#little hurt comfort if you will

[smallestapplin]

Idk if this has been spoken of yet, but I am aware of the submas fox god au.

But hear me out.

You met the twin God’s in Hisui, after you got tossed there by Arceus.

The two having taken a liking to you, Arceus’s champion.

You’re there for so long, bonding with them, and eventually becoming their mate. Loved and adored by not only them, but the world you saved.

Ingo and Emmet get worried each time you leave their shrine, fearing something will happen to you every time you leave.

But you always come right back home to them, so what’s to worry about?

You spoke of how you were close to finishing the pokedex.

They felt like something was off, by the two alpha Zoroark hybrids didn’t stop you, you’re an adult, you can make your own choice.

But you don’t come back.

They search high and low for you, panicking the more they can’t find you. You didn’t leave them, that they know, as it’s like you just disappeared.

So they wait.

Never taking another mate, only waiting for you.

They wait at their shrine for centuries.

Hoping to find you once more, or to find out what happened to you.

They still have your old clothes, it’s all they have left of you, as your Pokémon team had all since grown old and passed.

The clothes no longer have your scent, but at least they have photos of you.

Their waiting bleeds into the modern day.

Their shrine old, mainly only visited by old school townsfolk and other hybrids.

They hope to see you, every time they have visitors they can only hope it’s you.

And maybe one day, they hear the chime of their bell, alerting them to a visitor.

But a scent catches their attention, it smells so familiar, it smells like…

“Ingo? Emmet? I’m home!”

You call out.

Both nearly toppling over each other to run to the front of the shrine, it has to be a cruel joke.

Yet when they see you.

You look the same as you did when you left.

Sure your clothes are modern, but it’s you.

Some scars peeking out of your clothes, scars they remember patching up themselves.

You’re home.

[basalting]

after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"

it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

fear was the first and last defense of all your kind. and yet, you had not thought you would ever find yourself so paralyzed by it, especially not like this. not with him.

aka i think abt what it must be like to be a mouse in a world where animals are people a lot and i bet it would especially suck if ur love interests suddenly got infected with some kind of virus that made them murderous and bloodthirsty lmaooooo

[sysig]

Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)

[chuluoyi]

ive got an idea where theres like a school dance and you and satoru go together and you two are slow dancing together until pregnancy nausea gets to you and you get extremely dizzy and almost pass out cause you didnt wanna ruin the moment. AND SATORUS SO WORRIED AAHAHDH i love this idea

it’s during a gala in honor of students’ graduation. you don’t want to miss it because you want to congratulate hakari and kirara in person, so you didn’t tell your husband that you have thrown up 3x prior going together to the venue.

and you really shouldn’t have because halfway through the event, you don’t feel too well anymore.

“you look pale,” satoru whispers in your ear worriedly as you slow dance together. “do you want to rest a bit?”

“no,” you insist. “i’m fine—”

but the second you said that, your vision blurs and you miss a step. and you would really fall if not for satoru’s arms holding you tightly.

“hey—” he looks down at you, discovers your labored breathing and clicks his tongue. “you’re not.”

no one probably notices it, as satoru somehow turns it into a part of the dance step before he sweeps you off your feet. everyone who sees immediately claps their hands and whistles, and he flashes them all a thin smile before whisking you to the infirmary.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as soon as he lay you on the bed, his piercing blue eyes assessing you. “queasy? have you taken your anti-sickness pill?”

oh. you shake your head, feeling guilty for forgetting it. but you’re surprised when he procures it from his pocket, realizing it. he brings your medication around in case it’s necessary.

he gets you a glass of water and ushers you to down the pill. afterwards, you lay back on the bed and close your eyes, willing the vertigo away.

“you big dummy… you should’ve told me.” satoru strokes your head with a frown. “you can’t wait until you pass out. do you like making me worry?”

“no… i don’t mean to…”

“there are two of you now.” he places an hand on your belly. your bump isn’t visible yet, but it’s really there and he can feel it. he can feel his worry rising again. “what if something happens to you if you don’t tell me anything? how do you think it’ll make me feel?”

you reach out for his hand and squeeze it. “sorry…”

satoru’s heart melts seeing you so vulnerable like this. and he decides you have gotten his point now, so he sighs and presses a kiss on your forehead.

“hmph. forgiven. let’s go back home now. i’ll take care of my two babies.”

[minminyoonjii]

I've read your little reader posts and I'm addicted. I haven't been able to find a single other writer for things like this and your writing is just *chef's kiss*

I loved the nightmare one and I was going to ask about little reader having a nightmare with a different scenario where little reader wakes up from a nightmare and sneaks(or "sneaks") into bed with their cg for better sleep.

Love your work, hope your day/night is amazing. If you don't want to write this for any reason, I won't be offended.

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Wholesome|Hurt/Comfort|Domestic Settings|Fluffy|Soft Reassurance Fic|Tooth Rotting Sweet

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.1K

Scenario

You whined, holding your plush close to your chest. Fear seeped into your mind as you tried to coax yourself back to sleep. Thoughts taunted each time you closed your eyes. "Caregiver Title," you sniffled, rubbing your eyes with your plush. The silence felt eerie and you wanted nothing more than your caregiver with you. "Need you," you whispered, crawling off your bed, clutching your plush. You patted the walls in the hallway, finding your way to your caregiver's room.

Bang Chan

"Daddy," you whispered, hearing snores coming from the bed. You huffed, crawling onto his bed, "Daddy," you repeated, patting Chan's chest. Chan furrowed his eyebrows, "It's still early," he grumbled, trying to roll aside. Your lips wobbled, "Daddy," you sniffled, holding his cheeks. Chan's eyes flew open, "Little one, why are you crying, hm?" he asked, slightly disorientated. Tears dripped down your cheeks, and silent cries escaped your lips. "Daddy got you, little one. Daddy's silly for not waking up properly," he cooed, rocking your body. You sniffled, burying your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Chan sighed in relief the moment sleep caught up to you. "I'll always be right here," he whispered, chuckling softly at his pounding heart.

Lee Minho

Your lips pursed into a pout, crawling onto Minho's bed, "Mama," you said, nosing his neck. Minho gruffed as he was used to his cats sleeping on his face. You whined, nipping his cheek, "Mama," you whined, tears threatening to spill. Minho jolted in his sleep, eyes squinting awake, "What are you doing awake, cupcake?" he asked, stroking your hair. A whine escaped your lips as you relaxed your weight on him. Minho chuckled, kissing your forehead, "Did you have a bad dream?" he asked, shifting to pull the blankets over you. "It scawy, Mama," you sniffled, tears dripping onto Minho's skin. He cooed, tucking you in with him, "Mama's going to have to protect his little cupcake," he said, giving you a tight reassuring squeeze. You giggled, melting in his arms.

Seo Changbin

"Baba, uppies please," you whispered, shaking Changbin's sleeping body. He groaned, accidentally shifting you with him. You squeaked, knocking his headboard with a thud. Sobs wasn't hesitant to escape past your lips. "Baba!" you exclaimed, flinching Changbin awake. "Agi? Agi-ah what's wrong?" he panicked, sitting up to hold you close. You whimpered, bringing his palm to the owie on your head, "Huwts," you cried, holding your plush towards your chest. Changbin felt his heart drop, "Don't worry, hm? Baba's kisses have magic powers," he coaxed, wiping your tears. You hiccuped, looking up at him with sorrow-filled eyes. Changbin cooed, kissing the area you held, "Baba will kiss the pain away, agi-ah" he said, smooching your owie.

Hwang Hyunjin

You whined, crawling into the space next to Hyunjin. "Up, Jinnie," you whispered, poking his cheek but to no avail. You huffed, wiggling under the comforters covering him. Hyunjin instinctively, wrapped his arms around you, tucking you against his chest. A yawn escaped your lips, the fear of your nightmare no longer plaguing your mind. Hyunjin groaned, scrunching his nose, when your hair brushed his lips. You yawned once more, pressing your plush against your cheek as you squirmed to get yourself comfortable. Hyunjin tightened his hold, sleepily rocking your body, "Sleep," he mumbled, kissing your forehead. A final yawn escaped your lips as you shifted, pressing your back against his chest. Hyunjin smiled in his sleep, "Sleep good," he whispered, holding you tight.

Han Jisung

"Appa," you grumbled, climbing onto his bed. Jisung woke up from the motion, "Sweetheart?" he slurred, sleep still coating his mind. You huffed, plopping onto him. Jisung felt the air get knocked out of his lungs, "What was that for, hm?" he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. "Bad dweam," you sulked, pressing your face further into his chest. Jisung cooed, kissing your forehead, "Aww, sweet thing. You just couldn't sleep after that, could you?" he asked, running his fingers through your hair. You shook your head, turning to press your cheek on his shoulder. Jisung hummed, sitting up with you in his lap, "Let's get comfy and sleep, hm? It's quite early, sweetheart," he whispered, pulling the blankets over the both of you.

Lee Felix

You tiptoed into the room, expecting your Mommy to be in deep sleep when you heard the crudes of slurs. "Mommy?" you questioned, walking towards the sound. Felix screamed when you poked his shoulder. You flinched, tripping back on a misplaced carpet. Felix's eyes widened, "My sunshine!" he exclaimed, quickly tugging off his headset to pick you up. Tears spilt down your face as the dull sting from the fall ached your bottom. Felix whimpered, pampering kisses all over your face, "Oh, oh, my precious sunbeam, you gave Mommy a big scare you know that," he said, holding you close. You sniffled, trembling in his arms. "Aww, sunshine. I'm not mad. Mommy's not mad," he said, wiping your tears. Felix sighed, kissing your nose, "Come on, sunshine. You can sleep on Mommy's lap while he plays," he said, getting himself comfortable with you cosy on his lap.

Kim Seungmin

"Dada, help," you whispered, nudging Seungmin's arm. You sulked, raising to smack Seungmin's face with the plush when he stopped your plush. "Are you trying to murder Dada while he's sleeping, munchkin?" he rasped, sitting up. You sniffled, "Dada, hug," you whined, crawling into his lap. He chuckled, rubbing your tummy, "Did you have a nightmare?" he questioned, smelling the traces of baby shampoo. You nodded, nuzzling his shoulder, "T'was scawy," you mumbled, yawning at the warmth. Seungmin nodded, "We should go back to sleep, munchkin," he yawned, kissing your forehead. You yawned back, getting comfortable in his hold. Seungmin chuckled, patting your bottom, "Scoots aside," he said, cuddling you to his chest.

Yang Jeongin

You quietly snuck your way into Jeongin's bed, tucking yourself under his blankets. Jeongin flinched at the movement, "Angel?" he questioned, facing you. "Ninnin," you whined, nuzzling into his back. Jeongin chuckled, setting his phone aside, "You're lucky I'm still awake," he said, wrapping his arms around you. "What's keeping you awake, my sweet little angel?" he asked, booping your nose. You sniffled, hiding your face behind your plush, "Nightmawe," you slurred. Jeongin frowned, kissing the top of your head, "Aww, my precious. You're safe now, Ninnin's got you right here," he chuckled, rubbing your back. You yawned, melting into his touch, eyes getting droopy by the second. Jeongin hummed, "Big squeeze," he whispered, holding you tight.

[just-null]

Wowie rly digging the yandere clone headcanons… how would each react if their darling tried to run away from them?!

You said tried so I assume this was a failed attempt!

Short answer: they get really upset and try making it your fault (shocker.) Ain't no way any of these mfs think they're the problem. Good news! you're mostly unharmed and alive.

This will just be purely writing bc i mostly had thoughts! sorry no drawing this time!!

[cw! mentions of potential harm to reader (no actual harm done), manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics (yandere flavor), obsessive behavior]

Sekido

You're always being hunted the moment the sun comes down and you don't return home in time. Reasons like that are exactly why he hates it when you part from him. 

This time is different.. he can't find you in your usual spots. There's no fucking way, right?

How could you.. No, how DARE you? Do you think that he's some joke? That his feelings for you are something that you can run away from like it's nothing? 

The second he's sure the sun won't harm him, he's already white knuckling his khakkhara, swinging at anything and everything in his path until he gets to you.

They know how to sense if you're near or not, hell, they probably know how your specific blood type smells like. 

Did you think cuddling up to you and memorizing every detail about you was for nothing? Don't be stupid. All he needs is a trace of you and he's gone in the blink of an eye.

You better enjoy running while you can because when he catches you, and he will, those legs of yours won't have much use after he's done with them. 

Sekido doesn't WANT to do this, but you honestly give him no choice. After he trusted you enough to stop looking over his shoulder, you do this? How can he ever put any faith in you again!?

On the bright(?) side, Sekido's rage wouldn't be solely on you, it'll ricochet onto everyone, especially the other clones and himself. 

They were supposed to be looking after you! But they can't do anything right, even a task as simple as this. 

And why did he think it was a good idea to trust them with something of big importance when all they do is fuck everything up!? Everyone's idiocy is rubbing off on him!

The entire time on his search for you, he's cursing and wanting to crush anything he can get his hands on, especially your bones. 

He doesn't even bother with speaking to the others, too busy spewing out all sorts of hurtful and frustrated comments about everything. 

The brutal thought that you’d rather run away than be with him isn't one he wants to entertain, but it's echoing in his head.

At least, once the other clones get there, Karaku and Aizetsu brawl with Sekido so you're unharmed while Urogi carries you overhead. 

Sekido's jealousy flares up when he sees you in Urogi's arms, making him even more pissed if that's even possible. Great, now he looks like the bad guy and the other three, the saviors. Fucking perfect.

There's a lot of yelling and a lot of blood, especially with Urogi making things so much more annoyingly difficult in the air. Karaku and Aizetsu aren't helping. Why is Sekido suddenly the problem?! You ran away!! 

But when he calms down enough, he's cursing at everyone through clenched teeth. Sometimes trying to convince the others that you don't even need your legs anyway!!

Once you get back home (or temporary prison until you somehow regain favor), Sekido will eye your legs while gripping his staff from time to time. 

Exactly why he's forbidden to be in a room alone with you for a while until he settles down..

He glares at you more often and grows colder than before. Arguments are more common where he twists your words just to have you talk with him and be angry within reason. 

Any other type of conversation makes him so irrationally upset that the others need to step in so that he doesn't lose his temper again.

Karaku

The calmest out of the group. He brushes it off as “you're playing hard to get” again, and if he makes a ruckus, you'll scamper back and beg him to stop like always!

Then it gets darker out.. and when Sekido left, he seemed pretty pissed. Like more than usual..... shit.

Karaku sprints after Sekido when it clicks that he's found you. His mind starts reeling, unsure whether he should laugh at the absurdity of your decisions or get pissed off because you didn't even bother to give a hint! 

Not like that would do anything aside from give you away but regardless!

Everyone needs to relax, this is obviously something they can sweep under the rug. This isn't that big of a deal and you're just having a fit, but things like these can get you hurt, y'know? 

They're fun and all, sure, just maybe give him a heads up next time, yeah? Sekido can't take a joke, you know this!!! Still.. There's a way Karaku can work with this.

He'll be able to swoop in, save you, be your hero, and remind you why staying with him is kinda important. Just in case you forgot~ 

You don't wanna be out and about without his charming grin and protective hold would you? Don't answer that right now, he has a feeling you'll say something wrong!

Yet.. what if you need a firmer hand to remind you of what Karaku provides? What if you got a little too comfortable being protected so you thought you'd be alright leaving them? Man, who knew you could be spoiled!

Because of this, he would purposely fumble, letting Sekido get near you just so he can stop him at the perfect moment. He purposely gets hit too and makes sure some blood gets near you. To remind you how that could've been yours.

When Sekido calms down, Karaku laughs in your face and would pinch your cheeks if you weren't up in the air with Urogi on the way home.

You should've seen your face! It was really cute~! Maybe getting scared is your thing? He'll note that for later.

He offhandedly advises you not to do things like that all the time, fighting Sekido always kinda sucks, but it's not like you actually had a chance of successfully running away so he won't chastise you too much for it. 

That's not his job, and his heart hasn’t pumped that fast in a long time.. not even in a fight! You're so amazing~~

And delusional if you think he's not going to milk this “heroism” thing back there for some extra affection points with you. 

Don't be so mean. he got his head blown off twice and jaw dislocated thrice, not to mention everywhere else on his body. Don't you think those parts of him need some extra loving? more than usual?

There's not that much Karaku can say after that aside from reminiscing like it was a funny story. He's not upset about it, mostly a little miffed you got kinda far without him noticing, but he gets over it. 

The usual routine starts back up for him when you're back home. It's like nothing happened, but he keeps a closer eye on you since everyone's so tense.

Urogi

If you're not home before the sun sets, Urogi's clawing at the walls with stress. He usually accompanies Sekido to go find you, but this time is different. Urogi could just barely tell you were around.. When Sekido bolts, Urogi's flying as fast as he can, trying to find you first. 

You're so far.. you must've gotten kidnapped!!!!!

The stress from before burns into anger, expecting to see someone having their hands on you while you're calling out in vain. How could he let this happen?! Damn sun! 

He darts through the skies even faster imagining it, and when he finally reaches you, you look.. fine? and alone. and looking at him like he's the danger. He's here to save you, dummy..

Urogi falls to his knees, burying his face against your stomach and finally wrapping his arms around you again. Your fists violently hit his head and yank fistfuls of hair back, but it doesn't phase him. 

Your comforting warmth is back, that's all that matters. And god, your smell.. it's almost making him dizzy. He missed you so much.

There's many holes to the story in Urogi's head as to why you're so far from home, but he fills them in with more convoluted delusions. It's just a peaceful reunion right now.. 

That is until Sekido finally arrives and starts swinging his khakkhara way too close to your fragile bones. 

Now he's back in defense mode where he scoops you up and tries flying out of reach. This is so stressful!!! There's lightning everywhere and he keeps having to dodge the multiple staffs thrown his way. 

He shields you with his wings as best he can while trying to stay in the air, so you don't get hurt during Sekido's outburst.

In the skies, it's much clearer to see the hurt behind the haunting glow of Urogi's eyes. Did you care about how he might feel? Did you miss him at all? Did you not feel loved enough? Did someone say something to you? 

As he maneuvers the sky, he holds you as tightly as possible, lightly digging his talons into your skin.

Being without you for a couple hours is agonizing enough on its own. If you HAD left him, abandoned, cold, alone.. he doesn't want to think about it. All that matters is that your kidnappers or liars or whatever influenced you are gone, and you're back safe with them!!! 

You.. you still like him, right? Of course you do, fate wouldn't force your paths together if it wasn't for a reason!

Coming back home is uncomfortably tense, especially with how violently Aizetsu kicked Urogi across the room, nearly through the wall, when he tried to lick your wounds clean. It really hurt! 

When you're patched up, Urogi is ten times as clingy if that's possible. He has his arms looped around you constantly so you can't stray too far, and if his hands are busy, he always has his wings!

As happy as he is that you're back, he can't help but cry into your chest sometimes. Everything is so tense nowadays, he hates it! How could you go and do something like that? Apologize immediately! Or at least hold him too? Doubt creeps in a lot, and your attitude isn't helping.. 

His mood swings are stronger. From sobbing uncontrollably into your clothes to being all smiles and radiating with joy the next just because you said something vaguely decent.

Aizetsu

The demotivation started to creep in the second you left. During the day, Aizetsu sits by the door, wanting to be the first one you properly greet. Sekido and Urogi usually bring you back and he'll be the one in your good graces without lifting a finger. That sounds nice.. 

But as the footsteps fade and the silence lingers, Aizetsu feels miserable the longer he waits... Hold on, silence?

Before he realizes what's happening, he's already dashing to where the familiar commotion is coming from. Dread sets in as his legs take him as fast as they can whilst being the slowest of the four. This doesn't feel like they're rushing over to you after a long day, it feels.. dangerous?

What did you get yourself into..? Why do you insist on going to places Aizetsu can't follow? Are you safe? He hates not knowing.

Usually you're the one who's fine. You deal with four demons almost daily! Please please please be okay. He can't fathom it if you were hurt. 

When he gets there, the puzzle pieces fall into place and Aizetsu gets even more depressed, but at least you're not hurt. Well, not if he interferes. His movements are sluggish, a perpetual frown plastered on his face as he tries holding Sekido down. 

Aizetsu wants to dissolve into the floor, and he does sometimes. Not wanting to fight Sekido off anymore, he slumps over. 

This could've been a regular day where you came home.. Are you serious? Leaving? How pitiful could you be to actually think you could get away? Or was it that you wanted to play some sick joke on them? Well, it's not very funny... It's terrible actually.

Aizetsu stays silent on the way home, walking with a bit more energy knowing you're near despite his heart ache.

You can feel the harrowing disappointment radiating off of him the moment you all go back home.

He's tired, annoyed, and so unbelievably upset. Aizetsu grimaced when Urogi got near your scratches with his tongue, so he “politely” ushered him away. 

Knowing a human's weak points is good in battle, but he started trying to learn how to heal them, specifically because he knew these types of things might happen.

As he cleans your scratches, he's actively scolding you for leaving in a cold emotionless tone. And by scolding, he's using manipulative language, trying to make you guilty for everything you did. 

He barely has the energy to live, but now that he finally found his light in the darkness, you want to leave? Is it so wrong he wants to hold onto what makes him even a smidgen happier than usual? He reminds you that he'll wither away without you, but he's not really too keen on dying just yet.

When he tries to get back into a routine, he just can't. He knows why you left, but he doesn't want to hear it. Even if you're sweet to him or not, he'll hold you from behind when you rest.

Looking at you is too much, but being away from you is even worse. Aizetsu compromises this way, but gets quieter, occasionally sniffling when he hides his face behind you.

There's too much going on and he's so tired.. If it weren't for the others, he probably would've held you so tight for so long so that you both would perish together.

Maybe that’s why he's only allowed to hold you when you're asleep. Just please don't do that again.. He NEEDS you. Please, please, please.

Safe to say you gave them a scare. When they double down on the protectiveness, living is ten times more difficult for EVERYBODY. when you lose their trust, it's pretty difficult to gain it back, but not impossible!!

Sekido and Urogi will always assume the worst if you're gone for too long while Karaku and Aizetsu give you a little more freedom until the others drag them along into their worries.

[buddie-buddie]

let me go home (i'm just too far from where you are)

9.5k - T - established bucktommy

Tonight is going to be perfect.

The dinner, the wine, and then, when the moment’s right, he’ll ask Evan to move in. It isn’t the grand proposal Tommy’s saving for later on down the line, but it’s the first step. And it’s one he can hardly wait to take. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer. He’s washing the last of the dishes when he hears Evan’s car door closing in the driveway. Tommy wipes his hands on a towel, excitement bubbling in his chest as he heads to the front door, ready to greet his boyfriend. 

When he swings the door open, his words die in his throat. 

Evan stands on the porch in front of him, pale and hollowed out, his eyes distant and unfocused. His hands tremble where they hang at his sides, covered in blood. Blood stains streak across his t-shirt, every inch of him radiating exhaustion and something deeper, something raw. 

“Evan," Tommy breathes, his heart lurching. “Are you okay?”

Evan doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Concern washes over Tommy in waves. His mind races with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last.

“Evan,” he tries again, more insistent this time.

read on ao3

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[deoidesign]

My comic is so pretty...

The hiatus is letting me take a little extra time on these episodes, and I'm definitely putting it to good use!!!

[gardenofnoah]

cw: implied sexual trauma, panic attack, intimacy struggles

You don’t notice it happening until it’s buzzing under your skin. Loud and unavoidable, the only thing you can pay attention to is the irregular flutter of your heart and the way it seems that all the air has been vacuumed from the room—

“Hey.”

You blink, and Katsuki is no longer above you. He’s not touching you at all—you turn your head to find him next to you, propped up on an elbow and only worried.

“Too much?”

The panic flares at the question, because what if this is the last time? What if he’s tired of this?

Your exhale is shaky—your laugh is forced and sounds out of place. “No, it was fine, I just—“

“Oi—“ he says, gently, “tell me the truth.”

The truth burns your eyes and keeps them on the ceiling, away from his. You nod, helpless and resigned to whatever comes next.

“What’s goin’ on in your head?”

You feel the tears spill over before you can catch them. You swipe them away with the back of your wrist. It’s still numb. “I’m just sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

He grunts a little in acknowledgment—a displeased, ugly sound—and then there’s movement that finally draws your eyes to him. You watch him cover himself with your duvet—all the way up to his chin.

“S’it okay if I hold you?”

He reaches for you and you let him pull you in. His hands stay above your shoulders and pointedly avoid your neck—cradling your head, letting you hide in the curve of his throat. His pulse is steady and constant against your forehead—or you imagine it would be, if it wasn’t muted by the fabric.

“Nothin’ is ruined,” he murmurs against your hairline, “s’my job to keep you safe.”

Your chest shudders against the cushion of the blanket and you feel a little guilty about crying all over it but Katsuki keeps you there, tethered to him. The ringing in your ears subsides, just a little. Just enough to hear the panic in your own voice.

“I promise I want it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry—“

“Hey, hey,” he shushes you, careful not to tighten his arms around your shoulders. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. S’too much today—that’s all.”

It’s quiet, then, save for your sniffling. He keeps his mouth pressed to your hair, and his arms wrapped around you. There is a noticeable absence of his fingertips tracing along your skin—you don’t feel them there at all, and it’s on purpose. He’s considerate and it makes you anxious.

“Can hear you thinkin’.”

“I just—“ you inhale, trying to be brave, “I don’t want you to leave. I know I can’t—give you this—“

“Oi,” he gruffs, a little sharply, “I don’t give a shit about that. M’not a barbarian.”

You feel the expansion of his lungs as he draws in a slow exhale, and lets it out against the crown of your head. “Don’t think so little of me,” he murmurs, tone laced with hurt.

“You’re right,” you whisper, because he is, “I love you.”

“Love you.” He kisses it into your skin, soft and barely there. “Always will.”

[elsecrytt]

so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.

[brainrotcharacters]

MY UTERUS MADE ME DO IT

Redacted characters x fem!bodied Listeners: period cramps edition

Porter offers oral. Treasure takes it as a genuine threat.

Darlin who goes into denial at the first sign of tears and Sam the tissue dispenser boyfriend.

Vincent who takes the stained sheets to the washer only after Lovely is settled in the bathtub. Female bodied vampires get it once every three months and are worse for it.

Angel goes quiet. David cuddles it out of them.

Aggro got off of Sweetheart's lap calmly one time. Sweetheart looked so heartbroken and then annoyed that they're so sensitive. Milo shifted on sight and they cuddled on the floor.

Babe snapped at Asher one time and then immediately apologized. Asher sniffed at the air and smelled it. The next eight hours were spent with Asher fussing over them.

Guy has never moved as fast as he did when he turned the AC on and put out the weighted blanket and shimmied beside Honey like a slug. That Honey happened to be dating. He peeked out of the blanket at them and giggled "your prescribed cuddles have arrived! I'm not a licensed doctor, but we'll make it work"

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male���but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

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@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

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@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde (i'm so sorry! u asked me to tag u right at the beginning and i've forgotten this whole time! forgive me pls <3)

[writerfae]

The sound of childhood lost

His mother’s singing had always been one of Talon’s favorite sounds.

When he was younger he heard it a lot, grew up with the soothing melody of her voice.

It was beautiful, just like his mother was. Joyful. Gentle. Calming.

His mother’s singing moved everyone, always calming a younger Talon down when he cried, always making his sister Sera smile.

It even managed to soften the usually stern expression on his father’s face, tender tunes smoothing the rough edges of his guarded heart.

Talon could’ve listened to her sing for hours without getting tired of it.

And his mother sang often, back when he was younger.

She loved to do it, for it reminded her of home. Of her childhood back in a house filled with melodies, of the hours she spent making music with her siblings.

With one of them in particular.

Kieran was his mother’s favorite brother, had been ever since they were children. And Talon, too, had loved his uncle dearly. There were times where he had felt closer to him than to his own father.

It was him who introduced Talon to the violin:

Playing for him when he was but a little baby, gifting him his very own violin for his fifth birthday and teaching him some of his favorite compositions when Talon had shown a talent for handling the instrument.

He always insisted that Talon had a special gift, that he was even better than Kieran himself.

This claim had filled Talon with pride, but secretly he had always disagreed.

No one played the violin quite like his uncle did. No one made people weep, made them smile or laugh or dance with their music like him.

Like his mother’s voice, Kieran playing the violin was one of Talon’s favorite sounds.

And combined, he adored it even more.

Whenever Kieran came to visit them, him and Talon’s mother would play music. And Talon had loved it.

Together, the two made for a melody that was quite enchanting, an harmony unlike any other.

The harmony of two siblings that loved making music - and loved each other.

It was the sound of his childhood.

Until one day, the music stopped. Kieran died, sudden and unexpected.

And with the death of her beloved brother, his mother’s singing went silent.

***

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[minminyoonjii]

Hiiiii. This is a request you don’t have to answer but I would like to know your thoughts on. I know you’ve done a few scenarios where ot8’s little gas a nightmare but what about the caregivers aka skz having a nightmare about their little ( ie like their little finding a better cg etc.) and how they would smother their little with affection and love and wouldn’t want to let them go after it.

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Wholesome Sleepy Boys|Hurt/Comfort|Domestic Settings|Fluffy|Soft Reassurance Fic|Crying|Panic Jolts|Tooth Rotting Sweet

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.4K

Bang Chan

Chan furrowed his eyebrows, tossing and turning in his sleep, "Don't take them," he mumbled, reaching out his hand. "Hah," Chan gasped, his eyes blown open but his mind was disoriented. He pushed himself out of his bed and stumbled his way towards your room. "Please be sleeping," he mumbled, hoping his dream was just a dream. Your soft snores instantly reassured him. Chan exhaled deeply, "Thank god," he whispered, walking towards your sleeping figure. You stirred awake, "Daddy?" you yawned, rubbing your eyes. "Shh, shh. Go back to sleep, little one. Daddy just needed to see you," he whispered, stroking your hair. You shifted aside, "Cuddle?" you asked, making grabby hands towards him. Chan chuckled, laying himself next to you as he pulled you close to his chest. The sound of your heartbeat against his body gave him a big relief. You figured out that something was wrong but it was too late in the night to think, "Daddy safe," you whispered, burrowing your face between his pecs. Chan chuckled, kissing your forehead, "Daddy's always safe when you're here, my sweet little one," he said, wrapping his legs around yours as you both drifted back to sleep.

Lee Minho

Minho groaned, clenching his hands into fists, "Get your hands off them," he grumbled in his sleep when Doongie swatted at his hand. "Ah?" he gasped, rubbing his eyes to see Doongie's dilated eyes. Minho chuckled, scratching under his neck, "You scared me, Doong Doong-ah. I almost decked you," he said, pampering kisses on Doongie's face. Minho pushed off his blanket and walked to your room, "Cupcake? Are you awake?" he whispered, moving closer to your bed. A subtle smile etched his lips at the sight of you snuggling Dori, "Can you come out?" he whispered, seeing Dori squirm. You shifted your position and eventually released Dori from your clutches. Minho chuckled and pulled you onto his lap. You stirred awake, "Hhgh," you whined, nuzzling closer into his chest. Minho buried his face into your hair, "Hah," he sighed, nosing your hair and face. You whined at his ministrations, glaring at him sleepily. Minho smirked, kissing your nose, "Go back to sleep, cupcake. Mama just needed you close," he whispered, rocking your body softly.

Seo Changbin

"Agi, please come back," he whimpered, dread filling his sleeping mind. Changbin jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. "Where's my agi? Uri agi," he slurred, wobbling to your room. Changbin swung open your door, flinching you awake. Your lips wobbled, hating the feeling of distortion. Changbin swooped you into his arm, "My agi," whispered, sniffling into your hair. Tears pooled up in your eyes, overwhelmed from being forced awake, "Baba," you hiccuped, gripping his tank top. Changbin bounced you in his arms, "Shh, shh, shh. Baba's here, agi. He's never letting you go even if you try," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. You sighed in relief, melting yourself within his arms. Changbin sniffled a weak smile, "Just the thought of losing you agi broke me to tears, he whimpered, pampering wet kisses all over your face. He exhaled a shaky sigh, "I'm never letting you out of my sight," he said, swaying with you cosy in his arms.

Hwang Hyunjin

"My head," Hyunjin groaned, sitting up with his eye mask. A brief moment of his nightmare flashed within his mind. "Love!" he exclaimed, ripping off his eye mask and sprinting towards your room. "Lovely?" he whispered, hearing your soft subtle snores. Your face was burrowed into Jiniret. The sight itself made his heart swell. "You're here," he whispered, sitting on the edge of your bed. Hyunjin ran his hand up your calves, "Pretty love. So so precious to me," he whispered, kissing the top of your palm. You whined in your sleep, jutting your lips into a sulky pout. Hyunjin chuckled, lying next to you. He gently took Jiniret from your hold and gently set him aside, "You don't need him for now. Papa's here," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest. You snuggled against his warmth, a soft smile etched on your lips. Hyunjin leaned forward and kissed your forehead, "No nightmare will ever come between us, love," he whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Han Jisung

"Sweetheart, please. I can do better I promise," he begged, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tossed and turned from his nightmare. A broken sob escaped his lips as he flinched awake, "Sweetheart," he sobbed, getting up from his bed and towards your crib in his room. You blinked at him, sleep coating your eyelids. Jisung carried you up and cradled your body close, "You're okay, sweetheart. Appa just had a bad dream," he whispered after hearing your distressed whimper. Jisung carried you back to his bed, "You're sleeping with Appa tonight," he whispered, placing pillows on your side of the bed just in case you accidentally rolled off. You suckled your pacifier and stared up at him. Jisung cooed, patting your tummy, "Appa woke you up, huh? Look at your pretty eyes," he whispered, stroking your cheek. You nuzzled his palm, a yawn muffled around your pacifier. "You're right, sweetheart. We should go back to sleep," he whispered, shifting you on him. You laid your cheek on his chest, sleep coaxing you deeper and deeper. Jisung kissed your hair, "Sweet dreams," he whispered, sleeping right after.

Lee Felix

"No, no, no," Felix grunted, his hair matted with sweat. He jolted upright, "Hah, hah," he gasped, tossing off his comforter. He looked around, "My sunshine. I need my sunshine," he whimpered, standing up with wobbling knees. Felix sniffled, using the walls as support as he made his way to your room. "Sunshine," he whispered, seeing you sleeping peacefully. You lifted your head, eyes shut closed. Felix chuckled wetly, "It's just me, sunshine. Mommy's here," he whispered, sitting by your face. You nuzzled against his waist, relaxed after knowing who came in. Felix smiled, kissing your ear, "Sunshine, can I ask you something?" he asked, gently rubbing your ear. You nodded, sleep still coating your mind. Felix exhaled shaking, "Am I a good Mommy to you, sunshine? Have I ever made you sad?" he gulped, remembering the words you said in his dream before you left. You shook your head and wiggled yourself onto his lap, "No. You're the best Mommy. My only Mommy," you whispered, placing his hand on your head. Felix smiled, soft tears dripping down his cheeks, "Thank you, sunshine. I love you so so much," he sniffled, stroking your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his waist, "Love love, Mommy more," you giggled, nuzzling his torso.

Kim Seungmin

"You're mine, munchkin. You think you can just leave?" he grumbled, clenching his jaw in his sleep. Seungmin's eyes blew open, hurt and anger simmered within his chest. "Munchkin," he whispered, getting off his bed and making a beeline towards your room. Seungmin opened your door, and your soft snores sent an odd conflict within his chest. "It's just a dream. They're still here. It's just a damn dream," he grunted, trying not to project his anger towards you. "Dada, don't go," you sniffled in your sleep, tears slowly drenched your pillow. Seungmin felt his heart clench, "Oh, oh no. Dada's here, munchkin," he whispered, brushing your hair back. You melted into his touch, his presence itself made you feel safe. Seungmin smiled, "Little munchkin thought about me too," he cooed, wiping your tears. He chuckled softly and lay next to you, "You can't live without me as much as I can't live without you," he whispered, cuddling you close.

Yang Jeongin

"I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to wash Foxi.ny," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he stirred awake. The guilt clenched his heart. "I have to see my little," he slurred, getting up from his bed. Jeongin stumbled his way into the hallway. "My poor angel. I shouldn't have washed Foxi.ny," he mumbled, not realizing it was just a very vivid dream. He opened your door and beelined towards your bed. Jeongin cupped your face and sniffled, "Ninnin's sorry, angel," he whimpered, waking you up. "Huh?" you whispered, squinting at him. "I'm sorry for washing Foxi.ny," Jeongin repeated, the sleepy guilt overwhelming his brain. You nuzzled his palm, "Foxi.ny is right here," you said, holding the familiar skzoo. Jeongin tilted his head, "Oh," he whispered, wiping the snot dripping down his nose. You giggled, and wiped his nose with a tissue, "Ninnin, huggies?" you asked, wanting to go back to sleep. Jeongin blinked, "Okay, angel. Yeah. Huggies," he whispered, pulling you onto his chest. You burrowed into his hold, "Night night, Ninnin," you yawned, snuggling close. Jeongin yawned back, "Good night, little angel," he whispered, drifting off.