#anyways I love hurt/comfort

[sandeewithtwoe]

Guardian of negative feelings

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog

(Alt versions below cut)

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[wishfulsketching]

More

[qinluna]

NOT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 1050. hurt/comfort. reader is the mc and experiences a panic attack. canon compliant to the l&ds story, no spoilers. character study-ish on the mental state of the mc. sylus is perceptive person and sees through the reader. non-established relationship. not proofread. side note: my writing program crashed after i pasted it to the tumblr draft. lol!

‘Does any of it matter anymore?’

You write those words in a pocket-sized journal every night. The very same one that’s tucked away in your drawer where an assortment of lingerie overfills and molds within one another. You have to do something, anything, to keep your body aware of its movement, its functionality and life.

Does any of it matter anymore?

You almost want to reach out to Zayne about it. To talk. To explain this stream of endless thoughts and the endless void of questioning your worth. Things haven’t been easy, to the point where you wonder if taking the Hunter Exam, valuing your worth on whether or not you passed, was worth it in the end. Not after everything you’ve found out. Not after everything you’ve witnessed and lost.

Now, you had bargained your life. A bold, risky step that required more trust than you could ever ask for. (You got it, regardless. You had nothing to fear in that aspect.)

“Does any of it matter anymore…?”

You ask yourself again, your voice a low whisper. You needed to make sure you were here, still. Some way, somehow. You were now shrouded by a blaring red sky and even darker red moon. Your gaze, holding faux grit, stares into a crimson gaze that looks over your sunken, kneeling form.

He wears a light curl of a smirk, lowering himself to you: “You should speak up, little Hunter. I can’t quite hear you.”

You push down that growing dread in an empty chest. But if it were empty, your heart wouldn’t be housed there, beating ferociously as you were face to face with the one who had answers you needed. If not all, at least some. The ones to point you in the right direction.

You call it going away in your own head—it’s what you do when you feel more than just your heart on the verge of giving out. It’s what you do when your fingers begin to twitch and tremble, your words struggling to come out. You don’t consider it freezing up completely, but a different sensation.

It’s just something you always dealt with on your own, always aware of.

The gentle flick of your fingers at your side gauges your knowledge of it happening again. Surrounded by desperate brokers and merchants; people with vile intentions and greed that isn’t a homely territory back in Linkon City.

You’re reminded why Onichynus thrives. Why Sylus wears the success and pride he does.

Despite his teachings intending to help you hold that same pride, you can’t. You realize too late in this room full of people who could eat you alive, you bit off more than you could chew. You remain by Sylus’ side as he indulges in the meaningless chatter of those who throw themselves at him with wretched desperation—but the room is beginning to feel hazy.

You know you should’ve arranged something. Some kind of signal to let him know you needed a breather.

This was more than a breather you needed. This was an emergency where you’re a glass sculpture, waiting and begging to be knocked over. You hated being made of glass, regrettably—hated being ogled at in that way. You feel it in the worst form now, being the guest of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

Your arm, securely wrapped around his bigger one, shifts back just slightly to tug at his sleeve. It’s not an obvious action, not even to the keen eye like yourself. But it’s enough that you feel the slight jerk, that startles him. To Sylus, this would be a disturbance as little of a fly on someone’s shoulder.

Yet, the air between you two shifts.

Sylus holds a hand up to the two men standing before you both, “Ah—you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just recalled that I am to assist the security detail with an issue. Please, do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He leads you away without another word, brushing off the guests.

Vultures. Vultures. Vultures. Every single one of them.

You hold your breath in a subtle manner, your throat constricted. Sylus’ movement is swift and urgent at once, heading towards the back of the ballroom. He opens one of the double doors, ushering you out first before following closely.

It’s just you two now, in this empty, grandeur hall.

You felt sick. You wanted to die. You wanted every fiber of anguish to leave you be and never come back. You never wanted to feel anything again. You wanted to rip your heart out and burn it, to bleed out to death by its side—

—Does any of it matter anymore?

“Little Hunter,” Sylus’ smooth voice cuts through your clogged mind. His hand comes forward, knuckles gently brushing against your cheek, catching stray tears that roll down, “Just focus on me. You’re alright now.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, your faint breath an overwhelming echo in your head as you come back to yourself. Never before had you seen his eyes so… fond. Gentle. Comforting. It makes you feel sick. You feel the need to lurch and throw up everything you’ve eaten.

Instead, your tears thicken. You blink a few times before lowering your head, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as you pant heavily. Clawing through your throat is a string of sobs, your body tensing along with it.

Sylus reacts with instinct, his voice lowered as he gently shushed you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing you into his strong torso. To hide you away from the world, to delicately hold your sorrows.

“You’re alright, Little Hunter.” He whispers into the top of your head, lips brushing softly against your hair, “I feel your shame, there’s no need to carry such a thing. I’m not upset.”

You hiccup, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back—looking up at him: “You’re… not?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. His fingers gently tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, offering you the most warmth he possibly can in this moment. Unfamiliar, but not unappreciated. You’re more grateful than anything, in spite of everything you two had rough edges about.

“Never,” he assures you with a smile. “Not when it comes to you.”

[thoughts-rambles]

"You are a gross smelly otaku."

Levi was stunned at your words, he knew he was but- weren't you supposed to comfort him? You were supposed to love him- to see him as anything but that. Was he wrong to hope for a love like those in the mangas he read? Maybe he truly was doomed to be alone, maybe he really was a good-for-nothing shut-in, maybe he didn't deserve you. But he wanted you! He wanted you so badly; you've indulged him before, couldn't you indulge him again?

You sat in front of him on the floor, watching in real time as the words you said sunk in. It's as if time froze, the only indication it hadn't being the soft buzz of the aquarium and quiet music of the paused video game you'd been playing. You knew they weren't the words he wanted to hear, but they were the words he needed to hear. After a minute or two, you slowly took his hand in yours, only then did he meet your eyes once more.

"Levi," you spoke quietly, "I'm not going to lie to you anymore." He felt his heart sink. He didn't want to hear the truth; his eyes watered as he spiraled once again. He didn't care if you didn't love him- why would you? All he wanted was for you to pretend, let him believe you loved him and in return he'd give you the world. "Levi, you are flawed." Your words were muffled under the ones spinning in his head. "But I still love you."

Love was what broke him out of his dismay. He looked at you again, truly looked at you, and he saw nothing in your eyes but complete love and admiration. You spoke up one final time. "Levi, denying your flaws is denying you. You're not perfect- you never will be- and I don't care. I love you, Levi, flaws and all."

[2129888]

i'll reassure you as many times as you need

[ddocson]

Hi ranchers community ............... i am thinking about them

[lizardkingeliot]

me: i'm fine

the tender voice of lestat de lioncourt, separated from the love of his life for decades with no idea where he is or how to find him, turning on a reel in my head since 3 o'clock this morning: mon cher are you ill what's happened to you mon cher are you ill what's happened to you mon cher are you

[signanothername]

Delicate and fragile treasure, just like your little soul

Bonus sketches cause your honor… they’re both autistic af

[kristoffs-lullaby]

Do you think I’m hard to love?

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Learning Czech for my Arcane fics. Russian for the YOI fics. Spanish for the Voltron fics and French just cause. Call me Mr. Worldwide. In all seriousness, half the languages I’m learning are just because I’m tired of looking for shows with subtitles.

Hurt/Comfort, slight ooc, thinly veiled venting session

(Masterpost)

✒︎⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆𖡼𖤣⋆ 𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊⋆✩₊˚

“Um, Councilman Talis?” Her meek voice echoed off the laboratory walls. It was a stormy afternoon. The crackling lighting illuminated the walls. The room was grand, dark and quiet. The door creaked behind as she approached the work bench. “C-Councilman…”

“He’s gone.” A voice cut through. She turned over to find the other scientist hunched over his desk.

“Oh, I was actually looking for you Mr.Viktor..sir…”

He did not look up. “Yes, what is it?”

“Um, Assistant (L/N) is still in the greenhouse. I’m heading home and I was hoping you could check on them at some point.”

That caught his attention. You had today off, that’s what you told him at least. Viktor sat up, bones cracking into place as he stretched. “Yes, thank you. I will go to them before I leave today.”

She sighed in relief, “Thank you so much! It’s been a stressful week for us all.”

“Did something happen at the hearing?” He asked before she could leave the room.

Worry built up in her silence. Concern in her voice she asked, “Were you not informed?”

✒︎⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆𖡼𖤣⋆ 𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊⋆✩₊˚

It’s such a shitty day for rain. You spent the last five hours cleaning the greenhouse, taking notes on fungal growth and angrily writing sticky notes for your morning shift colleagues. Notes you didn’t have to write since you would most likely be back here to do more work anyway but, maybe the thought of you not coming in would evoke some sort of productive reaction.

Some called it unnecessary. But they weren't botanists. They didn’t work at Piltover Academy. They weren’t on the cornerstone of something revolutionary.

You were. Well, you were.

It was a bitter feeling to wash down but you did nonetheless. You pushed aside the negative thoughts when you heard footsteps coming towards you.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Viktor said.

You spared him a glance before going back to your sticky notes. “Funny, I was gonna say the same thing.”

He took a few steps, towering over your crouching body. He eyed the myriad of colorful notes lining each individual planter and pot. “Why didn’t you tell me you came in?”

“Did it matter? I thought I’d be done by now but of course! No one does their job but me around here.” Your dismissive tone didn’t do much to sway him. He still stood behind you, watching you work. “Who told you I was here?”

“That’s not important-”

“It was Reecee wasn’t it.” You groaned.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. You’re here and you're upset.” He stated.

You scoffed, “I am not.”

“(Y/N).”

Of course you couldn’t hide your destestion from one of Piltover’s Finest, much less your boyfriend.

“Tell me what happened.” He urged.

“Didn’t Reecee tell you?”

“She said you had a meeting.”

“A meeting?” You said with a disparaging smile. “I had the meeting today.”

Viktor was well aware of “the meeting”. You had spoken about it at length ever since you were students. This was your Hextech. Your years of studying and research to get this meeting. Yet here you were, hunched over little sprouts on a cold rainy day.

You had a pained smile as you turned to face Viktor. “They didn’t even care. Years. Years of testing soil in the Undercity to clean the air, and they didn’t. Even. Care.”

Your voice was shaking. Your smile was dropping. Tears built up in your eyes. You could hear the committee’s voice clear as day.

“It’s just not viable.”

“We don’t have a large enough…overview of the Undercity’s layout.”

“The experiment could damage the already established ecosystem.”

Like they gave a shit about the ecosystem. Like they gave a shit about the Undercity!

“I was so desperate that I even said you and Jayce would back me up! It didn’t matter. They didn’t care! You know who did get a meeting with the higher council?! Ian-fucking-Rottmeiser!” You launched the notepad against the greenhouse wall, the looser notes flying up in the air. Truthfully, Rottmeiser wasn’t undeserving. In fact he worked hard on his proposal to integrate more plant life into Piltover. But that was just it. Piltover. He wants to help Piltover. They all want to help Piltover. It’s always Piltover.

“So now I’m here, doing my job. Cause that’s all I’m good for I guess! Just another Lab Assistant.”

Viktor pulled you into his arms. Your hand bunched around his sweater as the tear overtook you.

“It’s okay miláčku,” Viktor’s soothing hand rubbed your back.

“I don’t understand…I worked so hard…why not me…” You cried. From the moment you were born you were unlucky. Anyone born in the Undercity was unlucky. Your father was unlucky and drank contaminated water. The rest of you survived until your mother died on the Bridge of Progress. That just left you, on the other side of the bridge, separated from your remaining family in Piltover. And you studied everyday. You made it into the Academy, you climbed the ranks. Not a day went by without you working towards your goal. To improve lives, to save people! You spent week after week with your siblings, collecting samples in the Undercity. Risking your lives, sneaking in and out of Piltover, all to this meeting. And they didn’t care.

“How am I supposed to face them again?! I failed Viktor! I’m a failure!”

Still Viktor held onto you. Painful wails left you until your throat was raw. You unclench your fist as you relax against him. Shoulders slouching in defeat and Viktor’s warm hand never leaving you.

You sighed with a tired rasp in your voice. “I just wanted to do something right. To know it was worth all I had lost. I should’ve stayed in the Undercity.”

“Miláčku, look at me.” Viktor’s soft hands cupped your face. He gently lifted your head, his thumb wiping stray tears away. “You are exactly where you need to be right now. You are not a waste.”

“I failed Viktor..”

“No you didn’t. You did what you set out to do. You won, they lost. And when Hextech helps advance organic life and biodiversity, they will all be looking up to you.” His reassuring smile helped ease the pain. No one in Piltover could truly understand you like Viktor did. No one in Piltover lived through what you did except for Viktor. From the day you two met you promised you would rise above whatever was thought of you.

“You would do that for me?” You cooed softly.

He pressed a soft kiss against your temple, “I can’t trust any other botanist but you.”

Viktor stayed close by as you closed up for the day. You begrudgingly agreed to taking the next two days off (which your boss suggested anyway). Mostly because that meant you got to keep Viktor with you for two days as well. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky on your departure down the wet streets of Piltover. After a crowded tram ride you both huddled inside of your apartment. You both melt into the soft couch cushions. Viktor’s head on your shoulder, his hand intertwined in yours, soft kisses pressed into your neck with sweet words in his native tongue. You felt your worries slip away as you nodded off. Viktor took notice and shifted your body to rest against his chest.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[x-reader-things]

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Ekko x gn!reader [could be read as either romantic or platonic]

Summary ; In which you and Ekko help each other find your spark of creating again.

Requested? ; No. Self indulgent.

Warnings ; hurt / comfort, grief, a hint of survivors guilt but mostly just guilt in general, loss of a friend [unnamed uncanon character], not exactly a warning but hair is mentioned w / no specific hair type described.

Word count ; 2.3 k words

——————————————————————

You stare at the mural in front of you.

Tall and daunting. The tree grew around it like a shield, and the portraits were protected by the home built above in the branches.

Rain pattered on the ground. It had begun to soak through your clothes, dotted cold and unwelcoming on your cheeks. Slid off your head and yet caught into your hair at the same time. You were lucky it wasn’t pouring.

It smelled. A mix of petrichor and something putrid. No doubt from the smog that always left the sky over Zaun grey, and never clear enough for the sun to fully peak through. Such is the usual, for the undercity.

None of that mattered, though.

You were tasked - well, you took it upon yourself - to paint a portrait of another fallen Firelight. You were an artist like most of them were. You painted in your downtime for a while, up until recently.

The past year hadn’t been kind to you. Even with the Firelights being there, existing as a home. As a beacon of hope. For change. It wasn’t enough to fan the flames of the dimmed spark of creativity, that you longed to feel once again.

One failed mission after the next. An injury in your leg that had you benched for weeks. Chembarons were getting reckless, and enforcers were relentless - you feared when the other shoe would drop, when shit would hit the fan.

And then, the recent loss.

A close friend of yours.

The guilt was impudent. Almost impertinent. It seared into your bones like an angry flame that simmered and waited. Stars, you hated it so much. It never went away, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself by throwing yourself headfirst into work.

You took up more tasks despite the stinging twinge in your leg. You did more chores under the guise of letting fellow firelights take a break. Some meaningless and small, others bigger and more meaningful. Busying your mind so you didn’t have time to think too much.

And you took this task, especially, because you thought you could handle it.

You thought this would knock you out of your stupor, let you create again, out of respect for your fallen friend. Give yourself an outlet to let things be, let your mind be content, albeit in a melancholy way.

But the moment you stared into the blank space you were given to work with, all you could do was freeze.

One wrong move, and you’d fuck it up for good. One wrong stroke of a brush and a spray can would mess up the image of that friend.

And starting would ruin the blank space even more. It’d have marred the image you had in your mind, the one you needed to begin soon, lest you get sick from the rain. You didn’t want to mess it up.

You didn’t want to fuck it up.

You didn’t want to ruin the image of your friend.

The friend who you lost because the phantom pain in your leg grew too much to the point where it screwed up your footing on your hoverboard, made you swerve around an incoming bomb being thrown by a blue haired woman working for Silco, made you knock into your friend who lost their own balance and fell with a mind shattering scream, and then—

“Still haven’t started yet?”

Light thunder crackled in the distance, the rumbling amplified by your hyper vigilance.

Startled, you took in a sharp breath, and instantly turned to where you heard the voice from. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath in. Your lungs were grateful for the intake of air.

On the wooden balcony below you, you caught sight of the main firelight leader. Ekko.

Arms crossed, eyes tired, head tilted in the usual way he did while regarding something he needed to comprehend. The twisted locks of his hair moved with his head, vibrant against the greyed out colors surrounding you both. Usually, the grounds and the walls surrounding the firelight hideout were more colorful. Today, the rain made it more somber.

“I…”, you tried to form a viable excuse. Whatever your words were caught on the tip of your tongue, and refused to make themselves known. Your eyes flitted back to the blank part of the mural, and back to Ekko.

You wondered if he’d understand.

“I. Can’t.”

Your words were stilted. Hesitant. They cut through the rain like a knife. Unsettled in the air.

Ekko straightened up ever so slightly. He dipped his head the slightest bit lower, with a blink and a raise of his brows. His dark brown eyes urged you to continue.

“I-I can’t—“, you repeated, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Your thoughts were buzzing in your mind and you couldn’t stop the words from flowing in time. They tumbled out in a jumble you swore on you could comprehend, and your arms gesticulated as you paced on the creaking wood below your feet.

“—every time I try, I just. Can’t. And I need to do this, I have to. I promised I would. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened but I need that to stop, I have to do this because they’re my friend and I can’t fuck this up, I can’t ruin the image of them. And I can’t fucking—“

You kicked a paint can at your feet. It soured over the ground below you, and felt to the grass well below the balconies.

“—bring myself to pick up a single one of these paint cans.”

Ekko’s eyes followed the paint can while it fell. It hit the dirt below, and the distant thump was drowned out by the rain. He clicked his tongue, and sighed with a shake of his head.

You were angry. You were grieving. It’s not like he could tell you to stop, nor would he ever. Any and every Firelight knew what it was like. Seeing you like this, though - abound with ideas, but with no spark, no drive anymore…

It reminded him too much of himself.

He was a leader. The leader of the Firelights. He focused his time on making their hideout a home. Bit by bit, he picked up the broken pieces of Zaun. Did his best to, at the very least. The chembarons, Silco and Shimmer proved difficult, along with Piltover.

With all that work, and all that responsibility, it left him restless. Left him exhausted. Even with the help of Scar, his second hand man, and many others within the community he created, it still weighed him down. Every time he opened that journal of his, without the need of making a blueprint for a new gadget to create, without the need for a map for a plan, the pages were blank.

When he tried, those pages were ripped. Those pages were full of jagged lines, or crinkled up and tossed to some corner of his messy room. He’d stare at those pages for hours, head in his hands, and wonder where the hell his spark went.

When did he lose it?

How?

Ekko took a few steps forward, and pulled himself up to the platform above. With a grunt, he heaved over the wooden railing as carefully as he could. The rain made everything they stood on wet, and prone to slip on. When he stood up, and dusted his hands off, he got a clear look at you.

You forced out a sound, a mix between a scoff and a wry laugh. Ran a hand over your head, and pushed water droplets flat onto your hair. Tore your eyes away from where the paint can used to be, and back to the mural. “Been stuck for months. And the one damn time I need to create, for them—“

You sharply gestured your arm out to the blank spot - an eerie crème colored sight compared to the rest of the wall, save for a few cracks - and your voice trembled. Water droplets fell from your hand as it flicked away from the top of your head.

“Hey—”, Ekko reached a hand out, and rested it against the opposite arm that stayed at your side. He grasped your elbow, and gave it a gentle tug. It tore your attention away from the wall, and back onto him. His voice was calm, almost somber. “— C’mon.”

He took in a breath, and his other hand made a breathe-in motion. You followed in suit, the smell of petrichor invading your nose, air filling your lungs. The tension in your shoulders went tighter.

After a few seconds, Ekko slowly breathed out. You followed him, and the tightness in your muscles faded ever so slightly.

Once Ekko was sure you were calm enough, he scoffed out a small breath, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a wry sort of smile. It was small, but it was there.

“I… get what you mean”, he started. His voice was in a softer tone. One you didn’t hear as often, compared to his ‘Leader Voice’. It blended into the ambient noise of the rain, yet it was perfectly clear for you. Never broke the calm like the thunder did.

“When I got good enough, I started this—” Ekko looked at the wall behind you, an old ache settling into the small pinch between his brows. “—the mural. Thought that since i the skills, I could put this up. Thought that I could make something good, make something to remember them by, for...”

He sighed through his nose. You followed his gaze, and landed on the portraits you’ve known for years. Six portraits. The oldest ones. The same style, the same paint, the same process.

All were Ekko’s. The people he knew, before the Firelights had become The Firelights. Before he had to grow up as quick as he did.

“… your family?”, you asked tentatively, to complete the sentence for him. Ekko hummed in acknowledgment, and the smallest hint of a smile grew on his face.

“Yeah. My family.”, another sigh, and his shoulders dropped when he looked up at the rest of the mural. “Back then I created so much. Started this tradition, whenever we lost someone. Helped to create so many things for us. For the Firelights. A lot like you did, when you first started here, y’know? But now—”

Your eyes met again.

“—you can’t even look at a blank page anymore.”, you finished. He gently squeezed your elbow, and your hand had instinctively found its way to rest against his forearm.

“You get it”, he nods. “So…”

He let go of your arm to lean down and grab a paint can. Your hand lingered against the arm of his jacket, the outside of it already littered with dark spots from the rain. When Ekko stood up, he shook the spray can at his side. The mix bearing hit against tin of the can, and mixed the paint up enough to be properly used. After that, he took your hand off of his arm, and turned it so that your palm was facing up. He placed the paint can into your hand.

“—Let’s just… Take things slow. See how things go from there, alright?”

The cool metal of the can soaked into the skin of your hand. Your fingers curled over it, and tightened their grip.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”, you whispered.

The very thought of starting the portrait you dreaded to creeped up from the back of your mind. The cold seeped back into your spine. You wouldn’t say it out loud but it terrified you to the very depths of your being.

“You won’t.” Ekko’s voice broke through the anxious haze that began to cloud your head again. His hand remained on the other side of the paint can in your hand. A promise that he wouldn’t leave you alone. “I got you. Besides—“

He gestured to your leg. A reference to the injury. “—standing up here alone for hours at a time won’t be good for that leg of yours. Figured you need someone to help when you need to rest it.”

You gave him a weak smile. A small thank you for the thought. He wasn’t wrong. Standing for that long would hurt. However…

“It’s gonna make it real, Ekko.”, the tremor in your voice returned. Warmth stung behind your eyes. Warm tears, against the cold air. “Losing them.”

The tremor in your voice this time had finally broken it into pieces.

“I know.”, Ekko murmured. He definitely knew. “It’s gonna hurt for a long time. But this—“

He waved his hand towards the mural. “—is the first step to healing. I’m gonna be right there with you.”

You nodded, and wiped a stray tear that fell from the corner of your eye.

“Alright.”

Ekko moved his hand away from the can, and you walked forward. You stepped on the creaking wood of the step stool in front of the mural. The intimidating blank stretch of the concrete felt way larger than it appeared. But when you took a deep breath, and caught the encouraging nod of Ekko when he went to your side a little ways away, the tension fell away.

The rain pattered calmly behind you.

The cold didn’t sting as deep. Neither did the guilt.

You shook the can at your side again, and raised it up to the wall. You sniffed once, and exhaled a shaky breath.

One spray after another.

One shape formed into an ear. Another, a nose. Soon the eyes.

And soon, a face. A little extra help from Ekko turned that face into a person. Your friend.

Nothing was marred, nothing was ruined.

And for once, the world seemed a little less cruel.

[heleizition]

this is my naruto oc age 12 and age like 15 lmao she goes through it

[pastafossa]

"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed. 

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.” 

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of. 

You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait. 

 “We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”

Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.   

Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it. 

 “Just… be gentle with him, dear.” 

Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind. 

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered. 

He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness. 

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.” 

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world. 

It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.

He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.

That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.

After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow. 

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you. 

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours. 

Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider. 

“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for. 

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

[seokminfilm]

made for me | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, fluff, kissing, after-shower blues, seokmin uses pet names (baby, sweetheart), reader uses seokmin's nicknames, mentions of weight/body shape, hurt/comfort, seokmin soft hours

now playing: made for me, muni long | word count: 1.4k (for @kstrucknet)

The mirror was foggy in the bathroom as you stepped out of the wet shower, and you wrapped your body in the plush towel as you dried your hair.

You and your boyfriend Seokmin had gone on vacation to celebrate your second anniversary, and you were living the dream with him by your side. He had spent the whole day spoiling you, taking you out to candy stores, and giving you the option to pick lunch for the two of you to eat.

You had indulged in everything he got for you, and you felt like it was starting to show in your body. You were never really self-conscious about how you looked, but it seemed like today that was starting to change. You had refused a bowl of ice cream Seokmin was working on making for you and hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime.

Even now, as you saw your figure in the foggy mirror, your face fell as you fidgeted with your fingers, trying not to overthink it. Why did you feel so guilty about eating good food all day? It wasn't a crime, was it? Seokmin loved you for not just how you looked, but who you were as a person, and what you believed in—he stated that many times.

Would he still love you if your body was like this?

Before you knew it, cold tears were running down your cheeks, and you picked up your dirtied clothes, trying to dry them before you left the bathroom. The mood around you had dropped, and you could feel it everywhere, even in the bottom of your stomach. It was a sickening feeling, one you hated to feel.

After you had got some sort of composure, you left the bathroom, body being greeted by the warm air of the hotel room. Seokmin lay on the bed, texting on his phone as he cleared his throat, hand going to his neck.

He was wearing the sweater you had bought him in the city on your shopping spree earlier and the pants he had paid for himself sat baggily on the bed, bunching at a clump around his ankles.

He looked up from his phone at the sound of your shuffling, and his handsome features broke into a smile as he turned the device off. "Hey, beautiful." His voice was sweet to your ear, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile, dropping your dirty clothes to the floor.

"Did you have a good shower?" Seokmin asks, standing up as he approaches you. His hands run through your wet hair, and you nod quietly, letting him kiss you as he smiles against your lips. "Yeah."

"Well, good. Hey, I was thinking we could watch a romcom and I could order some snacks from the reception desk. What do you say?" Seokmin's eyes caught the light of the hotel room, and you offered him a weak smile, looking off to the side before you answered.

"You can eat the snacks. I'm okay." You say, and Seokmin takes your face in his hand, cupping your wet cheek as he frowns just slightly. "You sure? I was gonna order your favorite."

"Yeah, Minnie, I'm sure." You say again, and Seokmin nods, pressing a kiss to your lips as he returns back to the bed.

You watch him as he walks, heart clenching as the bathroom thought pops up in your head earlier. Seokmin said he would always love you, but would that change if you changed? Would it change if your body changed?

"Um, Seokmin?" You question before the thoughts get worse, and Seokmin looks up at you, attentive and ready. "Can you maybe...leave the room while I get dressed?"

"Baby—you want me to leave? I mean, I respect your boundaries and what you want, and if you really want me to go, I'll go, but..." Seokmin looks up at you confused, glasses going white for a second as his phone lights up beside him. "I've seen your body before, sweetheart. Why do you want me to leave now?"

Your face flushes at his question, and you look down at your slightly worn fingernails, eyes watering again. "I just...I don't think you wanna look at me."

Seokmin's face falls before he stands up, walking towards you again as he runs his hand through your wet hair again, soft lips parting as he frowns just slightly. "Baby, why would you think that?"

"I just don't think you want to look at me anymore. Why would you want to see me when I look like this?" You ask, and you hear your voice shake with unshed tears and tension in your chest.

"Baby, what makes you think I don't want to look at you anymore? I love looking at you. I love admiring you. I love you. Why would you want me to stop, sweetheart? Can you use your words for me?" Seokmin asks softly, voice sweet and calm as he holds out his hand to you.

You take it, and he leads you to the bed, sitting on the edge of it with you as you wipe your tears, now freely falling, with the damp towel.

"Let's talk about it, baby," Seokmin says softly again, patting your bare, damp thigh as you sigh, nodding. "Seok, I think I'm gaining weight."

Seokmin doesn't say anything, letting you talk instead as he stares at you with soft eyes as his hand continues to rest on your thigh.

"I looked in the mirror when we got back, and my stomach was a bit more rounder than before. I thought I was bloated and it'd go away on its own, but it's been almost three hours, Seokmin." Your voice sounds so foreign—so shaky and so unsure. The tears haven't stopped, and your lips quiver as you taste your tears.

"Baby, is that why you think I don't want to see you? Is that why you wanted me to leave the room when you were gonna get dressed?" Seokmin pulls you into a hug, arms wrapping around you as you nod quickly, letting your head fall into his chest and breathe in his natural scent.

"Sweetheart, look at me." Seokmin gets on his knees, taking your hands in his as he looks up at you. You do what he says, letting him take over as his brown eyes meet yours.

"You're still as beautiful to me as you were three hours ago, four days ago, two weeks ago, and two years ago. Nothing about that will ever change, no matter how big or small you think you are—physically or emotionally. Everyone's bodies are different, but that doesn't mean you don't get less love. Love is loving someone for who they are, not just how they look, sweetheart." Seokmin consoles you, and you nod, letting Seokmin wipe your wet cheeks of the falling tears.

"Never think because you grow or shrink in size that it will change how I feel or think about you. You are more than your body, baby." Seokmin smiles at you gently, and you nod, giving him a smile as he kisses your kneecaps and knuckles softly.

"I love you." You whisper, and Seokmin gives you a wide grin, the one that makes your heart flutter as he meets your eyes again. "I love you more. I'm always here—forever and always."

Nodding, you stand up, reaching out your arms for Seokmin as he pulls you into one more tight hug. Seokmin dramatically sighs as he hugs you tightly, making you giggle into his chest as he presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips again.

"Now, why don't you go ahead and get dressed, baby? I'm still getting snacks, though." Seokmin smiles, and you nod, holding his hands as you ask, "Can I still get some of those snacks?"

"Of course you can. Why are you even asking that?" Seokmin pouts, and you laugh, letting your head fall into his chest again as he scoffs.

"Okay, sorry, sorry." You apologize, and part from Seokmin's embrace, letting your towel drop slowly as you pull on Seokmin's sweatpants and shirt. The smile that forms on your lips when you meet Seokmin's gaze makes him smile too, and he can't help but sigh, approaching you as he kisses you lovingly.

"There's my pretty girl. You're so pretty and so perfect," Seokmin whispers as he pulls away just slightly, and you let your hands run across his broad shoulders, smiling up at him as he scrunches his sharp nose and kisses the tip of your nose.

"It feels like you were made for me," Seokmin whispers again, and you giggle, feeling like you were made for him, and he for you.

[madaqueue]

i wish there was like . a rule book on how to interact with people