#🗡.wade

[latestdreamgirl]

i should start carrying around one of my wade plushies...

[baconcolazz]

i think all sex offenders should be hung on the spot tbh and people that protected them get inhuman torture methods tested on them

[dead-in-the-pool]

hc + 🗡 for a weapon-themed headcanon

hc + 🎡 for a hobby-themed headcanon

hc + 🎭 for an arts-/crafts-themed headcanon

[ooc]

🗡 since the events of deadpool (2016), wade has kept a constant tally in his head of how much ammo he has in any given gun, to appropriately maximize the drama of his missions.

🎡 wade lurks on ao3. his favorite genres are fluff and hurt/comfort, and he usually sorts by tag rather than ship or fandom. he just likes the warm and fuzzies of a good romance.

🎭 wade likes colouring and doodling. he thinks of his drawing efforts as serious and artistic, but he's never studied the basic principles, and his end results are hardly worth hanging on a fridge. (i believe this one about most deadpools, especially 616.)

[iam-thevillain-of-thisstory]

Sea Of Flames🗡Bakugō Katsuki

A’ranhil, Ithilien, Doritah,  April 5th First Age ,,Histessë lamyëa i lómeo lindalë           á hilya i ómalin íre cuivëa i sérë síra enfainëa i yáreo cálë síra líralvë i oireo lindë..’’

Once it was a massive nation housing just over a million souls, the capital of an elven empire reaching from ocean to ocean. Now, it was a slaughterhouse, it's population reduced to that of a few hundred. In all his years as a warrior, Bakugō Katsuki had never seen such carnage. The very streets weren't visible under the endless puddles of blood, the sewage systems clogged up with severed limbs, and the houses were unrecognisable under the layers of shit, gore and blood that covered them. Wordless, mighty, he waded through the corpses piling themselves up on the streets. He looked at the face of every single one of them. Men, women... children. Most of the children had not even been killed by the barbarians, but by their own mothers and older siblings, who well knew what fate awaited them once the massive walls of the city were finally breached. The blonde Chief walked further towards the alley where his mount was. A massive black dragon, so much larger as the war-elephant it was feasting on. Truly, nothing could have prepared the elves for these monsters, with their fire-breathing breath, massive claws and razor-sharp teeth, that could easily destroy a whole army. Cavalry charges were utterly ineffective against them, Rhinos ended up dead within seconds of being grabbed by their claws, and elephants could not reproduce fast enough to match their numbers. The powerful warrior let out a high-pitched whistle, commanding the beast to come to him. It did, and with a little assistance by its wings, the blonde one settled upon his saddle on the back of the mystic creature. Riding through the rest of the city, he came across his fellow men, who were busy looking for surviving comrades in the piles of corpses littering the streets, and killing any elf they found to be still breathing.  Bakugō Katsuki rode further. As he crossed the alleys, he saw his peers celebrate their victory in different ways: some were decapitating the dead bodies and piling up the heads into huge pyramids, others were found bathing in the blood of their enemies, but most of them were painting. They weren't painting pictures, oh no. They painted the city red. Thousands of his fellow warriors had taken up brushes, soaking them in the blood of the former inhabitants of the great elven city, and soaked everything they could find with their own guts. He rode past the pyramids of severed heads, piling as high as the tallest buildings. He rode past the dead elven soldiers who were hung upon the statues of their heroes with their own intestines. He rode past the few surviving elves, mostly women and small children, who were paraded in chains through their own city as trophies. He rode out of the Gates of the city, and took one last look upon the once green walls of the breathtaking Kingdom Doriath’s, which were now in the process of being painted with blood. It was all silent. ,,Chief.‘‘ Kirishima Eijiro, his right hand man, stained with blood, dirt and sweat, has lowered his red head with respect, the huge axe lies quietly in the warrior’s hand while his equally red pair of eyes look wearily up at his leader, his king. There’s... something that might interest you.’’ It was not a smirk adorning the blood-stained lips of the dragon king, it was rather an expression of complete satisfaction. Of pure bliss. ,,Show me.’’

The first thing the woman notices is a hot, glowing pain. Her head is pounding uncontrollably. Blood is rushing through her ears and she’s sure a few of her ribs are broken. An unbearable burning extends abruptly from her right leg to the upper side of her hip and makes the young she – elf hurriedly gasp for air. Pure bare panic begins to extend through her flabby limbs – she is alive. Oh Morai – Heg, Nin gwerianneg. ( You betrayed me ) A painful cough creeps out of her throat while the redhead convulsively tries to open her heavy eyelids. How much time has passed? A deep emerald green shows itself to the world, but only sees faint outlines in the never ending darkness. A cell, no - a tent? Where am I? The more thoughts flit through her torn mind, the worse the huge throbbing behind her temple became, which is why a sudden feeling of nausea overcomes her. It comes so fast, that the only option her body allows her to, is to throw her red-haired head aside as far as she can to empty the rest of her stomach. In return she covers herself with her own vomit as a heavy fit of coughs shakes her fractured soul. A pathetic veil of tears begins to lay over the deep green of her eyes, which she holds stubbornly in check with a firm pinch of her sagging eyelids. She should be dead. Buried under the weight of thousands corpses of her folk. Leithio nin, Morai – Heg ( Release me! ) Desperate sends the she – elf a heart – wrenching prayer to the goddess of the underworld, guardian of souls to take her, to bring her to the glorious hall of her ancestors. But no answer came, there is just this heavy defeating silence. The pain of her right leg seems to only worsen as an unbearable heat flits over her trembling limbs. With a heavy cough the redhead then gently tries to lift her broken body into a better position for her leg, but unfortunately without success. With a painful croaking on the burst lips, the woman eventually drops her head exhausted against the blood-stained ground of the foreign, huge tent. No matter where she is or how much time has passed. The immortal body of the she – elf has reached its limits and is too weak to start the process of self-healing. It's hopeless. ,,oh Vanír.. what a tough beast you are, princess of doriath.’’

[maxball]

c- can you- can you please- can you- can you please- make more yaoi mice content 😢😢😢🙏🙏 - NOT wade/edward 🥤🗡

DUDE I WPUPDNT KNWO WHAT TO DO SINCE ONE OF MY MUTUAL TAGGED BRO

[mercsoda]

🥤♥️🗡 < "wade!!! stop obsessing over gambit!!!" no hang yourself

[h0t-p1nk-ch33tah-pr1nt]

☆ F/O LIST ☆

Also I'm fine with sharing! ((With mutuals, kinda iffy with my comforts)), colors mean that they are my comforts!, first thing is first tho

Romantic 💌 mains

(Not ok with sharing!! But with mutuals im ok with!)

🧷 Hobie Brown/ Spider punk (Hes my main guy!! Love to gush abt him, and he's a main comfort.)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

♠️ Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner

💛 Wolverine/Logan

👹 Arataki Itto (I'm not big big into genshin anymore, but he still has a huge place in my heart.)

🪆 Heavy/ Mikhail

Secondaries 💐

(Iffy with sharing, mutuals u are good)

⚡️Jak (Jak and Daxter) (CHILDHOOD CRUSH ALERT, still think abt him a lot.)

🐸 Lúcio (Overwatch) (look I do not support overwatch's creators, but I adore this guy so so much!! Gotta salvage what I can.)

🥁 Zuke (nsr)

🦪 Subject delta (bioshock)

🐺 Muriel (The arcana)

🌴 Professor Kukui

🦎 Iwai (persona 5)

Crushes 💘

(Fine with sharing!)

⭐️ Jonathan Joestar (JJBA)

🔫 Mista (JJBA) (I AM STILL VERY MUCH THINKING ABT THESE TWO I haven't watched jojo in ages I need, need to think abt it)

🖊 Elliott (Stardew valley)

👾 Venom/Eddie (Marvel)

🐉ichiban kasuga

🪄 Wyll

0️⃣ Zer0 (borderlands)

🥽 Conrad (big top burger)

🔥 Rengoku (demon slayer)

Platonic 🎉

(Fine with sharing!)

🐰 Usagi Tsukino (MAJOR COMFORT along side hobie, one of my mains <3)

🌀 Midna (legend of zelda Twilight Princess)(Another childhood comfort!!!)

🎵 Ballora

🌺 Hello kitty

👒 Sophie Hatter

👑 The prince (Katamari Damacy)

🧪 Ghoulia Yelps (I adore her <333 another childhood comfort.)

🌸 Fluttershy

🌙 Bayonetta

🦑 Callie (splatoon)

🗡 Wade/Deadpool

[getacluu]

[weyirn]

(Okay, I should have out put this down earlier in case for anyone who's new here!)

Marvel Characters I Write For:

☆Steve Rogers

❄️Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

🕸Peter Parker (usually Tom Holland, but I can also write for Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield)

💚Bruce Banner

🖤Eddie Brock/Venom

🐜Scott Lang

⚡️Thor

🐍Loki

💲Tony Stark

⌲Sam Wilson

🐈‍⬛️T'Challa

▪︎Erik Killmonger

❤️Wade Wilson

💙Peter Maximoff

🗡Baron Zemo

🔮Quentin Beck

🕷Miles Morales (platonic only!)

✨️Peter Quill

°Stephen Strange

[latestdreamgirl]

their asses are getting BANNED from the beach‼️‼️

[baconcolazz]

i think fanfiction is a very efficient way to help people of all ages read and write more often in a way thats fun and can help them expand their worldview and imagination and world + character building skills

[bunches-of-bees]

- Pinned Post -

-

Collective Information

Name: None

Age: 19

Pronouns: ask

Identities: transgender, nonbinary, queer, a-spec, alterhuman

About The Body: White, Neurodivergent, Persodivergent, Disabled, Plural

Accomodations Needed: Tone Tags, Help With Image Descriptions, Kindness upon Longer Periods of Not Posting

DNI:

MAPs/pedophiles, sexualize agere/petre, nsfw/kink accounts, transrace/transabled/transage/etc, anti endogenic plurality, shipcourse, syscourse, queer discourse

- Emoji Sign Off List Under the cut!! Currently under construction as alters front and feel comfortable!! -

Unknown Fronter - ❔

Dee - 🕰

Janus - 🐍

Remus - 🐙

Virgil // Vee // Oppy // Orbit - 🕸

Roman - ⚔

Logan - 📚

Patton -  🐕

Sly // Sly Blue // Desire - 🗝

Noiz - 🐇

Ash // Ayden -💙

Angel Dust -💕

Loona - 🐺

Queen Bee // Queen Beelzebub - 🍯

Alastor - 🦌

Anxiety - 🕷

Nico - 🪦

Will - ☀️

Percy - 🌊

Annabeth - 🦉

Julian // Ilya - 🩸

Asra - 🔮 

Nadia - 🐐 MC - 🪄

Emile - 🐏

Helio // Elixir // The Dragon Witch - 💜

Doll // Dolly - ☁

Eepie - 🪱

Peter Parker // Spiderman -🖌

Wade Wilson // Deadpool - 🗡

Venom - ⚫

Eddie - 🍡

Bucky - ✨

Cap - ★

Fizz - 🎉

Blitzo - ❤

Ozzie - 💝

Scar - 🎩

Grian - 🦜

Mumbo - 🎲

Crowley - 🐝

Aziraphale - 🪻

Lance - 🫐

Keith - 🍓

Shiro - 🐧

Pidge - 🍃

Hunk - 🍋

Hobie - 🎸

Shockwave - 🎻

Harley Quinn // Harley - ♦️

Selina // Catwoman - 🐈‍⬛

Pamela // Poison Ivy - 🌱

Talia al Ghul -  🌙

Diana // Wonder Woman - 🦎

Bruce // Batman - 🦇

Damian // Robin - 🪺

Jason // Red Hood - 🪹

Dick // Grayson // Nightwing - 🌃

Thorn - 🥀

Rose - 🌹

Hazel - 🌵

Aribis - 🦆

Hermes - 🌼

Ace - 🐺

Reem - 💚 

Vi - ⚡

Jan - 💛

Outburst - 💥

Grell - 🎀

Alois - 🦋

Ciel - 🔷

Claude - 🟨

Sokka - 🪃

Zuko - 🔥

Ambrosia - 🩷

Qibli - ⏳

Winter - 🧊

Kinkajou - 🥭

Turtle - 🐢

Moonwatcher - 🌒

Peril - ♨

Cricket - 🦗

Blue - 🩵

Sundew - 🍃

Willow - 🌾

Glory - 🌈

Aither - 🧛

Sirius - 🐦‍⬛

Remus // Lupin - 📑

Oliver - 💐

Miguel - 🐻

[paranormal-pajama-phantom]

Hiiiii can I have SFW Wade Wilson HCs with a male reader? Nothing specific in mind just soft fluff-go wild :))

Yes! Writing for male readers is the best, not enough of these types of fics out there >:0

💕🗡Fluffy Wade Wilson Headcanons 🗡 💕

-He loves lacing his fingers through your hair, no matter how short or long your hair is, he loves ruffling it and messing around with it since he kinda misses his own hair

-He will talk you to death though, it'll be 12 am and he'll be telling you -about how overpriced gasoline is and how we should all just start printing money

-If your the same size as him he will constantly and persistently steal clothes from you and probably force you to dress up as deadpool

-if you smaller then him even better! Expect to wear a lot of his merch that he's bought for himself over the years and those shirts with weird phrases on them

what am i doing with my life

-FOREHEAD KISSES! lots and lots of forehead kisses, it's how he shows his love <3

-If your taller than him he will jump onto your back and surprise you if you two haven't seen each other in a while

-if your shorter than him he'll pick you up by you waist and toss you over his shoulder babbling about how much he loves you

-Loves it when you get flustered and purposely flirts with you only to end up sarcastic basically begging for your forgiveness

-He hugs you a lot and will literally grab onto you like he's a koala bear

-Wade can and will smother you to death with love >:)

Come back soon! 💌

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

THE POST SAID "ANGST" I AM REQUESTING PAIN 🗡🗡🗡🗡

"Whatever you do, do not turn around."

"No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving."

OKAY HERE WE GO. ANGST AND PAIN COMING RIGHT UP.

@park-jimin-isnt-real

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: Outdated Medical Practices, Asylums for the Insane, Mental Health Trauma

You're shaking.

You're shaking so much that you feel like you're going to vibrate apart and fall into tiny little pieces.

Your fingers clench, dig, into the material of your dirty, worn petticoats, desperately trying to feel something real, to ground yourself.

This is not happening.

It's another trauma response, another break in your mind, something the doctors will write and whisper about, before they take you back there-always back there-to the room with the scalpels and electrodes and whirring, buzzing machines.

Everything is too loud. And you can feel yourself starting to panic breathe, can feel the burns from the electrodes starting to sizzle again on your chest and forehead, can feel yourself grinding your teeth into points.

You can't go back there.

You won't let them take you back there. Not again.

"(Y/N.)"

You hear it again, your name, fuzzy and out of focus, like you're drowning and they're trying to pull you back to the surface.

The voice is familiar, but you don't know how they know your name, or how you recognize the lilts of the words, because you're sure you're crazy and don't remember anything at this point.

The doctors have said so. Over and over and over.

Unhealthy psychosis of the mind caused by hysteria.

That's what you were. A label. A condition. Nothing more.

"(Y/N)."

The voice is more insistent this time, and through your panic, you recognize the feeling of fingers on your own, ghosting across the skin, before moving to the leather ties that bind your wrists.

You finally manage to pull yourself out of the spiral enough to open your eyes.

And you are once again convinced that the person crouched in front of you is a result of your hallucinations.

"Jimin?" You whisper, voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.

The man looks up, dark hair windswept, as if he had run to get to you, eyes wide, lips parted slightly. There is a slight wince to his handsome features as he takes you in, really looks at you, fingers never stopping in his motions to undo the knots around your wrists.

"Yeah." He breathes out, and you want to pinch yourself, because he's in your room, in the asylum, his fingers grazing your skin, and you know, it's all too good to be true. "I found you. I really found you this time."

The leather thongs fall to the floor with a thud, and he stands, leaning down to heft you out of the bed, allowing you to use him to balance yourself, legs weak and unresponsive from use.

There is the sound of an alarm blaring down the hallway.

You look to Jimin, panic engulfing your chest and making it hard to breathe, and his eyes are wide, but his mouth is set in a firm line, as he drags your useless body with him toward the door.

"C'mon. We have to go."

He pulls you out of the room and down the corridor with him, away from the sounds of the alarms and pounding feet and yelling voices, and you're both breathing heavy by the time you finally find an exit toward the back of the asylum, barred and barricaded and falling apart from years of misuse.

"But how did you-" Your brain feels slow, like you're trying to wade through sludge to find the words, yet though won't leave the tip of your tongue.

Jimin lets you slide down the wall to sit on the floor, as he rushes to move chairs and barricades out of the way of the door.

"They couldn't keep you from me forever." He says breathlessly, glancing behind you as he works, keeping a wary eye out for staff to come rushing down the hall toward you.

The last chair falls away from the crumbling door, and with one crash of his shoulder against the rotting wood, Jimin successful clears your exit route.

He returns to crouch in front of you, eyes serious, palms cupping your dirty cheeks. "Listen to me, (Y/N)." He looks up at the sound of feet at the end of the corridor, and his words all string together in a panicked rush as he hauls you to your feet. "No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving."

You feel the first prickle of emotion in your chests at his words, the first thing you have felt in months, and you open your mouth, glancing over at him as the shouts of doctors can be heard growing ever and ever closer.

"Jimin-"

He pushes you toward the door, and the sunlight makes you stumble and blink hard, but you manage to stay upright without his help.

Your fingers fumble along the cool stone of the walls that line the outside of the building, and you trip over your own feet, almost going down, before you feel the warm splay of Jimin's fingers against the small of your back, guiding you away from the building, away from the screaming of the alarms, away from the calls of the staff, desperately trying to locate the two of you.

The feel of the wind in your hair, the smell of the sea as you allow Jimin to guide you, stumbling and falling, down the embankment, away from the asylum, makes tears spark in your eyes.

The outside world never left.

You were unfairly taken away from it.

You're both breathing hard when you reach the edge of the woods, see the trail that leads into the gloom, away from this place-with its doctors and electrodes and restraints-and you allow yourself to let out a sigh of relief.

You want to turn, to see Jimin beside you, to feel his dark strands beneath your fingers, see the way the relief hits his caramel eyes, the curve of his full lips, the white of his teeth.

Maybe you are crazy, but Jimin has never thought so. Never blamed anyone for the way you are except those who needed to be held accountable.

You shiver at the thought of your father and brothers.

Fingers encircle your wrists gentle, and the warmth of Jimin's body presses against your back, making you feel warm after so many months of cold isolation, and the way his lips press into the juncture of your shoulder has your heart beating a million miles a minute.

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs beneath the shadow of the trees, all the chaos you have left behind forgotten for just a moment, as the two of you soak in each other's presence. The pads of his fingers stroke across the rope burns that mark your wrists, and you wince, and you feel him stiffen against you. When he speaks again, his words are different, tinged with anger. "You never should have been put through any of that."

You move in his arms, desperate to turn to face him, to see his face between your palms, to assure him that you have never, ever blamed him for any of this, but the sound of a click has you freezing in place, Jimin's fingers suddenly tightening around your wrists.

The air has changed. It's electric with tension and danger, and you feel like a deer, about to bolt from a dangerous predator.

"Jimin-" You start to whimper out his name, but he shushes you, hands releasing your wrists to cover your eyes with gentle fingers.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is low and eerily serious. "Whatever you do, do not turn around."

Your mouth opens, as if to ask him what he means, what caused the sudden change in the air, what has made you suddenly feel as if you've been dunked in freezing water, but before you can so much as form words, Jimin's fingers are leaving your eyes, his lips forming the soft, hushed words of I love you, and he's shoving you away from him, causing you to trip and fall and tumble down the slope and into the darkness of the woods.

There is the sound of a gunshot.

And though your broken brain wants to believe this is just another one of many fever dreams, the sudden breaking of your heart, and the anguished, strangled cry that leaves your lips, are testaments that it's all too utterly and irrevocably real.

[doctors-star]

15. Any Astrerix chatacters you feel like for the ficlet ask 🗡

“Shh, they’ll hear us.”

It is a beautiful day in the peaceful Gaulish village, the last still standing against the might of the Roman invaders (with very little effort, it must be said), and Asterix the Gaul is keeping his eyes firmly closed. He is, after all, very comfortable here, napping in the sun at the base of the tree by his house with his hands linked to cradle his head and his helmet pushed down to shade his closed eyes from the brightness. Dogmatix is curled up by his side, snoring gently. He hasn’t anything in particular to do - the village is presently enjoying, or more accurately begrudging, a lull in local legionary activity - and he has no greater demand upon his time than the inclination to settle somewhere pleasantly warm and quiet and snooze through the hottest part of the day.

There is another peal of giggles, and then more frantic shushing. Asterix tries very hard not to smile.

Abruptly, a little voice calls out to charge. Asterix barely has time to crack his eyes open before several sets of small feet are thundering across the grass, and a thin stick is poking him in the stomach. “Surrender, o Roman!” Fulliautomatix’s little girl, Spanna, is standing over him in triumph, one hand holding back a small dented pot - clearly liberated from her father’s smithy - as it slides over her brow. “You are surrounded!”

Asterix slumps against the tree, one hand on his chest and the other draped limply over his eyes. “Oh, woe,” he pronounces, “I am truly no match for this band of Gaulish warriors - I can do nothing but surrender.”

Spanna pokes him again, grinning in triumph, as her playmates whoop and cheer. Pretty much all of the village kids appear to have fallen in behind her on this quest, armed with sticks and wooden spoons and the odd fish. Asterix remembers doing much the same when he was a lad, though in those days it had been Vitalstatistix at the fore; they could do worse for a chief, he muses, than Spanna.

“Yeth!” lisps Crabstix, performing a little victory dance which makes Asterix smile beneath his moustache. “You Romanth don’t thtand a chanth!”

Obelix, wandering past with a menhir on his back, pauses. “Asterix isn’t a Roman,” he protests, apparently quite insulted at the very idea.

Spanna juts her chin out and sighs massively. “It’s just pretend,” she says with great, overwrought annoyance. Asterix makes a small, hopeful gesture with his hand, attempting to convey that he doesn’t really mind it - of course, this doesn’t work.

Obelix frowns. “Even so,” he says, shifting his menhir to one hand to gesture with the other, “couldn’t he be a Viking? A Goth, maybe? It’s very unfair to make him a Roman.”

Spanna plants her hands on her hips sternly, glowering up at Obelix. “He’s got to be a Roman,” she declares. “We’re practising fighting Romans. And I said so. Eep!”

Asterix grins, hoisting her a little higher. For all that he’s not much taller than the child, even without any magic potion it’s easy enough to use her distraction to mount a counter-attack. He swings her gently into the air, catching her up with her arms pinned and her legs kicking uselessly against her captor. “Aha,” he declares, “I have you now, Gaul!”

“Attack!” Spanna shrieks in delight to her cohort, and Asterix has but a moment to brace himself for impact before he is smothered in a crowd of little knees and elbows.

He puts up a good fight, of course - if rather gently - but the kids are a little less worried than he is about doing anyone an injury, and Asterix must confess to being quite glad when Obelix puts down his menhir and wades in. “Well, if Mr Asterix is going to be a Roman,” he says mildly, and sweeps up an armful of the smaller children. “I suppose I will too.” The kidnapped children squeal in equal parts terror and delight and, as expected, a few of the bigger kids peal off to lay siege against Obelix instead. “Hey, Asterix,” Obelix says, gently picking up and turning upside-down a giggling little girl with hair barely contained in her pigtails, “how come you’re a Roman today? I thought you were having a day off.” Asterix smiles fondly at his friend, watching him gently and with extreme care use his strength to entertain the children. “Oh, my work is never done,” he says, catching Crabstix up in a big bear hug to pin him. Crabstix wriggles a bit, but the kids are winding down; he’s quite content to make laughing protests and the occasional token escape attempt, but ultimately to remain wrapped up against Asterix’s chest.

Only Spanna really seems to want to carry on, so Obelix releases the last of his prisoners to run off home, or to new games elsewhere, and wanders over to Asterix again. He picks Spanna up by the back of her shirt and leaves her dangling, kicking her feet in an effort to break free. “They certainly keep you busy,” Obelix says, watching Spanna kick and struggle with mild interest. “A menhir was never so much trouble.”

“No, but this is the one stone for two birds: it keeps them entertained, and even slightly trained.” Asterix hoists Crabstix and settles back into the base of his tree with the boy lying contented on the warrior’s chest. “They’ll be up against real Romans some day.”

“Couldn’t they just go for the real thing?” Obelix asks, returning Spanna to the floor and allowing her to tackle him about the waist - to no discernible effect. “With some of our druid’s magic potion, it’d be a breeze.”

“Yeah!” Spanna agrees, her head popping out from around Obelix to grin hopefully at Asterix. “We’d blow those Romans away!”

Asterix holds up a finger. “Don’t let Getafix get wind of that idea - or your parents for that matter. Magic potion can have permanent effects on children.”

Obelix and Spanna both make grumpy faces at him, and he has to smile. “It’d be fine,” Spanna protests, decidedly less hopefully.

“You fall in one cauldron when you’re a baby,” Obelix complains, “and they never let you forget it!”

Asterix grins. “I know, it’s very unfair.” Crabstix shifts and stretches, and Asterix watches with mild bemusement as the boy yawns widely and promptly goes to sleep. “Huh. Well, seems I’m only good for being slept on now - no Romans for any of us.”

“Crabstix sleeps through anything,” Spanna says with some disdain, scrambling up Obelix’s back to sit peaceably on his shoulders; one of Obelix’s massive hands settles automatically over her feet to hold her steady. “I suppose you’d have to, if your whole house smelled of rotting fish.”

Asterix huffs a laugh. “Could you brave the smell and fetch one of his parents for us, Spanna? I think his playtime’s over.”

Spanna slumps in a dramatic pout. “But I want more training,” she whines.

Asterix places his hand as near his heart as he can reach around the child sleeping on his chest. “I promise to give you more training when Crabstix is safely home.”

She slithers down Obelix’s side and hurtles off towards Unhygienix’s hut, long blonde braids flying out behind her. Obelix comes to settle at Asterix’s side, stretching massively and smiling as Dogmatix returns from hiding to curl up on his belly. “They’re good kids,” he pronounces.

Asterix nods, smiling up at his friend. “They are. Best the village has had yet.”

“You say that about all the kids the village has.”

Asterix shrugs. “They’re always good kids. It’s something in the atmosphere here - the air makes good heirs.”

Obelix considers this. “If you say so. I think it’s the adults.”

Asterix shifts slightly, leaning into Obelix’s bulk. “The parents are alright. A bit mad. So are the kids, though, so you may be right.”

“You do a good job with them, too,” Obelix points out. Asterix shifts to look at him in surprise, and Obelix colours slightly. “Well, you do,” he adds defensively. “You always take time to train them and play and make sure they’re good warriors. You do a good job.”

“...thanks,” Asterix says eventually. He’d not really thought of it like that. He doesn’t raise them; he just wants to keep the village safe and happy, and he’s as good at play-fighting as he is real fighting. It’s just - sensible. He hadn’t thought he was responsible for them especially.

Obelix shifts to look at his hands, twining his fingers awkwardly and examining them with care. “Do you want kids of your own some day?” he asks, with very feigned indifference. “You could. If you wanted. It would be - nice. Probably.”

Asterix shifts Crabstix and stops to think. What he wants, really, is safety and friendship and the occasional adventure to pass the time, and to think back on when he’s very old. He has his home and can defend it; he has his neighbours for friends and Obelix for companionship; and there’s always something going on to give them both some time out of the village and exploring the wider world. He likes the kids, sure, but he can’t think of what a child of his own would give him that he doesn’t already have. He’d have to find a wife first, anyway, and that’s never really appealed.

Besides, even briefly looking after Caesar’s baby was horribly stressful. He’d rather not.

“Not really,” he says easily, nudging Obelix’s side with his elbow. “I’ve got everything I want.”

Obelix’s fingers untwine and he beams in sunny delight at Asterix. “Good,” he pronounces. “Dogmatix would feel very jealous, you know.”

“Would he,” Asterix says wryly, meeting the little dog’s eye in shared affectionate exasperation.

“Oh, yes,” Obelix goes on, waving cheerfully at Bacteria as she and Spanna hustle along the path to collect up the little boy still sleeping in Asterix’s lap. “He’s terribly fond of you.”

But he lets his arm settle back around Asterix’s shoulders, tucking him in close, and Asterix reckons that probably none of them have anything to be jealous about - but quite a lot of which to be very fond.

[mercsoda]

♥️🗡 < "wade stop reblogging gambitpool" no faggot. you worrying about what im doing makes you gayer than me