#I’m so so so so so so so full of hatred and malice

[whimsyprinx]

even more annoying than the term “unalive” is when people say “oof” for dying “I oofed” shut the fuck up I hate you

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[small-sinclair]

Love Birds don’t like Rain

Lovestruck!Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: murder, blood, thunderstorms, mention of yelling and fighting, mention of Bo getting beaten up

“I need you.”

You stop at the sound of Bo’s desperate voice. “What?”

Bo tossed his hat to the side, not caring where it landed. “I need ya, darlin’,” he took careful steps towards you and stopped before you. Slowly, he fell to his knees. “I think about you, night and day. You consumed my thoughts, waking nightmares, and th’ stupid dreams—normal dreams—of livin’ a life worth having.” His blue eyes were heavy as he met yours. Something was burning he didn’t understand. “I need you.”

“Bo, I—“

“Jus’ think ‘bout it, yeah?” His calloused hands took your hand, clasping it as if it was an injured bird. “Just say you’ll think about it.”

There was no malice in his words or hidden messages. There was no darkness behind his blue eyes or blood in his teeth. Bo, the prideful lion of Ambrose, was kneeling before you, begging for you to think about the notion of loving him. He looked like a man, a human, a boy in love.

You closed your eyes as his hands squeezed your hand. “Alright, Bo,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It was as if you you telling him a secret that will only be shared between two lovers. “I’ll think about it.” Your free hand combed his wild curls, and his eyes fluttered closed and leaned into your touch. He grunts and shudders as if he was feeling an ice cube, but did he love it. “I’ll think about it and give you an answer after rain season.”

And so you did.

You thought about it when it was raining and he was coming up the drive in his muddy truck with bodies in the back, fresh for the museum, but he stopped and caught your eyes from the window. His shy wave was almost too cute not to love. The rain stuck to his skin like bees to honey, making him glow in the Louisiana breeze and mist.

You thought about it when he kissed you gently before leaving for “work”, promising to come home in time for dinner. Bo did come home on time that night, and he had a fist full of wild flowers. He kissed your cheek then lips before going to wash up before sitting to eat.

You thought about it when Bo fell asleep on your lap, resting his head on your thigh. The night was alive with the bayou songs and lullabies, and it set something for you. A life could be well lived with a man mad in blood, murder, whiskey, and cigarettes. But you were the center of his world; he’s reminded you again and again.

You thought about it when you woke up screaming from a nightmare. It was loud enough to cause Bo to jolt and race to your room with a knife in hand when he threw open the door. He looked at your with worried, angry eyes, but softened when you opened your arms and cried for him. He dropped his knife and scooped you in his arms, his strong and sharp arms. He stayed with you for the rest of the night, protecting you from any nightmares that came.

You thought about it while hiding in the closest with your and over you mouth and tears running down your cheeks. You could heard Bo fighting the visitors, the three of them, and Bo was losing. You could hear fists meeting skin and the sound of Bo chocking beside his strength gave out. He told you not to make a sound, not to move, but it felt different. You felt different. Crawling out of the closet as soon as they ran out, you cradled Bo’s battered head in your arms. His shaking hand reached your cheek and thumbed over your lips. “I’m okay,” he breathed, his voice cracking and hoarse. “I’m okay.”

You thought about it when venom left his lips, yelling at you in the car garage. He was yelling at you over something that you couldn’t remember, but he was angry. His blue eyes burned in hatred as he called everything under the sun, and he only stopped when thunder shook the garage, causing you to flinch and stiffened.

“Darlin’,” there was regret in his voice. “Sweetheart, ‘m sorry—“

But you didn’t stay for his apology as you ran out, tears mixing with the rain. You didn’t see how he threw a wrench across the room, cursing at himself for doing that. He’ll do better, he has to do better! He couldn’t become the monster his father told him he’ll be. He couldn’t let that son of a bitch be right. He would never allow it!

You almost stopped thinking about it that night. When he came home, he hung his hat and took his boots off at the door. He knelt in front of you as you hugged your knees on the couch. His hands rubbed your knees as apologies after apologies rolled out. For the rest of the night, you allowed him to hold you in his arms, head against his chest, as he protected you from himself, from his words, and his poison.

You thought about it while washing the dishes with him. You washed while he dried. The radio was playing softly as the rain poured and hammered against the window. He talked about his day and going to the town over to get Vickey more art supplies and new clothes; his favorite work pants was getting torn beyond repair. You told him about your day and the little chores you did around the house, and you agreed about him getting a new pair of pants. The scene of domestic life, living slow and steady. It almost felt perfect and normal.

You thought about it when you kissed his scarred lips and he no longer flinched or growled in warning. Instead, he closed his eyes and murmurs something then met your eyes. He looked at you like a ruby in the sea. “You love me, yet?” He asked, teasing you with a charming smile. Your answer was a gentle smile, and he’ll work hard to see you smile again.

When rain lifted and slowed, he met you on the porch, hugging you from behind. Rain season was at its end, and it was just as pleasant as ever.

“Thought about it?” He asked, the morning voice deep and thick with honeydew and coffee. He rested his head on top of your shoulder.

After the memories and experiences, the rain and how it washed away whatever was left of him…it felt right.

“Yeah, I’ll stay, Bo,” you said, your hands rubbing his arms and wrists. “I’ll stay.”

[thewertsearch]

ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am noww wwithout your help […] KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science

At this point. Kanaya is Human Sarcasming better than most actual humans.

ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven knoww KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic […] KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science

I think Dave taught Kanaya more about the art of trolling in a single conversation than Eridan could in an entire lifetime.

That guy can troll better than most actual trolls.

ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there KANAYA: The Matriorb KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race ERIDAN: that sounds ERIDAN: hopeful […] ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it […] KANAYA: Fine

I’m all for the construction of neo-Alternia, but I really don't think Eridan should be on the planning committee, unless we also want a neo-hemospectrum.

Honestly, the only trolls I'd really trust to rebuild their society are the bottom half of the hemospectrum, and possibly Gamzee. The other highbloods can go sit in the corner.

ERIDAN: its not magic wwe talked about this kar KARKAT: RIGHT, IT'S POWERED BY SCIENCE, I FORGOT. KARKAT: OR HOPE. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS

I don’t see how Hope translates to a robot-exploding beam, though.

If it was wizards he was blowing up, I’d understand, because it would be consistent with my theory that he's weaponizing his hatred of FRAUDULENT MAGIC. If anything, his Science Wand should strengthen a robot, since it's a product of the TRUEST SCIENCES.

ERIDAN: i had a harder time than anybody wwith this game ERIDAN: it wwas really fuckin unfair wwhat challenges i got saddled wwith ERIDAN: i wwoulda fuckin MURDERED for a land full of a lot a harmless brains and fire ERIDAN: but no ERIDAN: it wwas so lonely ERIDAN: hey guys anybody wwant to come hang out wwith me in the land a wwrath and angels

That sounds cool, though. Angels, I assume, are how Hope is represented in his Land, and I’m sure Eridan synergized well with its wrath. I wonder what physical form it took?

ERIDAN: anybody at all i knoww it isnt anythin like one of your flippin land picnics ERIDAN: anybody please ill evven settle for the kittycat shipper cavve girl

You can't complain about loneliness and then insult your ‘friend’ in the same breath. That's not how any of this works, and the fact that you're unaware of this should tell you everything you need to know about why you're lonely.

So Karkat does know about Nepeta’s little crush. He is a relationship aficionado, after all.

Poor Nepeta.

I sort of figured Karkat didn't reciprocate her feelings. He's preoccupied with plenty of other redrom prospects, and he basically never mentions her.

Karkat’s honestly a little too nice to Eridan. He’s being such a bro here, but what Eridan actually needs is to be brought down to size a little.

Granted, I think Eridan needs a bigger shock to the system than an angry tirade from Karkat. I feel like Terezi could tear him to pieces - but since it's unfair to expect her to put up with him alone, I'd put both the Scourge Sisters on this assignment. >:)

What Karkat is aptly demonstrating here is that there’s a difference between an Eridan kind of asshole and a Karkat kind of asshole.

Let's be real, here - Karkat's a dick. But he's a dick who holds no true malice, knows when he's crossed a line, and is willing to sincerely apologize for his past actions, and make amends.

Eridan possesses none of these qualities, which is why he sat alone in his house for a month while Karkat befriended the entire cast.

[cardierreh15]

The Lost Prince of House Targaryen

hi there 🖤 hello. Its been a while hasn’t it? Well, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. It took me ages to finish. Enjoy ❤️

***I do not give anyone permission to copy and/or repost and translate my work!!!

Warning 18+: Cursing , Violence , Blood , Death & Gore , Vivid Depictions of Burning Flesh , Mentions of Rape.

Pairings: Tytus Snow (Geralt of Rivia) x Alyssa Landon (black!plus size female)

Description: When Tytus goes out for his weekly hunt, he runs into a bit of trouble.

Word Count: 5.5K

Song: That Unwanted Animal by The Amazing Devil

The Domino Effect

The boy stood in the midst of an unfamiliar hall. The place was quite spacious, with only a small bit of light flowing in from the windows. Dust floated in the air, a tell-tale sign that no one had been in this room for quite some time.

His little face was smeared in dirt with beads of sweat forming over the bridge of his nose and forehead. His hair was stuck against his scalp, also dirty and sweaty. Covered in filth, he had no idea where he was nor where he’d come from.

The lad coughed and mustered out, ‘Hello?’

With only his echo answering him, an unsettling feeling began to weigh on his shoulders.

‘Mother?’

He called out once more, looking over his shoulders and even doing a full 360 spin to check his surroundings. Suddenly, he heard soft whispers. The voices weren’t exactly approachable and alluring but it gave him hope. Perhaps he’d find answers as to where he was.

‘Wh-who’s there?’

My Prince. Come to me.

The word “Prince” caused him to tense. Only a quarter of a handful of folks knew about who he was. Who was this being that called to him?

His curiosity outshined his fear and caused him to follow the enticing whispers.

Young Prince. The people’s Prince.

‘I-I’m not a Prince! I’m—I’m just a bastard. Nothing more.’

Is that what they tell you boy?

He grew quiet and looked down in disappointment.

Oh sweet child. You are more than even you can imagine!

The overlapping of whispers had faded and in came the view of something the young man never thought he’d see in person. There sat upon countless steps, were thousands of swords fused and molten into one seat. The infamous Iron Throne.

He was intimidated by it as it was a lot bigger than his little mind could’ve imagined. He also felt a lot of things at that moment. Fear, Shock and Excitement all in one.

‘The… The Iron Throne…’

The voice had returned but in singular and easier to comprehend, ‘Yes, my Prince. Yours. Your birthright. Go to it.’

‘Mine?’

Swallowing hard, he allowed this ominous voice to guide him up the stone steps that seem to ascend miles and miles up. By the time he’d made it up to the top, he was now a man and no longer a child.

‘Yours.’

His hair and face was clean; free of dirt, dust and grime. Purely white, it cascaded down between his shoulder blades. He wore black and red royal robes. Red and black scales donned his wide shoulders and arms, resembling the ancestors of his guardian angel.

He stood tall and fierce. Eyes so sure and positive about who he was.

Beside him stood his father and his uncle Daemon. His father held the gaze of a proud mentor while Daemon reflected a gaze of malice and hatred. He was never the type to care about others' opinions of him. He answered to no one but his mother and her alone.

‘Touch it.’ The King requested as he placed his large deteriorating hand on his shoulder. Without rebuttal, the Prince reached down to the armrest, casually allowing the blades of swords to pierce and carve into his skin. He didn’t falter but dug the blades in once more.

‘Sit, my King. It is yours.’ Daemon added on, his voice stern and firm.

The young man carefully pulled his palm away from the armrest and turned to face his elders before sitting down upon the prickly seat. His father took off his shiny crown, immediately unmasking the truth of his illness.

The King had lost an abundance of his beautiful white hair, along with the weight that’d kept him youthful and healthy. Half of his face was sunken, and eaten away by decay; he’d even lost an eye and a hole took place in his cheek, revealing damaged jawbone and teeth.

And yet, Daemon kept his youth and health.

Sitting back against the throne, swords impaled through the young king’s chest and torso, causing blood to seep and bleed into the crevices of the throne. He remained unphased as the throne began to bleed him dry.

Though, he was able to take deep, fulfilling breaths.

The Dead King and Loathing Prince stood in idle as the young man poured his life into who he was. Into who the Targaryens were.

‘This is who you are. You are the true heir, Tytus Targaryen.’

The King smiled proudly before weakly bowing his head. Daemon refused to bow but instead just stepped to the side.

Revealed onto him, were hundreds of not thousands of his people bowing in his wake. Everything seemed so … promising. But he couldn’t celebrate this victory without the woman he adored most. His mother. Tytus searched amongst bowing men and women but to no avail. That was until he’d finally looked down into his lap.

The severed head of his mother laid there. A silent scream left his chest as bloodied tears filled his bright golden eyes. He just kept mouthing, Mama! Mama! Mommy!

The redness in her eyes frightened him so; mimicking lightning bolts on the white orb. Her blue irises were halfway rolled and her eye bags were as dark as her chapped lips.

Abruptly, her eyes had come to be, cutting at him with an unfamiliar yet haunting gaze, ‘Ungrateful.’ She uttered.

Confused beyond measure, his head fell to the side.

‘Morning.’

***

A sudden and breathless gasp had awakened him out of his sleep, with his bright eyes flashing open he could’ve burned a hole into the cabin ceiling. He’d immediately fell into a fit of coughs and heaves so hard it made his chest hurt.

The frantic footsteps had echoed throughout the cabin. ‘Tytus?!’ The woman exclaimed before she damn near knocked down the bedroom door.

With face red as beets and the pleading look in his eyes, his mother rushed to his aid. ‘My son! Are you alright?!’

His head felt dizzy and his chest felt as if his lungs were on fire. He’d closed his eyes to focus on his breathing while he nodded. Finally coming back to his senses, his head fell back against the small pillow as a lively breath left his lips.

His mother, Sondra, had also let out a sigh in relief. ‘Another nightmare?’

He rubbed at his temples, quietly.

The woman sat there watching her son try to break down the meaning of whatever it was that caused him such ailment and grief. ‘Shall I send a raven?’

‘If you sent him a raven every time I had a nightmare mother, he’d never be home. It’s alright.’ He lied. Truth be told, this dream occurred every night. From the succession of the throne to the demise of his mother.

‘Well he is your father, and you need him.’

Rolling his eyes, the large male pulled himself up from his cot, ‘I haven’t needed him for all of these years,’ he snatched the white cotton blouse off of the wooden chair, ‘I don’t need him now.’

The woman sighed at her stubborn son, ‘Tytus. Must you be so mulish? What is the harm in reaching out?’

Tytus rolled his eyes. He hated having these conversations with her about Viserys. Last time he was too busy raising his own family to be bothered with a bastard son. Tugging on his shirt he turned to look at her. ‘Since when you cared so much about what happened between Viserys and I?’

The woman’s lips parted for a second before she let out a sigh. She peeled her eyes away from his haunting gaze. She knew something that he didn’t. ‘Just— it’s important you get to know him as a man, son.’

He sighed heavily and shook his head, ‘I’m sorry mother but he’s a little too preoccupied for me.’ He’d become agitated; thinking about the only thing that his father had given him was a name, the rights to speak in his native tongue and a dragon egg.

One would say he’s more connected to his Valyrian heritage. But that meant nothing when all he wanted was his father to be around. He may have been ungrateful, but he resented Viserys.

But there are two sides to every coin.

He started towards the door until Sondra said, ‘Your father is ill.’

Tytus stopped in his tracks.

‘He had been this way for quite some time. They have been trying to slow up the pace of the illness but—‘

‘What is it?’ He said as he turned half way to look at his mother.

‘It is a flesh eating disease… in the recent raven he’d sent, it’s already claimed fingers… and some of the flesh on his back.’

Shutting his eyes and looking away from her, he’d let out a silent breath. His heart had sunken to his gut causing him to grow ill.

That would explain Visery’s health in his nightmare.

‘Did they—‘ he paused as he tried to gather his emotions, ‘Did he say how much time he had left?’

‘No.’ Sondra walked over to her son and placed her hand on his tall shoulder while turning his face towards her with her free hand, ‘This is why you must make amends. He is your father and you are my greatest gift. You must thank him. I already have.’

‘Why must I thank someone for making me? He cursed me, mother. Us! He is the reason we can’t go out and live normal lives.’

‘Tytus—‘

‘I’ll see what I can do… but no promises. The King had always put his son aside… and I shall do the same.’ He pulled away from his mother’s touch and walked out the back door of the cabin.

Tears brimmed his eyes as his chest began to tighten with a familiar ache. Sure he tried to hold himself together but that news hit him like a ton of bricks. He quickly walked over to the stream and collapsed to his knees. His face molded into something… human and painful. A silent sob ripped through his chest, causing his shoulders to rise and fall.

No matter how much he’d pretended to hate his father, he truly did look up to him. He knew that Viserys was a good man, and part of him hated that of him. He’d just wished he had to experience him more and have more time with him. It wasn’t fair. While all his younger siblings got to know who he was as a man, a father, a mentor and a King; he barely knew him beyond his name.

Hell, when he and Uncle Daemon would sneak away from Kings Landing to see him as a child, they’d never spent more than an hour together.

Jealousy wasn’t enough for the Prince.

‘Tytus?!’

Startled, Tytus dipped his head into the flowing water to hide his face.

‘Tytus?’ A woman called out in confusion, placing her hand over her chest as her free arm held a wicker basket.

He pulled his head out of the water and pushed his wet hair out of his face. Letting out a huff, he rubbed the water out of his eyes and looked back over his shoulder.

‘Oh, Alyssa!’ He scrambled up to his feet and turned around to face her as he pushed his wet hair out of his face. ‘Hi. I—I wasn't expecting to see you at this hour. May I help you?’

Tytus allowed his bright yet mournful eyes to take in the woman before him. Her skin was bathing within the warmth of the sun itself; brown like sepia. She had a pretty, round face with chestnut eyes and full lips. And a smile, that could light up an entire room.

Her thick dark hair was done in two fine twists with a thin gold ribbon fed into the style. They met at the back of her head in an intricate and complicated pattern of a knot.

She had a set large voluptuous breasts that complimented her low cut dress wonderfully. She had a tummy, wide hips and he would assume thick pillowy thighs to match beneath the skirt of her dress.

To call this woman comely, was quite the understatement.

‘I just bought this for you. Hoping that you have not forgotten our proposal.’ She took the handle into her fist and held it out towards him.

‘And that would be?’ He trailed off as he raised a brow.

Annoyingly dropping her arm, Alyssa let out a sigh with a gentle eye roll, ‘Well it’s not exactly ours… you and my father.’

‘So why didn’t your father come have a word with me?’

‘He is busy. He runs an Inn and an Alehouse. Or does your age fail you?’

Tytus scuffed as his brows furrowed in dismay, ‘How old do you think I am?’

‘I don’t know. Something about you says ancient but… I don’t truly know.’

‘Is it my hair.’

‘Mayhaps…’ the woman paused as she rested her hand on her hip, allowing her pretty eyes to roam over this lovely specimen of a man. ‘So, will you do it?’

This woman was impossible. Well, he’d known her for a little while. And she wasn’t always this impatient. Other days she was a sweet woman that made him laugh and made him feel comfortable when he’d go fill up on some ale.

But she was different outside of that Inn.

Letting out a heavy sigh, his golden eyes ripped from her gaze to the basket she held in her hand. ‘What’s in the basket?’

‘Some treats for you and your mother. You know my father is quite fond of her? He would hate to hear that you’d turn down gifts because of your wits.’

He’d rolled his eyes and reached his hand out for her to place his gift there.

The woman beamed with a smile that could cut through thick thunder clouds. It was hard for him to keep up with his immovable character when she shared that side with him. Instead of allowing the annoyance to settle in his features further, he’d returned a small yet kind smile.

‘Thank you, Tytus. You have been quite helpful since you and Miss. Sondra have been around. If you both shall need anything—‘

‘We— don’t need anything, Alyssa.’ He reassured, ‘Thank you.’ He blinked his golden eyes from the basket to her gaze.

The two remained quiet; staring into one another’s eyes as if they’d searched for something beyond.

Alyssa had inhaled deeply as she blinked her gaze away from his. ‘Well, I shall get going, Tytus. Inn won’t tend to itself unfortunately.’ She bowed her head respectfully, ‘Good day.’ She added before spinning off smoothly and walking in the direction from whomst she came.

It had seemed as if Tytus had been involuntarily choking on words because he just couldn’t seem to get them out so he just said, ‘Good Day, Miss.’

‘Alyssa.’

Taking note that once she made it past the cabin, she went left. It wasn’t in the direction of her father’s inn but after she’d left his property, she was no longer his responsibility. Or so he thought.

***

Walking back into the cabin, he took note of his mother sitting before the fireplace staring at his priceless gift.

A dragon egg.

Sondra looked over at Tytus for a second before her eyes dropped to the goody basket he held in his hand. ‘I thought I saw it move. I know he said it may never hatch but, you could never be too sure about these things. They’re creatures like you and I. Stubborn when they want to be.’ The woman laughed heartily as she walked over to her son.

‘I ever tell you about when I was pregnant with you?’

A small smile returned, ‘Yes mama. More times than man could count.’

‘You and—‘ she paused for a second as if she was catching herself from giving away something.

Tytus caught that, causing his brows to pull together as he listened further.

‘You gave me so much pain, I wanted the Gods to put me out of my misery. 10 long months, I felt every bit of it.’ She smiled softly, trying to push her secrets to the side once more. ‘Now look at you,’ she placed her hand on his jaw, ‘My son.’ Her thumb gently caressed his cheek before she brought her attention to the basket once again.

‘Alyssa brought this here for us.’ Tytus said as he placed it in her arms. ‘I have to fulfill my end of the trade now.’

‘Alyssa… What a sweet girl.’ Sondra smiled as she carried it off to the wooden dining table. ‘How is she and her father?’

‘I don’t know?’ He shrugged, ‘She seemed in fair spirits. Her father though,’ he smirked as he leaned against the frame of the door ‘Seems to have a thing for little ladies who tend to be mysterious.’

‘Who? Me?’ The woman laughed gleefully as she tore the cloth from atop of the basket. Revealed onto them both was a full bottle of mead, fresh warm bread, cheese and a jar of raw honey. ‘Ou! What a lovely spread!’

‘Good,’ Tytus sighed and pushed himself off of the frame, ‘You can enjoy it without me. I’ve got venison to catch.’

‘Be careful son.’

‘I shall.’ He called out before walking out the back door once again and went into the makeshift butcher house that he’d built. It was more than just a place to cut and skin meat. It was where he beat his steel and metal into place. Being on the run for 30 odd years, he and his mother had to learn to do things on their own.

That went from properly skinning meat to make pelts, to creating new weaponry that could cut down anyone that disrupted their journey.

But it was also a place of solace. Where he found peace and quiet.

Tytus made due to change out of his house wear quickly and stepped into something more comfortable. There was no telling how long his trip would be. But with his impressive tracking skills and his ability to make a decision promptly, he should be back in no time.

He dressed in thick, patterned leather. Then, he tugged on his boots and sharpened his dagger. Finally, he packed up his quiver nice and full, and tightened the string.

Once finished, he gathered all of his possessions and walked outside to the stables. It was a little bit busier now. The farmers next door had begun to work on their duties and the streets had come to life as the sun ascended further into the sky.

As he embarked on his short journey, the villagers greeted him with smiles and waves. Some even spoke his name: ‘Tytus! Good Morning to ya!’ ‘Tytus.’ ‘Be safe out there, Tytus!’

Children skipped, ran and laughed as they played without a care in the world. A soft smile had formed in his lips but then, he’d remembered that he wasn’t so lucky to experience such a mundane life as this when he was a child. At times, he envied them. These kids who laughed with their whole bodies and asked questions out of curiosity while having the chance to be children…

Not him though. He didn’t have time to wonder what the world was like or make friends.

‘Gardenia… good morning girl.’ He said softly as he rested his large hand against her neck. ‘Miss me?’

The beautiful Friesian mare nickered with joy as the sound of his voice. She’d even shoved at his torso in a gentle and affirming manner.

‘I know. I’ve missed you too. But, we’re going to be spending some time together today.’ He’d placed his dagger in his sheath and pulled on his bow and quiver over his shoulder.

‘We’ve gotten wrapped up in something… a promise that must be fulfilled.’ He spoke to Gardenia as if she was human. Well, he always knew his secrets would be safe with her.

***

Riding with Gardenia always did seem to take his mind off of more dismaying things. Such as his nightmares and his mother’s pompous attitude toward him seeing his father.

Tytus was aimlessly following an unmarked path in the woods. Sure, he’d made the deal to go hunting but right now his mind wasn’t in it. He’d just found out the man who he’d called father was dying from this rare disease. And he had no idea if he’d ever see him again.

His eyes burned with a vengeance as tears brimmed them again. His jaw locked into place as he clenched it hard while his fists held on to his reins tightly.

Finally, the sound of an elk calling brought him out of sunken depths of despair in his mind. Pulling at Gardenia’s reins, she knickered before shaking her head and stopping in her tracks.

‘Whoooa, girl. Eaaaassy.’ He’d reached forth and gave her neck a gentle pat before carefully unmounting. He quietly walked her over to a tree where he tied her up, nice and tightly.

Leaning into her neck, Tytus whispered, ‘I know you hate to lull these units back home. But, it feeds us. Behave.’ He uttered before pulling away and readying his bow. As soon as he turned his back to walk away, Gardenia quickly nudged her snout into his back; neighing and stomping as he stumbled forward.

Catching his footing, Tytus’ nose flared as he took a deep breath and looked behind him with a minacious scowl written on his face. The horse stared at him with an unimpressed glare as her ears twitched and flickered.

Look at him. What kind of man fights with a horse?

Rolling his bright golden eyes, he mumbled, ‘you women are all the same.’

When the elk called once more, Tytus took note that it was closer and that this was no average piece of meat. The way it sounded let Tytus know that it was much more mature than he anticipated from the first call.

Squatting down into the damp dirt, he took note of the human footprints here. They were small and the shape held form, a telltale sign that these were recent.

It wasn’t odd to see footprints in the wood, but for some reason— something felt off about this particular set of prints. But he wasn’t here for that, he lifted his bow and began on his way.

Every step Tytus made was crucial and timed as any step out of place, could possibly scare away nearby food. Or perhaps, invite a hungry bear or a pack of direwolves. Whichever the three, none were wanted. So he stepped slowly, and moved with as much patience as a mother with her rotten child.

They didn’t call him the best hunter in the village for nothing.

Eventually, after so many calculated steps and draws, he’d finally come across the source of the calls. Standing beneath a tree that looked to have weathered many centuries, it grazed on the lush green grass.

Tytus thought this was the perfect opportunity to claim his prize. So he stepped over broken branch and tread slowly, cautiously. He stood up straight and drew his string; aiming the arrow at its ribcage. But something… was off.

His mind kept thinking about those tracks from earlier. Who were they? Why were they here? Were they safe?

With Tytus’ questions throwing off his concentration, he mistakenly released the grip of the arrow, causing it to rip through the air, and spear the tree, just a second above the creature.

Tytus’ heart sank.

But to his surprise, the beast didn’t flee. In fact, its head rose and looked at his hunter instead. It began to emerge from the shadows of the tree, stepping into the sun that caused its coat to glow like snow. Its antlers appeared to shine like solid gold in the sun’s rays.

And unusually large in size.

Under the temptation of wanting to reach behind him and grab another arrow, Tytus couldn’t believe what he was seeing! He was completely frozen.

The Legendary White Hart.

He’d heard stories about this creature when he was just a little boy. But he’d never been the type to believe in fairy tales. As if dragons didn’t exist and he wouldn’t become a formidable dragon rider in the future.

The stag stopped only heartbeats away from Tytus, staring down the mere human. And the human stared up at it, slowly dropping his weapon to take in this godly creature once more.

Then, the creature let out a huff from its nose and turned away, trekking into a path. Almost instantly disappearing within the trees.

Tytus stood there as he felt as if air had been ripped from his lungs. If he’d remembered those tales well, he’d known what this meant. That the Gods had given him their blessing for him to be King… right?

Wrong. Because that’s not what he wanted. Tytus had no generalized idea of what it took to be a King. How responsible would he have to be? All the choices he’d have to make on behalf of others instead of being selfish. And he loved being selfish! Why would he give that up?! For a crown and gold?

Depending on who you ask… it didn’t sound bad.

But that wasn’t him.

At the moment, Tytus was no longer in a hunting mood. He was mentally exhausted after today. All the news and all the signs weighed on him like dumbbells. As he made his way back to Gardenia, he contemplated telling his mother about his finding. But knowing her, her relentless determination of convincing him to see his father, would only get worse.

He’d decided to keep it a secret for now.

Once he’d made it back to Gardenia, he’d noticed that the tracks had been replaced with 3 fresh ones. The wet dirt had been deepened by the weight of heavy boots.

But how odd was it that they didn’t steal his horse? Clearly these individuals were after something more important.

That gut feeling only deepened and now he felt the need to get to the bottom of this.

‘Gardenia… I’m afraid I must leave you again…’

The sassy horse neighed loudly and bobbed her head.

‘I know… something is not right here. And if someone is in danger… I must help.’ Tytus walked over to Gardenia and reached into his satchel where he pulled out a shiny red apple. ‘You do understand,’ He hushed against her neck.

‘Don’t you?’ He continued as he held out the apple in front of her.

The horse knickered quietly before she grabbed the fruit with her teeth, causing Tytus to chuckle softly. ‘I knew you would. I will be back soon.’

***

Tytus didn’t really care too much to be quiet on this journey. He put all of his attention in studying these tracks and what they could possibly lead to. And it could be a number of things.

At this point in the day, the sun had finally disappeared behind the mountains, alerting him that he’d spent way too much time out here and still didn’t catch anything.

But food didn’t matter when it came to protecting the innocent. So he pushed onward until he heard the loud drunken, cackling of men.

Crouching behind a bush, he allowed his eyes to try to study the area from afar. A fire had already been built and well lit. One of the men wore nothing but filthy undergarments. The other two, were fully dressed in their armored uniforms. Tytus recognized those cloaks and breastplates anywhere. Black and Red.

They served the King, under Lord Commander Criston Cole, who’d just taken after the Late Ser Harrold Westerling. A renowned white cloak, who proved to be more than a “pretty” face.

Tytus hated those self righteous pricks.

But these guys… were more dangerous than an average soldier. In fact, they were no longer that. Deserters, which made them all the more dangerous. They had no rules, as long as they weren’t caught… they’d do anything to survive.

The sudden whining of a woman had caught his attention almost instantly, causing his gaze to flicker from the gold three-headed, fire breathing dragon to the woman who was helplessly bound in a pillory. She struggled and wept as she begged the three men to free her.

‘Pl-please! I-I won’t tell a soul… I-I swear! Just please let me go!’

Her voice… that… voice.

‘Alyssa?’ He whispered softly.

Though, he couldn’t confirm it as her backside was facing him. He often tried to be respectful and not look at her that way. He felt he owed that to her father.

‘Oh you won’t be telling anybody… sweetheart.’ The naked man expressed as he took the ale from his comrade.

Tytus growled quietly as he grabbed the handle of his sword. But before he could make another move, he stopped himself. These are three trained soldiers. He had to do this right before it got them both killed.

He watched as that slimy bastard made his way over to her and stood in front of her where he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Then, he leaned in as if to kiss her.

Tytus watched impatiently before a loud wail erupted in the air.

Snatching his face away, the male’s face was gushing with blood as she spit out what seemed to be flesh, ‘You won’t kiss anyone else you disgusting—‘

She’d snatched his bottom lip off of his face, completely exposing tendons and everything that made a set of lips work.

Tytus hissed at the gruesome sight. He’d seen a lot of things, but this? That was sickening.

One of the male’s backhanded her with his armored knuckles, instantly knocking her out.

This ticked Tytus off, he was over trying to be patient. These men brought her harm and they weren’t going to make it out of here.

As the male’s comrades tried to help him aid the wound and stop the bleeding, Tytus stepped around the bush, ‘Do you all—‘ startling the three men, causing the two men to pull out their swords.

‘Usually harm women this way?’

‘What’s it to you? This does not concern you!’

‘what did you all intend on doing to her?’ Tytus tried to remain as calm as possible.

The two dressed men stood there quietly as their companion tried to “glue” his lip back into place. What an idiot.

‘Do you all know… the consequences of deserting?’

‘We’re not deserters!’

Tytus smirked, ‘Oh yeah?’

‘We—we just got lost! Sh-she was suppose to help us find our nearest camp and—‘

‘You didn’t find it so you’re gonna rape and kill her instead?’

The three men looked at one another before looking back at Tytus.

‘You know what? Yeah. And then maybe we’ll rape and kill you too.’ The three men laughed.

And Tytus found absolutely nothing funny about that.

His stoic demeanor had instantly shifted into something colder and harsher. ‘Not if I can help it.’ Gripping the handle of his sword, he unsheathed his blade and readied himself.

‘Ha! You’re going to fight us? It's 3 of us and just 1 of you.’

Tytus' head fell to the side gently as a small smirk curled up on his lip. ‘You know, you’re right about that.’ Quickly reaching behind him, he grabbed the handle of his dagger and aimlessly launched it in their direction. To his luck, it hit the injured one right in the throat.

The other men watched as their comrade fell to the ground and choked on his own blood. Then, they turned their attention to Tytus who readied himself in stance. They both charged towards him in hopes of defeating this individual. But that hope was short lived when Tytus swung his sword across one’s neck, chopping his head clean off. And slicing the other from across his stomach, instantly bringing him to his knees.

Unfortunately for him, he lived a little bit longer to feel the torturous pain of his insides falling upon the ground before him. Wailing as he even made the attempt to grab at his intestines and try to shove it back into the wound but failed miserably when he’d succumb to his wound.

Splattered blood dripped across Tytus’ face and some even got in his hair. He’d sighed heavily and walked over to the one with the missing lip. He was still choking to death. Tytus’ brows tugged into one as he noticed that his dagger was probably keeping him alive?

‘Well, isn’t this interesting?’

He squatted down before him and flicked the handle, causing the man to gargle in pain. ‘You’re really fighting it aren’t you?’

He tried to speak, chomping his jaws together but it had appeared that the blade severed his vocal chords too.

So instead of watching him struggle, Tytus reached over, ‘Alright, that’ll do.’ And he shoved the blade deeper, finally ending the individual’s torment.

‘To be honest that’s more than what you deserve. Fucking prick.’ He hissed as he snatched his blade out of his throat and wiped the blade upon his pants before sheathing it home.

Tytus took in a moment to take in this mess. 3 men massacred by his blade, and a woman who had been knocked unconscious by the brute force of one of them. In that moment, he worried that perhaps someone would find the bodies here.

It wouldn’t be a good look if the townsfolk saw these slain soldiers. But, he did what he must. And the sun was descending further behind the mountains; illuminating a orange glow in the sky. They had to get back home before dark. Or at least be on their way.

Huffing heavily through his nose, the tall brute walked over to the body that lie hunched over it’s on mess now. Tytus kicked the corpse over, and studied it for a moment. ‘What to do with you…three pigs..’

His golden eyes roamed over the body; a pile of its own intestines lie next to him.

Then, he looked ahead at the raging fire that they’d once created just a few moments before their intruder’s arrival.

‘Well.. into the flames you go.’

One by one, Tytus drug the 3 corpses into the fire and watched them burn; watching as the metal fused with their flesh as if it were becoming apart of them instead. In exposed skin, he watched the flames cauterize and bubble them up until it turned crispy and charred.

He wrinkled his nose at the unfathomable scent. It was a smell, one could never truly get use to.

Finally turning his attention to the damsel in distress, he let out a gentle sigh. ‘As for you…’ he said as he walked over to meet her.

He carefully grabbed her chin and lifted her face. Semi-dried blood stained her lips and chin from her attack on her abuser. Then, he noticed a dark purple bruise that had been instantly cast upon her tawny flesh where that bastard split her cheekbone.

‘Mmm. Your father will have your head for this.’ Tytus murmured before carefully releasing her head. He began to take his blade and slice at the thick rope that kept her bound.

After freeing her from the pillory, ‘Silly woman.’ He muttered as threw her over his shoulder and began his journey back to Gardenia. ‘You did well.’

Random Tags: @megamindsecretlair @ladylaviniya @virgosapphire79 @blackterrae @iwudbutnah @augustsprincess @holylulusworld @xsapphirescrollsx @viking-raider @peternoonewantsthat @littlemelaninfics @goldieccentric @multiversxwhore @targaryenvampireslayer @raccoon-eyed-rebel

[thehusbandoden]

More Than Life Itself -Dabi x Reader | Alternative Ending to Burnt

A/n: I was feeling super soft at the end if you couldn't tell lol

I have school in the morning, I should get to bed.. but I'm so freaking inspired rn. I'll probably just fall sleep writing again.

Does anyone even read this? Am I talking to myself?

Wouldn't be the first time 😶

General info:

Genre: comfort- lots of comfort/angst to fluff (ish) \\ wc: 1,099\\ posted: 01/10/2024

Warnings!: (Please just trust me. Y/n doesn't just let him get away with it, but I don't want to spoil it lol). Crying, regret, mentions of toxicity, mentions of manipulation and gaslighting, Dabi's real name, hints of Dabi's past/backstory, flinching, slight self hatred, a slight mention of physical abuse, and slight self doubt! I think that's it, please tell me if I miss anything! <33 (anon in my ask box is turned on for my shy readers ;3)

Part One- Burnt (pure angst)

You broke down sobbing as Dabi closed the door. You knew that this was for the best, and what he did was completely not okay, but that was the love of your life. Your one and only. Your soulmate. Your partner. Your beloved. Your first; and you were hoping your last.  

Yes, he could be toxic- okay. He was toxic frequently. He would yell, insult, manipulate and gaslight you. He would get jealous and possessive; and leave for months on end without a single word.  

He would break your heart; only to come back and repair it with his soft compliments, not only manipulating you into forgetting about it; but gaslighting you as he changed the story. Making himself look better.  

And you played along. Because his warm hands caressing your arms, shoulders, cheeks, and head were too loving. The way he kissed your forehead, whispering to you how beautiful you are felt too real. The way he would treat you outside of the bad times felt too... perfect. 

Your beloved Touya wasn’t all bad. He could be an amazing partner... half of the time. One thing you were- and are- grateful for is the fact that no matter how nasty, toxic, and straight up mean he can be; he has –and never will- cheat. It goes against everything he despises. He won’t do it. 

As you remember all the good times tears streamed down your face, sliding to your chin before falling onto your hand. Sobs echoed through the room as you held yourself. Rocking back and forth, you faintly hear someone calling your name. Roling your eyes, you flip the front door of your apartment off.  

No way you were letting that d-bag in. As he continues to call your name you scoff. Standing up, you head towards the door. Grasping the handle, you slam the door open.  

Right as you were about to say something you were- 

-abruptly awoken out of your slumber. You jolt awake, looking around in alarm. Dabi held your shoulders in worry, his turquoise eyes holding no recollection of the past argument.  

“Doll? What’s wrong, Babygirl?” Dabi cooed, pressing his knuckle below your eye, catching your tears. You flinch back from his touch. His eyes widen, and he pulls away.  

“S-sweetheart...” he murmured, his gorgeous orbs moving to the floor. You stare at him, tears still streaming down your face. He moved his eyes to focus on yours. “Baby what happened? Please tell me... I’m worried.” Dabi murmured.  

You shook with sobs as you stared at your beloved. His perfectly framed face held no hint of the malice it had before. His eyes were full of concern, love, and even hurt from your flinching 

“I-I had a nightmare.” You whisper, slowly melting into his touch. 

“A nightmare?” Dabi whispered, slowly brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.  

You nod, whimpering ever so softly. Your heart ached at the vivid images of your nasty argument, physical abuse, and break up.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dabi whispered, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, holding your jaw gently, stroking your soft skin. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  

“I- I...” tears slipped down your cheeks. Dabi’s calloused thumbs caught them, wiping them away. You take a deep breath. “C-can you hold me against your chest? I-I don’t want you to look at me...”  

Dabi gently pulled you to his chest the second you asked him to; you didn’t even have to finish your request. He caressed your head, cheeks, shoulders and arms, whispering sweet things to you and kissing your forehead. “Of course, Babygirl. Take your time.”  

After a few minutes you take a deep breath before slowing replaying your traumatizing nightmare. Dabi slightly stiffened but didn’t interrupt. As you re-laid how your argument progressed and how he ended up burning you, his grip tightened, cradling you to his chest as his jaw clenched in fury.  

Yes, he knows that it was a nightmare. And yes, he knew that he didn’t actually do it- and that he would never hurt you like that.  

But he couldn’t help but be angry at himself. Angry that he theoretically hurt you, that you were crying because of it. 

He was silent as you finished your account. As you finished, he gave the both of you time to process your words. After a few minutes, he gently titlted your chin up, staring into your gorgeous eyes, the windows to your soul. He caressed your cheeks and jaw, his turquoise eyes filled with un-wilting love and endless affection.  

“Y/n, my love-” he whispered, pausing to let the words sink in. “-I will, and would never do that to you. I swear to you on my life, I. Will. Not. Hurt. You.”  

His words were filled with unwavering confidence. He pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, kissing your tears away. “I would rather die than hurt you like that. Ever- for any reason.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks with his calloused yet gentle hands.  

Your breath hitched in your throat at the obvious truth in his eyes, telling you that he was dead serious. After a few seconds tears ran down your cheeks yet again. You closed your eyes, leaning in ever so slightly; telling him that you were well enough for him to kiss you. 

Dabi slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to yours sweetly. Dabi rarely kissed you so gently, taking his time to tell you how much he absolutely adored you. He kissed you until you gently pulled away, needing air.  

Smiling, Dabi leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, so much; and trust me baby when I say: I am truly sorry.”  

You replied a few tender moments later. “For what?” Your voice was low and hoarse.  

“For making you cry... for making you feel so- however you’re feeling.”  

“Baby... you didn’t do anything...” you frown slightly, though his innocence was endearing.  

“But I’m a broken man... I could totally see me being so... destructive... you must have been worrying about that- or I don’t know... you deserve so much better, my sweet girl.”  

`“Baby, please don’t say that. You are not broken. You have been hurt, really hurt, but you aren’t broken. The mind is a funny thing, but I can assure you: you are exactly what I need and want. I love you, with all of my heart.”  

If Dabi physically could, he would be tearing up. He pulls you into another kiss, slowly stroking your hair. “I love you too... more than life itself.”

~~~~~

Dabi's masterlist | Part One- Burnt (pure angst) | Navigation | Masterlist | Tip Jar <;3

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[fujoshiribbon]

Kracko is like one of those crusty little white dogs full of nothing but hatred and malice except unlike the little pale demons their hatred and malice is solely directed at Kirby. Kracko lovingly tucks in every Co. Kracko to bed and always wishes them a good day at school and tells Kracko Jr. that if anyone bullies them they’re allowed to smite them with lightning. Kracko goes to Waddle Doo #293926109’s niece’s dance recital and while they had to watch through a window they were very supportive. Kracko sees an elderly Waddle Dee having trouble keeping their vegetable garden watered and helps out. Kracko wants to get a car just so they can hit Kirby with it

i’m just losing my shit at the mental image of Kracko, Lord of the Skies, driving a car. a little waddle dee sized car. he doesnt have feet how do they reach the pedals!!!!!

[zykamiliah]

the moment shen jiu forgives yue qingyuan is the moment he stops being a hypocrite

With that, he came to the cheerful conclusion that Yue Qingyuan had truly done everything he could; he’d gone above and beyond to fulfill the calls of both kindness and duty. Regardless of how much guilt weighed down his heart, his debt had long since been repaid in full.

where before he was denying that luo binghe's revenge was due to his own actions and abuse, and refused to admit his owns wrongdoings in front of yue qingyuan, getting defensive at every question,

“Shidi,” he said, exhausted, “we’ve already come this far, so why do you still refuse to consider your wrongdoings?” Even if someone had knocked out his teeth, even if he was left swallowing his own blood, Shen Qingqiu had always stubbornly refused to admit his transgressions—especially in front of Yue Qingyuan, in front of whom you could absolutely forget about any confessions. “What ‘wrongdoings’?” Shen Qingqiu asked bitterly. “Zhangmen-shixiong, please tell me, what is Luo Binghe if not a bastard? You just wait. He won’t be satisfied only taking it out on me. If, in the future, some tumultuous storm upsets the cultivation world, then the only thing I will have done wrong was fail to cut him down at the start.”

after he forgives yue qingyuan, he starts speaking honestly, and confesses he did wrong, that he only has himself to blame for what happened. it's as if some part of him finally relaxes when he realizes that yue qingyuan truly does care about him. his dialogue becomes less defensive, he is absolutely frank about his own personality.

“I’ll tell you this: Even if all of this could be redone from the beginning, in the end, the conclusion would remain the same. My heart is full of malice, my insides hatred and resentment. Today, Luo Binghe wishes for me to die horribly, and I only have myself to blame.”

everything he says from this point on is what he truly feels about himself and the world.

“Do you still hold such hatred within yourself?” asked Yue Qingyuan. Shen Qingqiu laughed uproariously. “Only when I see other people unhappy can I be happy myself. What do you think?”

then, he absolves yue qingyuan in his own way

Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “You ask me to kill you here, Sect Leader Yue? Are you unsatisfied with the crimes Luo Binghe’s already charged me with? You think them too few? Besides, who do you think you are? My hatred will be resolved as long as I kill you? I’m far beyond cure; I hate everything. Don’t blame this humble Shen for any disrespect or mockery, but if Sect Leader Yue considers himself that very cure, he thinks too highly of himself!”

and this is true: shen jiu hates everything, he's said so before. and even when he and yue qi where in good terms, he still hated people. after he forgives yue qingyuan (in his mind) this doesn't change the fact that he hates the world, he hates people, he hates men, and that he hates himself. his self-worth is not restored because he realizes yue qingyuan loves him, but it does stop him from constantly trying to pretend he had no part in what befell him.

before, every time yue qingyuan asked him "why are you doing this", he'd blame others: luo binghe for being "who he is", liu qingge for provoking him (when it was exactly the opposite). before he'd try to pretend in front of others that he didn't hate everything and everyone,

Shen Jiu hated far too many people and far too many things. Obviously, people found it hard to say anything good about the character of someone who hated everything. So fortunately, by the time he became Shen Qingqiu, he understood he ought to at least keep that hatred from bubbling to the surface.

which made him an hypocrite. but now, finally, in this prison, with yue qingyuan baring his soul in front of him, literally putting his life in shen jiu's hands, he finally stops that behaviour. he acknowledges his own agency.

“Xiao-Jiu, I—” “Don’t call me that!” Shen Qingqiu snarled.

but he still wants to leave the past behind him, and thus his relationship to himself remains the same: he thinks lowly of himself, he sees himself as a "thing". he doesn't have self-esteem or self-love, and he'll keep rejecting the past, rejecting "Shen Jiu".

and he also wants to protect yue qingyuan from himself.

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (6)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Hahahhh I finished it finally! I love my boys so much, they fill my heart with so much joy :;) @annablogsposts this obsession is all your fault! I need to make a masterpost for this... anyways, ENJOY!

*~*~*~*~*

They rode in silence back to the Kingswood as one of the soldier’s had called it. Cosimo had scrunched his nose up at that name. How can a woods be owned by a King? Nature was its own master. Besides, there wouldn’t be Elfbows there if the original inhabitants of the forest were humans. No, Cosimo had the sneaking suspicion that this was the forest Henrik had told him about in his story of Niko’s father.

Cosimo remembered his tutor, one of the Elder Elves, telling him about the histories of their people. How they would live in harmony with nature, together as one, both giving and taking in equal measures. How the humans would come like an invasive species and only ever take… upsetting the balance of the earth to build their soulless cities and castles and nature be damned. Animals be damned.

“Nothing is sacred to humans, Cosimo,” Ludwig had told him. “They are selfish creatures. They would sacrifice anything to satiate their own greed.”

Cosimo’s eyes had gone wide at Ludwig’s cautionary words. He spoke them with such hatred that was foreign coming from the teacher’s mouth. Ludwig was patient, kind, compassionate — so hearing him speak with such malice, it struck a chord within Cosimo that echoed now in his mind and his chest. Jarring, eerie and wrong.

Was he making the right choice in leading the humans to the boy that Cosimo was trying to protect? Was there any way he could possibly distract them? Sneak off and find the boy and the fox and run?

Nestor’s laugh made his chest ache, as he floated into the memory without Cosimo’s permission. Nestor and his happy-go-lucky grin. After he heard Ludwig’s take on the humans he joined the conversation, leaning down heavy on Ludwig’s shoulders. Cosimo remembers smiling as the Elder rolled his eyes.

There was only one elf who would do such a thing.

“Ah, Ludwig. You are scaring the boy.”

“I am merely teaching,” Ludwig said, the hatred gone from his voice as he straightened his spine and grabbed Nestor’s arm lifting it from around his neck. “You should know better than to interrupt.”

“Always good to be a little nosey,” Nestor said, lifting his eyes to meet Cosimo’s and winking at him. “Eh, Cosimo?”

Cosimo’s smile grew into a cheap copy of Nestor’s mischievous grin. “You should know better than to fill his head with such nonsense, Nestor. Not all elves have the freedom to be as carefree as you.”

“If he’s learning the bad he can learn the good of the humans too, no? About their music? Their art? Their love, Ludwig.”

“The boy is but a child,” Ludwig hissed, glaring at Nestor. Cosimo swallowed as Nestor’s smile fell from his face. Ludwig stood to his full height, turning his body slightly to stare at Nestor down his crooked nose. “It is better he be cautious around humans than seek them out for no good reason.”

Cosimo’s heart pounded in his skull but he couldn’t just sit by and watch Nestor be scolded. “I would never do such a thing, Ludwig.”

The two elves turned their head to look at Cosimo who was standing now too, head high, chin up, determined. “I heed your warning. You’re my teacher. I want to learn from you, and from your experiences. What reason would I have to leave court in search of humans? I have everything I need right here.”

Ludwig cocked an arched brow at Cosimo’s words, a begrudgingly proud tightness wound his jaw. “You are too smart for your age, Cosimo.”

“That’s because he has an ancient elder schooling him,” Nestor said with a cheeky laugh, slapping a hearty palm onto Ludwig’s back. “I’m heading out on a reconnaissance mission today.”

“To the humans?” Cosimo asked, ignoring the scolding glance Ludwig sent his way.

Nestor scrunched his lips up. “Sort of. More like, seeing them at a distance. If they’re close to the court we can disguise it better or hide it well, make sure the humans don’t disturb us and just walk past the court.”

“You should go do it then,” Ludwig told him. “Let me get on with my job.”

Nestor hummed sagely, nodding in agreement. “Yes. I agree. Cosimo remember to frown when he speaks so he knows you take him seriously.”

Cosimo laughed as Ludwig shoved Nestor away playfully in reply. “Get out of here.”

“I’m gone.”

Cosimo stared after Nestor who waved before disappearing from sight. Ludwig settled back down, sitting once more and gazed up at Cosimo. “What is it, boy?”

Cosimo swallowed, snapping himself out of his daze and sat back down across from Ludwig. “I just wonder what reconnaissance missions would be like.”

“If Nestor’s anything to go by, clearly it drives you mad.”

Cosimo smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean being that close to humans.”

Ludwig’s gaze was heavy on Cosimo’s face, studying the young elf’s features. His high cheekbones and shrewd eyes, always busy, always calculating something behind them. It wasn’t the first time Ludwig had been left out of Cosimo’s musings, but even so… he wanted to know what the boy thought. How his mind worked. But that wasn’t Ludwig’s job.

“We resume,” is all Ludwig said. Cosimo blinked and he was staring at Ludwig, focused once more. He nodded and shifted in his seat, clasping his hands together in front of him. “We resume.”

The memory left, leaving a sense of uneasiness in its wake. Maybe Ludwig was being over-cautious, sometimes he was like that.

And the humans only ever treated us with kindness, a sarcastic voice hissed in the back of Cosimo’s mind. Take off the hood and see their true colours.

Cosimo ignored the voice and focused on the task at hand. They were amongst the trees now, coming close to the camp. Maybe another twenty minute ride.

“Everything okay, Cosimo?” Henrik asked. Cosimo took a deep breath. Everything seemed too big right now. Too much for him to grasp between his fingers and wrestle under his control. All he needed to do was find the boy. Once he saw him, he would be fine. Everything will be fine.

“I just want to find my brother,” Cosimo told Henrik, careful to remember that’s what Cosimo had told the King and his right hand. A lie. He had told them a lie, and when they found out… what would they do to Cosimo then?

When they arrived at the camp Cosimo’s heart jumped into his mouth, remembering the events that happened here yesterday? Today? That brought him back here. How Henrik was the one who kicked him to the ground and kept him there. Cuffing him, bringing him to the palace… it turned Cosimo’s stomach.

Henrik climbed off Ebony behind him, and Cosimo lifted his leg over the saddle to slide down himself beside Henrik. He brushed the hood back off his head, the earth under his feet feeling like a sigh of relief. Nikolas came over to the pair as someone led Henrik’s horse away to be tied off.

“Well, Cosimo,” Nikolas said with a sweeping gesture. “Lead the way.”

Cosimo nodded, searching for the stream he had crossed. He prayed that nobody had been through here since he was. No elf, nobody who came looking. Let the boy be there.

He crossed the stream first, then looked over his shoulder to the King and his right hand. He straightened himself, shoulders pulling back, making himself taller before speaking. “Would it be okay if I went and retrieved the— my brother before I introduce him to all of you? He might be frightened.”

Nikolas tilted his head slightly, regarding Cosimo with his discerning green eyes. Nikolas pursed his lips. “No, Cosimo. I think it’s best if we find him together. What if you get lost?”

Cosimo scoffed. “I’m an elf. I can’t get lost in the forest.”

“All the same,” Nikolas said with a kind smile and a little shrug. Cosimo swallowed and faced forward again, gathering his discarded water container and walking up the slippery bank to the trail on top. He was so close… he could run, the likelihood of the humans catching him was slim. He could disappear in the trees, come out when they had given up looking for him. The boy would be safe in the Elfbow.

Unless the elves started looking for him too. The thought unsettled him more, in which case he would be better off with the humans. So Cosimo planted his feet even though he wanted so badly to run. He had to remember who he was, he wasn’t some scared boy. He had to trust his instincts, they got him this far. Everything would be fine.

“I could do with your long legs,” Nikolas said to Cosimo with an airy laugh as he climbed the bank.

“Or maybe it’s the lack of shoes,” Henrik mused, nodding at Cosimo’s bare feet. “It gives you more grip.”

“Perhaps you humans should whine less,” Cosimo said with a smirk, which only grew when the two humans full attention was on the elf. “It seems to weigh you down more, makes you slow.”

Henrik laughed his deep heart chuckle, and slapped Cosimo between his shoulder blades playfully. It was Nikolas who spoke next: “You lead the way from here, Cosimo. Hopefully we can find your brother before dark.”

Cosimo’s smile dimmed a bit at the edges as he bowed his head slightly. “Of course. This way.”

They trekked in silence back the way Cosimo came, the trees and trail familiar, the forest floor almost guiding him to where he needed to be. Cosimo prayed that the boy be okay. That he’s safe. That the elves didn’t find him and take him back to court or worse.

When the elfbow came into Cosimo’s sight he took off into a run. “There!” Henrik and the King’s footsteps thundered behind as Cosimo ran through the thick coat of leaves with ease. He craned his neck around the tree, chest heaving to see the fox in the nook, cuddled up beside the sleeping boy. Sweat soaked hair clung to the boy’s forehead and he looked far more pale than the last time Cosimo had seen him.

“Cosimo?!”

Cosimo pressed his forehead against the elfbow under his palm and closed his eyes in relief. Thank you. I’m here to take him again.

“Cosimo?” Henrik called from faraway. “Where are you?”

Cosimo’s eyes shot open. Humans couldn’t come into the sanctuary of the elder trees. Elfbows served elves and were almost sacred in their protection. After the humans started destroying forests to clear way for cities and villages, the elder trees made a pact with one of the first elves: that if the elves protected the tree then, it would serve as protector for future generations. Or so the story went.

The court elders always made a point of telling Cosimo that if he was ever lost or scared to find an elfbow and he would be safe from humans. It only occurred to him then, that he could just hide with the boy here and Henrik and Nikolas would never find them.

The humans wouldn’t find them, he reminded himself. Elfbows don’t protect elves from elves. A smaller voice, a childlike voice in the back of his mind continued: and who are you more scared of?

“I’m here,” Cosimo called back, unsure if they would be able to hear him. “He’s here, he’s alright. I’ll be just a second.”

The fox tilted her head as Cosimo entered the small nook, and watched silently as Cosimo hooked one arm under the boys neck and the other under the boys knees and lifted him from the soil and blanket of leaves. The boy was cold and covered in a thick sheen of sweat that made Cosimo’s heart race.

Surely the humans could heal him, they could fix him. Do something! They would know more. The fox chirped at Cosimo’s heel, bowed into a deep stretch her tail swishing as she stood. Black beady eyes peered up at Cosimo and he understood that she was asking: what now? Even if he wanted to, Cosimo couldn’t dissuade the fox from following and protecting the boy. Foxes were far too cunning to be tricked by a young elf.

The boy was far more lifeless than ever, his chest rising shallowly. Cosimo didn’t waste anymore time in the Elfbow’s protection. He emerged from under a sheet of leaves to see Henrik and King Nikolas with their backs turned to Cosimo.

“Here,” Cosimo rushed out, voice hitching as his feet carried him quickly across the distance to the two humans he decided to trust. Even though this could all be a farce, Cosimo was desperate. The fox pattered along behind him.

The humans turned at the sound of Cosimo’s voice, eyes drawn to the half alive boy in his arms. Henrik rushed over went to take the boy out of Cosimo’s hands but Cosimo turned at the last moment, wide panicked eyes meeting Henrik’s stunned gaze turning sympathetic.

“I have him,” Cosimo said, tone clipped. Henrik straightened, nodding.

Nikolas was the one to move them along. “We need to get him to Artzet immediately.”

“Will he be able to fix him?” Cosimo asked, following the humans back through the forest to the camp.

Henrik leaned into Nikolas and said quietly: “Niko, did you—”

“Yes,” Nikolas replied quickly, cutting Henrik off. He glanced over his shoulder at Cosimo, but the fae had his eyes and attention fixed solely on the unconscious boy in his arms, expression tight with worry. “Now’s not the time, Henrik. We can talk more once we get the boy back to Artzet.”

“Did you see the fox?”

Nikolas laughed, low and rich. “Yes. I saw.”

“Do you think it’s coming along too?”

“I don’t think we could dissuade it even if we tried.”

Cosimo was oblivious to the conversation ahead of him as he carefully stepped down the bank of the stream and hopped it effortlessly. The fox padded along beside him, not even faltering when they emerged into the humans camp.

“Come, men,” Nikolas called to the camp. “We are to be off as soon as we ready the horses.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Soldiers milled to action. It was a smaller party than Henrik was with so within minutes they were packed and on horseback again.

Henrik stood beside Ebony and held his arms out to Cosimo. Cosimo’s sharp eyes cut into Henrik, narrow, untrusting. Henrik tried to look as reassuring as possible.

“You can’t get on the horse with him in your arms, Cosimo. Don’t worry, I’ll give him right back.”

Cosimo worried his bottom lip before nodding with a sigh. He passed the boy to Henrik’s strong arms and hesitated before releasing the boy. He quickly climbed up onto Ebony and held his arms out for the boy again.

Henrik’s smile was kind and reassuring as he passed the boy up to Cosimo before mounting the horse behind them. The fox sat in front of Ebony’s snout as she grazed, beady black eyes peering up at the elf.

“Will the fox be joining us?” Henrik asked.

Cosimo nodded. “She will walk behind. I don’t think she’ll mind the distance.”

“Still, it is a long way to go for such little legs,” Nikolas said coming to a stop beside them. “Will she let me carry her?”

Cosimo looked at the fox who tilted her head at him. A silent understanding passed between them, and Cosimo nodded.

“Yeah, she’ll let you pick her up.”

“Come on sweet thing,” Nikolas said, crouching and extending his hands to her. The fox walked towards him, sniffing his hand before plodding up to him and letting herself be lifted. “Oh, she’s so soft. I think I’ll ride with her beside you, so she can still see you both.”

Cosimo nodded. “Of course.”

Nikolas did just that and then they set off out of the king’s wood back to palace, Cosimo holding the boy tight to his chest. Henrik put the hood over Cosimo’s head before they reached the city gates, the cloak partly obscured the sleeping boy’s face, the other pressed into Cosimo’s chest.

Nikolas had one soldier ride ahead and tell Artzet to prepare a bed for the unconscious boy. They didn’t stop for chats with villagers this time, the air of urgency within their ranks must have carried outwards because no one stopped Nikolas for a catchup as they raced through the streets. Hooves clapped like thunder with steady, rhythmic beats as they passed the village to the wealthier residential area and finally the gates of the palace came into view.

“Just hold on,” Cosimo whispered, tightening his hold on the boy as they trotted to the stables. Henrik dismounted quickly, spreading his arms for the boy. Cosimo hesitated, again, but he didn’t have time to waste. This was life or death and Cosimo vowed he would keep the boy safe. They had come too far to risk it all over Cosimo’s feelings.

Cosimo had just passed the boy to Henrik when Nikolas appeared beside them, fox at his heels. Anxiety at not having the boy close crawled thick up Cosimo’s spine along with a sudden warm feeling as he jumped off Ebony. He had only begun to take a step towards Henrik when his vision swam with an impenetrable darkness. The world swayed and his body became like lead and he was falling.

A warm chest caught him before he could make contact with the ground. Cosimo let out a startled gasp, hands reaching up to hold onto the solid person that kept him upright, his body shivering as strong hands wrapped around him, reassuring.

“It’s okay, Cosimo,” Nikolas told him. “You’re okay. You’ve had a very long day.”

“The boy—” Cosimo mumbled, his tongue heavy as he tried to push his legs to work properly so he could stand on his own. An elf leaning on a human… what would the Elders think?

“We’ll get him to Artzet, as promised, dear boy. Henrik will carry him—”

“No.”

“Yes, you can barely stand. Don’t worry, you and I will head up together. Henrik and Artzet will take good care of him.”

Cosimo wanted to protest but there was no time. Instead he fought back tears as he nodded meekly. “Okay.”

Nikolas nodded at Henrik. Henrik turned on his heel and within seconds disappeared into the palace. Cosimo turned in Nikolas’s hold, one hand fisting the fabric of the King’s tunic in a stranglehold to keep standing. He only stopped when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Nikolas. Nikolas wrapped an arm around Cosimo, the other ready to catch him if he tried to make a move.

“Easy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo risked a step forward. He would have fallen if it wasn’t for Nikolas’s strong arm holding him up. Cosimo let out a breathy curse in elvish, frustrated at his temporary weakness. He needed to get to Henrik and the boy. He needed to make sure they didn’t do anything bad to him. What if they locked him in iron cuffs? What then?

Something scratched the back of his brain but Cosimo didn’t have the energy to focus on it or give it the light of day.

“Just wait a second, Cosimo, it will pass. Your brother’s not going anywhere.”

The air around him was thick and clammy, like there was no actual oxygen getting to his lungs, as if he was inhaling tiny amounts of iron with every breath. He wouldn’t put it past Rochus to do something like that, poison the air while Cosimo was away.

Nikolas reached over to Ebony’s saddle bag and pulled Henrik’s waterskin from it. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Cosimo took it from Nikolas, unscrewed the bottle and drank it down. The cool liquid was soothing and refreshing as it went down Cosimo’s throat and he found the more he drank the more he wanted to drink. He finished the container of water and opened his eyes, already feeling a ten times better than before.

Nikolas grinned. “Better?”

“Yes,” Cosimo said, handing him the empty water-skin. “Much better. Can we go to Artzet now?”

Nikolas laughed and shook his head fondly. For a short, heart-stopping moment Cosimo thought the king shaking his head side to side meant no, and Cosimo’s mind conjured up the worst.

“You are a determined boy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo felt his cheeks flush pink as he stepped forward, trying to hide his reaction from the king. Nikolas stepped with him until they got to the railing on the stairs. Cosimo let go of Nikolas’s arm and placed all his weight on the railing. He could do this. He could get to the boy. He was so close to saving them.

Once they were up the stairs Nikolas led Cosimo, arm in arm, to Artzet’s clinic. Cosimo almost cried when he saw the boy, something in his arm that connected him to a bag of water. A damp cloth over his forehead.

Myshka was sitting on one bed over, observing Artzet as he worked. Henrik greeted them. “Ah, you’re here. Good.”

“Is it serious?” Cosimo rushed out.

“No, no. Boy is good, strong, healthy of heart,” Artzet replied, smiling at Cosimo over his shoulder. “He will make full recovery.”

“He’ll be okay?” Cosimo whispered, not willing to believe his ears or eyes or anything as he walked with heavy feet to the end of the boy’s bed. The fox was laying there, curled up at the end of his bed and made a noise of recognition when Cosimo approached.

“He will be fine, boy,” Artzet said again, looking to Henrik and Nikolas with a shrug. “I thought that is what I said?”

“Cosimo’s had a long day,” Henrik said. “The two of them both need some rest.”

Cosimo didn’t dare blink in case the world would trick him and make the boy disappear. He couldn’t sleep, not until the boy woke up. He had to make sure the boy was okay. That he didn’t doom them both.

“You say boy is your brother?” Artzet asked, eyes as wide as an owls. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Did he catch him in a lie?

“Good,” Artzet said happily. “Then I know he will be okay. He will be as strong as his big brother, uh? Now, I set up bed beside him for you to sleep.”

Cosimo glanced up at Artzet and nodded fervently. Nikolas made a noise behind him. “Cosimo, I think a proper bed would be better. Hospital beds are uncomfortable—”

“Niko,” Henrik said softly. Nikolas sighed. Cosimo turned to look at the King. His shoulders sagged as he yielded.

“Okay. Fine, I know I won’t convince you otherwise, but Cosimo, the minute you and your brother are better you—”

Nikolas cut himself off as Cosimo crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the King, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” Cosimo whispered. Nikolas let out a soft, shocked breath of a laugh, wrapping his arms tentatively around the elf.

“It’s my pleasure,” Nikolas replied as Cosimo stepped out of his embrace. “I will go and prepare your rooms. Artzet, I leave the boys in your capable hands.”

“Your majesty,” Artzet said with a bow.

“I’ll stay too,” Henrik said, patting Cosimo’s shoulder. “Until you’re asleep.”

“Full house!” Artzet cried, drawing the covers back on the bed beside the sleeping boy’s. Cosimo walked over to it and climbed in, thanking Artzet and Henrik as he pressed his head to the pillow. Artzet and Henrik started talking in low, hushed voices while Cosimo watched the boy’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

Alive and safe.

Cosimo did it. He rescued them. His eyelids suddenly grew heavy and Cosimo didn’t fight them as they slid over his eyes, darkness welcoming him like an old friend. Sleep took him somewhere far away, somewhere he didn’t have to think and worry and fret. Somewhere he didn’t betray his race and seek refuge in humans.

Henrik stayed even when he was sure the elf was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling softly. He looked so much younger when he was asleep, Henrik thought, without the hard crease between his brows. His jaw wasn't clenched, his face relaxed, no stubborn, steely gaze to contend with. He looked like a boy, a human boy around fourteen years old.

Already Henrik had developed a protective streak for the elf, wanting to comfort and care for him as much as the elf would allow. More than the elf would allow. The fondness in Henrik's chest for Cosimo wasn't the only recent feeling that had taken hold of him since he met the boy. There was something foreboding, unnatural, as if there was a presence watching him from somewhere unseen to the naked eye, and Henrik knew that Cosimo's presence here would only spell trouble. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to let the boy go now that he had met him. He still had so many questions to ask him; why he ran, who he was, will he stay?

All those questions could wait until Cosimo and his brother awoke. For now, Henrik pulled up a chair and rest his head against the backrest, content with watching over the newest residents of the palace.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (zee tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @tippytappytyping

[margindoodles2407]

Can I have the au from this post?

Looks super fun!

/nf

Hi there friend!

Full disclosure, I actually kind of forgot about this fic until you brought it up, and I only have one thing written for it- but if you'd like to see more, I'd be more than happy to write more for this! I think it's a really cool concept and it makes me so happy to know that people would actually like to see it.

I'll post the ficlet under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and a quick note: It’s not exactly how I’d rewrite the story from Speedrunner!Link’s perspective, more like how the aftermath would go if you took the speedrunner approach.

It’s over, it’s finally over. The thing that had loomed over Hyrule Castle ever since he woke up two days ago was gone- hopefully for good.

He gazes at the girl across from him- Zelda, the old man had said her name was- the girl covered in malice and the grime of a century of hatred. Her blonde curls are matted and tangled and she’s covered in what looks like burn scars as she stares back at him with eyes the color of things that are alive- the only bright spot in her tarnished facade.

She blinks, hesitant, as if she’s not sure whether to stand there or run to him and fling her arms around him. He doesn’t know which he wants. So he stands there catching his breath, and she stands there dithering, and then the fleetest flicker of a smile crosses her pale lips, and she says:

"May I ask... Do you really remember me?"

He stands there, because he doesn't really know what else to do. How could he? Her smile is widened in anticipation of what she wants to hear, a smile so warm and bright and hopeful that it makes him want to say yes, of course I remember you and see that smile turn to tears of joy that they can cry together.

But he can't. He couldn't lie to her. It would break her heart. He doesn't remember a thing about her- everything he knows about her he's learned in the past 48 hours.

So it's all he can do to clear his throat and stammer out, "No."

The smile vanishes in an instant, replaced by knitted brows and eyes full of concern. “Oh- oh, I see.” She crosses the field, her luminous gown flapping in the evening twilight like a tattered battle standard, and she halts in front of him to cup his face in her slender hands and gaze into his eyes- as if she could figure out what’s wrong with him simply by staring hard enough. 

“Do… if I may… can… do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

He screws his eyes shut and tries to reach back behind the curtain of blackness, but as hard as he tries, the furthest thing he can grasp is a sweet voice- her voice- begging him to open his eyes. He shakes his head in wordless apology, opening his eyes just in time to see hers cloud with disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can think to mumble.

“Not your fault,” she mutters back, almost to herself. She’s lost in a reverie, thinking of what next to do, and then her eyes snap back to his and the disappointment is replaced by determination. 

“You know what? That’s not important right now. We’ll figure something out. Just… come with me; we’ll make camp somewhere and pick this up in the morning.”

[marionedde]

The Little Prince

story thingie I wrote about body positivity and loving yourself :) hope you like it!

I, the little prince.

I am the king, born in the twisted body.

I have fought my war for years on end. 

I know not when it started, nor when it will end.

Sometimes I’ve forgotten I’m fighting.

But I always am.

My list of enemies are long;

The twisted growth of my forsaken body,

The sharp, cruel words of my own mind,

The temptation of self-hatred,

The dark kingdom I am lost in, full of taboos and rules and vines,

The people in the shadows with teeth and claws.

When they bite and scratch, the poison starts to set in.

Then the bloody guns of war reload, aiming at your own head.

Blasting, whizzing bullets whispering past your eyes.

Words cannot describe the dripping words of malice they tell you.

And when the bullets pass, the poison grows.

The thorns in your stomach twist around your insides, growing and reaching for more fear to fuel itself.

Being the prince is hard.

You give everything, trying to be the perfect ruler.

Kind, just, impenetrable.

Worthy of the crown.

Loved by your kingdom.

You may think being on the throne is everything-

All you do is plead and beg for sweet, sweet validation.

The crown grows heavier the more civilians ask for your love.

When you give your love to everyone, you lose the love you have for yourself.

The crown twists into your head, and your nerves scream and cry.

But you can’t let it out. 

You collapse,

You can’t hear your own thoughts.

You give up, letting the shadow people rip you to shreds.

“May I have your heart, little prince?” They ask in choruses.

And you can’t say no.

The heavy crown pushes your mind into the dirt. 

It’s still not enough.

Until you surrender every fragment of yourself to the world, you cannot be happy, The crown’s roots say, twisting and bending your mind.

You give everything for the sake of others, and never for yourself.

Sometimes, the people don’t even know how much they’re taking. Sometimes they do.

So, now we’re here.

Empty, the body you didn’t even want ripped apart until all that is left is the echoing sounds of your own corrupted brain.

Alone.

No one but yourself.

And when you face yourself, it’s the worst thing possible.

The mirror is cruel. Too close.

Every shatter and fragment highlights your faults, your bruises, your insecurities.

But deep in that mirror is the one last piece of love you still have, saved yourself.

And when you take that piece, the seed is planted. 

Suddenly, your body is filled with blooming flowers, peppering your bones.

And you’re you.

The flowers of your soul are not all picture perfect.

Some are wilted.

Some haven’t bloomed.

Some aren’t the right color, size, or shape.

But why is that wrong?

A garden needs every flower in it, not just the pretty ones.

Pull the crown off your head.

Remove the roots from your mind.

The civilians do not need a ruler.

They can care for themselves.

They are not your responsibility.

Perhaps, you never were a prince.

But just one of them.

You’re the prince of your own body.

The only person you need to provide for is yourself.

Let yourself be “selfish”.

Let yourself be loved.

Let yourself be yourself.

It’s okay to be weak.

Or broken.

Or not happy.

Take your time.

And when someone is in need, remember.

You can’t fix them or their problems.

But you can be there with them.

Give love, but make sure you’re there to give love.

[uses-for-fics]

Forbidden Paradise

Peter Hayes x Reader

A/n: Ik technically they’re canonically supposed to be 16 but I’ve always imagine the divergent characters to be older so you can take this as a headcanon where they’re all older than 16 maybe like 18-19 but all the same events from the book happen… idk maybe I’m dragging it lol

The Choosing Ceremony loomed larger with every passing minute. A knot of anticipation twisted in my gut as I waited for the bus. My skirt, wrinkled from its hasty morning donning, was a constant source of irritation. I tugged at the fabric, a futile attempt at smoothing it out.

"Maybe I should've ironed it," I muttered, more to myself than to Cass, who was standing beside me.

She gave my outfit a critical eye. "You'll be fine," she assured me, but her gaze lingered on my exposed arms. She shrugged off her cardigan and handed it to me. “ Just in case," she added, a hint of a shiver running through her. "You know how unpredictable the weather can be."

I chuckled. "Thank you, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re turning into a full-blown Erudite."

Cass grinned. "Hey, a girl's gotta be prepared."

Our conversation was interrupted by the familiar, grating voice of Peter. "Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence."

I rolled my eyes. "Peter."

"No witty retort today, Grumpy? Maybe you're finally ready to embrace your inner Amity?" He smirked, his eyes glinting with malice.

I took a deep breath. "Peter, you're such a small part of my life that I often forget you exist. And for the record, I'm not sure where I'm going. It could be Dauntless for all you know."

He seemed taken aback by my unexpected sharpness. "Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

The bus arrived, breaking the tension. As we boarded, I caught a glimpse of Peter whispering to his friends, his face contorted into a sneer. Cass tried to distract me with talk of her latest book, but my mind kept returning to Peter's taunts.

We settled into our seats, the rhythmic rumble of the bus a comforting counterpoint to the storm brewing inside me.

Cass, oblivious to my turmoil, launched into a detailed explanation of a particularly puzzling case from her book.

I tried to focus, to lose myself in her words, but Peter's face kept flashing before my eyes. His smug smile, the way his friends hung on his every word.

'Why does he still bother me? It's been years, I should hate him,' I thought bitterly. 'He replaced me with Molly, that giggling airhead. How could he just forget everything we had?'

But a traitorous voice, a whisper in the back of my mind, countered, 'Forget? No, he doesn't forget. He just doesn't care anymore.'

The truth, the awful truth, dawned on me. The anger, the hatred I felt, it wasn't real. It was a shield, a defense mechanism my brain created to protect itself from the crushing pain of rejection. Because the truth was, I still...loved him. I never stopped loving him. Even after the embarrassing rejection he’d given me not to long ago.

The sun was a warm kiss on her skin as she stretched out on the soft, emerald grass. Beside her, Peter lay, his eyes fixed on the drifting clouds. The sky was a canvas of white, gray, and blue, morphing into shapes with every passing moment. It was a perfect day, the kind that made time stand still.

"Look at that one," she said, pointing at a cloud shaped like a giant rabbit. Peter chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"More like a grumpy bunny," he teased.

She laughed, the sound light and carefree. There was a comfortable silence between them, punctuated only by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. "I wonder what we'll be doing in five years," she mused, breaking the quiet.

Peter turned his head to look at her, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe we'll be Amity, hugging trees. Or Dauntless, jumping off trains. Or maybe even Erudite, ruling the world with our brains." His eyes glinted.

She giggled. "Don't be ridiculous. As if you’d ever be Erudite." She pinched his nose.

He feigned offense while swatting her hand. "Hey!" They lapsed back into comfortable silence, the warmth of the sun lulling them into a state of relaxation. Gathering her courage, she turned to face him. His eyes, a dark forestry green, met hers. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Peter," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you."

He sat up, his attention focused on her. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "I...I like you. A lot." The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Peter's face was a mask of confusion, then surprise, and finally, something she couldn't quite decipher.

He stood up abruptly, his face pale. "I-I have to go," he stammered, his voice barely audible. Before she could respond, he turned and ran, disappearing into the dense trees at the edge of the clearing. She was left alone, her heart aching with a mixture of confusion and hurt. She lay back on the grass, staring up at the indifferent sky. The once comforting clouds now seemed to mock her.

Across the aisle, Peter watched her. His gaze was fixed on her profile, lost in thought. Molly, his usual confidante, chattered idly beside him, her words washing over him like distant waves. But his mind was elsewhere. He hadn't meant to hurt her. It had happened so gradually, the shift from friends to something more complex, then the abrupt cut-off.

Candor was his home. Honesty was in his blood. But a part of him, a part he was afraid to acknowledge, yearned for something more. Something he associated with her: laughter, shared secrets, a sense of belonging he hadn't felt since. He was scared of leaving Candor, of stepping into the unknown. But he was even more scared of staying, of living a life without her in it. He thought back to when he messed it all up.

Peter stumbled home, his mind in turmoil. He’d never felt this way before. The words she’d spoken echoed in his head. Like had he lived his entire life in a bubble, oblivious to the world around him? He’d always prided himself on his honesty, but now, faced with his own truth, he felt like a coward.

Days turned into a blur of avoidance. He’d catch glimpses of her in the halls, her laughter as bright as ever, but now tinged with a sadness he'd caused. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to explain, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. Fear gnawed at him. Fear of rejection, fear of the unknown. What if he told her how he felt, and she laughed in his face? Or worse, rejected him? The thought was almost unbearable.

Then came the realization, a cold, hard slap to his face. He’d lost his chance. She was moving on. He'd seen it in her eyes, a distant look that spoke volumes. The girl who had confessed her feelings to him was gone, replaced by a stranger who treated him with polite indifference. Regret washed over him in waves. He'd let fear dictate his actions, and now he was paying the price. He'd lost her, and with her, a part of himself. He retreated into his room, the walls closing in around him. The world outside seemed to fade into insignificance. All that remained was the echo of her laughter and the weight of his own failure.

The bus made an abrupt stopped and the doors hissed open, revealing the imposing structure of the Choosing Ceremony building. A new chapter was about to begin…For both of them.

[theizzy102]

So ignore me while I rant for a moment about a potential Fadeshock AU:

I was thinking of Fadeshock(obviously) and I was thinking about the type of Pokémon they would have in that type of AU. (Watch out I’m about to nerd and this is gonna be a lot of Pokémon lore)

So obviously Neon would have a specialty in Electric types with high SPD and Sp.Atk stats. And I was thinking at first she’d have a Pikachu or maybe a Pichu with her then I thought of a better one:

Electrike! One of the OG electro dogs! Neon seems like a dog person and what better Pokémon to run at top speed with than an electric puppy! I was contemplating Yamper, but I realized that Yamper doesn’t really have the wild aesthetic that Electrike does.

Anyways that brings me to Fade. Obviously she would specialize in Ghost/Dark type pokemon. Mostly in Sp.Atk stats and maybe Sp.Def. I was thinking of the dozens of possibilities based on simple abilities they have, mixed with the type of company Fade would keep and I came up with a couple options:

First up is Banette. I was researching and discovered multiple compatibilities with Fade in its Pokedex entries over the years. It’s said to once have been a doll that was forgotten then abandoned, and hatred transformed it into a pokemon. It seeks vengeance upon the child that abandoned it. It’s insides are filled with hatred and curses, stopped only by the zipper across its lips.

But also, it’s said to wait for the day that someone comes along and treats it finally with the care it once had. That type of Pokémon is something I thought would resonate well with Fade both in battles, and in general.

But that wasn’t the only option.

Next up is Zorua! The reason I chose this one isn’t just because it’s a ghost type, but because of its history as well. It’s Pokédex entry says that it protects itself by transforming into Pokémon and people(mostly children). It does this because it’s both timid, and terribly curious.

But while it’s normal form is enough, it’s HISUIAN form is created out of sheer malice. It was created from the souls of dead Zorua that died alone after being shunned by humans. Then I read that it’s evolution, Zoroark, is hostile towards anyone unfamiliar to it, but had “compassion towards those it considers family”

Sound familiar?

ANWAYS

so I was thinking “what would be the perfect joint pokemon between Fade and Neon? What type of Pokémon would resonate with them both?”

THEN IT HIT ME

I present the Fadeshock pokemon:

NOW I KNOW WHAT YOURE THINKING

I didn’t just choose this one because it seems like a Electric/Ghost type. (It’s actually a Ghost/Fairy type). I chose it specifically because of the lore surrounding it. (And kinda because it would aesthetically match them both lol)

BASICALLY it’s a Pokémon that has to cover its true body because someone had died from shock when it revealed it’s true form to them years ago. In fear of hurting another, it hides itself. Sounds familiar to how Fade forces herself to stay awake and spend every moment trying to keep Nightmare from hurting the other agents. Also, sounds like how Neon has to wear the back brace thing to keep her Radiance in check and not electrocute anyone.

Not only that, BUT, also it’s said to be terribly lonely, and disguised itself like Pikachu because of Pikachu’s popularity, in the chance that it would be loved the same way. What better Pokémon for lonely kindred spirits?

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. My brain is full of these and I can even name the other agents Pokémon’s too lol.

[sparklecryptid]

Alright so @hamelin-born said something about the ‘Ardyn did in fact curse the line of Somnus’ royal bastard au au and how it would be interesting if the curse was forgotten. And then my mind went haywire.

also tagging @raven-6-10 for reasons

-

Ace will not say he hates that he is standing in front of his father. He will not say that he hates it only because it was his choice that led here. It was Ace’s choice to reveal himself to Cor and thus trigger a chain of events that have led to him standing in front of Regis and Noctis in a highly secured room in the Citadel.

Can’t let the public know you have a bastard child, Ace thinks bitterly and waits for the news to process.

“You’re saying we’re cursed?” Noctis sounds bewildered and Ace can’t blame him. Ace himself didn’t believe it at first until his Uncle had recited the curse and Ace felt the magic of it bounce off of him.

Ardyn’s claim it turns out is enough to dissuade the curse from dooming Ace and everyone he cares about but Ardyn has no intention of offering that same protection to either Regis or Noctis so Ace now has to find a way to break his Uncle’s curse.

Ace’s master plan did not account for this. There was no ‘Break In Case of Curse’ option in his plan to break the Crystal open like an egg. He has no idea what the fuck to do but he has to do something.

“Slain ye might be and slain ye shall be,” Ace quotes. Magic rises up around them full of wrath and grief and an unending hatred. “By weapon, and by torment, and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall be barred from Garden and Stream.”

Ardyn’s voice echoes Ace’s as they speak in tandem. Ardyn’s echo full of malice and rage while Ace keeps his voice emotionless. As if he’s reciting a report. “Their rule will drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very peace they sought to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by the treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. Ye shall dwell in the shadow of death and have no respite. Houseless you shall be now and forevermore. You King has thus spoken.”

The echo of Ardyn’s magic and the full weight of it that was thrown behind the curse lingers in the air after Ace is done speaking. Noctis is frozen and for all his court training Ace can spy the way his hands shake, in fear or anger Ace doesn’t know but he can sympathize.

Regis looks like a wall of ice. His face expressionless but a growing rage lingers in his eyes.

“So,” Ace says, “You two have a problem and my current plans do not account for curse breaking. Thus I need your help to - I don’t know - find a way out of this?”

“You sound oddly calm for someone who is also cursed.” Regis’ eyes are sharp.

Ace shrugs.

“I’m immune to it, call the privilege of not being a legitimate child.” Ace is not telling his biological father about the entire thing between him and Ardyn. He is not doing that.

Regis does not believe him. Just as he should, because Ace is lying. The curse does effect bastard children. But as Ace is the only bastard this time around they don’t need to know that.

“Then do you know who cursed us?”

Ace smiles wryly.

“Who else?” Ace says, “The Sage. The Accursed. Whatever you want to call him. He was rightfully the first king until our asshole grandfather decided to take the throne and kill him.”

[starlightsuffered]

Christmas Retreat (part 5)

Info - pushy female, mention of bullying, British reader, shy reader,

I made my way to him cautiously, unsure if I was being punked. Kids had done this in school; pretended they wanted me to do something with them only to laugh at me.

“Come on, what do you hate Christmas movies or something?” Asked Timothee. His smile fell as I still was creeping nearing my like a threatened piece of prey.

“Hey, if you don’t want to-“

“No, I just, don’t know if this is real,” I said sheepishly. I tentatively sat down on the opposite side of the couch.

“Why doesn’t it feel real?” Timmy asked me quietly.

“I-I’m just not used to people being kind to me,” I trailed off.

“Oh,” Timothée said. The silenced yawned.

“Hey, y/n, I am glad I know you,” Timothée said. His hand was on my shoulder. It took all my strength not to pounce. He was so so attractive.

“I’m glad I know you too,” I said quietly.

“What movie are you feeling?” Timothée asked me.

“Doesn’t the resort decide?” I asked him.

“Well, supposedly, but Margret hasn’t been in here,” He shrugged. “Personally I haven’t rewatched home alone in a while. How do you feel about that?”

“Oh, I’m good with that,” I nodded. He flicked the movie on. I liked watching his fingers move over the remote.

“Has Meredith been bothering you still?” I asked him.

“A little,” Timothée shrugged. “Not as much though.”

“That's something,” I said. I wondered for the millionth time what his sexuality was. I hoped he liked women a little. I knew I had no shot but it would be comforting.

“Are you cold?” Timmy asked suddenly, Just as Kevin’s mother screamed.

“No,” I said quickly. I didn’t want him to think I was in anyway uncomfortable. I didn’t know why so many people had opted to skip this activity. I guessed they were doing couple things in their bedrooms. Fuck, I wished I were doing couple things with the man before me.

“You look a little chilly,” Timothée mused. What the hell did he mean? Was I blue? Was he saying I looked abnormal. My heart sped up.

“Wanna share my blanket?” He asked, finally. I heated as I realized his intent. He wanted me closer. I shakily nodded. I was feeling worried about pranking again, but he wouldn’t do that.

Before I could move close to him and under the blanket, Reginald appeared as if from no where. Timothée’s eyes were full of malice as the older man made himself comfortable. I was surprised at the hatred I saw there.

Before anything else was said, Meredith was there too. She sat on his other side. She was already rambling in his ear.

“M-Meredith,” I tried to speak up, I had told Timothée I’d help him.

“That’s my seat,” I said shakily. She threw me a nasty look.

“I don’t see you in the seat,” she snapped. She went on talking to Timothée, completely drowning out the movie. Timmy gave me a kind look. I was glad he wasn’t upset with me, even if I was a bit upset with myself.

I didn’t really retain any of the film. I was too busy analyzing how uncomfortable Timothée looked. He was clearly caught between two people he didn’t like. As soon as Home Alone ended, Meredith took her opportunity.

“Let’s go to the hot tub Timmmmmm,” she pleaded.

“I’ll go if y/n does,” Timothee responded. I was shocked. Reginald made an upset noise.

“I’ll be coming as well,” he clarified. I saw Meredith’s expression sour.

“Oh yeah, let’s make it a whole party,” she said sarcastically.

“Excellent,” Timothée said, clapping his hands together.

“I-I didn’t bring a suit or anything,” I said self consciously.

“I think they thought I was bunking with a partner. They provided me a one piece,” Timothee said. I was speechless.

“Come on!” Timmy said cheerily. He grabbed my hand. That spark that I wasn’t becoming used to flitted through me again. Before I knew it we were half way down the hall.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker @therealbeabodoobee

[gale-gentlepenguin]

LOZ TOTK Ficlet: Understanding

The Demon King had demonstrated the unholy power that didn’t seem to diminish one bit since he was sealed thousands of years ago. Link could feel the dark energy from the hand he had recently acquired, the muscle memory of Rauru’s arm on full display as it tensed when the Demon king flexed his power.

The Sages were covered and restrained by the gloom that he created and shot out. Link was the last one standing still able to fight.

The demon king lowered his gaze to Link.

“If it’s any consolation, you are fairing better than Rauru did, and you only have a fraction of his powers and down a sage.” Ganondorf commended

Link kept his eyes on the evil king. His expression stoic and hiding anger.

“Looking in your eyes, I can see that of all people, you can understand me the most.”

The statement surprised Link, his expression shifted to confusion.

“I am as shocked as you are. But that look of hatred. I have felt it before. It’s the very same emotion I felt eons ago.”

The demon king touched his chin as if he was trying to focus.

“Yes, I know this feeling well. Only ones destined for greatness can understand this feeling.”

Link kept his eyes on Ganondorf, waiting for any opening.

“You were born with a destiny that held the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Link didn’t react, letting him speak.

“A destiny that you would do anything to live up to. Sacrificing parts of yourself, any weakness in your heart in order to live up to it.”

Link’s eye twitched, he felt that the demon king did understand him.

“And as you prepare for your destiny, an opposing force, a power far beyond Any comprehension appears, shaking everything up. All your preparation, all of your pain left for nothing! And all you can do is watch as everything you swore to protect is swallowed up by the overwhelming might.”

Link watched as for a brief moment, his eyes appeared less monstrous.

“I watched as my kingdom, my birthright was ripped away from me by a powerful god like being that had no regard for your pain or struggle. He simple appeared and forced you to your knees.” Ganondorf spat in disgust.

Link tightened his grip on the master sword.

“And I refused to simply lay down and accept this INVADER’s rule. And I took power when I had the chance in order to take back what was mine, and get revenge for everything he took from me!” The demon king roared.

The rage shifted to glee.

“But now things changed. Now I’m the one with power. And unlike Rauru who squandered his might, I am using every ounce of it to achieve my destiny, Ruling this land!”

Link charged, catching Ganondorf off guard. He tried to block but Link was too fast, slashing his chest with all his might!

“AGHHHHHH!” The malice filled monster yelled in pain.

The sages watched as Link followed up with a second slash, then a third, and then a fourth.

Ganondorf used his power to push him back.

“You arrogant Child!”

“You’re right.”

The voice was softer than many were expecting from the hero that held the master sword.

“I do know what it’s like to have everything I love taken by a force beyond my understanding, it has happened to me twice already.”

The demon king moved his blade in front of him. Preparing a strike.

“The difference is, I am not doing this for destiny or birthright. That stopped mattering to me long ago. I’m fighting you so I can find Zelda and we can fix all the damage you’ve done.”

Link prepared for Ganondorf’s attack and charged him the moment Ganondorf did.

There was a clash.

Link wobbled but stayed on his feet, The demon king however began falling.

“No! I will not lose here! Even if I lose myself. I will cover this land in darkness!”

Link realized what Ganondorf was going to do.