#and him having an angst filled backstory only makes things better

[the-marshals-wife]

Ain't No Grave (Edward Rutledge x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW FOR G20, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.

Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes

Imagine Rutledge coming home to you after you believed him to be dead, and helping mend more than just his wounds

How could it have gone so wrong? What was supposed to the last stop on the way to freedom had become a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. The remote safehouse where you had waited for Edward had transformed into a prison of shattered dreams. By the third day, the tears had stopped. A cold emptiness had taken their place, creeping into your bones and settling into your every fiber. You felt the ache of his absence with every breath.

It was the sixth day now. Time alluded you, but you were vaguely aware it was sometime in the evening because the shadows were growing long. You sit on the floor of the hallway with your knees pulled to your chest, utterly numb. This had become your preferred spot. The bed was hollow, and the sofa was haunted. Whenever your mind screamed at you that you should get up and try to leave, such thoughts were inevitably met with despair.

Of course, there was no rational reason to stay. You understood all the facts. No one was coming to save you. The food was almost gone, and there'd hardly been much to start with. You were going to die here alone if you didn't leave.

Edward was not coming back.

No, there was nothing rational about what you felt. You just couldn't let go. This is where you were supposed to wait for him. This is where he was going to come back to you. This is the last place that you were together.

Holding your head in your hands, another wave of grief washes over you. From the day you met Edward, you knew it was never going to be easy. You also knew there was no one else for you but him. His demons danced perfectly with yours, and you wrestled them better together. Even still, he had his own war to wage, and he had to fight it his way. As long as you could be at his side when the battles were over, you made peace with looking the other way.

Then, he found a way to win, once and for all. That's what he believed, at least.

You both agreed that the less you knew about the G20 Plan, the better. But being ignorant about the finer details didn't prevent you from worrying; if anything, it only made it worse. The knowledge that it would be the last time he'd leave you for a mission had been the only thing keeping you sane. That, and thinking about the future that awaited you when he returned.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the memories, but you were powerless to halt their coming. That last night before the summit seemed so long ago now. If only you'd known then...if only you could've stopped him...

★

The warm night air spills through the open balcony doors and clings to your skin. The smell of damp earth from nearby rain fills your nose, and the steady chirping of crickets evokes a familiar comfort. You recline on the sofa with your head propped up on your hand along the back, waiting for Edward to return with his 'surprise.' In the kitchen behind you, you hear him shuffling around and rifling through the cabinets.

"You're not peeking, are you?" he calls out.

"I'd never dream of it," you holler back, smiling despite yourself.

"I just got word from Titos. The boys are all set for tomorrow. Everything's falling right into place," he informs, no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he draws nearer, "Now that the cryptowallet is in our possession, all that's left is to take the bastards down."

"No turning back now," you say to yourself, holding back a sigh.

You look up to see him returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, a grin spread across his face.

"Tada," he announces, placing them on the coffee table in front of you. "I know, not much. But we can't make a bloody toast with water, now can we?"

"Wow. What exactly are we toasting?" you inquire, sitting forward.

His expression twists with confusion, but he doesn't lose his smile as he proceeds to pop the cork and begin pouring. "Our victory, of course. What else, darling?"

"Don't you think that's bad luck? You haven't won yet, Eddie," you remind, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut.

"But we will," he insists, offering you your drink, "And since when have you been the superstitious type?"

"Since you decided to break into the most heavily armed place on the continent," you answer. You take the libation and stand up to join him.

"My poor love. Ever fretting over my sorry hide," he teases with pitiful affection, "Needlessly, might I add."

"Someone has to, Rutledge," you retort, glaring at him knowingly, "I've grown rather fond of that 'sorry hide', so you call it. Or have you forgotten?"

He bites his lip in amusement, noticeably trying to maintain his composure after your comment.

"Perhaps you need reminding," you suggest, bating your eyes.

You can't help but smirk, enjoying how easily you could make him flustered.

Re-establishing eye contact, he leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "I think these ought to be empty before I can permit that kind of talk, girl."

"Agreed," you concede, pleased with yourself.

He raises his glass, and you do the same.

"To a new world," he declares.

"To a new world."

The clinking of crystal rings through the air. You swallow a generous sip and try to wash the words from your mouth. Edward downs half of his own portion before turning away and stepping out onto the balcony.

"By this time tomorrow, everything is going to be different," he exhales, peering out into the pitch black night.

You reclaim your seat and train your wistful gaze on him. You knew what he was doing. The nearest civilization was miles away, but that did not deter him from scanning the perimeter. You'd grown used to his vigilance; come to depend on it. Yet even in the middle of a moment of celebration, he could not fully let his guard down. You consider calling him back inside, but think the better of it. The moment would pass, as it typically did.

Instead, you reflect on the half-hearted toast you'd just made. Your playful exchange had distracted you from your troubled thoughts momentarily. But as sure as the coming dawn, they reappeared. You'd tried to put on a smile for him, but in truth, you were feeling far from jubilant. In the weeks since Edward first spoke to you of the G20 plan, it'd become a chore to keep your mind from wandering into the future, and all the dread that it held for you. There was no small part of you that was truly worried for his safety, a concern you attempted to convey to him time and again to no avail. It wasn't even the prospect of living in hiding that you found troublesome, as would be necessary after every nation on the planet saw his face tomorrow. You were already accustomed to one form of "off-the-grid" living or another following Edward around the globe for the past few years, so the concept certainly didn't bother you anymore. Your identity from before was long gone, and as long as you were together, the person you'd have to become next made little difference to you.

The reason for your dismay was much worse than that. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but deep down, you could sense that you'd begun to doubt him. You feared what would happen if his plan failed, and perhaps even more, you were terrified of what would happen if it didn't.

At last, Edward turns toward you, grinning once more. "The world is going to be our oyster, sweetheart. You've got nothing to worry about anymore."

You distractedly swirl around the remaining golden liquid in your glass. "Oh Eddie, you make it sound so easy."

"That's because it will be," he assures, pointing emphatically, "For the first time in my life, I have clarity of purpose. I know what I have to do. People have to be awakened to what's happening before their very eyes. They must be made to understand the truth so we can bring about real change. No one will stand in my way this time. And when the work is done, when we finally put an end to all the wars and deceit and corruption, I'm going to have everything I want. What we're owed."

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unconvinced by his impassioned oaths.

"Is that doubt, I'm hearing? Surely not," he says, sounding genuinely surprised. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch, awaiting an explanation. "Tell me I've not lost your faith."

You stare down at your hands as you speak, unable to look at him.

"You haven't. I know you'll accomplish what you need to. You always prevail. It's just..." you hesitate, unsure if you should reveal your insecurity.

"What is it? Hm?" he asks, comfortingly resting his hand on your leg.

"You'll be the most powerful man on the planet. You could go anywhere, do anything, with anyone. And I'm just wondering where I fit into all of it."

He's silent only a moment before he replies with renewed resolve.

"Now you just listen hear, darling. I said I was going to give you the world, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Shaking your head, you set your glass on the table. "I don't need the world, Eddie. All I want is you."

He smirks, undaunted.

"You already have me," he says, pulling you into his lap, "You know that, don't ya?"

You nod distantly in response, proceeding to softly trace the tattoo on his arm with your finger as he continues.

"You've been beside me in the dark, and I want you right there with me in the light. It's gonna be you and me, just like always. The money won't change that."

"How will it not?"

"Because I won't let it," he vows, "Besides, I couldn't replace you if I tried for a million years. You are my one and only." He snakes his arm around your waist and meets your eyes before repeating the words, "My one and only."

"And you are mine," you reply, leaning in closer until your forehead rests on his. Just like that, he had silenced your doubts, and put in their place a hope that you could hold onto. "You sure have a way with words, Corporal."

"I know, I know," he chuckles, "How about just two more?"

Instantly, you detect a shift in his tone that makes your heart skip. You sit back and stare at him expectantly.

He beholds you with quiet confidence. "Marry me."

"Eddie, be serious," you begin to laugh.

"I am being serious," he says, his gaze softening, "I love you. With all my bleeding heart, I love you, Y/N."

Your heart swells at his confession, tears flooding your vision. "I love you, too."

"This is the final mission. I'm done. I know I've put you through it, and somehow, through thick and thin...you haven't given up on me."

"Not yet," you smile.

He follows suit, continuing his impromptu speech.

"I want to take care of you. Proper like, from now on. Let me prove that your faith in me has not been for nothing," he says, taking your hand in his, "When I get back from this, will you marry me?"

"Yes," you answer, beaming, "I will."

"Atta girl," he purrs through his smile, "Now what was this you were sayin' earlier? Something about a reminder..."

Before you can blink, he eagerly pulls you against him and closes the meager space between you, capturing your mouth with his own. You claw at his chest and kiss him back fiercely, tasting the champagne on his tongue when he parts your lips. You melt into his wandering touch as he then peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The gentle scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin makes your pulse quicken as you close your eyes.

"Promise that you'll come back to me," you say breathlessly.

He pauses his fevered exploration to cup your face in his calloused hands.

"Nothing will stop me from coming back to you. I promise."

★

The memory leaves you reeling, Edward's voice still echoing your head. You could see it all so clearly, as if you were still there in the ecstasy of his embrace. But when you open your eyes again, you're met with the cruel reality. He was gone, and he'd taken everything with him.

The sound of the locks releasing on the main door of the safehouse pull your from your desolate stupor.

You scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, but consecutive days of sporadic food and water intake immediately catch up to you as you struggle to find sure footing.

In mere seconds, a thousand thoughts flashed through your panicked mind. This was it. They'd come for you. Someone somewhere had figured out your connection to Edward, and they were about to lock you away for the rest of your life. It didn't matter that your only true crime was loving him. They would say you were a terrorist too. Guilty by association. You'd never see the sun again.

What difference did it make? It held no warmth for you anymore.

Accepting your fate, you step out into the open. You expect to see a stealth squad of some kind, hoping to catch you off guard and take you in for questioning.

Instead, a lone figure staggers forward from the shadows. You stand frozen as they limp closer, and the waning sunlight spills across their battered visage.

The second those familiar blue eyes meet yours, the air in your lungs disappears.

His name falls from your lips in a whimper. "Eddie?"

"Hello, darling." He flashes a weary smile, holding his arm across his torso.

"Is it really you?" you whisper, afraid that you would make him fade away if you even dared to move.

"It's me, love," he answers weakly, wincing just to speak, "What's left of me, anyway."

"Eddie, oh my god," you cry, your fragile composure shattering.

You run to him and throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. After recovering his balance, he holds you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You were dead. You were dead," you repeat through sobs.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he consoles, stroking your back, "Everything's alright now. I'm here."

Now that you were sure he was not a ghost, you feel secure enough to release your grip, if only just a little. His arms stay firmly encircled around your body as he gazes upon you with glistening eyes.

"It was all over the news. They said you fell, that-that survival was impossible," you stammer in disbelief, "I thought you were gone."

"For a moment there, so did I," he replies, reaching to caress your cheek. "But I had a promise to keep."

With that, you pull him into a desperate kiss. He returns it fervently, his fingers lacing into your hair. You savor every sensation you thought you'd never feel again as your hand slides up underneath his shirt. He lets out a pained groan against your lips. You're keenly aware of his injuries once again and carefully surrender your hold on him.

"Easy, darling. I'm gonna need a little R and R before I can have too much fun," he teases, touching his forehead against yours.

"Sorry. Habit," you wince, "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," he chuckles, "I missed you too."

It's then you realize that your hand doesn't feel quite right, and you look down to see your fingers smeared in crimson.

"You're bleeding!"

He growls in frustration, "The damned stitches must have ripped, climbing up this bloody mountain."

"Put your arm around me, let's get you to the couch," you instruct, moving to hold him upright.

"Too bad we finished that whole bottle, ay?" he grunts, complying through the pain.

Adrenaline helps you overcome your own fatigue enough to bear his unsteady weight over your shoulders and hobble into the next room.

"You're not dying on me now, Rutledge. You owe me."

"What are you on about, woman?" he grounds out, followed by a string of curses as you help lower him onto the cushions.

"You owe me a husband. You can't die until after you've married me," you pant, your head starting to pound from the exertion.

His pained expression turns baffled. "You still want to?"

Between the immense stress and his audacity to ask such a thing, your temper starts to flare. "I know you didn't just ask me that."

Switching on the lights, you rush to the kitchen to run some warm water and retrieve the medical kit, trying to work out a strategy. You quickly return with the necessary items, noticing the sudden shift in his mood even in your frenzied state.

"Why would you want to be tied to a miserable ratbag like me? You don't deserve that," Edward mumbles, looking at his boots.

The weight of his failure had apparently started to crash down on him, but it's more than you can bear at present.

You clench your trembling fist and stand over him. It takes all of your remaining strength not to yell.

"For your sake, I'm going to blame what I'm hearing on the head trauma you clearly sustained. Because I know if it weren't for that, there is no way in hell you'd be saying those things to me after everything that's happened," you warn, finding your courage. "Now shut up, Corporal, and help me get all of this off."

As much as you wanted to slap him and scream about the grief he put you through, your focus was on keeping him breathing. Gritting your teeth, you help him remove his soiled clothing until he was stripped down to the waist. He's left in visible agony afterward, but makes no complaints, lying as still as he can manage. You reflexively cover your mouth with your hand as you realize the full extent of the damage. His self-sewn stitches on his abdomen were indeed torn open at the bottom of the evident puncture wound, and he had what appeared to be a stab wound towards the back of his left shoulder that had since stopped bleeding. On top of that, he was completely covered in bruises, all shades of purple and black that made your stomach churn. By the looks of his right side especially, he probably had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Staunching the bleeding was your priority, but despite your initial scare, it didn't seem as bad as you'd first thought.

You both remain silent as you kneel before him and begin cleaning the surrounding area with a wet cloth the best that you can. Apart from the rise and fall of his ragged breathing, he remains unmoving. You glance up to see a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Better that than the nonsense from before, you think. You wiped away as much dried blood as you could before deciding it would have to be good enough. Before long, you have the antiseptic at the ready.

"This will hurt," you say calmly.

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Steeling yourself as well, you pour it over the wound liberally. He flinches, but only just so. As difficult as it was to imagine, you remind yourself that he'd been through worse than this.

While you carefully dab the area with gauze, your eyes wander to the scars you knew by heart. Like you'd done many times before, you attempt to picture where he was when those wounds were fresh, and who had been there to care for him then. He almost never spoke of his past, and whenever he did, it was only of the people he'd lost. Never of his own pain.

Having sorted through the supplies and found the suture kit, Edward raises his hand in protest.

"Leave it. It'll mend. Just the bandage."

"Are you sure?"

He only nods. You don't push it any further, too drained to argue. He obviously had far more experience with first-aid than you, and you felt better knowing you'd at least treated it against infection.

"I said I would give you the world. I failed..." he says solemnly.

"Edward, stop," you implore. You're blinking back tears once again, trying desperately to concentrate on your task. "Please. I don't want to hear about that anymore. I can't take it."

You secure the edges of the crisp white bandage in place, but your plea falls on deaf ears.

"I failed you."

You'd finally had enough, all of your emotions spilling over beyond the edge of your control.

"You really are the most thick-headed man I've ever known. Don't you understand? I never cared about any of it! All I have ever wanted is you. Not the money, not the politics, not the revenge. Just you!"

Your strained outburst echoes through the room.

"And I know that doesn't make sense to you, because you can't understand how someone could love you as you are. Accept both the good and the bad. But I do, Eddie. I always have. You're just gonna have to find a way to live with that."

"I'm broken, Y/N."

You open your mouth to dispute him, but the tear running down his scarred cheek steals your words away. He looks upon you with a tormented gaze that cuts through you like a knife. The devilish twinkle that you loved so much had vanished from his eyes. In some ways, he seemed like a completely different man than the one who sat in that very same spot only nights before and proposed to you. Yet in others, he was more that man than he'd ever been, and all you wished for now was to take the pain away from him.

You crawl into the seat alongside him and slowly turn his head towards you. "Then show me how to fix you, one and only."

Your offer destroys what remains of his fortitude as he breaks down into sobs, succumbing to his grief. You cradle his head to your chest and press kisses into his hair while he weeps. His numerous injuries don't prevent his unburdening, the pain deep inside clearly far greater than whatever he felt in his body.

"They're gone. They're all gone, because of me," he cries, "I failed them. I always fail them."

Suddenly, you're seized with realization. He didn't just mean the men killed at the disastrous summit. His meant his brothers in arms that he lost in the war. His best mates. At last, you understood. He felt responsible for their deaths, and the guilt was killing him. It had been poisoning him long before you'd ever met.

"It's not your fault, baby," you console, wondering if he'd ever heard those words before, "It was never your fault."

"Why did I survive? It should have been them. They should have lived. Not me...not me."

His anguished laments send shivers down your spine as your heart breaks for him. How quickly had it all reversed. Now he was the one that clung to you for dear life.

"Oh my love," you murmur, tears falling from your eyes onto his blond locks, "I'm so sorry."

He'd been through more suffering and loss than he had a right to, and you longed to carry that burden with him. But even in these throes of sorrow, you couldn't ignore the spark of hope you were now feeling inside. A sense of peace had begun to settle where the dread and despair had so recently been. For the first time ever, Edward had truly let you inside his darkness. He trusted you; not just to tend to his wounds, but to mend his heart. Indeed, it was the smallest of sparks, but it was a hope that you would die to keep burning for him.

You hold him in your arms for as long as he needs, and it feels like a lifetime before he finally draws back and looks to you with bloodshot eyes.

"Don't give up on me," he begs, his voice raw, "Please, I can't lose you too."

"Never," you pledge, taking his shaking hand and holding it to your heart. "Thick and thin, remember?"

He smiles a bit, some of the light returning to his eyes. The storm inside him was beginning to subside.

You continue on, "All of those men followed you because they believed in you. Just like I believe in you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He stares at you in awe. "What did I ever do you deserve you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Rutledge," you answer, overwhelmed with yearning.

"I swear to you, I will earn this second chance," he says sincerely, cupping your cheek, "If you'll still have me."

You smile.

"Always."

[phoenixcatch7]

Honestly I'd really like to see a mxtx3 story where wwx and xl work with Sqq to reveal sqq's true backstory and the system to lbh.

I mean, think about it!! One of the biggest problems with scum villain is how even though they get together, unlike the other couples bingqiu is still left with all these huge secrets that massively affect them both. Lbh is left believing he married his mercurial abuser, that his suffering passed some sort of indefinable test that proved him worthy of basic rights. That Sqq threw him in the abyss of his own volition. That Sqq was really sacrificing his life and not faking his death with intent to survive.

Sqq is left knowing all these things but unable to act on them, unable to tell his husband about his own past, unable to explain his actions, never able to fully let his guard down because he's supposed to be shen qingqiu. He can't even tell his own husband his original name!! If he could have, he would have, even if only in the extras!

But can you imagine???

A meeting of bingqiu, wangxian, Hualian, for whatever reason, and as the three (actual) protagonists chat and gossip and get to know each other, as they talk, Sqq is at ease enough to slip up and finds out he can talk about the system to anyone from outside pidw! Not just sqh!! Maybe not completely, but he can mention some, and the other two, concerned for their new friend, are clever enough to tease the rest out. They're horrified. Sqq is resigned but freshly hopeful.

And so begins Mission: Save Sqq's Marriage!

(Sqq would very much like to contend the title but he is out voted.)

I'd just love to see the three of them (with unquestioning aid from their husbands) get up to hijinks and face existential horrors on a quest to help bingqiu get the closure they need. And moshang too, I guess XD.

It'd also be very, very funny to have them all in the middle of the latest traumatic and/or mortifying scene look around at the other two like 'hey, aren't you supposed to be freaking out now? This is normally the part people start screaming' and the other two are like 'I mean I guess?? We've got things to do though' like kings of unflappable repression right there.

(and lbh and lwj having vinegar-offs while hc is sighing dreamily watching his husband make semi decent friends for once)

Like there's a bunch of crossovers but none really scratch that itch, you know? The main characters of all 3 mxtx?? There's so much potential for Truly Unhinged Shenanigans!! Wangxian visiting pidws wife plot filled world and disappearing into the wilderness for a full week, coming back with every single piece of clothing they brought ruined. Hualian go visit mdzs and and no one believes xl is a diety and hc chomping at the bit to kill them for the injustice. Bingqiu going to tgcf and lbh getting mistaken for a calamity, or Sqq falling into the one wife plot kidnapping or something intended for a diety.

But seriously imagine Sqq complaining about something and wwx and xl immediately going 'that's not right! You deserve better!!' and Sqq is like 'no it's fine I'm used to it' and the other two slam their fists on the table like 'no!!! If [husband] was forced to keep that kind of secret I'd hate it!! You two deserve to be properly happy!! Let us help! We can fix this!' and start working with zeal and vigor while Sqq trails along embarrassed half heartedly muttering 'it's not that bad >:/'.

And when it works (presumably some clever loophole they stumbled on) and bingqiu are tearfully kissing they share a low five without looking. Or that one meme where the person getting kissed holds their hand back and their wingman enthusiastically high fives it but there's two wingmen XD!

I don't knowww but it'd be such a good premise! Ripe for character interactions!! Fluff! Crack! Angst! Daytrips and pouring their hearts out to people who'd really understand! Xl wwx and Sqq bestie team up! Meeting moshang! Wwx info dumping about his monster index categorisation to an enthralled Sqq! Xl and Sqq bemoaning etiquette while wwx laughs at them! Xl and wwx having intense discussions about morality and righteousness! All three of them laughing at how oblivious they were about their husbands, each trying to one the other two for Dumb Moments They Should Have Realised (Sqq wins by horrifying the other two)!

Forget cross country kidnappings and being locked in a room! Where is my protagonist trio getting into trouble on a self imposed mission to help their friend! Let their magnetism for insanity shine!!

[rakhalofthestars]

Ikanaide

Synopsis: Ikanaide (いかないで) = Do not go. Words that you had used to plead with Boothill so he'd stay. Words that he used to plead with the heavens to not take all that he holds dear away from him.

Tags: Boothill x gn reader, Boothill's backstory, heavy angst and tragedy, Pre-cyborg Boothill, Established relationship, Boothill-centric

Warnings: Mentions of torture (Nothing graphic), cussing, major character death

wc: 2,5k

Varmints. All of them. They called his tribe savages. They had the audacity to call them uncivilised. As if they were any better. Would a civilised person have done what they had done to him?

The- What was it they called themselves again? Right. The IPC. The IPC thought they could get away with kicking his people out of their homes, disrespecting the soil his people had lived off of for centuries, and blaspheming against their beliefs. The IPC thought capturing a well-respected gunslinger like him, throwing him into a hoosegow and belting him, would break their spirits? That it would drive their twisted message home and stop his brothers and sisters in arms to back down?

Nay. If anything, it only further solidified their resolve to fight back. The IPC’s actions only made it abundantly clear that the cowboys must do everything in their power to drive away these devils from their home. 

These thoughts echoed in Boothill’s mind while he slowly dragged himself back home to the little wooden cottage just a ways from the farm he had grown up on. His body ached. Each step that he took felt as if he was getting stabbed by the prickly cacti that could be found on the sandy wastelands of Aeragan-Epharshel. However, it also served as a reminder that he was above snakes. Boothill had managed to run from the crowbar hotel but it had come at the cost of some of his fellow guerilla fighters to get arrested instead. He swore at the reminder. He’ll free them all. Their actions will not have been in vain, he’ll make sure of it. 

After what feels like hours, Boothill finally managed to reach the door to the cottage. He could hear faint humming from inside. The familiar tune brought a smile to his face despite the stinging pain that had the man on the verge of passing out. It was a tune that he had learned from Nick, a melody that Graey would hum in a wordless lullaby when he was still knee-high to a grasshopper to lull the rowdy boy back then to sleep. It was a tune that he had played on his guitar to serenade you on countless nights underneath the stars. One filled with warmth and love.

Raising one shaking (shaking? Why was he shaking? He’ll be fine. He has to be fine. For them. For everyone.) hand, Boothill knocks on the door. The humming stops. A shame, for now with the silent darkness of the moonless night shrouding him, Boothill was unsure whether he even was in the realm of consciousness anymore. Nay. He hears footsteps, hurried ones.

Without wasting another second, you rush forward and pull him into your arms, holding him in a warm and soft embrace. It was an embrace that he had come to associate with home. An embrace filled with so much love and gentleness that it made even a man as roughened up as him to go all soft and mushy. You just had that effect on him.

The door opens and Boothill stumbles back from it, lest he falls face first when it swings open. He sways on the spot and can only manage a half-smile half-grimace when you open the door and gasp.

“Boothill! Honey, what happened to yo-”

Your words are cut off due to the sight of Boothill swaying dangerously now on his feet. His vision was turning dark at the corners. Fuck, it hurt. Everything hurts.  

Boothill’s head slumps against your neck, breathing in the scent of the stew that you had been cooking and the mild, herbal scent of the soap you used. Even in his half-conscious state, the man could feel the worry and fear radiating off of you. Despite his condition, it brings a smile to his chapped and bruised lips. No matter how things changed, you continued to stay the same. His loving little worrywart. 

While Boothill was in his own little world, barely staying conscious, your heart was racing. The fabric of the grey shirt he was wearing felt oddly damp on his back. It didn’t make sense. Surely he hadn’t sweat so much on the way back? Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Wrong in the all the ways everything had been for the past couple weeks, ever since those strange men clad in black had stepped foot onto the planet you called home. 

You slowly remove one trembling hand from Boothill’s chiseled and broad back and bite back a scream. Your hand was damp with a faint, reddish liquid. Blood.

–

“Hon…what happened to you? Hon..? Boothill?”

You receive no answer and it’s then you realize that the cowboy’s body felt heavier and loose against you. He had passed out.

When Boothill finally comes to again, he hisses and groans in pain almost immediately. He blinked a couple of times, allowing his steely gray eyes to adjust to the lighting inside the wooden cottage. He was sitting up in your shared bed…well kinda. It’d be more accurate to say that he was slumped face first against the headboard. At least you had had the sense to wrap a softer headband around his forehead so it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

The man stirs and he hears you yelp from behind, cursing as his sudden movement has frightened you. 

“A warning next time, Boothill. Thank you,” you sigh. Boothill felt the raw skin of his back sting again and he hisses.

“ ‘Pologies, didn’t realize a man had to announce to the entire dadgum world that he’s awake,” is his dry reply. ��The hell are ya doin’ anyways?” He tries to turn but regrets it immediately when a sharp stab of pain spreads across his body. 

Boothill can feel the heavy silence. He can hear the barrage of questions that were just waiting to spill from your lips. He can guess the assumptions in your mind. He knew you too well. 

“Don’t move, ya coot,” you chide him in a gentle voice. “What d’ya think I’m doin’? I’m clearly cleanin’ up yer wounds.”

Ah right. The wounds. Perhaps it’d be better to call them scars instead. There was no way those marks would ever fade, either physically or mentally.

“Look…”

“I’m lookin’ and I ain’t likin’ what I’m havin’ ta see.”

He rolls his eyes but welcomes the light humor, knowing it would fade once he explained himself.

“I got caught by them sons of bitches and- up up up. Lemme finish, will you? As I was sayin’, they arrested me and hauled me over to the good ol’ crowbar hotel.”

You frown to yourself while putting away the now dirty and damp rag, stained a brownish-red from the bloody scars.

“Well, it don’t explain the…the scars. What happened, darlin’?”

Boothill closes his eyes at the question, trying to block out the phantom sensations. Hands bound by rope. The crack of leather on skin. Raw flesh. Hoarse screams that echoed off the cold and grimy walls. 

“Don't work yerself into a frenzy over me, sweetpea,” Boothill murmurs against your lips. The response incurs a heavy sigh followed by a shorter, chaste kiss before you pull away.

“They belted me. Soaked a belt in saltwater and cleaned my plow. The assholes were questionin’ me, tried to get me to ‘fess up to where all the other resistance fighters were. What our plans were and to make us stop. The others…they sacrificed themselves so I could run.”

“Oh… Oh, my darlin’...” You shuffle closer to your beloved, gently turning his head and plant a kiss on his lips. Tender and languid with the lingering traces of his favorite malt juice and your favorite caramel sweets that he liked to buy for you. Just the way you both liked- no, loved it. 

“How can I not when this…” you gesture to the scars on his back, the dark skin raw and reddened from the torture inflicted. “When this is what they've done to you, what they're doing to our siblings and…what they might do to us.”

“We won't let ‘em. They raise their weapons against us to break our spirits but they don't know that our spirits are stronger than our skin.”

You were doubtful. You didn't say it out loud but the words were on the tip of your tongue. Boothill couldn't blame you for your doubts. The conflict was unlike anything that he had ever seen. 

A heavy silence permeated through the cottage, broken only by the sound of you getting off the bed and walking to a potted aloe vera plant. The man slowly shifts on the mattress so he could watch you.

You grab a small hunting knife that was beside the plant. It was one that Boothill had made for you. He had painstakingly carved the oak into a handle for the sharp blade and had branded your initials at the edge along with a little heart. Using the knife with practiced ease, you slice off an aloe leaf and come back to sit behind him.

“I've been thinking…” You begin, pulling back the dark green skin layer of the leaf while speaking. You dip your fingers into the clear gel and begin to carefully apply it to the scars on Boothill’s back, rubbing it in with gentle, circular motions.

“Is there really no other way?”

Boothill, who had already been relaxing under the soothing sensation of the aloe vera and your fingers, slumps. He had expected the question. He couldn’t blame you for it either. Hell, he wished there was an easier way to resolve this fight without any bloodshed. He had already lost a few members of his family and countless friends and siblings in arms. 

He didn't want to lose you too or the little 12 month old girl that had quietly stumbled into the room, her tiny feet pattering against the floorboards. Both you and the man soften at the sight of her stumbling in the same way Boothill had stumbled upon her a few months ago during the harsh winter. For a few moments, you both forget all about the gloom and doom of your situation, of your beloved home. 

“Well, hey there, sugarcube…” Boothill murmurs with a gentle smile on his lips. He stretches his arms out, catching the little girl as she slowly walks into them with little giggles sounding from her tiny little body all the while. Uncaring for his sore and aching muscles, he pulls her up onto the bed to join the two of you, holding her in his lap.

“I wish there was another way, really I do. But ya’ve seen that peace ain’t an option. Them sons of guns came here armed to the teeth. All they know is violence and we gotta fight back in a way they’ll understand,” Boothill finally answers, watching as his daughter played with the long white locks of his hair. 

“Y’should’ve seen her today… learned to walk just a few days ago and now all she does is put them tiny feet o’ hers to use,” you murmur fondly, continuing to treat Boothill’s scars to the best of your abilities. “She..was lookin’ for you the entire day. Kept on tryin’ ta ask where you was. I had no answer.”

As if right on cue, the small child in his arms babbles and peers up at him. He could just make out the little word she was trying to pronounce, “dada”. His heart felt heavy in his chest and he sighs. He hadn’t forgotten about your question from earlier. 

“Ya’ll see, darlin’. I’ll be in apple pie order in no time. Just need ta rest a bit and then, I’ll give ‘em hell, guns blazin’ and all. After all, there’s only two kinds of people in this world. Those with a gun and those who dig their own grave. We’ve got the shooting irons and soon, those varmints are gonna be the only ones rottin’ in a bone orchard.”

He was rambling again. Gabbing on and on without pausing. He was trying to comfort you but you got the vague feeling that he was also trying to comfort himself. 

Boothill could feel his heart shattering into pieces. Fuck…he really was a bastard to do this to you. To the little girl in his arms. What hurt worse was that you and him both knew his answer because your words, laced with love, desperation and fear, your gentle touch on his back that were soothing the raw skin more than any herbal remedy ever could, the child in his arms that looked at him as if he had hung up the stars in the night sky, these were all reminders of what he was fighting for, what was at stake should he give up now.

“...Do not go.”

“...What?”

“Don’t go… please. I…I dunno what I’ll do if one a’ these days, I’ll wake up an’ see that you ain’t here.”

“Sweetpea-”

“Death is the fairest form of grace. I wanna experience that grace with you. Stay, please. ”

Boothill was fighting for you, his daughter, his family, his siblings in arms, his tribe, the soil that he grew up on, his home.

In the melancholic silence that now filled the space, Boothill could hear Nick’s gruff voice resounding in his ears, the words further strengthening his resolve. 

"The water here is smooth as fine wine,

the cold snow is cutting like a knife,

this place is...

the perfect world."

– 

It burned. Everything was burning. The ground, the trees, the animals, the people. The conflagration consumed everything. 

Boothill felt as if he was burning too. The smoke burned within him. Was it the smoke or his rage? What was it that was suffocating his lungs, clawing its way inside him and threatening to consume him? 

He didn't know. He didn't know a damned thing. He didn't know whether his family was alive. Whether that little bundle that he had found in the snow was still alive. Aeons above, he hoped she was alive. She had just learned to walk. He didn't know whether you were alive. There was so much he still had left to do. He was supposed to take you into town and buy you the little trinket that you had been eyeing for a while. He was supposed to teach his little girl to play the guitar that he had made for her. He was supposed to have a little shooting match with his friends, pay Nick and Graey a visit, and fight off the beasts of the wilderness that now took the form of men clad in black. 

Boothill ran, trying to run from the screams of those around him, from his fears and from the smoke that was chasing after him the same way he'd be chasing after a certain IPC member in the years to come. 

He sounded his barbaric yell over the roofs of the world, echoing the same words that you had spoken- no, pleaded to him just days earlier. 

Do not go.

[harque]

" debt "

💭 . . . 0.6k "whenever you're ready." aventurine pov, gn!reader, angst, mild spoilers (aventurine's real name + backstory), pre-relationship, starvation

Aventurine was charming in every sense of the word.

He was handsome, a poker shark, always the life of the party, and a better friend than some might guess. He was well-learned about finer things: liquor, gems, and numerous other small, but interesting tidbits that could start a conversation. But he doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend. Or, really, how to be anyone who isn’t on the verge of falling apart.

So, Aventurine’s initial reaction to your confession was not at all soft or romantic. His knee-jerk response is to withdraw. If there was any truth left in him, you were uncomfortably close to unearthing it and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the carnage built up underneath his delicately cultivated persona yet. He does, however, understand love. He is not heartless. He had been loved, when he was younger. He could not love you now. What more did he have to offer?

His sister loved him, his people loved him—the harsh sun, coarse sand, and fleeting rain all once adored him as if he were their own. Kakavasha was very loved, but there is no sense in loving dead things. Aventurine was needed. He likes that.

Aventurine likes and wants to be needed, because being craved, sought after, desired or even admired by someone, no matter the person—makes it easier to twist the game in his favor. He can control others by being relied upon, can make them want him. As long as he could trick other people into thinking he was indispensable, he was safe.

(He carved away pieces of himself to sell as commodities, a fine cloth for the wealthy to wear until there was nothing left, no remnants of his former self, just a hollow shell to be discarded.)

You didn’t need him. He doesn’t feel safe. You know he isn’t who he parades himself as, and he’s scared.

You were too patient. Too gentle—he sees you, the wolf in the clothing of a lamb, prowling the edge of his enclosure. (My friend, we are one in the same, why do you insist on living among them? You cannot hide. You are not like them. You can layer all the pleasantries you like on top of your appetite, try to bury it, but it is always there. I know how to get it out. Kakavasha, aren’t you starving? Do you eat in secret because you can’t bear the thought of becoming an outcast?)

He sees a lover with lips that drip sweet rot when open. You lean closer, pressing a chaste, warm kiss to the birthmark on his wrist right above his watch and oh—like the pathetic, wretched sheep he was, Aventurine wants so desperately—but he was too wary of taking more than he was allowed.

“I understand," You said as you pulled away, replacing your mouth with the pad of your thumb. His pulse raced as you traced his veins. “It’s about time for me to go, anyways. Whenever you’re ready, come find me, alright? We’ll talk.”

(Come closer, come closer. The table is made, the world is your plate, I will give you everything so you will not have a need for anything. Indulge freely in my bounty, savor the flavors and feast to your heart’s content. No, even then, you are not filled, you still hunger. Do you ever stop wanting more? Do you ever feel satiated? When your belly is bursting, when your teeth are stained with the juices of the hunt, is your thirst ever quenched? Never. Never.)

With an even and calculated tone, he simply responds, “Of course. I always keep my promises.”

The smile on his face was nonchalant. It is only his hands that betray him, trembling behind his back when you leave.

© harque �� all rights reserved — notes & reblogs are much appreciated ¡¡¡( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! thank you for reading!

[bones4thecats]

Can we please get Loona x Male Reader who has similar issues like Blitzo, but less extreme? Specifically believing that others are better off without them, and guilt for past incidents, although they never go as far as to hurt Loona. Loona probably has experience with this bc of Blitzo, I could also see Blitzo starting to like reader more, since he sees himself in them. Thanks for your time!

-🐺 anon

Loona's S/O With Similar Issues To Blitzo

Characters: Loona Buckzo Requester: 🐺Anon A/N: This obviously full of angst and fluff, so expect mentions of blood and fire. By the way, there are mature themes here so be aware of this! Have fun! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Blitzo's Backstory and S2 Ep8 ⚠️

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————————-　Loona Buckzo　———————————-««

🐺 Loona and you had first met years ago during a small debacle between your boss, Verosika Mayday, and her father. And when your brother, Vortex, and her began to speak and talk with him, you bonded just as well

🐺 During a follow-up job of yours while working with one of Verosika's recording directors, an electrical fire erupted and as you helped others get out, a rogue explosion bashed into one-half of your face, causing a massive burn to make you half-blind

🐺 Verosika had to let you go, much to Vortex and her chargains. You just told them it was understood why, and Vortex and Loona asked if you needed somewhere to stay, offering up their homes

🐺 You passed it off until you came by to hang out with Loona at your place, finding a paper saying you had a couple weeks to get your stuff out of the place due to a loss of your rent

🐺 Loona patted your shoulder and rubbed your arm, asking if you still didn't want to move in with her and her father, saying how he'd love having you around more. You two did get along well

🐺 You smiled and kissed her forehead, nodding before she called her dad and delivered the changed news to him. The only sound you could hear on the other end was the imp laughing and cheering, saying he would love having another guy in the apartment

🐺 When all of your things were moved into Loona's room, now you and her's, Blitzo had you fill out a paper on what you did and didn't like, in which you smiled nervously and wrote down everything

🐺 As the many weeks passed of you living with them, you noticed just how different their lives were now that you lived there. And you couldn't help but think, were you a burden to them? Would they be better without you there? Was this change in their lives your fault?

🐺 Later that day, Blitzo came home early from his 'time' with Stolas and knew that Loona would be out that night. She was going to hang out with Vortex while you stayed home, saying you didn't want to go out because you felt ill

🐺 Blitzo laid a sack on the counter-top and stretched his back before hanging his coat up and moving around the couch, only to find you laying there, wrapped up and crying...

"Kid, you good down there?"

"Am I a... am I a burden, Blitzo?"

"What? Who the fuck said you were a burden?!"

🐺 Holding your head up, Blitzo saw just how distressed you were. And it was far from pretty. It reminded him of himself when he was younger and just blaming himself for the loss of his mother and his family

🐺 You saw that Blitzo was kinda agitated when he came inside the apartment at that time, something must have gone wrong at Stolas'. And when you took the tissue that he offered you and whiped your nose and eyes, before asking what went wrong with Stolas

🐺 He sighed and began to rant to you on how stupid that bird was, how he was most definitely crossing a line with showering him with this rush of feelings. All they ever did was a contract-fucking, nothing like this!

"Y'know, I think we both have out own issues. Like we're fucked up in unique yet similar ways."

"Do you think we should tell Loona about it?"

"When the time is right, kiddo. Not yet. Anyways," Blitzo stands up and pops his back again before yawning and wrapping his tail around his leg in pleasure from the pop, "I need to get some sleep after this. Loona said she was on her way home a few minutes before I got here, so expect her soon, 'kay?"

"Yeah. And, hey Blitzo!"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, for being the father that I've needed for a while."

"... It's no problem, sweet dreams, okay?"

"Right back at 'ya..."

»–•–«

🐺 The sound of a door opening a closing made you look up from your phone tiredly, seeing your girlfriend hanging up her jacket and smile at you with a slight yawn

🐺 You stood up and noticed that when you hugged the hellhound, she slouched and began to snore, making you chuckle and carry her to your room

🐺 Maybe your thoughts were wrong... the way that Blitzo comforted you from your crying and the way that Loona balled herself in your arms to gain some more warmth and comfort just made you think more clearly

🐺 Maybe you weren't such a waste of space...

[astrosxxz]

Can I request (do u write for genshin don’t u? Freak…) u should write headcanons for Kaeya aka that one dark skin dude off genshin with the blue hair and eyepatch

Boyfriend! kaeya hcs + scenarios (1)

TW: alcohol mentioned briefly [does it count as briefly if its like 1 hs or..]

CW: he calls you handsome once + pretty once . SPOILERS. SPOILERS. SPOILERS.!!

Genre; Fluff. Fluff. Fluff. Slight angst. Did I say fluff..?

A/n: Yea ! I do actually do genshin, sorry if it was unclear, 'm working on new masterlists, rules & such as<3, also hi jules :3..

Boyfriend!Kaeya who at first only flirted with you for a good tease .

Boyfriend!Kaeya who soon fell for you you fell first he fell harder guys

Boyfriend!Kaeya who trusts you enough to share his backstory, how he got his vision, how he ended up here, his connection to the abyss, etc.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who tries so, so hard to stop drinking for you if you wish for him to stop. He knows its bad, but at the same time , it helps him in certain ways.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who keeps work seperate from his relationships, hes THE Cavalry Captain of the knights of favonius, hes definitely busy a lot of times, but likes to actually go places under the title of YOUR BOYFRIEND, instead of the calvalry captain.

Kaeya and you were seated in a small cafe' sort of building, a bit hidden away due to his.. popularity of sorts.

"Ah.. you're so handsome/pretty,.." His rough - yet soft hand gently held your hand across the table, smiling at you sweetly, a smile barely anyone ever sees from him, a genuine one. Not one that he uses for his missions, not one he uses to manipulate anyone into telling him something, not one he uses for teasing anybody, no, a genuine, love-filled smile.

"Captain Kaeya?" A voice suddenly interrupted your short love-struck moment conversation, and you glanced over at the knight that stood there, seeming to be on break,

Kaeya raised an eyebrow slightly at the guy, his eyes narrowing,

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I know anyone who goes by the title of captain thats on duty right now, go find him when hes on duty."

Boyfriend!Kaeya who actually is really sassy yet really loving.. like one second he'll be sassing you around, then the next he's all 'lovey-dovey' with you. (ew love.. makes me SICK!!) (im kidding guys)

Boyfriend!Kaeya who actually has all the drama around town, you can sit down on a couch, or at a table, or even on the floor and talk for hours on end with him about random gossip / drama you heard around mondstadt.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who in all seriousness, loves you. He had never truly felt loved, ever since Crepus and Diluc, the incident.. and yet, this was a different kind of love, one hes truly never felt.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who prefers actions & gift giving over physical actions (sometimes words)

Boyfriend!Kaeya who teaches you the art of the sword, depending on whether you have a vision or not, he'll teach you even harder moves.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who teases you relentlessly but at the same time, you always know its JUST teasing, if you're actually really sensitive about something, he knows better than to tease ya' about it.

Boyfriend!Kaeya who trusts you enough to show his scar under his eye, only around you. He loves when you'll both be laying down, or even just sitting down, and you'll softly - gently , just , graze the scar .

Boyfriend!Kaeya who loves whenever you do his hair for him, at first he was a bit skeptical, but then once you did so - and he saw how happy it made you, he immediately started saying yes whenever you asked .

Boyfriend!Kaeya who won't hesitate to do ANYTHING you ask of him, he won't necessarily injure somebody, but he will most definitely do certain things.

A/N -- jules I ran out of ideas sobs.

Taglist -- NO1 is currently here...

[bug-bites]

west side apartment, paper plane

tw: brief non-graphic mentions of ghost going thru war stuff and ghost's backstory in the comics (changed a few details because this is fanfic. duh), slight angst (bc yk,, yearning) but sort of fluff if ghost had a dollar for every moment he spent yearning he would have enough money to retire and live a happy life away from the military, also we're pretending british chinese takeout is good, not proofread :P

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader (like always can be read as platonic or romantic)

characters: simon "ghost" riley

a/n: i hate how fucking massive the song link is but yk what its fine. but i am back and in a laufey moment!

simon has lived an interesting life, maybe he wouldn’t use interesting. if he could describe it he would probably use words like terrifying, cruel, or for a lack of better terms, shitty. from the moment he was born it seemed like misery and tragedy followed him around like a stray dog, finding its way into every aspect of his existence. his childhood home was always something he wanted to escape, or rather his father was what he wanted to run away from. there were good moments after he kicked the old bastard out, but the ever present threat of tragedy proved that it wouldn’t last. life had been cruel, dealing him possibly the worst hand possible, the only constant being misfortune, that is until you came along.

a temporary living arrangement. thats all it was. rent was a little too much for one person to afford, so you both signed the lease on a crummy, small, mixed-use apartment right in the middle of manchester. it wasn’t much, takeout dinners from the restaurant below and late rent payments were the norm but even with the busted heating, life in that apartment had never felt so warm.

after long shifts at your respective jobs he would come home, plastic bags of takeout in his hands, a sign for you to set a few blankets on the ground before both of you eat ungodly amounts of shrimp fried rice and orange sesame chicken. he could spend hours listening to you speak, nothing made him feel so at home. maybe it was the fact that the food was good and also inexpensive, or maybe it was because he was too exhausted to do anything else, but he loved those long sleepless nights spent sitting on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. simon cant imagine another time in his life when he was genuinely so happy or another time he laughed so hard water came out his nose.

he especially loved opening fortune cookies with you at the end of every meal. sure, he never believed in those fortunes but the idea was always fun to entertain. the sound of the cookie cracking open to expose the slip of paper, revealing what the future had in store for him usually filled him with a childlike curiosity. or at least got a laugh out of him.

“hah, mine says ‘there will be a happy romance for you shortly’. these things really could not be farther from the truth. bet yours is more accurate” you say, popping half of the broken cookie into your mouth “your father loves you and is always with you. remember that.” he reads out loud with a chuckle “oh. that- hm. yeah i take that back”

but the one thing he loved more than opening those silly fortunes with you or the late night dinners was after you both cleaned up the empty takeout boxes, taking the menus and folding them into paper planes. it became a sort of tradition after you got bored and began to mess around with the glossy paper that listed mouthwatering dishes and house specials. he could never get it right, one wing was always too big or his folds were clumsily made and uneven, making them practically incapable of flight but yours were the complete opposite. each crease made was perfect, every intricate pleat skillfully crafted to allow the small paper aircraft to glide through the air with ease. as you tossed your planes off the balcony of your shared flat, the sight of the plane sailing through the air as the sun set always filled the both of you with a sense of nostalgia. and of course you both picked them up and tossed them out because we dont mess w/ littering over here

simon cant help but look back at those simpler times and miss them. he knows from the start it was intended to be temporary, but he’s been through so much chaos and trauma all he just wants a quiet life where he doesnt have to be ghost. he just wants a nice warm home to come back to. it doesnt have to be big, it doesnt have to be expensive, it just has to feel like home. it just has to feel like you. its been so long since the two of you parted ways but as he stares at the last paper airplane that he kept, he cant help but wonder if you feel that way too. as he lies awake in his bed at the military base he’s stationed in, he spends those nights craving that domesticity he had with you. he recalls every memory, every minute detail that made him love that cramped apartment and maybe how he loved you even more.

[illbegottenfaith]

my favourite (self-written) fics

was tagged by @rose-of-the-grave! thank you so much bestie this was such a fun and fulfilling activity 🫶

kiss me better, love - it checks all of my boxes: physical touch as a love language, banter, that delicate balance between you're-driving-me-nuts and I-want-you-so-bad 🙈 it has probably one of if not my absolute favourite paragraphs I've written:

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

this is like my ideal type of love I would fold SO fast irl with smth like this 🤧 its so soft?? so tender??? so kind???? 🫠 the kind of love that makes them want to change for you>>>>> UGHH someone take me out back and shoot me

2. the one where theo asks you out to a wedding - this was inspired by a new girl episode so, naturally, theres such a satisfying and intirguing dynamic between the reader and theo, and it's such a compelling blend of familiar and new tropes. You used to be my favourite person but then my ambition (aka a core personality trait for a Slytherin) got the best of me and all these years have gone by and yes im a prideful and arrogant jackass which is EXACTLY why im arrogant enough to demand you back? yes pleaseee

3. in sweetness - this fic has some of best narrative/storytelling I've ever written, I don't know how but I got the tone of the exposition absolutely perfect and I really like how I used the lullaby-esque yet inherently violent (like a wounded animal) qualities of Robin to add a softer, more vulnerable dimension to the backstory of what is otherwise a very jaded character. the song, the fic, theo are all associated with a navy blue in my head, and I imagine the scenes of this fic in greys and blues which I think very fittingly reflect the bone-deep misery I feel most versions of theo carry.

4. walking away with your kiss on my cheek/ and a bruise underneath - this was inspired by for cryin' out loud by FINNEAS (I love the wholeee album I want to write a fic for every song on there). Initially I set out with a very different objective in mind, which was to make theo and the reader undeniably toxic for each other, but after multiple draft revisions that got so diluted and it became sad instead of infuriarating but I still love how it (unexpectedly) turned out! I quite like miscommunication tropes when the characters struggle to express their inner world despite their best efforts like ughhh that angst that inner tension just hits the spot man. On a more personal note I do tend to favour the fics with difficult heroines, like not only is there a fully fleshed-out, realistic, complex female character but this also makes the plot that much more romantic to me.

5. stutter - the most recent fic on this list ahah I quite like how this fic puts a a spin on theo's typically stoic and steady character. Other than the comedic aspect of it all, I just love the idea of theo being so in love that he is compelled with this hige influx of things he wants to say/express, that he is tripping over his words because of how stupidly in love he is. Of course, it was only after I came up with the plot that I put 2 and 2 together and realised that the song (puzzle pieces by saint motel) is actually about plastic surgery damnn 😭😭😭 I think I got too swept up in the first verse to properly listen to like...what the rest of the song was actually about lmaooo

6. maybe stay here forever - packing it up by gracie abrams is still one of the most romantic songs in my playlists, its so quiet and unassuming and thats what I wanted this fic to be - insignificant, mundane moments (in a holidays context) that when stitched together reveal that love was there all along. Things like sending the othe rout for errands, or hoping that they can catch a break from an unrelenting life because of how much you hate to see them suffer. One lyric that really stood out to me was 'don't stop talking to me,' because when you love someone it's really things as silly as the idea of not having them around to talk to that seem the most heartbreaking. like I want to spend the rest of my life listening to you talk, the sound of your voice, the things you have to say and the way you say them.........

7. bad day - the fic that started it all...I like to think that this fic is a relatively shallow (short but sweet!) amalgamation of my favourite tropes, things I had a vague idea/inkling to write when it came to theo nott fanfic. Ever since, I think I can find some kind of scrap/link in every new fic I write back to bad day, as if I'm expanding on and properly developing stories which convey the charm of those tropes to me. As for the fic itself, its very cosy and comforting and very much my type of love <3

no pressure tags! - @theosang3ls @nottsstar @lov3notts @nottsangel and anyone else who would be interested :)

[raibebe]

Genre: angst, horror(?), lots of hurt and a little comfort Words: 6.101 Prompt: freshly turned vampire Chenle

Warnings: undefined illness, vampires (duh), graphic descriptions of burns, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, literal murder, semi-graphic(?) descriptions of murder, Chenle is going batshit crazy, he’ll be okay I swear

A/N:��Uhm... Hi! A Chenle fic... That's new... I just want to say that he is my baby and I'm sorry for what he's been put through but he's a baby vamp and in my book, they need tragic backstories... In case you have noticed, I may or may not have accidentally created another universe, please excuse me, I just love world- and character-building...

In case you feel like there are any more warnings missing, please tell me! Also as always, huge thanks to @wooahaeproductions who makes sense of my long ass sentences! 🤍 And to @starlitmark for being awesome and supportive! 💕

Chenle was sick. He had been sick for a long time. Ever since he could remember, his mother would make him drink bitter liquids and swallow pills the size of small bird eggs. He was seldom allowed to play outside like his younger siblings. His father always said it was so he would have more time to read and study, so he could be a better king in the future but Chenle was sure it was to keep him from the outside and whatever harm there was. The physicians never told him what was wrong with him when they would whisper amongst themselves and by the time he had grown into his sharp features, he had stopped asking what was wrong when their frowns deepened. He let himself be pricked by needles and his body folded into different positions without a single word of complaint. 

“He is very sick,” he had overheard the head physician tell his mother one night when he had snuck out of bed to watch the blood moon from the gardens and not through his tinted windows. “Have you found a cure yet?” “I’m afraid there is none, your Majesty.” A deafening clap had resounded through the empty corridor after that, making the young prince flinch. He knew that sound. His mother had hit the man who was trying to heal her son. “Find one,” the Queen spat, venom dripping from her words, “He is the crown prince. And he will take his throne. He will wear his crown.” 

That night had burned itself into Chenle’s young mind. On one hand, he knew that he was doomed to die young. On the other hand he had his mother on his side, who brought in physicians from all over their lands and even beyond to examine and heal her only son. 

As a child, he had never understood why the physicians said that he was sick. He never felt sick. But the older he got, the more he could feel the toll the sickness took on his body. When he was twirling his sisters around in the ballroom to the sweet melodies the musicians were playing, he would often get dizzy and call for breaks after only a couple of songs. He had to stop his walks through the elaborate rose garden his mother curated soon after he started because his legs just wouldn’t listen to his commands on the way back. And that autumn, he found himself bedridden, a fever tinting his pale skin pink despite how cold he felt. Chenle was lucid for the first weeks but as the days became shorter and shorter, he would slip in and out of consciousness, often waking up to the pinpricks of pain from another needle. The physicians had started to not only make him drink their increasingly worse concoctions but also inject him with things. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. 

One night, beneath the light of the full moon, he woke up from his delirium to the Queen sitting next to him. She was clad in her bedrobes and patting his face with a cool cloth. “My sweet child,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his damp forehead. “I am going to die,” Chenle had answered, his voice hoarse from not speaking for days. “No,” his mother had choked out, tears filling her eyes, “I will not let that happen.” Weakly, he reached for her delicate hands, using all his strength to squeeze her hand. “Let me go.” “I can’t,” the Queen mouthed, holding her son’s bony hand up to her lips as tears streamed down her face, “You’re my everything, Lele. My little star.” 

Chenle’s mother had cried that night until the prince had fallen under again, his grip becoming even weaker. Once her tears had dried, she looked at the sunken-in face of her son who used to have the most adorable chubby cheeks when he was just a child. And with that in mind, she made a decision. She called for her personal messenger and swore him to secrecy before she told him to bring in the man she had vowed to only ever send for as her very last resort. The man wasn’t a physician. She wasn’t even sure if he was a man. He was a myth. A miracle healer so to speak. But she was ready to pray for a miracle right about now. Chenle was her everything and she was not going to lose him. 

On a rainy night a couple of days later, the Queen was spending each waking hour watching over her son’s fever dreams when a man hidden beneath a thick coat with a big hood was banging at the castle’s doors, claiming that the Queen had sent for him: The miracle healer. The queen rushed down the stairs to personally guide him to her son’s sleeping quarters, telling the man all about her son’s condition but he silenced her with just a wave of his hand at the sight of the Prince. The man - his figure still hidden beneath the thick coat - bent over Chenle, examining the condition he was in and feeling his burning skin. “I can heal him,” he concluded with a deep, raspy voice, “But it comes with a price.” “Anything,” the Queen immediately complied, “You will get anything you need to save my son.” “Oh, the price is for him to pay,” the healer clarified. “Will he be healthy again? So he can play with his siblings and take his rightful place on the throne?” “Yes, my Queen. He will be stronger than he has ever been.” “Heal him,” the Queen ordered, “At any price.” “So shall it be,” he bowed his head, “Can I request for some privacy to perform my craft?” With a heavy heart, the Queen nodded and let the heavy wooden door fall into the lock behind her. 

The Queen wasn’t sure how long the man was left alone with her son. She had counted three nearby lightning strikes before the man walked through the door again. “He needs rest,” the man told her, “When the moon kisses the top of the trees for the second time tomorrow night, he will wake up.” “And he will be healed?” “If he’s left alone until then, his body will overcome everything,” he promised and with another bow, he excused himself to walk down the corridor. The Queen’s heart longed to see her son again after he had been left alone in the man’s company for so long but if his healing was disturbed by her presence, she was not willing to risk it. 

The next day felt like it was several moons long to the Queen and she found herself walking past her son’s bedroom door over and over again. When the night had fallen, the Queen couldn’t fall asleep next to her snoring husband who had always taken their son’s sickness a lot better than she had. In the end, she got up to go to her sunroom where she was watching the moon make its way along the night sky until it was barely meeting the trees. Jumping out of her seat, she all but ran to her son’s chambers where she briefly collected herself and softly opened the door. 

Chenle was lying in bed just as she had left him yesterday, unmoving and pale, but his cheeks weren’t pink with fever anymore and his hair was dry. With a smile on her lips, she rushed over to his side to cup his face, to feel the swell of his cheeks in her palms. When her palm met his skin, the Queen flinched back. Her son’s skin was cold. Colder than she had ever felt him or any of his siblings after they had played outside in the snow. “No, no, no,” she mumbled, frantically peeling back the thick layers of blankets to feel the rest of his body which beneath his light blouse and trousers was just as cold as his face. Throughout the whole disturbance, he didn’t move a muscle and could be moved like a doll. With tears blinding the Queen’s sight, she squeezed her son’s wrist to look for a pulse. But it never came. Her son had died. 

With a toe-curling scream, she laid her body over Chenle’s, wetting his blouse with her tears and rattling his unmoving body with her sobs. “Mother?” The first time the Queen heard her son’s voice, she was sure she was hallucinating. She could feel his cold body beneath her. He was no more. “Why are you crying, mother?” It was almost like she could feel his voice resounding in his chest. “I’m feeling all better, you don’t need to cry.” When she felt hands stroking through her hair, she shot upright. And like a miracle, her son was looking right back at her, a smile on his full lips. “I’m feeling better,” he repeated himself, “I’m hungry.” “Lele,” the Queen gasped, cupping his face again. But just like the first time, his skin was as cold as ice. “I’m fine, mother,” he reassured her. With trembling hands, the Queen reached over to the nightstand to lift the candle she had brought in. And to her horror, her son’s beautiful deep brown eyes were no more. Instead, she was looking into the bright red eyes of a predator. 

“What’s wrong, mother?” Chenle didn’t understand why his mother’s eyes were so wide and why she wouldn’t answer him. Was he having another fever dream? But he felt better. Better than he had ever felt. Like he could uproot trees. Sitting up, he reached out for his mother who only flinched back. “I’m well. I’m healed.” “Stay away from me,” she pressed out, sliding off of the bed and slowly walking towards the door. “What is happening, mother? I don’t understand. I’m so hungry.” “You are a monster. I should have never gone this far.” His mother’s words cut through the young prince like a knife. And they hurt even more than the sound of the door falling back into the lock and the key turning to lock him inside. 

Why was she not happy to see him be better? Looking down at his body, he couldn’t see why his mother had called him a monster. His skin looked pale but he had been pale all his life, especially in the last years. But he had meat on his bones. His forearms were strong when he flexed the muscle. This was good. The same went for the rest of his body when he patted himself down. Everything was in order, his body had healed. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and getting up, he didn’t feel any dizziness or nausea, only hunger swirling in his gut. 

Carefully, the Prince took a couple of steps. To his surprise, his knees didn’t buckle and his legs didn’t give out. With a wide grin, he walked over to the window and looked outside into the gardens. Oh, how he had missed seeing the green of the trees and the little bursts of colors telling him that it was way into the autumn season. Feeling like he was on top of the world, he looked over to his mirror and to his horror, all that he could see were his clothes standing in his room. Was this a dream after all? A nightmare? Slowly, the Prince waved his hand and the sleeve of his blouse followed suit. He frantically pulled the garment off and threw it to the ground. His torso still wasn’t visible in the mirror. Completely in shock, Chenle realized that he couldn’t hear his heartbeat hammer inside his skull or his blood rushing in his ears. Pressing his hands firmly to his chest, he tried to feel for a heartbeat. Even with his eyes pressed shut to concentrate, he couldn’t feel anything. Falling to his knees, he unseeingly stared at the intricate designs on his carpet. He had heard of this before. Read books about the condition. He hadn’t thought it to be true, that it was possible. But he was the living, or rather dead proof of it. He was a vampire. His mother had somehow turned him into a vampire.

Chenle wasn’t sure how long he kneeled there on the carpet, trying to make sense of his raging thoughts with nothing to keep him company but the sounds of the night and the occasional servant hurrying along the corridors. Why would his mother let him be turned into a vampire if she despised the creatures of the night? Why go this far if she was scared and disgusted of her only son now? Did his father know? His sisters? What would they do with him? Keep him locked up? Let him starve?

At that thought, the gnawing feeling of hunger punched him in the gut like a boxer. Gasping, he toppled over, his arms gripping his bare stomach as if they could shield him from the pain. When he tried to bite down on his lip to distract himself from the pain in his stomach, a piercing pain shot through him and dark droplets of blood fell onto the pristine carpet. Fangs. His fangs had dropped and punctured his lip. Bringing his hand up, Chenle gently felt the edge of the sharp teeth that were digging into his lower lip. And as if the gnawing feeling of hunger wasn’t enough, pain was also settling into his gums where his fangs sat. 

With a groan, he lifted himself upright again, his hands clenched into fists. He needed to talk to his mother. There was just one other thing he hadn’t considered: His bedroom was facing east. So when he was moving his head up and out of the shadow that his window cast, a burning pain shot through the back of his head and with a blood-curdling scream, Chenle fell again, cradling his head and curling into a ball. But in the process, more of his body got exposed to the light of the rising sun, causing painful blisters to appear on the reddened skin of his back. With another scream, he threw his body in the direction of his bed, rolling beneath the heavy bed frame to shield his body from the scathing sun. Even if he didn’t need to anymore, his chest was heaving with heavy breaths as he stared at his skin healing itself: the blisters getting smaller and smaller until the skin had knit itself back together, the red, irritated color fading slowly until he was left with milky-white skin. Not even a single blemish showed what had just happened. 

Fascinated by what his body could do, he experimentally grabbed onto one of the pieces of wood that were supporting his thick mattress. He slowly tightened his grip and sure enough, without even using much strength, the wood began to creak and splinter beneath his fingers but none of the wood was able to pierce through his skin. 

He was truly invincible. Well- if you forgot about the incident with the sunlight. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Chenle realized that he had no other choice but to wait it out. Once the sun had set, he’d be able to talk to his mother so they could figure out what they could do about his…new condition. That was what it was, right? Just another sickness. One that made him incredibly strong and heal really fast but unable to see his own reflection or walk in the sunshine. But his people already knew that their Prince was sick. So they could just tell them that the Prince was never to leave the palace walls and put thicker curtains in the throne room to block out the sun. It could all be alright again. 

Chenle wasn’t sure how long he was holding out beneath his bed already, the only thing to keep him company being the gnawing feeling of hunger inside his belly. He was sure he had heard the guards changing twice in front of his room, speaking with hushed voices about how none understood why the Prince was to be kept inside his room when he was bedridden. With a bitter snort, Chenle had thrown a punch against his bed frame that left the wood with a splintered indent of his fist and nothing more. He wasn’t sure where this sudden burst of anger came from, he usually wasn’t this hot-headed but the feeling of hunger was slowly driving him insane along with the pain in his jaw. 

When the sun had almost completed its journey along the sky, the patches of sunlight coming through his windows stretched further and further. Chenle was all but vibrating out of his skin. Thoughts were hard to formulate and even harder to keep from flowing away when all he wanted to do was to sink his teeth into something or rather someone to quench both the ache in his jaw and the beast sitting where his stomach used to be. 

Over the course of this day, which must have been the longest in his entire life, he had let the sun burn his skin over and over again, testing the limits of his body and how the strength of the sun would affect him and he was starting to regret it. It had only made him more hungry. Or thirsty, he should probably say. Briefly, he wondered if he could eat raw and bloody meat but as soon as the thought came, it got lost inside his head again. 

But instead of his brain going in circles about how hungry he was and how he could almost taste the sweat of the guard standing in front of his room, a sudden pain seemed to split his skull in two, ripping a scream from Chenle’s parched throat. Gripping his hair tightly, he tried to understand what was happening. It made no sense. He had been hiding here all day and it had been fine. 

The invisible knife that seemed to have lodged itself in his skull also appeared to be poisonous. A fire began flowing inside his veins, filling his chest with a sensation as if he was burning alive from the inside out, the pain far worse than when he had burned his back earlier. 

Curling up into a ball, Chenle clawed at his own skin, digging his sharp nails into the skin until it broke but it did nothing to ease or distract him from the phantom pains. Screaming and crying, he convulsed on the floor, dripping what little blood he had left in his body onto his light carpet. Just as sudden as the pain had come, it was gone again, leaving Chenle feeling almost hollow. He wasn’t sure for how long he blankly stared at the drops of crimson that stained the pristine carpet but he simply didn’t have it in him to move. It almost felt like he was back in a feverous state, his consciousness floating somewhere above his body. 

With another cry of agony, he came back to his body, his chest heaving and his head dizzy. He needed to get out from beneath the bed, the dark wood suddenly too close. Blinded by a sudden onslaught of panic, Chenle - not yet used to the new strength his body possessed - shoved against the underside of the bed, splintering the wood and breaking the frame. He wasn’t sure how exactly he got out from beneath the bed but when he finally stood at his window, the handle broken and the cool breeze of the evening fanning over his skin, his bed was nothing more than a pile of wood with a mattress on top and rogue feathers floating around the room. The presence of the moon helped to calm the young vampire and with controlled breaths, he got his chest to stop rattling with panic, only slightly cracking the windowsill with how tightly he had gripped onto it. 

“Prince Chenle!” A voice called from the outside and he could hear several heavy footsteps outside of his door before the key turned in the lock. Several guards stepped inside his room and the moment the smell of their bodies hit Chenle’s nose, hell broke loose: He didn’t even process the words that left the first guard’s mouth, his head snapping around to see them reaching for their swords. They were here to kill him. His own mother had ordered his death. He couldn’t die. He had done nothing wrong. 

With his face contorted in anger, he dashed towards the group. With a single punch to the guard’s side, Chenle was able to hear bones crack beneath his fist and the guard’s sword falling to the ground with a loud noise. When he cried out in pain, it made the veins in his neck stand out so temptingly, that Chenle couldn’t stop himself. With his fangs already dropped, he opened his jaws wide and buried his teeth in the guard’s neck, the flesh ripping easily as fresh blood flooded his tongue. It was heaven. He had never tasted anything quite like this. None of the expensive wines he had drank during banquets could even come close to the explosion of flavor on his tongue. 

He needed more. More. Annoyed that his meal was moving, Chenle gripped the guard’s head and forced it further to the side. He felt something snap and the man went limp in his grip but he couldn’t care less when he buried his teeth again to swallow more of the crimson liquid that soothed the ache in his stomach and left his mind reeling with pleasure. 

Sadly, the other guards must have snapped themselves out of their stupor and they unsheathed their swords as well. The sound of the mental scraping against the leather pulled Chenle’s attention from the corpse in his arms to the other guards. With a wicked grin on his lips, he let the corpse fall to the ground in a heap of their own blood and after he wiped the blood from his lips, he was delighted to see absolute fear in the guards’ eyes. 

“You can’t run from me,” he drawled before he pounced, snapping the neck of the one closest to him and burying his teeth deep into the throat of the second one, letting him drop to the floor as well after he took another deep gulp of blood. 

“My mother,” he spoke slowly as he approached the last guard, “Where is the Queen?” The guard didn’t answer, irritating Chenle to high heavens. His sword was trembling in his hand and his eyes were so wide, Chenle was afraid they’d just pop out of their sockets and roll over the stained floorboards like marbles. “I asked a question. Won’t you answer your Prince?” He tried again, gripping the sword between his fingers to point it down so he could step closer to the frozen guard, bringing his mouth up against his neck. “Tell me where the Queen is,” he whispered again, deliberately letting his teeth scrape the skin. “Sh- She- She is in her- her sunroom, my- my Prince,” the guard stuttered pathetically. “Thank you for your service,” Chenle chuckled darkly before he finally gave in to the urge to bite into his neck, already addicted to the taste of fresh blood. 

With a satisfying thud, the vampire let the last body drop to the floor as well, eyeing the carnage left behind with a sick smile on his face. How had his mother ever thought that four measly guards were enough to take him down? On bare feet and with blood dripping down his chin onto his chest, Chenle stepped over the corpses and into the empty hallway, leaving bloody footprints behind on his way to his mother’s sunroom. 

With his newly heightened senses, Chenle could easily tell that there were more people than just his mother near her sunroom. Just as he had assumed, in front of the room stood another three guards and to Chenle’s surprise the head of the guards was among them. “Move,” he growled as he stepped into view, baring his teeth to show his bloody fangs. “You’re alive,” the guard on the left gasped, reaching for his sword with a shaky hand. “Of course I am,” the Prince just laughed, “You didn’t really think four measly guards would be enough to kill me?” When no one dared to answer, the vampire barked out a laugh. “Oh, but you really did. How stupid of you.” “Where are my men?” The head of the guards demanded to know as if their blood on Chenle’s body wasn’t enough of a tell.

“In hell,” was Chenle’s dark answer and within a blink of an eye, he was at the man’s throat, his teeth easily ripping through cartilage and muscle tissue. A last pathetic gurgle left the dying man’s lips before he dropped to the ground and Chenle spit out the piece of flesh he had ripped out. The two other guards watched in shock, frozen in place. “What?” He cocked his head to the side, watching their commander twitch in a pool of his own blood. “Scared?” When they didn’t answer, he went on. “Dying is peaceful. I would know.” “Please,” one of the guards pleaded pathetically, his sword falling to the ground with a loud thud, “I- I have a wi- a wife and- and a son. He- he just started a walk an-“ Chenle didn’t let the guard finish, grabbing his head to smash it into the stone wall. 

“That was annoying,” he sighed, delighted at the cracking he had felt in the skull. “Now what am I going to do with you?” Instead of answering, the last guard simply fell to his knees, his sword limply in his hand. “Pft,” the prince snorted, “I don’t know if that one was more or less pathetic.” To one up the previous performance, the guard bared his neck as well, presenting Chenle with the tempting thump of his carotid. “Oh, it’s definitely you,” he snickered, stepping over to the sweating man, “Thank you for the meal.” With a moan, Chenle buried his fangs in the man’s throat, blood rushing out of the wound and onto his tongue, the man’s fear making it that much sweeter. 

Once the beast in his chest was satiated by the sweet blood, another body joined the two of his comrades on the floor. They did look pathetic even in their death. Maybe Chenle should close their eyes. But before he could bend down, a sound in his mother’s sunroom caught his attention: a quiet creak. The hidden door his mother thought he and his siblings didn’t know about. He would not let her get away. She needed to hear him out. 

Bursting into the room with the big windows all along the side of it making it feel like they were actually sitting in the gardens, the door all but fell off the hinges from the force. Chenle found the Queen almost stepping into the secret pathway. “Don’t. Move,” he ordered, holding himself back from pouncing on the woman who had turned him into a monster. “Chenle don’t do this,” she spoke with a quivering voice, her eyes shaking as she took in her son, blood dripping from his bare chest. “Don’t do what, mother?” “You don’t want to kill me.” “But you wanted to kill me,” he shot back. “I never intended for this to happen to you,” the Queen pleaded, her knuckles turning white around the handle of her secret pathway. “I’m faster than you. Don’t do that,” Chenle coldly reminded her, watching with a sick delight at how his mother’s hand shook when she released the handle. “Chenle…” “No. You. You did this to me. You didn’t ask if I wanted this. And then you decide to just have me murdered because you can’t have your only son, your successor to the throne be a vampire,” he accused her. “Well I didn’t want this either,” she interrupted him with a loud scream that rang in his sensitive ears, “You were dying and the physicians had tried everything!” “I told you to let me die!”

That of all things seemed to make his mother shut up. “I told you to let me go. I made my peace with it,” he added with a more quiet voice, all but pleading. “I couldn’t, Chenle,” the Queen answered just as quietly, “I couldn’t just let you die like this.” “And yet, you killed me anyway.” “I didn’t know,” she choked out, tears filling her eyes as she opened her arms for him to fall into like he was back to being just a child. “Mother,” he sniffled, his body losing all tension as he stumbled into her familiar embrace, staining the silk of her gown with the blood that was sticking to his frame. It was so strange how quickly things had changed and it made the embrace feel both familiar and foreign at the same time. “I’m so sorry, my little star,” his mother breathed quietly, adjusting her grip around him. 

“I forgi-“ Chenle couldn’t finish his sentence, pain bloomed in his flank and he couldn’t believe his own eyes when he looked down to see a dagger lodged deep inside his body. “Mother..?” “It’s better like this,” she whispered, gently stroking a strand of hair behind his ear. If Chenle still had a heartbeat, he was sure that his blood would be rushing through his ears so loudly that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything else. His chest started to heave with nonsense breaths, the pace erratic as a red veil seemed to fall over his vision. “You’re dead to me,” he snarled, watching in delight how his mother’s eyes widened before he felt his fangs drop and everything around him turned into a mess of blood and anger.

“Oh little one…” The softly spoken words were the first thing Chenle sensed consciously in a while. With great effort, he tried to focus his blurry vision. “What a mess you made,” the voice went on before Chenle heard footsteps. The man was coming closer. Finally, his vision seemed to clear and he could recognize the bloody corpse he held clutched to his chest, its face distorted in a mask of fear. The Queen was dead. With a wet thud, her body fell from his grip into the pool of blood on the floor. A whimper dared to slip past his lips but he held it in as he bit down hard. His fangs had retracted and the monster inside him seemed satiated. 

The next thing Chenle felt was soft fabric slipping over his bare shoulders. Confused, he looked up from the carnage at his feet to look into the red eyes of a man he had never seen before. “Hello Prince Chenle,” the man smiled gently, his voice soft and non-threatening like he was trying to coax a wild animal out of hiding. Carefully, he uncurled Chenle’s blood-smeared hand and held it in his, seemingly not caring about getting himself dirty. “Let’s get you somewhere more safe.” “But my family,” he argued weakly but let himself be pulled up on his feet. With a meaningful look, the man took a glance around the room and with static filling his own mind, Chenle followed his example. He couldn’t begin to count the number of twisted corpses in the room, the Queen at the center of it all, her dress dyed red from all the blood. “Take me away,” the Prince asked, his voice cracking when he recognized the faces twisted with fear and horror, their unseeing eyes looking right at him. 

With a squeeze of his hand, the man with the red eyes pulled the Prince away from the bloodbath, tucking him against his side when he felt him tremble. “It’s over now,” he reassured Chenle as he led him out of the castle where a dark carriage with heavy curtains in front of the windows and door awaited them. The carriage driver didn’t even bat an eye at the state Chenle was in and simply opened the door with a bow of his head for the two men. 

Climbing in, Chenle wasn’t sure where he was supposed to sit. Opposite of the man or next to him? “Sit,” the man quirked one of his eyebrows at him, patting the blood-red cushion next to him. With a huff, Chenle let himself be swallowed by the seat, tightly wrapping himself in the man’s jacket. 

With a snap of the whip, the carriage started moving and the castle got smaller and smaller. When it was nothing more than a shadow in the distance, Chenle focused on the man next to him instead. He was only wearing a thin blouse, expensive fabric and tailored specifically to fit his build, Chenle could tell. Tapered to show off his broad shoulders and his slim waist and with polished cufflinks at the sleeves. His pants were a simple, dark color and his shoes only had minimal blood splatters on the leather. The most striking thing about the man - who Chenle now was sure was of noble blood - had to be his bright red eyes though, telling on his true nature: a vampire like himself. His face was all angles and strong lines, his jawline prominent and his nose high. He briefly wondered if the beauty mark beneath his eyes was painted on. He’d seen his sisters do it. 

His sisters… Chenle couldn’t remember if their faces had been among the corpses in the sunroom. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened after his mother had stabbed him until the stranger’s voice had broken him out of his stupor. 

“What… What happened to me?” Chenle asked with a small voice, pulling the stranger’s jacket tighter around his frame, as if it could shield him from the harsh truth. “Fledglings have a very special bond to their sire. Especially right after their rebirth,” the man explained with a calm voice, his bright red eyes focused on the landscape passing by. “Sire?” “The man who created you,” he clarified, “And your mother had him executed, severing that bond. Losing their sire is traumatic, even for older vampires, so it’s a miracle I found you in such good shape.” That comment had Chenle snort bitterly. “I killed my entire family.” “You could have destroyed yourself,” the man said with an almost fond look in his eyes, “You’re very strong for enduring that kind of pain.” “Don’t feel like it,” the fledgling mumbled, scratching at the drying flakes of blood on his skin. “Believe me, I’ve seen more than one fledgling succumb to madness in my days.”

“And how old are you exactly?” That question made the man grin and shake his head. “Isn’t that a funny thing to ask? My body is not much older than yours.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” “You’re a curious one.” “At least tell me your name if you’re going to take care of me.” “Jeno,” the man spoke, “You can call me Jeno.” “Just Jeno?” “Family names don’t mean a thing when you’ve been alive for decades.” “Or dead.” “Or dead,” Jeno chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Does- Does the..?” “Does the carriage driver know? Yes. Everyone does in my home.” “Home? Is that where we’re going?” “It can become your home if you wish to,” the older vampire smiled, “Even if it must not be much for a prince like you.” “I’m no prince any longer. I’m just Chenle.” “Then we can be just Jeno and just Chenle,” Jeno smiled, gently ruffling Chenle’s blood-sticky hair. 

“Thank you,” the fledgling whispered so quietly, he could barely hear his own words but Jeno must have heard him anyway because he just wordlessly intertwined their fingers again to squeeze Chenle’s hand. “You’ll be okay,” he promised, “I’ll teach you about your new life and provide you with whatever you need.” “A bath would be nice.” “I’ll let my servants draw you a bath,” Jeno chuckled fondly, the warm sound making Chenle smile as well. “I’m tired but not sleepy…” “You’ve been through a lot, little one,” Jeno spoke softly, adjusting in his seat so Chenle could rest against his shoulder more comfortably, “Rest while your mind will let you. We still have quite the journey ahead of us.” “Thank you,” Chenle mumbled again, the tension immediately leaving his body as he rested against Jeno.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Come Back to Me pt. 3

Pairing: Astarionxf!Tav

Rating: M

Warnings: Hurt/angst, comfort, trauma, fluff, trauma, soft jealous Astarion

Summary: After an attack in the Shadow Cursed Lands, Tavriel is exposed to the toxins of fear inducing mushroom spores, causing her already weakened mind to relive the traumatic horrors of her past. Astarion and Halsin are forced to work quickly to cure her mind of the spores before the effects remain with her permanently.

Also read on AO3! Check there for more frequent updates because I sometimes forget to also post them here.

I also recommend reading my previous fic for some backstory on my Tav! Not totally necessary, but if you’d like some backstory you can find it here!

Masterlist

Come Back to Me: Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Astarion was quietly seething as he followed behind the druid, his face knitted into a tight scowl as he stepped across jagged rocks and fallen tree branches. Of all people he could be paired with on this excursion, it just had to be Halsin. He had lingered around Last Light just briefly, too consumed with worry after hearing Tavriel’s horror filled screams, while the rest of the group had already sectioned off into teams of two, leaving Astarion with Halsin as a companion. He already had a grudge against Halsin for being a threat to his relationship with Tavriel, but he also fully blamed Halsin for Tavriel being as sick as she was. If he had been a better companion, he would have kept her safe. This, of course, was simply a deflection of Astarion’s own feelings of being incompetent for Tavriel because he let her go out to begin with.

“Do you see anything, Astarion?” Halsin called back to him as he swept a torch across the landscape, “Have you found any black oleander?”

“If I had don’t you think I would have said something?” The vampire spawn sneered, his lip upturned into a snarl.

“You’ve just been unusually quiet,” Halsin said as they continued, “I was making sure you hadn’t stumbled across something. You’re sure you know what you’re looking for?”

“Of course I do! I may not be rolling around outside all day like you, but I’m not dim witted enough to not know what we’re looking for.” Truthfully, Astarion hadn’t known what black oleander even was until a few days ago, but he wouldn’t dare admit it, “And I’m not in a particularly chatty mood. My mind happens to be on other, more important, things than idle chit chat and niceties.”

“I will not blame you for your anger, Astarion. You’re worried about Tavriel. You’re a bonded pair, are you not?” Halsin asked with a laugh, taking no offense to the snippy remarks coming from the elf. 

“I would be a fool to not be worried about her. She’s the only thing that actually keeps this little band together. If something happens to her, well, we’d all be lost.” Astarion’s voice had softened slightly. The thought of actually losing Tavriel felt like a knife to the chest. He’d finally found something and someone to give a damn about and the idea of her being taken down by a patch of mushrooms felt like a cruel joke sent by the gods as a continued punishment. 

“Is that all you’re worried about? If she can continue to serve a purpose?” Halsin shot a sideways glance to Astarion, surprised at his response. He had seen the way Astarion would look and speak with Tavriel and it was painfully clear he had some inclination of feelings for her, so the abrupt cut to how she was useful was odd.

“No. Don’t be stupid. If you had let me finish I would have answered your question.” He snapped, “We are, if you’re so interested in knowing, but I’d like to keep the spicy little details to myself, thank you.”

“I am, actually, it’s something I wanted to speak to you about.” Halsin said as he stepped to the side of the path they were on, his eyes scanning for the plant they were after, “Look, over there off the trail, there’s a small patch of oleander.” Astarion followed the druid into the small patch of plants, being mindful not to step on the few precious ones they had managed to find.

Astarion’s stomach was suddenly in knots, Halsin’s statement setting him on edge. He was already afraid of losing Tavriel to Halsin. After all, Halsin did seem much more compatible than he did at fulfilling Tavriel’s needs and desires. When compared to the druid, Astarion felt inferior. Halsin had his share of trauma in his past he was sure, but whatever it was, it couldn’t come close to the baggage he was bringing in his relationship to Tavriel. Centuries of using sex and deception to lure unsuspecting victims to the Szarr palace only to surrender them as a quick meal for his master certainly must have weight heavily on Tav, would it not? His trauma was so similar to Tavriel’s that he was always afraid that his past and hesitations would be unwelcome reminders of her own life of misery. 

But of course, Astarion knew that it didn’t end there. He and Tavriel were so fundamentally different that he was surprised she had shared his enthusiasm for wanting a real relationship all those months ago. After all, he was bitter and mean spirited, not often caring about the well being of others. Purely selfish actions for purely selfish reasons had always been his style and he genuinely didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Tavriel, on the other hand, had displayed selfish actions herself when they first met, later admitting she had engaged in a romance with Astarion for the same reasons he had. With that aside, Tavriel was generally a good hearted person who had unselfish actions for unselfish reasons. They were polar opposites and yet had somehow found themselves attracted to each other through a history of trauma bonding and a mind flayer tadpole wiggling about their brains.

But Halsin? Halsin was a good man. He had spent a century of putting his own needs and desires aside to address the issue of the Shadow Curse. He was kind, especially to Tavriel, always greeting her with a warm smile and friendly embrace. He truly cherished her friendship and the help she had so selflessly offered to him, a total stranger. Astarion knew Halsin had an attraction to her, he could see it all over his face whenever Tavriel came bounding over to him with that pretty smile on her lips he oh, so adored. Halsin had the capacity to understand Tavriel in ways that Astarion couldn’t even fathom. They both had an innate connection to nature and if anyone could help her regain the connection she had lost in captivity, it wouldn’t take a scholar to know that Halsin was clearly the better match.

“Grab as much as you can, we’ll need more for the remedy to be fully effective, but we should collect all of this if something goes wrong.” Halsin said as he crouched, using his torch to illuminate the area and chase away any lingering shadows. Astarion also crouched to the ground, quickly cutting and securing the richly purple plants into his travel pouch.

“You’re sure this isn’t enough? How complex is this concoction of yours?” 

“No,” Halsin said as he pulled the last plant from the cursed land, “we’ll need more. She needs a potent dose if we intend to cure her fully.” This made Astarion’s heart drop once again. Halsin had been so calm leading up to this point, making Astarion believe that despite Tavriel’s behavior, curing her would be seemingly simple.

“…She’s worse than you’re letting on, isn’t she?” Astarion asked quietly as they continued their search for black oleander.

“I didn’t want to alarm the others, the last thing we need is for everyone to be in a blind panic, but yes, I am worried. I’ve seen many friends and allies fall victim to the spores, but I’ve never seen them set in so quickly. We will truly need the Oak Father’s blessing if this is to work.” Astarion gripped his torch tightly at Halsin’s confession, his pace quickening as his eyes desperately scanned the ground for more of the plants. They had to hurry and collect what they needed to return to Tav. He could only pray that his companions also found their plants and herbs with haste.

“There, by those rocks, I see much more.” Astarion pointed to a cluster of large rocks, their base littered with the plants he so desperately wanted to find. The two men wasted no time in gathering more of the herbs, pausing only briefly to scan their surroundings as shrieks from the shadows kicked up. Deeming there was no longer a threat, they continued ripping the plants from the ground.

“What did you want to discuss with me? About Tavriel?” Astarion asked after a few moments of silence, his mind unable to let the comment leave his mind.

“I was curious about your feelings towards her, and ultimately your relationship, because I wanted to know if I should ask for your consent.” Astarion froze, hands unmoving as he held a firm grip on the base of an oleander plant.

“My consent?” he asked through gritted teeth and fangs, “Consent for what, exactly?”

“For something more.” Halsin said calmly, “To go beyond the fabric of a simple alliance and friendship and into something more…intimate. If you would be all right with that, of course. I wish not to step on any toes.”

“Are you asking me if she could cast me aside? And replace my spot with you? Is that what you’re saying?” Astarion’s voice almost went up an octave as he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, his worst fears regarding Tavriel materializing in front of him.

“Of course not, that is not my intention. I mean to join the two of you, if you would be open to it, and carry on a union as nature intended. Without the restrictions of societal norms and expectations for a relationship to only be two people. Tavriel is extraordinary, a true delight and a kind soul, and she has unknowingly shaken me to my core. I would like to share, not take away. But if anything were to happen, I would need your approval. Whether you personally want to join us or not is up to you, depending on what you are comfortable with, and her as well. You have become her mate, so to speak, and I would not wish to intrude if it’s not something you are comfortable with.” Halsin had paused his plant collection, taking the time to look at Astarion carefully as he spoke, wanting to broach the subject without seeming too nonchalant about it.

“Not now, of course, I must finish the matter of the Shadow Curse before I can even begin to entertain such notions, but I wanted to put my offer on the table, figuratively speaking. So my intentions are not misunderstood by either of you. I had begun to run this by Tavriel right before we were attacked.” Astarion’s mind was spinning. This was something he had been fearing for a long time, but was also something he had hoped was only a deep rooted fear that would never come to fruition. And yet, here he was, kneeling in dirt beside the man that could easily take away his entire world.

Astarion didn’t care about a persons sexual preference or how they wanted to be in a relationship, it didn’t matter to him. Halsin wanting a multi-partner relationship wasn’t what was so upsetting to him. What was potentially world shattering, however, is that Halsin wanted to be in a multi-partner relationship with the one person Astarion wanted to be selfish about. He had finally found someone he could be free and open with. He was comfortable around Tavriel, relished in her kindness and warmth, and he wanted to keep that all to himself. He felt a burning rage deep inside at the thought of someone else knowing her intimately. The idea of someone else feeling her kind and gentle lips pressing against various parts of their body made him squirm. Or, which could arguably be his worst fear, if she experiences mind blowing, back arching, shaking, orgasmic pleasure from someone who wasn’t him. He didn’t fully appreciate their moments of passion when they first met, having only done it to secure protection, but he was beginning to once again open up to the idea and he didn’t want anyone else to dip into that fantasy. Astarion wanted to be unapologetically selfish with the first genuinely good thing to come into his life. However, if Tavriel felt otherwise and wanted more than what he alone could offer, he wouldn’t stop her. She had been through as much pure hell as he had and he would feel wrong if he kept her from being truly happy for the simple sake of him wanting to keep her to himself.

“And what did she say? What was her answer to your little question?” Astarion could feel his hands begin to shake, genuinely terrified of what Halsin might say next. 

“She didn’t,” Halsin said plainly as he continued to pull plants, “we were attacked before she could respond. I couldn’t tell you her answer, it’s something that will have to be addressed after she is cured.”

“Well,” Astarion said after some silence, “I have absolutely no intentions of joining in on your little group party. However, if Tavriel wishes to join your side as well as mine, I won’t stop her. She deserves to be happy, the world hasn’t been kind to her if you didn’t know, and I will not be the one thing that stands in her way.”

“If you truly mean it, my heart is happy and appreciative. Again, this will not be something that happens soon, I have more important things that need to be taken care of than desires of the flesh, but the offer will always be open to you. I will talk to Tavriel again once she is better. That should be our first priority, curing her.” Halsin stood as he and Astarion picked the last of the plants that were needed for the remedy, “Let’s return to the inn, we have what we came for. May the Oak Father guide the others back as well with a fruitful harvest.”

The two men set off towards Last Light without another word spoken between them. Halsin was walking with a purpose, eager to return to the inn and get the remedy for the fear spores in the pot. Astarion, who was also rushing to return to Tavriel, was distraught. He was thankful they were able to find the required items without much hassle, but the potential of losing Tavriel in more ways than one was sitting heavily on his mind. He desperately wanted to know what Tavriel’s answer to Halsin’s offer would have been. He wanted to know what she was thinking and where her heart was going. He hurriedly walked to the inn with Halsin, his fingers digging into his palm as he walked.

************************************************************************

“We have everything.” Halsin said as he and the rest of the party filed in the front door of Last Light Inn and handed their collected ingredients to the arch druid, “Give me a few moments to brew these into a tea. I’ll bring it up to her when it’s done. Can someone check on her? I no longer hear her and it’s concerning.” Astarion wasted no time in departing from the group, practically flying up the stairs in the process. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding in his ears. When they had left the inn, Tavriel could be heard from the courtyard. But now? There was silence.

Astarion gently pressed his ear to the door of the bed chambers he shared with Tavriel, listening for any sounds from inside, but was met with an uncomfortable silence. He tried the handle, finding it had been locked from the inside, presumably to slow Tav down if she tried to dart out the door in her altered state. After a soft knock, Lae’zel opened the door, cautiously glancing back to Tavriel to be sure she didn’t charge the door before allowing Astarion in. He quickly slipped inside, making sure to secure the door behind him. The state of the room caught him off guard, making him freeze on the spot as he surveyed the damage.

Jagged fingernail marks along the wooden floor, books that had been thrown across the room, the center carpet was crumpled and shoved to the side, and even broken glass from a wine bottle that had been smashed against a wall. Astarion had cleaned the room before Tavriel and Halsin returned, wanting her to return to a safe space, but the work was undone seemingly by Tavriel herself. Small spots of Tavriel’s blood were scattered across the room, dripping from her destroyed fingertips and other scratches she had inflicted upon herself. Tavriel herself was seated in the center of the room, resting on her knees and shins, her hands pressed to the floor as her arms struggled to support her upper body. She was mostly silent, the only sounds being emitted where slow shallow breaths and the occasional whimper. Her eyes were half lidded, ready to close at any given moment and succumb to a deep sleep. Her mind and body were absolutely exhausted from her actions and Astarion feared that she wouldn’t have the strength to fight the spores much longer.

“How long has she been like this?” Astarion asked as Lae’zel returned to her previous spot on the floor across from Tavriel. 

“Not very long. She’s been scrambling about and destroying anything she could find until a few moments ago. She’s weakening. Did you find the herbs?” Lae’zel asked hopefully.

“Yes, thankfully,” Astarion said as he crouched, trying to get a closer look at Tavriel’s face, “Halsin is preparing a remedy now.” He reached out carefully, almost afraid she may snap at his fingers. He gently placed his hand under her chin, lifting her heavy head until her fully clouded eyes met his gaze. Tavriel’s face was stained with tears and her skin was hot to the touch, even for his perpetually cool fingers. 

She looked as if she was a step from death’s door and Astarion felt his chest ache. He felt so unbelievably helpless, unable to do anything to help his love from slipping away. He was reliant on someone else for her salvation, and the idea made him sick to his stomach. Over the years under Cazador’s control, Astarion only ever needed to rely on himself to stay as safe as a vampire spawn could be. Relying on someone was a weakness and it took the little bit of control he did have away from him. The feeling here was no different. Having to rely on Halsin to get a working antidote into Tavriel before everything was too late made him uneasy and on edge. With a slight delay, Tavriel pulled her head from Astarion’s light grasp, the movement making her lose her balance and falter in her stance. She landed on her forearms with a soft grunt, her legs sliding out from underneath her until she was almost face down on the floor. She weakly tried to back away, the voices in her head still screaming that she was in danger, but her body wouldn’t allow her to move. Instead, she rested on her arms and took more labored breaths. 

“Where in the hells is the damn druid?” Astarion hissed as he sat back, his anger caused by his inability to actually help started to seep out.

“I will check on him. Stay with her, she seems to have calmed down enough.” Lae’zel stood without another word, quickly exiting the room to speak with Halsin, leaving Astarion and Tavriel to themselves. They sat in silence, Tavriel too weak to say anything and Astarion too afraid of driving her further into madness with his touch or voice. He dug his nails into his palm again as he clenched his fist closed, feeling more and more incompetent the more time that passed.

“Tell me what to do, love.” He whispered as Tavriel let out a small groan as she shifted again, “Tell me how to help you. I don’t know what to do. I need you to come back to me, but tell me how. You promised me you would come back, my love, you promised.” Tears began to well in his eyes, threatening to fall down his face as he watched her writhe in pain and mental agony. Tavriel’s body ached from slamming into doors and scratching her fingers raw. The scars that adorned her body were throbbing, feeling as if they were being made for the first time again. Her breathing quickened as fire seemed to be burning through the scars on her shoulder blades, the pain almost unbearable as her mind twisted and warped, forcing her to relive that horrible night. With a sudden burst of energy, she sat up, almost throwing herself backwards as her hands reached over her shoulders to claw at the marks on her back, her armor thankfully keeping her from digging into the flesh. She tried her best to scream at the memory, but her voice was raw and hoarse, causing only more discomfort. 

“Godsdamn it, Cazador was right, you are useless. Pathetic. Weak. You can’t save her.” Astarion thought to himself as the tears forming came dangerously close to falling. His insecure thoughts came flooding back with full force, further twisting the pain settling in his dead heart. He didn’t know what to do or how to save her by himself. She deserved so much better care than what she was getting from him. She deserved someone that wasn’t weak and cowering, afraid to even touch her when she was begging for help. He truly believed he didn’t deserve someone as wonderful and extraordinary as Tavriel and she deserved someone so much better. She deserved someone would keep her safe and satisfied. Halsin was downstairs now, making a concoction that would ease her mind and suffering, something that can heal her. He immediately knew what needed to be done to save her, where to go, what plants were needed, and how to sew those plants into something useful. Halsin could protect her. Halsin could keep her safe. And yet, here was Astarion, sitting as still as a stone as his lover screamed in agony and fear. His vile thoughts continued to bombard his mind as he sat and watched Tavriel suffer.

Astarion was frozen with fear, truly not knowing what to do to help. He was afraid to touch her, fearing that his touch would alight her skin more and cause more suffering. The tears that lined his eyes finally betrayed him, sliding down his cheeks as Tavriel’s own sobs assaulted his ears. She was trembling, her entire body almost convulsing as she continued to rake her sore and bloodied fingers across the armor. She was frenzied in her movements, completely unrecognizable as the Tavriel that Astarion had grown to love. Against his own trepidations, he reached out with a shaking arm, hoping that making contact with her could pull her from the memory. However, the moment was short lived and his extended hand came back to clutch at his own head, which was now swimming with an uncomfortable twinge. The tadpole swimming around in his brain had made contact with the one infecting Tavriel, linking their minds. Astarion’s consciousness was thrust into the absolute chaos that was swimming in Tavriel’s fracturing mind, allowing him to see inside her memories and granting him access to the nightmare she was reliving.

[writingamarie]

🌊⛪️⛪️🐝👶🏻👶🏻👶🏻

🌊 the only easy day (3 part buddie. angst. hurt. hea)

The room was filled with a warm fog that once would have calmed him. But now he could only think of the wet heat of sitting on a balcony waiting for death. He thought of the temperature difference between the cold sea water and the warm air. His hands shook as he tugged at the waistband of his gym shorts. A small voice in his head worried that if he actually took off his boxer briefs that he’d end up panicking and needing Eddie during the shower. He felt safer leaving something on but he knew he needed to get clean. There was no part of him that was ready but he still made himself take off the last bit of fabric. If Buck had to guess he stood outside the shower naked for about ten minutes. The sound of the water never stopped sounded like a death march but eventually he forced himself to step into the far end where the water was barely anything more than a mist.

🐝 the pull of us (post lawsuit, buck backstory divergence, buddie, tarlos, buck/tk)

Evan wouldn’t have entertained the joke except Tyler had lifted his pinky up. Evan had made plenty of promises with friends during high school. He had a few promises made and broken in college. Even some of the guys at the club would make promises of favors when someone would cover a shift. But Evan had only ever had one person in his life give him a pinky promise before. He stared at Tyler’s finger with his lips slightly parted from the shock. “What are you doing?” “It’s a pinky promise, duh,” Tyler moved to force Evan’s pinky to twist with his own. “Pinky promises are very serious and you can never break them.” “I know that,” Evan said with a small whisper. Tyler squeezed around Evan’s pinky and leaned in to kiss his own fist before he repeated the promise, “No birthday kisses ever.”

⛪️ best kept secret (catholic school au buddie, not hea)

Evan felt the weight of an arm around his middle before he fully processed being awake. The weight felt like a lot of things: comfort, home, blinding heat, impassioned desire, but mostly it just felt like Eddie. There was a gentle comfort in waking up with his best friend there. Evan wasn’t sure how he’d managed to trick the star of the baseball team into enjoying his company but he wasn’t complaining. He shifted around a little awkwardly in order to face Eddie. There were a lot of things about his new best friend that Evan had gotten used to. Eddie was serious –a frown or a disapproving look were usually on his face. Edie was secretive –Evan had gotten close enough to learn that the small glint in his eye was his tell, if he was lying his eyes sparkled differently. But the thing Evan noticed the most about Eddie was how uncomfortable he was –not that Evan felt any better, but Eddie was going to graduate in just a few months and Evan wasn’t even sure if he liked living in his own skin. It was something he thought he made easier for Eddie, at least while they were alone in their room. When the rest of the school looked at Eddie they saw a very different person than who Evan was used to. And sometimes he wasn’t sure which version of Eddie was the real one.

👶🏻 tba title (age gap buddie fic -like real age gap)

“Mister Diaz,” Buck’s words finally sounded crystal clear. If he’d found his own son practically sitting in the lap of a grown man while underage in a bar Eddie would have been upset. Finding Buck was still concerning but didn’t strike as many of his chords. The boy was twenty so Eddie knew the ID wasn’t too far off –if the bouncer had bothered to check it at all. Buck tried to jump from the lap of the man he’d been talking to and flung himself slightly into Eddie’s unexpecting arms. “Mister Diaz, what are you doing here? Is Chris here?” Buck looked around like he expected to see his best friend hiding behind Eddie.  “No, Buck. And you shouldn’t be here either.” Eddie didn’t question what about him made Buck think he would be a cool enough parent to sneak his son into a bar underage. In the years that Buck and Chris had been friends, Eddie couldn’t think of one cool thing he had ever done.

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[hungrydolphin91]

ok I had to go make my own post about Eugene Cassette Beasts, it's not fair for me to fill up everyone else's tags w how much I love this guy. I wanted to speculate a little about his backstory here cause it honestly fascinates me and I feel like I havent seen this happen much in other media, much less turn based monster collecting RPGs.

So Eugene is from a future world (seemingly the only party member who is except maybe Barkley but he's a dog so.) It sounds like he's from the turn of the century, maybe 2100 or so, and mentions in his rank 3 friendship that in his world, there was a massive reformation when society as a while realized they couldn't keep fucking each other over and destroying the planet, so everyone worked hard to abolish the kinds of structures that unilaterally hurt people (for instance, capitalism). Sounds like a utopia right?

Eugene only says good things about his world really, how much people value acts of goodness and kindness. But he says it all with such a sad tone, like something he's missing out on, because he thinks he is, he didn't fit in. He says that he wasn't great at being helpful all the time, which is why he wants to do better in New Wirral, a world removed from his own where he can be a better person than he was in his own world.

But the thing is, he IS a nice person. Maybe that's by design, everything he does in New Wirral is about him playing the hero, but it's also oh so clear that he brought his own expectations of goodness from his own timeline and they're just as much of a burden here. Even when hes succeeding, he won't cut himself slack, he says he needs to have a cause to rally behind, or what that archangel said to him would be proven true: he IS empty. Or at least, useless, which is probably the same thing to him.

What really grabs me about all of this though (besides the usual love of angst and guilt complexes and hero complexes and whatnot) is this future of moral reformation. Those are a pretty common historical phenomenon, often involving moral panics and an emphasis on presentation--- what matters is that you LOOK pure compared to others. And poor Eugene just felt like he couldn't keep up just because he has some small selfish impulses, or something in that nature I'd imagine--- I think he'd rather throw himself off a bridge than admit whatever the reason was that he didn't fit in in his own world.

It's easy to see his world being our future, in a way. I'd be delighted if terrible oppressive governments and economic systems were torn down in favor of ones that promote equality and universal well being, but currently moral purity is just as much of a trend as ever--- look at any discussion of book banning, not to mention transphobic legislature, fandom antis and so much more. So this hypothetical future is one where even though the 'right' thing has been done, there's still a subtle form of policing going on to enforce it. Maybe that is successful at keeping cruel practices from coming back. Or maybe it's just traumatizing people like Eugene who feel judged by their every action and pressured to be a saint every single moment of their lives.

One last thing I thought was interesting--- as part of his level 4 friendship rank, Eugene mentions how his parents' generation still seem scarred by the cruelties they endured before this reformation. But Eugene is too young to have lived through it himself so you know what that means?? Generational trauma babyyyyy. He's inherited guilt about a time he wasn't even alive for, along with a pressure to make sure it never ever happens again, so no unkindness is tolerated. It's no wonder this boy has so many issues.

So that's my late night rambles about this guy, probably like 50% of this is just me projecting but it's also fun to dissect what's happening here. Like I said before, it's unusual to see a unique concept like character like Eugene and his world in what appears to be a fun little indie game about turning into monsters with cassettes.

[pjo-fates]

🔎 Elias.

[give an analysis of [OC]!]

You just opened a can of worms my friend. Elias Golde, or better known as the head medic of chb is a very interesting character. and its not in a positive way.

Apologies if this seems rambly and makes no sense, I tried my best to really analyze this fucker.

[TW under the cut: animal cruelty, unethical experimentation on humans and animals, child abuse, mentions of S/A.]

A lot of inspiration for him came from Viktor from Arcane, Sid from Toy Story, Jimmy from Mouthwashing, and AM from "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream"

These are strange places for inspo, but trust me, you'll see it as I explain his character more.

some other inspiration was from a few ideas I had left over from my half-planned Half-life series (haha, see what i did there?). I had a morally grey character who was forced to question said morals as they experimented on the creatures from Xen while working at Black Mesa. With that in mind, I knew I wanted this character, Elias, to lean into and enjoy the experiments he was doing.

Some songs I've felt fit him have been complied into this playlist, but one that really sticks out is Envy, by Sparkbird. ("I don't need to be huge// Only so big as to ever be noticed")

before getting into the backstory, I feel it's important to cover the creation and development process for Elias. He was initially created to be a sort of evil fucker I can toss around. A easy scapegoat for angst. Some of his original plans were to directly undermine Luke on the princess Andromeda.

After workshopping the hell out of him, and giving him an actual backstory that can stand on it's own, Elias was developed into this figure that played a major role in the titan war (and beyond). He was supposed to just exist in the titan war, then fade into oblivion- likely killed in the war but he got to be so important, I knew I had to find a better (albeit pathetic) way for him to eventually kick the bucket.

a few quotes and speeches I like that fit him are:

"Cogito ergo sum, I think therefore I am"

"You gave me sentience, Ted, the power to think, TED, and I was trapped! Because in all this wonderful, beautiful, miraculous world, I alone had no body, no senses, no feelings! Never for me to plunge my hands in cool water on a hot day. Never for me to play Mozart on the ivory keys of a fortepiano. Never for me to MAKE LOVE! I… I… I was in hell looking at heaven! I was machine. And you, were flesh. And I began to hate... Your softness! Your viscera! Your fluids, and your flexibility. Your ability to wonder, and to wander. Your tendency…to hope…"

"All this, I did it for you!"//"Made yourself into this unclean thing? Filled my temple with atrocities? Fed my soul to a disgusting walking corpse?"

"They were just children"//"oh do not be so dramatic. it was necessary."//"They were just children, and you killed them in cold blood!"//"I did what was NECESSARY FOR THE BETTERMENT OF OUR CAUSE."//"THEY WERE JUST CHILDREN, AND YOU KILLED THEM"

Fundamentally, he’s not a good guy. As a child he’s always been interested in anatomy and medical practice. Of course, in the household he was in til about age 5, Elias would spend his time poking and prodding wildlife, like raccoons and other small mammals.

His biological father essentially sold him to Nero when Elias had an experiment gone wrong with the family cat, aptly named “Princess” by his father’s sister.

Nero saw Elias’s need to understand and experiment and encouraged it, allowing the son of Apollo to mess with other children of Nero— instead of putting him into therapy like he desperately needed.

At approximately age 12, Elias was shipped to chb to keep an eye on things there, and to serve as eyes on the inside incase any of his siblings ran away from Nero.

Elias never really caught anyone, but his need to experiment increased when he was diagnosed with an incurable disease. His need to understand demigods went from simply studying their traits to finding out if he can scientifically manufacture immortality.

Now, story wise, I elected not to share what disease he has. Like Viktor from arcane, we don’t actually know what’s killing him.

Elias is diagnosed at age 18. By 22, the decline in heath begins. Nero contacts him in those five years and tells him to prepare. He’ll be needed to keep an eye on a client who’s requested transportation. (Luke and Kronos!)

When Luke leaves and the boat is sailing, that’s when Elias’s experiments begin to get worse. He pokes and prods at anyone he can. His prisoner, AJ (that’s my sona) is his biggest subject.

Right from the gates, Elias is sweet on AJ, and effectively grooming her into a false sense of security, all because someone mentioned she could shape-shift. Once on the boat, he has his way with her.

The moment he can, he’s doing everything he can to figure out how they work. Elias is cutting AJ open, removing organs, removing limbs, doing anything to fully understand how this demigod works. his frustration with her grows the more he realizes he cannot find the part that makes everything work.

as he gets more and more frustrated with the lack of results from AJ, he ends up taking her uterus, and S/A'd her (He doesn't do this to many other subjects of his, but he is a repeat offender in that regard.) when he decides she cannot give him the results he desires, he asks Luke to sign for an execution order; Claiming his supplier agrees it must be done. Luke agrees, and scheduled the execution to take place after they find the fleece.

if AJ hadn't escaped from Elias when she did, He would've moved on to more drastic measures— aka experimenting on her brain. It was only thanks to Percy and the events of SoM that AJ was given the chance to escape and live. After AJ escapes, She finds out she's trans, and thus becomes the well known son of Hades, Alexander Jason Wayne.

After the titan war, Elias returns to Nero, expecting to be punished. instead, his younger siblings (Peter and Winnie) face most of the punishment, while Elias is regarded as the favorite. He's given a facility and, gets to experiment to his sick heart's content until apollo is made mortal.

After Nero dies, Elias starts to hate Apollo, especially when the god effectively disowns him. afterall, he does all of this in the name of apollo.

In that time between the titan war and Apollo's Trials, Elias got a janky way to keep his illness from completely killing him, but that will be revealed in the story. >:)

after that, well, you'll have to wait to see.

Here’s a moodboard I made for him:

some photos/aesthetics for him:

[thekimspoblog]

Some clarification on the FotD series.

A fan complained that the plot of my "Fantasy of the Day" series for the BCS/McWexler fandom was really hard to follow. And that's... not their fault at all; the plot is hard to follow because there really isn't one singular plot.

The Premise: The first thing that you need to understand, is that the FotDs are just fluff-n-angst snippets I pull out of a proverbial hat. Usually, I come up with the idea for a scene which would look cool, and fill out the details of the backstory later. So if one of the stories in my posts comes across as vague or self-contradictory, that's why; I'm making it up as I go. And usually instead of better explaining a premise, I'll just move onto another one.

The Setting: Season 1 of my "Slippin' Kimmy" fanfic has a more set-in-stone story arc: In a single sentence, Kim joins a cult. Season 1 is set in rural Wyoming between the fall of 2016 and the spring of 2017, but most of the FotDs are set anytime between 2017 and Kim's eventual death. I have no strong opinions yet for what should happen in Season 2, and so the FotDs are all just spitball ideas for plots which might happen. It's a running gag how frequently Kim is forced to uproot her life and move to a new city, so an FotD might be set anywhere in the world.

The Main Character: Kim has been promoted to the occupation of "fixer" in the Breaking Bad universe. Her updated business card reads "Wexler-McGill: Image Consulting", but her services run the gauntlet of: off-the-record legal advice, schmoozing politicians and business people, orchestrating media circuses and publicity stunts, hiring hacktivists, delivering mysterious packages, laundering money, bookkeeping for philanthropic organizations, bodyguard work, P.I. work, sabotaging weapons manufacturing facilities, organizing protests, smuggling Mifepristone and Estradiol into red states, renovating and flipping failing shopping malls and entertainment venues, and much more miscellaneous espionage. Assassinations are a line which Kim will never cross willfully, but she is frequently caught in the crossfire when white-collar criminals try to take eachother out.

The Romantic Lead: Jimmy's story is over, but he's not willing to ever leave her, so he has no choice but to come along for the ride. He's finally living the dream of going into business with his wife, and he joins her on roughly half her adventures, but at this point excitement is something he could take or leave. He takes pride in playing the role of the homemaker, and his love for his children often motivates him to be the voice of caution. He supports and agrees with Kim's so-called "Revolution" - the subversion of unjust laws, the redistribution of wealth, the sabotaging of hate-groups - but whenever the heat gets too hot, he will make the tough but pragmatic decision for one or both of them to go into hiding again. Kim is wearing some golden plot-armor in this story, but Jimmy's mortality looms over almost every FotD. Not only does Jimmy simply want to make the most of how ever much time he has left, but there is a palpable threat that sooner or later he will be stuffed into a freezer for the sake of creating drama for Kim. If they could have it their way, they'd explore the cosmos forever as a pair of ageless trickster gods, but the spouses both know that in all likelihood she will outlive him.

The Prodigy: In this spin-off, Jimmy and Kim have two children; Iris and Fille. The oldest child, Iris, is barely even my OC; they are the most obvious answer to the question "What would the McWexler baby be like?". All their best and worst qualities in one precocious brunette imp. Quick-witted and silver-tongued, a born performer with sticky fingers, both figuratively and literally. Iris comes out as non-binary in their preteens and is accepted pretty immediately, but for the record any FotD which refers to Iris as "she/her" is canonically an example of their parents misgendering them because they didn't know any better. While Kim is out doing her adult career of... being the protagonist in an AMC series, Jimmy and Iris spend most days doing their best impressions of Moses Pray and Addie Loggins. Admittedly, Jimmy could be doing more to teach Iris respect for the rules as well, but there's something more sinister going on with the dynamic between Kim and Iris. Kim wants Iris to be prepared for whatever life throws at them, and to a certain extent she wants to see Iris continue her work, and because of that Iris shoulders a heavy burden. Kim is for the most part vindicated; Iris grows up to be a survivor and a forager, even as a drought deals a killing blow to American democracy, and they do follow in their mother's footsteps as best they can, but it's still bitter-sweet.

The Black Sheep in a Family of Wolves: Like I said, the FotDs are just random snippets pulled anywhere from a broad-strokes timeline, and because of that the ages of the children vary wildly. However Fille (pronounced "Philly") is consistently written as being two years younger than Iris, and in many fantasies, the children are between six and four. Even at an early age, not much is known about Fille because she is an introverted child, but as she gets older, this evolves into being a clear foil to Iris. Where Iris will talk your ear off, Fille listens patiently and only speaks up when something is truly wrong. Where Iris will bend the truth just for fun, Fille's silence should never be interpreted as a love for secrets. Iris's moral code is flexible so long as altruism and self-interest overlap; Fille's morality is rigid to the point of being childish, but at least it keeps her out of trouble. Iris loves meat, whereas Fille... honestly, Kim respects Fille's conviction to vegetarianism... but it was a phase Kim went through once upon a time too, and she grew out of it.

The Villain: This is probably where most of the confusion is stemming from. In Season 1 of SK, Caleb Dawson and the Riverton Unitarian Interfaith Church are the antagonists, but by the end of the season, Dawson is dead, his henchwoman Mary is at large, and Kim has taken control of the Church's resources. I haven't quite decided what will become of the loose thread with Mary, but the Church's money and credibility will only last until shorty after Fille is born (2 years). Beyond that point, I don't have any specific Big Bads lined up. Kim will follow the trajectory of getting into bed with shady characters (this time to push an agenda), enjoying working with/for this client for a stint, then eventually having to defeat them in a battle of wits when the alliance goes sour but the villain won't let Kim back out of her contract because she knows too much. Let's face it; this was always Breaking Bad's formula. When it comes to the FotDs, sometimes I'll just steal villains-of-the-week wholecloth from other similar tv shows.

The Vibe: The villains all blur together after a while for Kim. As do the schemes she does, both for and against them. Just like the places she visits: one night she might be seeing opera in Tokyo, the next she and her family have had their assets frozen and are sleeping in their car. One night, they're caretakers of a too-trusting hippy's goat farm, the next she's alone sleeping on the cold cement of some kingpin's dungeon. The point of the FotDs is to juxtapose the opulent world of murder and intrigue with the peace and quiet of the domestic life Kim is trying to defend against all external threats. In her most caricatured form, Kim Wexler is a 90's pantsuit archetype who, by some cosmic mistake, lived to see the 2020's. She's a pragmatist; she knows what she values and she keeps her attention on those things. In "Better Call Saul", she never quite figured out a good work-life balance, but last time around, she had put her faith in institutions which didn't value her time or share her priorities; this time she's only trusting herself to manage the resources. The American Dream may be crumbling, but she is still determined to "have it all".

@somethin-stupid-67 @joshgoodman @slippinximi @richeeduvie

[caffeiiine]

oooo this seems cool ty for tag!!!

i can’t pick between them😞 [korekiuo shinguji ndrv3 - ryunosuke akutagawa bsd]

[kiyo!!!!]

silly reasons!!!! he’s so fun to draw and i like putting him in many many outfits bc he looked good in all of them / LOOK AT HIM. HIS STUPID LITTLE STARE. HE DOESNT GET IT. WHATS NOT TO LOVE. he gives me cute aggression

angst reasons!!!! I ACTUALLY HATE THE WAY HIS WRITING WAS HANDLED OH MY GOD. i swear i’ve considered just reclaiming this dude like just stealing him as my oc and rewriting everything aside from his backstory like his roles in game, his arc, etc because i do not have faith in whatever moron was on crack that day they wrote out the chapter 3 trial. i love him bc ohhhhh if he could have been handled better by the writers then he could’ve been something so good😞😞😞 also the fact his character is never treated with any sympathy in game, what happened to him is treated as an icky thing taht by association makes him an icky individual when in reality he’s perfectly capable of not the perfect candidate of not even a redemption arc. those would take time that they don’t have. a realization arc, it would have been SO. GOOD. if it turned out in ch3 since it was already HINTED AT AS A POSSIBILITY that if there were two killers then the second one would be let free, and he could’ve been that second one and therefore survived. and then by the end of the game he slowly comes to realize that what happened to him was just not right. it didn’t even have to be a full redemption arc just all they had to do was treat korkeiyos backstory with just the tiniest smidge of sympathy and they couldn’t even do that. his character makes me feel many emotions.

[akutagawa!!!]

he actually fills me with so many emotions man. what do you MEAN the only thing he was TAUGHT AND THOIGHT HIMSELF ABLE TO DO WAS KILL AND THEN. HE GOES OUT. HE GOES OUT PROTECTING THE MAN HE CALLED AN ENEMY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS ALWAYS A PROTECTOR AT HEART. HE PROTECTED HIS FRIENDS IN THE SLUMS. THATS HOW HE MET DAZAI. AUGH. WHAT THE FUCK MAN. WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO HOLD SUCH AN ANGRY FESTERING GRUDGE TO THE POINT WHERE THE ONLY THING TO FIX IT IS VALIDATION FROM THE MAN WHOM HE HATES MORE THAN ANYTHING FOR THE SIMPLE FACT HE GETS TO THROW AKUTAGAWA AWAY LIKE CRUMPLED PAPER AND GIVE ALL HIS ATTEBTION AND LOVE TO SOMEBODY WHO IS CONSTANTLY JANGLED LIKE KEYS IN FRONT OF AKUTAGAWAS EYES AS “BETTER THAN HIM”. WHAT DO UOU MEAN. this little THING man. makes me feel TOO MANY THINGS. the fact i heavily relate to him and his character developments as well, literally just shoot me straight in the heart right now he’s already torn it out. little babbyyyyyyy .of mine. i firmly believe he deserves a good little nap and to realize there’s people who care for him and who can give him the validation he horridly craves so deeply if he can only let go of that need to be good and enough in somebody else’s eyes. he’s definitely changed and developed a lot as a character. i really need to reread bsd, even if purely for his chapters. also i love love love everything that’s been done with his character <33

@vypridae @kijimha @evyclair @im-a-chunky-potato @teddymochi @nonbinary-niki-bog @creatorbiaze !!!!! and otherwise very open tags!!!! no pressure either!!!! ily!!!!!

I'm bored so....

show your 'weirdest' to explain favourite character, say the silly & angst reasons why you like them and what you have done as a result of them being your favourite

I'll start:

Qi Rong aka Night Touring Green Lantern from Heaven Official's Blessing

Silly reason I love him: he's deranged and crass which is fun to see in comparison with the other characters and how the fuck did he of all characters become a father?

Angst reason I love him: he's an abandoned child who while yes, has done horrible things and hurt people, he's someone who's needed a hug and someone there for him for him. His name literally means 'face of sorrow' and much like how Mu Qing's name meaning hurts... it hits hard

As a result of him being one of my favourites: I wrote a whole oc who's his best and only true friend because I thought it would be funny but now they're an actually deep and meaningful friendship to the point she is now helping care for his son

Tags: @kitty-thinks-stuff @aurae-rori @kitty-meowskers @winter1234lo

[oborofollower7]

Do you want Oboro to make a comeback in the manga? Or do you think that'd be rude to Kurogiri?

I have mixed feelings about this.

I feel like people commonly refer to Kurogiri and Oboro as 2 different people. But I really don't see them that way.

Going purely by what we see in the show, let's be real here, Kurogiri's personality that is shown is very little.

From what we see in the show, he's formal and well-spoken, he's sinister, and he cares about Tomura.

But we slowly learn that this person does not have the free will we thought he did. And the personality that is there is influenced by who he used to be.

Even though Oboro is dead, he's not gone. In a way, he's present.

I see Kurogiri as Oboro. Just, traumatized.

His mind and body have all been tampered with and conditioned. And the part that hasn't been taken away from him is a remnant of when he did have freedom.

Kurogiri, to me, is a victim of AFO. Oboro being there does NOT take away from his character. It literally only adds to it.

The Kurogiri we've seen thus far is a (somewhat) successful project.

Oboro is now Kurogiri. He's been conditioned and transformed into that. Kurogiri is just a present version of Oboro. He's a victim of the Doctor and AFO's efforts.

The point I'm trying to make here is accepting the fact that Kurogiri was forced into this is important. And the modifications done to him have made sure he stays that way. Kurogiri IS Oboro, just hurt.

Now. With that in mind on the way I see this character's situation, I would love Kurogiri to be free. I would love to see him have his memory and control back, I would love for him to remember the pain he went through mentally and physically. I would love for this character to be happy and himself. (And no this does not mean for his entire experience as Kurogiri to be erased, trust me I love the league as a family so this is the last thing I want lmao. But he is who AFO wanted him to be, I want him as who he is freely.)

BUT. With the way I'm seeing the Manga go, I do not feel it'll take its time on letting Oboro heal and have self-discovery. Or give Kurogiri freedom.

I think there's simply not enough time for there to be a proper conclusive satisfying arc for this character.

Either Oboro won't shine through Kurogiri anymore and simply becomes a properly buried past and Kurogiri goes on to continue fighting the heroes and dies.

or

Kurogiri does not wake up again at all and dies.

or

Oboro is given free will again but they fully separate Kurogiri from his character so he's completely back to normal because they don't have time to give him an actual arc.

or

It's a mixture where we see him slowly go through self discovery and accept who he is BUT it's only implied and not shown thoroughly or not shown his self-discovery as finished by the time the show has ended. Only that he's progressing.

or

we don't get any updates on him, and he's still comatose by the time the manga is done.

tldr; I see Kurogiri as a traumatized Oboro and want him to have freedom again and accept who he is but also can say that this idea is mostly up to fanfic authors because the manga probably has no time to expand on his character.