces, because he wants to chase after the light.

[starlightshadowsworld]

The truly heart breaking part of the Casey raised by Shredder AU.

Is that history repeats itself in Raph and Casey.

Raph has vouched for Casey since the beginning.

To Raph their is no distinction between his brothers and Casey.

Because Casey is his brother too.

They are family.

Even when the reveal of Casey's true parentage comes to light.

Raph still vouches for him.

He's hurt, he wishes Casey could have told him but he gets why.

He even jokes like what does make us cousins?

Casey revealed himself to protect him.

To protect Raph and the others.

He knew they could turn on him and he did so anyway because Casey would rather they lived to hate him than die loving him.

And that means so much to Raph.

Casey could have died for them.

Multiple times.

He has fought with them.

He has laughed with them and he has been their friend, their brother and fellow warrior.

Raph knows that what they have is real.

He has never questioned it.

... And than Leo gets hurt....

Super Shredder is here and Leo almost dies.

Splinter is dead.

Casey reaches out to help.

And Raph slaps his hand away like he's been burned.

For the first time Raph questions if Casey ever was his friend.

He's hurt, he's traumatised, he's terrified and angry.

He's so so afraid and it comes out in rage.

Raph can't fight the Shredder so he takes it all out on his son.

And... Casey doesn't fight back.

If anything that makes Raph angrier.

Raph yells, he screams.

Casey cries and pleads.

Both of their fathers are on the ground and yet its like they've turned back time and are standing here.

And just like than, something breaks between the son of Splinter and the son of Saki.

Raph turns away from Casey and he doesn't look back.

He picks up his brothers and he gets in April's dad's van.

He doesn't even notice that April won't even look at him.

It doesn't register in him till months later when Leo's awake and asks where Casey is.... That his family is missing more than one person.

And he thinks good riddance, this is his fault anyway.

Doesn't even know who he is.

Raph ignores the way his heart sinks, the tears in his eyes and the picture by his bed of them both smiling.

... He lost more than one brother that night and he doesn't think he can get him back.

And Casey... Casey is all alone, running a clan he was never meant to lead. Trying to cure his father and sister.

Buried Splinter alone.

Trying to fix Irma who was destroyed.

The only friend he has is April and she had to go keep the others safe.

The Krang turned on them, the city is over run with mutants.

But their safe... And isn't that all he wanted?

"Raph please!"

"It's Raphael!... Only my family calls me Raph."

"I am your family, please I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to trust me!"

"Trust you?! My dad is dead because of you! My brother might die! And if he does it'll be all your fault Jones! Oh wait that's not even your real name is it?"

"Raph...Raphael please, this was all an accident, a mistake. My dad he wasn't, he wouldn't... The Krang they did this!"

"No you know what was a mistake, me ever thinking we were friends."

"Raph-"

Steps closer and gets a sai at his neck

"... You come near me or my family again and I'll end you."

Casey is all alone.

And if you ask him, he deserves it.