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haunted4kent · 2 months ago

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" blood struck. " t. todoroki

✧˚ · . 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 ; wield the sword, seek vengeance, and watch it turn to ash beneath his blade.

word count ; 2.5k

a/n ; i havent written like this in a HOT minute, but i hope you enjoy <33 dis so random and i just want to be evil and give a super sloppy villain creation 4 dabs with sword like action lol

A villain killer. Instead of being quote “heroic”, taking down a common thug for robberies and sending them off to jail to rot. You were infamous for killing villains, the evilest people on the heights of wanted lists. You believed their evil deeds were only atoneable by death.

The death of your best friend made you this way, twisted the word “hero”.

Being a hero was putting an end to the evil, right? So why attempt to salvage the unsalvageable?

How could a hero who believed in the “ideal” heroic ways been what he was? Be so thirsty to surpass that in the process, have been the reason your best friend was engulfed by his power?

You knew you were a hero, you were the ideal hero. You removed the gunk and nasty build-up that was sitting for long enough. You were cleaning the filth bit by bit.

Your identity has become one of Japan's largest mysteries.

“WHO IS KILLING VILLAINS?”

“WHICH HERO WILL BE ABLE TO TAKE DOWN THIS DISHONORABLE HUMAN?!”

Even the public wanted you dead, can't they see that they aren't looking into the details enough? They want you dead for killing the evil and don't see how they are protesting against the salvation of Japan. It was a hero that made you “evil.”

Dishonorable?

You have had to mourn since you were 13 years old. Mourn a hero’s wrongdoing, Endeavor’s wrongdoing.

The League of Villains, although you didn't support the “prestigious” UA High. The attempt to harm children was enough for you to take action, and with enough investigation, you found a pinpoint location.

8 elite villains and you promised yourself you'd rid the world of. You wanted them to fear the sight of your eyes, you didn't care if they wanted to rid All Might, you wanted to be an issue that lingered in the back of their minds.

“WHAT IF THEY COME FOR US.”

The night was foggy, and you stood crouched atop the first tower of the large mansion-like residence. Smoke floods out of the chimney fogging the glow the moon provided, and the little light from down below.

It reminded you of the small fires he’d light at night to keep you warm. So proud that that had become an easy task. So glad that you were proud of even that,

The only villains you considered a real threat were the silver-haired man and the samurai. Which could go against your power, but with your lifelong experience, you saw no real problem.

5 of the core group had stepped outside in the courtyard of the home, which was listed as abandoned and vacant online. There was no sight of the leader or the man who wielded a katana. It was time to make a move.

You quickly scaled down the brick tower, your sword shrieking against the cobblestone.

Quickly a man began to panic, babbling on to himself like a maniac. Pathetic. Their attacks as a whole aren't impressive, considering the lack of response they have, or coordination.

Easily taken down and put unconscious with a blunt strike to the head. However, you came across some trouble with clustering and having to use kicks or elbows to get them from surrounding you.

As they lay unconscious, the part that you found easy came. To stomp off the filth with the sharp end of your wielded weapon.

In the silence, cries muffled from what felt like afar, and you take in that the man who began to panic wasn't lying before you. The cries triggered your brain, nobody had ever gotten away, let alone run far enough to cry.

Your mind plays the day you watched your young tears hit the black ash on the ground beneath you. When everyone tried to find him. You were scared and wanted to run away too.

Sekoto Peak was a place of anguish.

Were you feeling sentimental because you had to worry about another samurai? Did it remind you of him?

The harrowing clank of your boot hitting the cobble echoed in your ears, his arms covering the area of his torn mask before he released to look up at you. You felt different, the tears in his eyes, the true fear of death.

Is this how Touya felt when he panicked to attempt to extinguish his body?

You swing the blunt end of your sword into his temple, watching the man lightly bleed from the head. You stand still, pulling your hood from your head.

“Heh.”

A long rasp shatters the silence, and the swipe of your left blade strikes through the air.

You can't lose that katana.

A cold point pushes into your jugular, and panic surges through your blood. Your sword lifts instinctively and stops abruptly at the sight before you. Those eyes, they run you cold. Those eyes, you remember them.

“Dad’s always with Shoto. I want him to come to Sekoto to see how my flames have improved. He set this fire under me and now that he can't put it out he's upset? He’s being cruel to me, he always has been. Thank you so much for coming up with me Y/n, I just don't know how to feel.”

Touya Todoroki stands before you in the flesh.

"You carry my blade?" He tilts his head at you, a boyish grin sitting plastered upon his skin. You drown in the depth of his eyes, like an ocean that has swept you up in an instant.

You feel the strain of your own eyes, if you blink, could he disappear from before you? Your heart twists at the sight of him, charred. You struggle to choke out the name. "Touya."

“Nuh, not anymore.” The grin that spreads across him is chilling, a splatter of blood sitting upon your face. He’s killed you without pushing the sword into your throat.

“I'm surprised you knew. Not even my damned brother did.” His voice is conflicting with your mind, it is trying to piece together the Touya you knew 11 years ago with the one that stands before you.

"I know, pretty disgusting."

He smiles, the cape that drapes your back is set ablaze and in a quick movement you rip it from your back, watching the blue-soaked cloak be consumed by his flame. In the process, he has slit the belt on your waist with one slick slash.

“What are you doing." It stings, stop it. No. Your tears have only been shed at the hands of Touya, his death. His flames became your tears the day he died, and they burn.

“You don't think I looked into you the moment I woke up? There was nothing, nothing!” You can only kneel before him in the state you're in. The reason you kill is because of him, and he has been alive. "You moved away, you weren't online, you had no fucking record!" He was acting like a maniac, crazed like you've never seen.

He continues on, even swinging his blade around carelessly. “Until I saw you sitting in Sekoto, visiting it like I was stuck beneath the ground and needed saving. I knew you were the only person who remembered “Touya Todoroki.”, and I had to wipe that name from the earth. Like shit stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”

Your vocal cords are engulfed by the sting of tears and he steps forward, letting his sword shriek by his side.

The cold metal settles at the bottom of your chin.

You can't rid of the expression on your face and he's thrilled. “Then after not seeing you for years, a woman starts killing villains out of the blue. It was a goddamn mystery.”

The focus you had on the world has become impaired, you can hear your heartbeat in your chest. He doesn't care about you anymore, does he? Why do you want to feel his heartbeat, tear his heart from his chest, make sure he is real?

“Those eyes, you should know I'd know those eyes anywhere. All I needed was one glance, and I knew your every motive. They glew in vengeance, like my power carried on in them. You thought I was weak too, and you tried to cover up your evil deeds with the excuse that my death was my father's fault!” He cackled.

“That’s- that's not it Touya.” You've been lighten ablaze, and your tears uncontrollably fall and stain the cobble.

“Is that it? Anger, anger that I caused has fueled this monster before me?” A low chuckle falls from his lips, one that is filled with disappointment compared to the hysteric hiccups of laughter he was just sputtering out.

“Stop. Enough- I’ve had enough.”

His sword tilts your chin back up. “Now you've had enough? After you've mourned it's become enough!?” His voice rises, and your fists clench.

Your teeth grind together like bone, bone that can be snapped with a hit that lands hard enough. His bone will crumble like ash.

“Get up and stop me from killing you Y/n.”

Your bones crack wrapping the blade of the sword, and you swing it into his blade, knocking it from beneath your chin.

“You should never hold the sword by its blade.” His swing sparks with your sword, and you freeze, before rolling to get to your feet. You hate the fucking cold. Why are you so cold?

“Just move, goddammit move!” You thought.

You knew you were better than this, you just needed to move your arms.

Another swing was speeding towards you, and your sword lifted to defend it. The moment the two swords collided, you felt you were present again.

“You have to recognize your own body, if you don't, it'll never have time to know what your opponent is going to do next. You’ll be too busy figuring yourself out.”

His words of the past conflicted with your every move. You automatically swing your blade downward, but he catches it. “I taught you that move you idiot!” You continue to struggle to land a hit, you have a specialty in mobility, but his work with a sword is unmatched. Until he leaves his chest open, you shove your forearm into his chest, and in his fall his blade slices into your arm.

You bleed over the cobblestone, and he is already getting up off his knees. Stumbling back your blood dripping blends with the scene of your tears when you stood in the ash of Sekoto.

“I was asleep for 3 years and you still haven't improved a bit! All that time, and you've still disappointed me. What potential will you reach if you can't land a blow!” His taunts pushed you further.

Rip his heart from his chest, you need to know he's real.

Your body pushes itself forward, leaping up. His sword tries to fly up into your leg, but your boot kicks it, landing your knee straight into the crevice of his neck.

You roll off after he hits the ground, and you're cold again when you see his cheek is falling apart. His eyes are filled with blood.

“You're a lunatic. Who are you!” You plead, why does he want to hurt you? The adrenaline is dying down and you're beginning to feel the depth of your injury.

“Don’t pity me. You've always had that shitty savior complex. That's why you became what you became right? To prove that people that my father saved are supposed to be killed because he didn't even want to save me?” His hand twitches out in blue flames, and your body throws itself away before the burst flies up to where you were kneeling.

“You excelled! If anything, when he knew I couldn't be a hero he thought to even offer you training!” His charred laughs came breathless as he picked himself back up, through the smoke, the side of his face was streaked with blood. He drops the blade, letting it clank.

Your breath breaks and your voice cracks, a mixture of tears and screeched shouts come from your throat.

“Why would you ever want to make that sick man proud Touya?! He created children to surpass a hero he himself couldn't! Why would you ever want to make that proud!”

“You don't get it!” He shouts. “He lit that goddamn fire beneath me!” He’s slipping, struggling to lift his body as his flames grow stronger around his body.

“Maybe we can be heroes together! We can save people and be the best. That's all I've ever wanted, and I want you by my side.”

“If you can't even save yourself! How the hell are you going to save others!” He chokes out. The courtyard is filled with the glow of his flames, he's trying to pick himself up, but his body is ready to embrace death. He finally crawls completely defenseless towards you, dropping his heat-stricken body in your arms, his head rests upon you.

A large blast fields your vision, and you let it engulf you.

You were always consumed by Touya Todoroki’s flame.

“The katana is a blade to be held only by those with potential.”

His hair was so white, his arm burned just at the skin, his tummy with peeling skin. That's the Touya you remember, and the one you'll die remembering.

“Y/n.” You felt empty, he had taken off the charred mask from your face. The pressure on your arm was uncomfortable, but it was wrapped well, it didn't sting. His fingers run warm against your forearm that lays off the couch.

You're constantly homesick, and it's been that way since he died. Since that boy died, your blood has run cold, and you have become who you hated the most. You became a killer. You became his killer by ideal, kill those who are not worthy enough for you.

“Open your eyes.” It came more sternly than your name, and when you did, he was sitting in front of the couch you had been lying on.

At 20, you gave up looking. You had to believe that Touya was dead. He had been turned to ash and he was no phoenix that would rise from the ashes. You picked up your sword again and went to do what you believed in, a belief his flame created. What that death turned you into. At 21, you were already widespread.

“I'm sorry Touya.” The tears were already warm down your face, and the dried blood on his soaked the new streaks that fell.

You no longer had purpose to wield a sword, or to consider yourself a samurai when he was around. You were just you, and he was him.

He lifts from the floor, his blood-ridden face being the first thing you notice before it's his eyes, So struck. You push yourself up and his hand wraps around your torso.

"Damn you, I waited so long."

You were no longer a hero. You sought revenge alongside him, and he did rise from the ashes, he rose as an inferno.

#✧˚ · . writing #i love characters willed by death #he was just a baby vro.#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #dabi todoroki #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi x reader

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headcanons-n-shit · 1 year ago

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How about the first kiss the ffxiv boys initiate - bonus Magnai and Artoirel please? 🥺

We're being cute today u_u

First kisses (ff14boissss)

Thancred is quite used to trusting his instincts and acting before he fully finishes a thought. His hands and body move faster than his brain, grabbing at your shoulders, spinning you around, pressing you against the rough stonework. His lips slot against yours like theyre meant to fit together, that nearly-chapped texture, the slight indent beneath your tongue, as though there is a scar across his mouth you never noticed until this very moment. The slight intake of breath as a takes a half step towards you, brings your bodies flush together, one hand curled around your neck, his other arm braced against the stonework beside your head.

The sounds of clanking greaves passes. Thancred lingers, your noses brushing, his half-lidded gaze taking in the blush high on your cheeks. Just to be sure the danger has passed, he tells himself as he forces himself to pull away.

Certainly not because he never wants this moment to end.

Urianger is as meticulous in this as he is in all things. He made reservations at the Last Stand. He memorized the route he was going to take you through the Noumenon. He had an tall, gnarled, private oak tree all picked out.

What he didn't account for was the way a storm predicted to pass just south of the island would be suddenly, violently caught by a high wind and blown over the city. The two of you rush for the cover of a nearby pavilion, your coats thrown up over your heads to protect yourselves from the worst of the sudden downpour. Or, at least, to try to-- Urianger ends up looking like a wet rat, and you not much better. But the sight has you doubled-over laughing, and, not soon after, him as well.

Your first kiss is there, under that random pavilion in the Sharlyan harbor, tasting of rainwater and serendipitous joy.

G'raha wakes slowly in the unyielding cradle of the throne in the Crystal Tower. His body feels... odd. Logically, he knows that he has been asleep for a very long time. His muscles should feel stiff, his eyes crusty. But the preservation of the Crystal Tower is complete-- his neck doesn't even crack as his head rolls.

And then the memories hit him.

He flings himself from his throne, colliding with your at-speed and taking you both down onto the unforgiving crystal floor. The soul vessel cracks with a clear tone. His arms cradle your head, but his knees crack against the floor, but he doesn't care. He's alive. You're alive. You're both alive.

His first kiss misses your mouth by a malm, but on his second you grab him by his braid to guide him better. You're both crying, gasping against each others mouths, but you're alive.

You're alive.

Estinien tries not to feel nervous as you invite him into your room. The two of you. Havent really gotten to talk. After ghimlyt dark, and then you were swept away to The First, and now the world is falling apart again, and. It really does feel like now or never. If he is going to fall at the end of the universe, he wants to do so with no regrets.

Your back hits the door as it closes, and estinien looms over you, his hair tickling your cheek where it comes to rest feather-light against your skin. His eyes are blown wide, and his thumb brushes oh-so-softly against your lower lip.

"If you dont want this," Estinien growls, "then just say the word, and I will cease at once."

But your arms come up around his neck, and you never do.

Aymeric is getting sick and tired of being interrupted during his carefully-planned dates with you. Dragons, primals, assassination attempts, cats. He's trying to be a proper Ishgardian gentleman about this, but there is only so much a man can take.

Today you're wandering the Jeweled Crozier together, ohhing and ahhing at the new leatherwork on display and the new selection of fabrics for the season and even the new selection of lances from the Skysteel. It's a rare sunny day, and it can almost be called warm, and, just as Aymeric is about to slide his hand into yours, your linkpearl rings.

Something or another pulling you away from him again, you try to explain apologetically, though Aymeric doesn't let you get more than a few words out before he is leaning forward and kissing you, gently and soft.

"Come home soon," he says with a smile, and it's a good thing it's nothing urgent because you definitely spend five whole minutes just composing yourself.

Haurchefant tries not to appear impatient as he works through the last bits of paperwork for the day. It's so late it's nearly early again, and you're still not back from patrol. You're competent. More than competent. He doesn't need to worry about you, but. he does anyways.

And he breathes a sigh of relief when you try to slip soundlessly through the door, the crunching of snow caked to your cloak and armor giving you away. He doesn't bother trying not to look eager as he jumps from his seat. The two of you argue, as you shrug your armor in front of the fire and he fixes you a cup of steaming hot cocoa. Youre beautiful and passionate and infuriatingly stubborn when you choose to dig you heels in, and he nearly spills your drink all over your front as he shuts you up with his mouth.

"Dont worry me like that again," he pleads, and you can make no promises for the way he kisses you again.

Sidurgu stares at the empty space where Fray once been and just. Breathes. He expected. Something. Some kind of feeling to twist his chest. Guilt, maybe, or grief, or. something. But Fray and Myste had stood together and smiled as they were swallowed again by the Abyss, tucked again into your soul, and he feels...

relief that you are alive. Happy, to have seen them again, but also to have this whole situation behind him. And when you turn to him, blood spattered on your face and your hair all flyaway and he loves you.

It's easy to drop his blade. To step away from the violence and cradle your face gently in his hands. Less easy to pause there, staring into your eyes, waiting, because he wants this, but, more than that, he wants you to want this. And he feels joy, when your lips meet his. He feels whole.

"Ewwwwwwww," Rielle whines and makes a fake gagging noise, and you and Sidurgu both feel nothing but fond irritation.

BONUS

Magnai can't get the image of you out of his mind-- standing in the light of the ovoo, resplendent and beautiful, Khagan of the Steppe. It haunts him as he celebrates with the rest of the Oronir, drinking far too much fermented mare's milk to try to chase it away.

It doesn't work. Especially not when you're right there, laughing as Hien shakes your shoulder and retells the events of the day, how you turned from the ovoo immediately into scything down Imperials like you hadn't already been fighting all day, and you're impossible, you're--

looking up at Magnai with big, startled eyes as he leans down and plants a kiss on your lips. It's sloppy, and he tastes of fermented mare's milk, and the whole of the Oronir and the Buduga and your friends are jeering and cheering, but neither of you pull away until you're out of breath.

Artoirel is only partially drunk when it happens. It's late, just the two of you and the last two glasses of a full bottle of wine, the fireplace long burned low into smouldering embers, the barely-there orange glow casting your laughing face in beautiful, dramatic shadows. The way your nose scrunches up and you half-hide your mouth behind you hand and it strikes him, then, just how close you two are sitting, your thighs brushing beneath the table, your head knocking against his shoulder as you collapse into helpless giggles.

It's the most natural thing in the world for him to cup your cheek in his palm and tilt your face up towards his. To take in the way your eyes go half-lidded and your mouth parts around the whisper of his name. Your whole body strains towards him as he leans down the last few ilms and lets his mouth meet yours.

Forget whatever preconceptions you even held about this man: there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he kisses.

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lovesicklovermia · 5 months ago

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𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚

﹒﹒ ﹒summary - silence had been infiltrating for longer than you could recall. even reunited, silence was continued. yet, it was silence filled with joy.

﹒﹒ ﹒set in - some point during/after daryl dixon tv show! but don't worry, no spoilers, you dont need to watch that to read this!! (mostly because i havent even watched it)

﹒﹒ ﹒pairing - daryl dixon x reader

﹒﹒ ﹒ content inclusions - france!!! angst!! light fluff!! reader is a ballet dancer!!

notre dame once owned lights, candles that glistened and glowed above tourists, mourners, anyone’s eyeline. they had filled the old building with so much historical knowledge, so much joy and understanding (usually) for the place they were visiting. yet, as walkers took over, the visitor numbers fell almost instantly, until there was nobody.

then, many years later, there was you.

a ballet scholarship in paris had been extremely short lived. you recalled the day well. dancing around your room, as stupid as ever, and although alone in this momentous occasion, it didn’t take you too long to realise you had someone who you could celebrate with.

so, with your best friend in lead and a grin on his face, you’d driven his motorbike to the cheapest liquor store you could, gotten wasted, then kissed yourselves dizzy.

three weeks later, you left for paris. suitcase in hand, your best friend was honestly troubled by the fact he couldn’t drive you on his motorbike all the way to the airport. you’d laughed it off, and driven together.

the goodbye was the worst. you didn’t know what to do, where to touch, who to hold who. to his surprise, you'd held him. you placed one hand on the back of his hair, one on his collarbone, and you’d leaned in, and given the most awkward press-hug of your life.

you regretted it every day.

a week later, the apocalypse had began.

you’d been in a stretch class, until the only thing that really stretched was those vile creatures, their pale and disfigured arms reaching towards you with the cruellest of intentions. the girls you danced with named them as ‘laidrons’, meaning ‘uglies’, and you found yourself in no rush to disagree.

the nights trapped in the ballet academy were long, but your regrets lasted longer. you didn’t doubt your talents in ballet - not that it mattered anymore, anyway. you didn’t doubt your skills, or your willpower to move countries, to move to a country where you could not understand the language so well.

you regretted not kissing your best friend goodbye.

perhaps it was stockholm syndrome, your captors being the vile, sickly creatures that had taken over your lives, where you could go, how you had dressed in preparation, what you could eat - everything benefited those who had taken over. you’d lived first. now, you couldn’t imagine a free world. yet, as these days had gone by, you imagined how it’d feel holding him, him holding you, the simple emotion that flooded and pumped through your veins as you thought about the taste of his lips, a taste you’d so quickly recalled from the drunken night of your acceptance, yet forgotten soon after.

yet, as years came and went, and zombies showed no signs of stopping, you regretted your choices of education, not only those regarding your best friend. you longed for sanctuary, so sanctuary is where you went.

notre dame.

a gorgeous building, and although the bells no longer sang to warn of new hours, new days, you practically sang with joy as you’d entered the building. those joyous notes had quickly been subsided, however, as you’d realised you had to clear out an entire hoard of uglies. cameras dangling from their sickly necks, t-shirts with baguettes, macarons and eiffel towers. you’d kept a camera, but once looking through the photographs, had decided to bury it in the back garden. it felt wrong, to rifle through photos of the person you’d just killed.

you made a life for yourself in notre dame. towering walls and doors meant years of salvation, and salvation is what you received. wine, stored in towers. food, that you took from stores and rationed without failure. perhaps it was wrong, to bury your life away in one building, for the rest of time. perhaps it was wrong for whoever to send a zombie apocalypse upon this weak world. what could be done?

you reflected, every day. however that looked that day - that was up to you. you changed your ways of reflection often. sometimes you’d close your eyes, sometimes you’d plead for a bright future, and sometimes you’d stare up at the stain glass windows. just because the world had been overthrown, that did not effect the bright light emitted from the sun.

today, you’d stared. and you’d stared, and you’d stared. your doors were blocked with such precision, it was a wonder anybody had entered the building at all.

yet, they had.

instead of violence, you’d pleaded for your life to be taken quickly, with ease. you’d pleaded for your life to end as if you were approaching sleep, as if you were returning home, as if you were receiving a kind hug. it had been several years without a hug. it had been several years without people at all.

there had been silence. hell, you hadn’t even heard the footsteps.

then arms looped around your waist, and you’d heard nothing other than a sob.

confusing, yet you’d understood. this was still a cathedral, and you should provide sanctuary for anyone and everyone you could. it wasn’t your fault, that people had presumed that notre dame had been overrun with cruel monsters. it wasn’t your fault, that they were unaware of your newfound title of a murderer.

clearly, your newfound friend had dealt with worse.

you hadn’t pried this individual away, and simply glanced left, instead. a head, tucked away on your shoulder. you recognised the hug, yet your heart beat too quickly to give a quick-witted response. instead, warmth filled your heart.

“are you alright?” you’d practically cooed, for you knew the person well enough, of course. pure silence followed, so you affirmed that you knew who he was. “daryl?”

nothing more than a muffled noise, then as you’d attempted to turn your whole body, you’d practically been launched onto the steps, arms wrapping securely around you. “of course ya’d be in the prettiest damn place ya could find.”

those words, the distance from your last moment that you’d managed to hear his voice, to this precious event. you’d practically only sobbed in response, a small chuckle escaping your lips, before you pressed each palm onto each cheek of his, lifting his head up slightly.

he was a different man.

but, to him, you were still the prettiest girl, lighting up the place, making it the prettiest place in the universe.

maybe you had changed. hell, he wouldn’t have the faintest clue. he was quite worried - not for how he’d fare with the girl he’d been missing for this great number of years, but how he could convince you that he could still love you, despite his fear to say so.

he thought it felt wrong, to hold you in such a doting and gentle manner, while he had slung people-killers, a bow and arrow thrown over his back. he’d held you gentler than he’d held anything since the apocalypse, yet, as you’d squeezed him back tighter than ever, he’d recalled that normalcy was, to some, the easiest way to deal with such an inhumane situation.

he understood quickly that you were one of such people, and as he’d whispered his vows to stay with you, whether here, whether in america, or whether on the moon itself, thoughts of others had been discarded - for once, in his life.

he’d lived so long without you, his strength emitted from serving justice to you, which - despite his usual confidence in you, had faltered as the world did too. he did presume you were dead.

yet, as you’d lit a candle together, the light from both the windows and the one singular candle emitting you to see one another, you’d simply studied one another for a while.

feeling whole was no longer something either of you could reward yourselves with. but, one another’s presence was the closest you could ever reach.

#twd #thewalkingdead #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #twd x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #ballet #angst #light fluff #oneshot #twd oneshot

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wally-darling-hyperfixation · 8 months ago

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Take You to a Better Place: Floyd x reader Chapter 1

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝ ╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

The girls and you were a brand new band coming out . Band name was going to be Sugar,Spice and Everything Thrice with you girls as the main girls in the band. Violet, Parsley, and (Y/N) that’s all who is in the band. Anyway , yall are at Brozones concert watching it to see the new competition. You watch your competition start their performance. (I’m going to assume that velvet and veneer in the movie are 16 so you will meet them as young kids like 10 years old)

(I found a video on TikTok of this part so I wanna show)

You and your band had gotten front row seats to Brozone concert. Your manager wanted you to see your new competition and to scope them out. They boys get on stage and start singing their song "Perfect". You noticed that Violet seemed to be into the lead singer JD by how she was eyeing him. Parsley seemed to be eyeing the guy who is the fun one but you just roll your eyes at them eye looking at some boys. This was the competition. Even if you did like how the pink haired one looked and sounded. This is your career you won't jeopardize it. Suddenly it looked like the leader JD was going off from their original choreography and they seemed to look all nervous to you. Suddenly they fall from the tower and the huge disaster happens on the stage.

You gasp in shock. Definitely not expecting that to happen. You and your girl band were shocked to say the least. Brozone ran backstage and y'alls manager decided that this was the perfect time to introduce yall together. You distracted the audience who were upset cause of Brozone leaving.

After the concert, it seems your band has gotten extremely popular. Next day when your album was released, you sold out. You were on magazine covers and everything. Violet was the band leader and the pretty one. Parsley was the exciting and adventurous one. You were the cute and calm one who had the sweetest smile. No matter where y’all went , people recognized and asked for autographs. You were polite and always willing to take pictures.

Brozone was all over the papers the next day. They broke up. Tons of fans crying in sadness that their favorite boy band disbanded. But that just left your girl group to fill the gap. You traveled all over the trolls world, you dabbled in all types of musics to appease every troll. You had rock songs and pop songs and country songs and funky songs. Y’all even added some classical to some songs. Y’all were known far and wide and loved by many because you appealed to all music lovers.

For the next several years , y’all were on top. You won awards and had an awesome fan base . But after 8 years of making songs together, Violet wanted a solo career. She said we were too old to be in a girl group anymore. That we are in our 20s and we need to go out and make a name for ourselves but she meant herself.

Violet: “Look it’s just a “girl thing”. We knew we wouldn’t last forever. We are no “babes in toy land” and we won’t be young forever. So, “girlfriend”, I’m going solo. We used to be “the chicks” but it’s time for me to “xscape” and make a name for myself. Y/N and Parsley, all yall need is some “TLC” and I’m sure you “spice girls” will be fine. It’s time for me to “go-go.” Bye girls.

Then she up and left. You havent seen her or parsley since. Not knowing what to do next you head to Mount Rageous to find work as a music artist. This is where things get bumpy.

Dang. I haven’t wrote a chapter story since before September last year. I am so sorry yall. I hope you liked this. Love you my darlings

Part 2

#trolls band together #trolls #trolls floyd #floyd #floyd x reader #trolls floyd x reader

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bettathanyou · 11 months ago

Text

The Aftermath Of Being A Hero

Y/N x Cedric, Based on the fanfic "The Master Wand" by @shychick-52

A fanfic of a fanfic, y'all. Based off of @shychick-52 's A03 work, "The Master Wand", AN AMAZING FANFIC IF YOU HAVENT READ IT GO DO IT RIGHT NOW. It's still a work in progress, but after... Certain events, I needed to write something to comfort Cedric cuz my heart hurts too much.

Also, yes, I did spend a stupid amount of time researching 19th century/modern day rib fracture treatment. Also symptoms. For the sake of a fanfic of a fanfic. Sue me!

Anyways enjoy, shout-out to everyone else who read @shychick-52's work and deserves financial compensation.

Warnings: blood mentioned, alluding to injuries, implications of medicinal drug use

The days following Cedric's return back to Enchancia were... A blur, if he's being honest. It still felt surreal that he was back in his tower again, completely untouched from his absence as if it never happened to begin with.

Oh, how Cedric envied it.

Every breath was now a painful reminder of what he endured, and of the vile things he had to do for Sofia's survival. Every shadow felt like a trap waiting to be sprung on the sorcerer, dragging him back in chains that rendered him helpless.

Hell, he can't even look at himself without the evidence of those haunting events written in black and blue bruises across his eye and face.

The entire kingdom hailed him as a hero, again, and the newfound respect Cedric had been given these last few weeks is now "forever immortalized", as King Roland declared.

Cedruc glanced down at the specks of red against his fingers from another coughing fit, grimacing.

Respect was a hell of a price to pay, as he's come to know now.

Not that respect was the main fuel for his actions, anyways. Cedric had long since made peace with dying, if it meant Sofia was safely returned home without a scratch. Truthfully, he couldn't imagine a way to do that without laying down his life, but...

Now Cedric has to deal with the aftermath of being a hero, again, but this time didn't feel nearly as gratifying; if anything, Cedric felt like a fraud.

"...Am I really a hero after doing such awful, terrible things?" Cedric questioned himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. The lingering silence was his only response, of course. Cedric fidgets restlessly, the lack of an answer mirroring the uncertainty stirring in the sorcerer's heart.

Needy for a distraction from his thoughts, along with his broken rib, Cedric takes a drag on his pipe. Each inhale felt like both a blessing and a curse. He knew that smoking with a broken rib wasn't smart, given the breathlessness he's already experienced due to his injuries; but willow bark tea does little to nothing for his pain, and Cedric isn't going to accept whatever brain numbing nonsense, like opium, a doctor would prescribe.

May as well get some relief if I'm damned either way, Cedric thought to himself, shrugging as he takes another hit.

He sputters out the smoke with a fit of short, painful coughs that quickly give rise to wheezing. Cedric's coughing had only gotten worse as he returned home, the restrictive tugging on his chest growing by the day; equally, to the darkening of the bruises and swelling on his left side.

The sorcerer covers his mouth with his sleeve, feeling lightheaded from the struggle to just force oxygen back into his lungs. Tears began to build as he coughed, at first from the physical pain; the stabbing, radiating burn and soft clicking of broken bones felt as if Grimtrix was digging his foot into his side, over and over again.

But what really stole the breath from Cedric's lungs, was the foul tang of his own blood in the back of his throat. The sorcerer can't help but gag; he wasn't squeamish by any means, before the Order. But now, the taste, even the sight of blood was enough to make panic take control of his heart.

Cedric didn't really know when the coughing slowly started to dissolve into weak sobs, but the tears were falling, plip plip plip, as hot and heavy as his own blood from his lips.

His free hand scrambled to hold onto the workshop bench, leaning forward onto it for support until the cough spell faded.

Just as the lanky man was regaining his composure, a knock at his door made Cedric nearly jump out of his skin.

A strangled yelp catches in his throat, and if Cedric wasn't so pissed off at the sudden interruption, he would've been embarrassed by such a noise leaving him.

The sorcerer waves his hand with a soft curse towards the heavy oak door, not having the energy or care to bother greeting whoever it was. Cedric had it made up in his mind that he would just give them what they wanted, then swiftly kick them out again.

He turns to glare at his unwelcome visitor, honestly expecting one of the royal children or a castle staff member.

Before he gets the chance to speak, however, Cedric's mind immediately blanks when his caramel eyes meet yours.

"...I wasn't bothering you too much, I hope?" You offered with a nervous, apologetic smile. Cedric had made it clear that he felt fine enough to resume work like normal, and DIDN'T need any doctor's aid for his injuries, and you wanted to respect his wishes, of course.

Although your own anxiety had won out anyways, which has led you to knocking on the sorcerer's door.

"No, not at all."

Cedric replies with a tight smile, which makes your heart sink.

"I just- wanted to check up on you. I know you said you're fine, but, well... You know me."

You rub the back of your neck as you eye Cedric with a knowing look, which melts his stern face with a tiny smile in reply.

"I'd like to think so, my dear."

He replied back, suppressing the urge to cough as his breath waned. The sorcerer clears his throat, trying to downplay it. You notice how he doesn't really answer

And I know you too, Cedric. You think to yourself after a moment, your eyes leaving his to scan his body properly.

You saw how torn up the sorcerer was when he first returned- despite your pleas to help him, he insisted to be left alone, that he was fine.

Now, you weren't sure if he looked any better or worse since that day.

At least he wasn't covered in so much blood this time.

The dark circles usually under Cedric's eyes have somehow gotten more dark, making it appear like he has two black eyes instead of one. The gash on his forehead has been bandaged, at least, but the linen strips are already beginning to unravel. Your gaze settled over to his hands, wringing in a nervous habit, thick bandages surrounding the base of his knuckles and fingers.

You didn't glean any details from Cedric yet, but you heard enough from the rumors flying about the castle from what Sofia recounted. Cedric got beaten up, bad, and it showed.

I can't imagine what else he's hiding underneath that robe... You think to yourself, swallowing the dread as you step forward and approach Cedric.

The sorcerer watches you with wary eyes as you come closer, not really making a move to embrace you.

You pause for a moment, a tense silence filling the room from a million things left unspoken between you both. You look up at Cedric, eyes searching for... You don't even know, really. Confirmation, that he really is okay?

Or that he actually isn't, because who would be? How could you even begin to console him after such horrors?

You exhale through your nose, but shove your insecurities aside. Your hand rests on Cedric's arm, squeezing it gently. Your palms rub up and down in soothing motions, feeling how tense his body was underneath your touch.

"... Your bandage is starting to come undone." You whisper softly, lifting your hand away from cedric's arm to free the strands of silver hair sticking out from the gauze.

"I know."

The sorcerer sighs wearily, turning to rub his cheek and avoid the concern etched on your face. Cedric felt the dull ache of unshed tears behind his eyes, pent up from the thick wall of his defenses.

"I'll fix it later- you don't have to worry, darling." Cedric mutters, inhaling sharply in pain as another chunk of hair was unraveled from the loose linen wrappings. He squeezed his injured hand shut, resisting the urge to flinch and make his discomfort be known.

You frown in turn, exhaling softly in slight exasperation.

"I'm already worried, Cedric."

Bits of dried blood still clumped at the ends of his hair, the white locks stained a rust color. It was evident that the bandages were made in haste, and haven't been properly looked after since. You knew Cedric was a perfectionist to a fault, and the feeling of loose cloth rubbing against his forehead would've surely made him go crazy by now.

Something was definitely wrong here; your gut was right. Cedric wasn't taking care of himself at all- instead opting to isolate in his tower, until he can properly mask his own emotional disarray from others.

Cedric shrivels under your piercing gaze, knowing that the effort to pretend to be okay was ultimately fruitless. Yet he still does it, like a bad habit he still can't quite shake off. Guilt begins to gnaw at him, and he shifts in place restlessly.

You grab his hand, seeing his anxiety and offering him relief through your touch. Cedric intertwines your fingers together, his thumb caressing yours. The silence wasn't so dense, now.

If felt opposite, in fact- fragile, like one word would shatter the sorcerer into a million tiny pieces.

He takes in another painful breath.

You hear the slight wheeze in his following exhale, and it pricks your heart. Gently kissing his unbandaged fingertips, you try to impart love and care into his skin, to show that you're here, with him, and he can trust you.

"We need to change those bandages together... alright?"

Your gaze lifted upward towards the sorcerer, desperation and love swirling together alongside the welling tears in your eyes.

Cedric swallows, hard, trying to keep up the facade of composure. As if there was any more room within himself to stuff down the tears, or the lingering sense of doom and panic that keeps him up at night, or the inevitable feeling of his soul cracking and splitting in half, much like the broken rib lying in his chest.

Which is why, with only a quiet sob, Cedric says, "I know."

________

You gather the remaining ingredients and supplies necessary from Cedric's workshop into your arms before dutifully walking back to the washroom. Cedric was sitting on the floor, the cold tile pressing into his thighs grounding him still to reality. He heart was racing, the fear of your reaction making him almost regret agreeing to this at all.

But seeing you round the corner, supplies in tow with your arms barely balancing it all made a smile creep along his cheeks.

You huff, placing everything down haphazardly on the edge of the sink. Bandages, tinctures, a wound salve Cedric uses for everyday accidents, scissors, alcohol, a couple rags, and a small bucket were amongst the lineup of things you had prepped.

"Spared no expense, I see..." Cedric commented, trying to crack a joke to keep his fear in check.

You smile to yourself, then turn to Cedric.

"For you? Always."

That got Cedric to genuinely smile, his previous fear transforming into soft butterflies in his stomach.

After washing your hands thoroughly, You kneel down in front of him, scissors in your hand.

"I'm going to cut away the old wrappings first, okay?" You lightly touch Cedric's cheek, and he responds by giving your hand a quick kiss, followed by a nod.

You get to work cutting through the loose linen, your heart racing by the second as the cloth gets more stained with the rusty color of dried blood.

Carefully peeling away the old bandage from his forehead, you gasp at the clotted blood and hair sticking to the gash, a semblance of a scab forming at the edges. The skin around it was smeared with blackish brown blood, mixing with the bruises lingering on his brow.

"Cedric..." You whispered in anguish, your face falling.

The sorcerer hangs his head, and you tear your eyes away from the injury to grab a rag, dipping it into the warm water gathered in the bucket you brought in.

You wipe the mess on his forehead clean, Cedric wincing underneath you. The sound breaks your heart of course, but you knew you had to keep going. The wound could've easily gotten infected by now, and the idea of letting that happen to him made you angry- at him, for not letting you help in the first place; then, yourself, for not acting sooner regardless.

But that anger doesn't hold a candle to rage you felt towards the people responsible for this.

"...Are you alright, dear?" Cedric asks in a small voice, his finger touching your arm as it works on his head.

You sigh, heart breaking. Of course this sweet man would ask- always concerned about the needs and emotions of others around him, even with his head split open.

"I should be asking you that-," you reply, frustration seeping into your words more than you liked. You feel Cedric's sad eyes burn into you, not knowing how to reply.

You turn away, unable to bear those brown eyes that make your heart ache.

"I'm fine, love. Really, I... I just." You stop, unable to find the words to say that could explain yourself. You sigh loudly, leaving your sentence hanging midair as you turn to the sink to change the subject. This wasn't supposed to be about you, anyways.

"I don't know what to put on your gash... I kinda just grabbed stuff." You muttered, gesturing to the bottles you've seen Cedric grab a few times when accidents injured him.

Cedric doesn't even lift his head as he replies, "The yellow jar- with the mismatched lid."

You grab it, returning to his side. Cedric stares at the lid that squeaks in the way that always annoyed him, because he lost the damn lid due to an explosion, while patching up another, different injury.

He feels the familiar ointment be pressed into his skin, and a pained groan leaves him at the biting sting of it. Cedric leans further into the wall, and you cringe apologetically.

"I'm sorry- should I stop?"

"No, no- just, make it quick, please." He says through gritted teeth, and you quickly cover the rest. Grabbing the rag, you clean the dried bits of blood out of his silver bangs, until they get back to their soft white-grey color.

He exhales in a sigh of relief, but that triggered a coughing fit as his bones creaked in protest. He doubles over, the wheezing taking hold as his entire frame shakes with the force of his coughing.

"Cedric-?!" You cried in concern, staring helplessly as the sorcerer continued to struggle to inhale. The pain stabbing in his lung felt like his side was on fire, and his hands scrambled to grab the rag on the floor to cough into- tasting the metallic tang already climbing up his throat.

You see the blotches of red staining the cloth, the air in your lungs stolen.

"Cedric..? You-"

"I know, it's bad." He grimaced, cutting you off as he groaned.

Seeing your skin blanch, he's quick to console you.

"It can't be helped- broken ribs sort of do that, I suppose!" His voice cracked like his rib as he forced out a laugh, hoping you would crack a smile.

You didn't.

"If you knew it was bad, why did you say you were fine! You can't just hide a broken bone from me, Cedric!" Your voice hardens, brow furrowed deeply as your gaze holds on the fresh red specks on the rag.

"....I know- I'm sorry, (y/n)." Cedric shoulders droop, his arm cradling his inflamed side as well as his wounded heart. The guilt cut clean through him, and there was nowhere to hide from your piercing eyes that always stripped him down to his most vulnerable.

Cedric cuts through the silence first, tracing the grout between the tiles of the washroom floor.

"I know I should've said something. I know I should've- asked for help..." Cedric sighs, painfully.

"I just... I couldn't. I couldn't keep looking at it- the bruises, the cuts, the- the blood..." Each word makes the sorcerer tremble further, cringing at the rag in his hand. Another piece of evidence damning him to that same night, where he was beaten half to death.

"Everything since that day has reminded me of it, somehow. I just- I don't know, I didn't want to see you, or anyone else, to see me like this. Broken."

Your frown deepens, then your eyes, soften as you process what Cedric said. Your own tears start to form, and you regret snapping on the man. He was already hurting enough, and now instead of helping, you were making it worse.

"Or, having to see the way you're looking at me right now." Cedric added, lifting your chin away from the rag, your eyes crashing into his sweet caramel brown irises.

You hold each other's stare, until you break the silence next.

"How am I looking at you, Cedric?" You ask, voice soft and apologetic. You trace the curves of his cheeks with your hands.

"Like you blame yourself..." Cedric replies in a melancholy tone, his sad eyes locking with yours.

You swallow the urge to apologize on instinct, but a small "I'm sorry," leaves you anyways, turning your face away to take your eyes off him.

"Don't apologize, (y/n)." Cedric catches your face in his hands, turning you back to him.

"I thought I wanted things to just go back to normal- you know. Before, everything happened..." Cedric's eyes darken, but he presses on.

"But it seems like no matter how much I want to avoid it, I can't. Don't have much choice, really." His flicker down to the bloodied rag, damning him once again.

Your eyes track his, biting your lip in a concerned pout.

"You don't have to do it alone." You offer gently, resting your hands on his shoulders, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Cedric smiles, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them back.

"I know; I'm sor-"

Cedric gasps as his sentence is swiftly cut off by your warm lips. He melts into the kiss, his hands cupping your face. For a brief moment, it was like all the pain and tension bound to his body faded with each brush of your lips together. Cedric can't find the strength to pull away, needing every passing second to last longer.

You feel him finally relax, and you kiss him a few seconds longer before you have to part for air.

Cedric cough slightly trying to catch his breath, the pain making him flinch a little while he hugs his side.

You noticed, playing with the seams of his robe.

"Let me see?" You coaxed nervously.

"It's not pretty, darling..." He replies with a sigh.

"It's you, so that's clearly not true." You retort without missing a beat.

That got Cedric to relax a little, a small smile spreading across his cheeks.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Cedric smirks, but his eyes still are wary.

You kiss his cheek, shrugging off his robe.

"Don't worry about it. I'm here to help." You reassured him, stripping him down slowly and apologizing every time he winced from the crack of his ribs.

Shirtless, you lift Cedric's arm out of the way. You can't stop the gasp of shock that leaves your mouth; purple and green splotches lined up Cedric's side, as well as in clusters all over his chest and arms. It makes your eyes sting, and your heart prick, looking at the extent of the damage.

"Oh, Cedric..." You breathed out, your hands barely brush against his bare skin, afraid to even touch him.

"Told you so." He replied, chuckling awkwardly.

"...I'm not going anywhere. We need to ice this." You speak firmly, steeling yourself to treat Cedric further.

"Allow me, then." Cedric straightens up slightly, eager to flaunt his magic. He mumbles the magic words, an ice pack manifesting in your hand.

"...Thank you, love." You reply, pressing the cold pack against Cedric's angry looking bruises.

Cedric groans instantly from the contact, and you aren't sure if it's in pain or relief. His body seizes up a bit, and before you can pull the ice away from him, he rests his gloved hand on your arm.

"I should be telling you that..." Cedric mused, rubbing soft circles into the crook of your elbow.

"You don't need to. It's what I want to do- by making sure you're okay."

You smile, kissing the tip of Cedric's nose.

"...I will be, as long as I'm with you." Cedric sighs, feeling content for the first time since he returned to Enchancia.

He pulls you into his lap, then shortly into another kiss. It was sweet, and soft, and perfect.

"I think I feel better already, love." Cedric eyes you with a flirty smile, and you laugh, a sound that lights Cedric up from the inside out.

Yeah.

He was going to be alright.

#cedric the sensational #cedricthesorceror #sophia the first #cedric x reader #shychick i hope you like this #also happy holidays everyone #heres a little gift #from me to you.

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