#little hurt comfort if you will
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smallestapplin Ā· 2 years ago
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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 Godā€™s in Hisui, after you got tossed there by Arceus.
The two having taken a liking to you, Arceusā€™s champion.
Youā€™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 whatā€™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 didnā€™t stop you, youā€™re an adult, you can make your own choice.
But you donā€™t come back.
They search high and low for you, panicking the more they canā€™t find you. You didnā€™t leave them, that they know, as itā€™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, itā€™s all they have left of you, as your PokĆ©mon 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 itā€™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 likeā€¦
ā€œIngo? Emmet? Iā€™m home!ā€
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 itā€™s you.
Some scars peeking out of your clothes, scars they remember patching up themselves.
Youā€™re home.
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basalting Ā· 6 days ago
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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.
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sysig Ā· 10 months ago
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Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)
#Doodles#UT#Handplates#Sans#Gaster#Having such clear external-view memories of what happened when they were young would probably give Sans a lot of ammunition lol#Not that they'd know any different - their poor memories honestly :( - but having such clear memories in places would have to be weird#Most people have childhood amnesia to an extent! Tho it's hard to say when that would've applied to them anyway with their sped-up growth#Not to mention the trauma#And it's possible that doesn't apply to Monsters to begin with lol - but it's all a moot point anyway since these are their only memories!#It's sad to think of how much of themselves are missing forever since Gaster didn't experience them :(#This is what happens when you get behind on your work >:0#I really wonder what their lack of memories/restoration of memories would do for their like/dislike of certain things!#Like how Papyrus says that sitting with Sans in his lap makes a lot of sense as to why it was so familiar and comforting#But also that knowing makes it sad as well :( Knowing recolours their understanding and interpretation!#Knowing Why makes things make sense but does it actually Help? It's a tough question - certainly it hurts in the moment#The little things Gaster has infected for them and for himself ā™„ Like taking notes! Like chess and sweets and spaghetti and lab coats#And dark sweaters and cigarette smoke and hugs and intelligence - how many pieces of all of them have A Feeling attached#How many more have A Memory - and even more than that A Memory Lost and unrecoverable ughhh ā™„#But the little things they can hold on to hehe <3 Like pinging Gaster for what they all know and remember#Why does he even keep coming over if he knows the reception he'll get? Lol#Feels particularly self-loathing and goes to get bullied as penance pfft
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chuluoyi Ā· 8 months ago
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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
itā€™s during a gala in honor of studentsā€™ graduation. you donā€™t want to miss it because you want to congratulate hakari and kirara in person, so you didnā€™t tell your husband that you have thrown up 3x prior going together to the venue.
and you really shouldnā€™t have because halfway through the event, you donā€™t feel too well anymore.
ā€œyou look pale,ā€ satoru whispers in your ear worriedly as you slow dance together. ā€œdo you want to rest a bit?ā€
ā€œno,ā€ you insist. ā€œiā€™m fineā€”ā€
but the second you said that, your vision blurs and you miss a step. and you would really fall if not for satoruā€™s arms holding you tightly.
ā€œheyā€”ā€ he looks down at you, discovers your labored breathing and clicks his tongue. ā€œyouā€™re not.ā€
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.
ā€œwhy didnā€™t you tell me?ā€ he asks as soon as he lay you on the bed, his piercing blue eyes assessing you. ā€œqueasy? have you taken your anti-sickness pill?ā€
oh. you shake your head, feeling guilty for forgetting it. but youā€™re surprised when he procures it from his pocket, realizing it. he brings your medication around in case itā€™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.
ā€œyou big dummyā€¦ you shouldā€™ve told me.ā€ satoru strokes your head with a frown. ā€œyou canā€™t wait until you pass out. do you like making me worry?ā€
ā€œnoā€¦ i donā€™t mean toā€¦ā€
ā€œthere are two of you now.ā€ he places an hand on your belly. your bump isnā€™t visible yet, but itā€™s really there and he can feel it. he can feel his worry rising again. ā€œwhat if something happens to you if you donā€™t tell me anything? how do you think itā€™ll make me feel?ā€
you reach out for his hand and squeeze it. ā€œsorryā€¦ā€
satoruā€™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.
ā€œhmph. forgiven. letā€™s go back home now. iā€™ll take care of my two babies.ā€
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minminyoonjii Ā· 8 months ago
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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.
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ā¤ļøUltimate Masterlist
šŸ’œRules and Guidelines
šŸ§”Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist
šŸŒ¹CW
Wholesome|Hurt/Comfort|Domestic Settings|Fluffy|Soft Reassurance Fic|Tooth Rotting Sweet
šŸ’Œ This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.
šŸ„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.
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myosotisa Ā· 2 years ago
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Eddie walks in on you crying and he is immediately dropping to his knees.
Maybe you'd try to hide it. You don't like to show intense emotion like that, especially not in front of other people. Maybe it's been building for a long time and you just break without warning.
You're sitting at your desk with your face tucked into your shirt, tears streaming, hiccuping gasps, mouth contorted in a silent sob. Willing it to stop, to get back in control, for the sorrow to remove it's claws from your chest and let you breathe again.
Eddie edges the door open with his foot, about to bust in and shower you with affection, but the moment he sees you, hears your small cries, everything stops. He's across the room and to your side in 3 long-legged steps, dropping to his knees with his hands hovering, torn between wanting to grab you and tuck you into him and wanting to respect any space you need.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His concern just makes you cry harder, hiding further into the neck of your shirt, back bending as you try to curl in on yourself. Eddie's heart breaks, his hands curling into tight fists as he battles his own indecision on what to do. "Baby, please talk to me. Can I hold you? Please."
Despite everything in your brain just wanting to be alone, to suffer in silence, to not show this side of yourself -- your heart wins out. You drop the curtain of cotton hiding your ruddy and wet face from him and reach out like a child. It makes you feel like one. But Eddie doesn't hesitate. He drags you out of your chair and onto the floor with him, tucking as much of yourself into him as he can. Arms wrapped around, thighs under yours, shaggy hair making a new curtain to protect your vulnerability from anyone other than him.
He covers you with warmth and care like a fiberglass blanket over a fracturing fire and it breaks you to pieces. Sorrow for yourself, for how you're feeling, for how hard it is to accept this comfort, for how much it means to you to finally have it now. For how willingly and readily Eddie was prepared to give it.
He holds you as you cry, whispering sweet things into your hairline like, "It's gonna be okay, baby, I've got you. I'm here." Rubs your back in little circles, presses his fingertips tighter when you cry out louder as the waves crash over you. He keeps holding you as your crying starts to die down into little sniffles, as your breathing evens out. He doesn't let go until you start to pull away, and even then it's with reluctance.
The moment he can see your face again he's cupping it in his big palms, eyes searching yours to see if he can find what is hurting you, slay the dragon that made you feel this way. When you just shakily smile, sniffling again, he presses a kiss to each cheek, to each eyelid, to the tip of your runny nose, to the center of your forehead. And then he drags you into his arms again.
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buddie-buddie Ā· 2 months ago
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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 momentā€™s right, heā€™ll ask Evan to move in. It isnā€™t the grand proposal Tommyā€™s saving for later on down the line, but itā€™s the first step. And itā€™s one he can hardly wait to take.Ā 
Thankfully, he doesnā€™t have to wait much longer. Heā€™s washing the last of the dishes when he hears Evanā€™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.Ā 
When he swings the door open, his words die in his throat.Ā 
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.Ā Blood stains streak across his t-shirt, every inch of him radiating exhaustion and something deeper, something raw.Ā 
ā€œEvan," Tommy breathes, his heart lurching. ā€œAre you okay?ā€
Evan doesnā€™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.
ā€œEvan,ā€ he tries again, more insistent this time.
read on ao3
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starry-bi-sky Ā· 3 months ago
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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
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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 parentsā€™ creation; the culmination of their lifeā€™s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite.Ā 
He learns that when heā€™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 momā€™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 heā€™s tightened them the farthest they can go.Ā 
He learns that when heā€™s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friendsā€™ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Samā€™s holding a polaroid in her hand. Theyā€™re just being kids.Ā 
Theyā€™re not laughing when Dannyā€™s hand hits the safety lock ā€” the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. Theyā€™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.Ā 
Theyā€™re not laughing when Danny dies. Theyā€™re screaming. Theyā€™re not screaming when he comes back.
Not all deaths are created equal.Ā Ā 
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.Ā 
But most are justā€¦ unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy.Ā 
Dannyā€™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.Ā 
It happens like this:Ā 
Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. Itā€™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.Ā Ā 
Something had to give.Ā 
Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon ā€” his children at school, his wife downstairs ā€” to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later.Ā 
He stops what heā€™s doing to fix it.Ā Ā 
It wasnā€™t supposed to be permanent.Ā 
Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what heā€™s good at, he knows what heā€™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.Ā 
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 ā€” a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them.Ā 
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 ā€”Ā  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down ā€” and disappears back downstairs.Ā 
He does not make that call; it slips from his mind.Ā 
It is not his fault.Ā 
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 nobodyā€™s fault.Ā Ā 
Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tuckerā€™s house for the night. Just one night. Theyā€™re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half.Ā 
Heā€™s been doing well in school. Really well ā€” better than he has in a while. Thereā€™s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living donā€™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.Ā 
This year Danny got to participate. Heā€™s feeling the effects of it too, and heā€™s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident.Ā 
Itā€™ll never happen again.Ā 
His parents agree under the condition that he doesnā€™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.Ā 
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 heā€™s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention.Ā 
She tells him that sheā€™s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brotherā€™s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks heā€™s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes.Ā 
When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; ā€œI love you.ā€Ā 
Her little brotherā€™s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but canā€™t hide the smile pulling across it. ā€œDonā€™t be a sap, Jazz. Iā€™ll see you later.ā€ He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ā€˜love you tooā€™ before he walks away.Ā 
That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother.Ā 
Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. Thereā€™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 doesnā€™t even have to go ghost.Ā 
Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tuckerā€™s house ā€” Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club ā€” and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console.Ā 
Danny sleeps in Tuckerā€™s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldnā€™t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before theyā€™d gone to bed.Ā 
Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before itā€™s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed.Ā 
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.Ā 
Dannyā€™s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware.Ā 
Itā€™s not Jack Fentonā€™s fault. He didnā€™t mean to.Ā Ā 
Nobody wakes up with their alarms.Ā 
Danny wakes up to Tucker Foleyā€™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.Ā 
Thereā€™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.Ā 
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 heā€™s on top of all his schoolwork.Ā 
He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesnā€™t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that itā€™s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. Thatā€™s if thereā€™s no ghost attacks.Ā 
At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if heā€™s seen Jazz. She hasnā€™t shown up to any of her classes. Sheā€™s not answering their texts. Itā€™s unprecedented of her; unheard of.Ā 
Danny doesnā€™t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasnā€™t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off.Ā 
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.
ā€˜Where are you?ā€™Ā 
He doesnā€™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.Ā 
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. ā€œMom! Dad!ā€ He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. ā€œJazz skipped school today!ā€
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.Ā 
He canā€™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;
ā€œMom? Dad?ā€Ā 
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 shouldā€™ve heard him.Ā 
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 doesnā€™t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;Ā  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. Itā€™s been the same since he was little.Ā 
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 arenā€™t answering him. His feet pound against the metal.Ā 
ā€œMom? Dad?ā€ He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before itā€™s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down.Ā 
It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here.Ā 
Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. ā€œThis isnā€™t funny you guys!ā€ He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked.Ā 
He checks the garage, the car is still there.Ā 
ā€œMom!? Dad!ā€ His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. Heā€™s never raised his voice this much ā€” mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesnā€™t show up. ā€œJazmine!ā€Ā 
Finally, he goes upstairs, and he canā€™t tell if what heā€™s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong.Ā 
He swings the door of his parentsā€™ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadnā€™t left their bed all day. Some of Dannyā€™s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but heā€™s still trembling. Something is still wrong ā€” the room smellsā€¦ off. Not good, not bad. Justā€¦ off.Ā 
He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. ā€œMom, dad?ā€ They do not stir. ā€œDidnā€™t you guys hear me yelling?ā€Ā 
There is only room static. Dannyā€™s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that theyā€™re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house.Ā 
Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, ā€œMomma? Dad?ā€
Not all deaths are created equal.Ā 
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.Ā 
He sits on the front steps of the neighborā€™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 canā€™t feel the chill.Ā 
Not all deaths are created equal
But all of them are unforgettable.Ā 
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc au#dpxdc fic#blood blossom au#dpxdc ficlet#starry's writing#tw character death#cw death#angst#hurt no comfort#carbon monoxide poisoning almost sounds like a plain way to go when compared to the other batkids. but then you think about it for more#than a second and then the inherent horror of it all creeps in. danny found his family dead. he found their corpses.#i didnt feel comfortable writing it - just a little bit too heavy even for me yet - but just know that danny shook his parents as if he was#trying to wake them up when he realized they were dead. he went into emotional shock and kinda mentally shutdown.#he yelled and screamed and tried to wake them. and then rushed to his sister's room only to find the same thing. rinse and repeat#more time passed between danny finding them and him going to his neighbor's than what i showed#no more than an hour because the house was still full of carbon monoxide but longer than five minutes. long enough that when he finally wen#over - in hysterics and missing his shoes and jacket - he was completely inconsolable. he was having a breakdown.#when i was writing the ending scene with the paramedics and police and stuff i was very much calling on how i imagine Bruce's own experienc#might have gone. different but similar. with a thousand yard stare and water in their ears#two boys wrapped in shock blankets surrounded by police lights and having just seen their families dead. teehee
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deoidesign Ā· 2 months ago
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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!!!
#almost done with my 8th episode... which will give me. two weeks. of buffer...#id really like at LEAST a month... but to be more comfortable id like two#which means 2-6 more episodes before I come back!#I've got about 7 weeks so its possible. but i do still have to finish book 4#so much to do ..........#I decided for my next comic im doing 3 updates a month.#having 10 days instead of 7 to make an episode is such a huge huge huge difference...#difference in quality and in my health!#anyways the comic is really pretty im really happy with the work im doing rn#the environments especially. im getting to spend a nice amount of time on them and theyre turning out so nicely#its nice to be able to write with a lot of different environments and not have to redo panels when I get to them cause of time#cause every time theres a wild angle? you need a new background...#so sometimes. often actually. there just isnt the time to make the backgrounds for those and i have to make them more flat...#which is fine. it doesnt really affect anything narratively. but. idk. it's kinda sad right?#anyways yeah! 10 days will be much better.#36 episodes a year is about what ive been uploading with my hiatuses on the weekly schedule anyways!#so might as well cut out that super stressful middleman and just commit to that#52 a year is just such a huge difference and i have to accept its not possible to me#i will hurt myself trying to do that. and i want to make comics my whole life!#so i cant push myself that hard now and sacrifice my future. we're gonna go slower after this...#anyways yeah cant wait to come back but also time. if I could get an extra week like a secret one just for me#where theres no chores no nothin just me and my work#thatd be great! so go ahead and do what you gotta do to give me a little pocket dimension#me: ugh i want to return right now...#the more logical me: NO we need the time to finish everything!!!!!! NOT right now!!!!#time and time again#ttawebcomic#comic panels#hiatus stuff#adam and steve
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gardenofnoah Ā· 11 months ago
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cw: implied sexual trauma, panic attack, intimacy struggles
You donā€™t notice it happening until itā€™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 roomā€”
ā€œHey.ā€
You blink, and Katsuki is no longer above you. Heā€™s not touching you at allā€”you turn your head to find him next to you, propped up on an elbow and only worried.
ā€œToo much?ā€
The panic flares at the question, because what if this is the last time? What if heā€™s tired of this?
Your exhale is shakyā€”your laugh is forced and sounds out of place. ā€œNo, it was fine, I justā€”ā€œ
ā€œOiā€”ā€œ he says, gently, ā€œtell me the truth.ā€
The truth burns your eyes and keeps them on the ceiling, away from his. You nod, helpless and resigned to whatever comes next.
ā€œWhatā€™s goinā€™ on in your head?ā€
You feel the tears spill over before you can catch them. You swipe them away with the back of your wrist. Itā€™s still numb. ā€œIā€™m just sorry. I didnā€™t mean to ruin it.ā€
He grunts a little in acknowledgmentā€”a displeased, ugly soundā€”and then thereā€™s movement that finally draws your eyes to him. You watch him cover himself with your duvetā€”all the way up to his chin.
ā€œSā€™it okay if I hold you?ā€
He reaches for you and you let him pull you in. His hands stay above your shoulders and pointedly avoid your neckā€”cradling your head, letting you hide in the curve of his throat. His pulse is steady and constant against your foreheadā€”or you imagine it would be, if it wasnā€™t muted by the fabric.
ā€œNothinā€™ is ruined,ā€ he murmurs against your hairline, ā€œsā€™my job to keep you safe.ā€
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.
ā€œI promise I want it. I donā€™t know whatā€™s wrong with me, Iā€™m sorryā€”ā€œ
ā€œHey, hey,ā€ he shushes you, careful not to tighten his arms around your shoulders. ā€œNothinā€™ to be sorry for. Sā€™too much todayā€”thatā€™s all.ā€
Itā€™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 skinā€”you donā€™t feel them there at all, and itā€™s on purpose. Heā€™s considerate and it makes you anxious.
ā€œCan hear you thinkinā€™.ā€
ā€œI justā€”ā€œ you inhale, trying to be brave, ā€œI donā€™t want you to leave. I know I canā€™tā€”give you thisā€”ā€œ
ā€œOi,ā€ he gruffs, a little sharply, ā€œI donā€™t give a shit about that. Mā€™not a barbarian.ā€
You feel the expansion of his lungs as he draws in a slow exhale, and lets it out against the crown of your head. ā€œDonā€™t think so little of me,ā€ he murmurs, tone laced with hurt.
ā€œYouā€™re right,ā€ you whisper, because he is, ā€œI love you.ā€
ā€œLove you.ā€ He kisses it into your skin, soft and barely there. ā€œAlways will.ā€
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elsecrytt Ā· 3 months ago
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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.
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utterlyazriel Ā· 6 months ago
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whom the shadows sing for ā€” (and the thief's echoing hymn)
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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 thinkā€” 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 muchā€” 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 thenā€” 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 pointā€” 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.
Butā€¦ 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 lifeā€”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 aboutā€” 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 understandā€”
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 stepsā€” 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. Iā€™m coming back. Iā€™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.
ā€”
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 farā€” 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 hadā€” they hadā€”
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 ā€” the crack of a whip against skin.
ā€”
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 canā€™t be realā€” this canā€™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 ā€” 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 yourselfā€”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 chestā€”revealed through your cut away armorā€” 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 himā€”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 shutā€” 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.
ā€”
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 ā€” 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 bestā€”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 maleā€”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 appearanceā€”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 poleā€”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'tā€”the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire worldā€” you can't die or he'llā€” 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 needsā€”you have to help her. Please.
I'm on my way.
[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]
tags below!
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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)
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writerfae Ā· 13 days ago
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The sound of childhood lost
His motherā€™s singing had always been one of Talonā€™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 motherā€™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 fatherā€™s face, tender tunes smoothing the rough edges of his guarded heart.
Talon couldā€™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 motherā€™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 motherā€™s voice, Kieran playing the violin was one of Talonā€™s favorite sounds.
And combined, he adored it even more.
Whenever Kieran came to visit them, him and Talonā€™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 motherā€™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!)
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bluebells-and-dragonflies Ā· 7 months ago
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Can I request Astarion reacting to GN Reader genuinely asking him why does he flirt with THEM of all people? Like they know everyone is attractive except them but the fact he flirts with them more than he does with everyone combined is a mystery to them!
Anon, I need to be so honest with you: Astarion is not going to stand for this, lol. Especially if you bring this up further into the relationship.
If you straight up try to tell him that you don't understand why he's flirting because you're not attractive enough for that, he's probably not going to take you seriously at first. It seems so outside the realm of possibility that you would actually think that- don't you know what you look like?- that he doesn't even consider you might be genuine. He'll probably respond with some sort of flippant joke (Oh, I tried everyone else in camp first. You were the only one who took the bait, or Flirting with you? You think that's what I've been doing? Darling, this is a seduction) and he'll only realize you're serious when you don't laugh.
He's not the sort of man who's naturally good at comfort, but he offers you his best form of it: aggressively attacking your false belief like he could physically tear it to shreds, using his flippancy as a weapon. He asks if you've gone to some other vampire behind his back and gotten yourself turned- how else could you be so unaware of your appearance? If you don't find yourself attractive, you have a serious fault in your taste. Either that, or you've developed incredible blinders to your own magnetism, and that exists regardless of how you look. (If you try to interrupt him here, he'll put a hand over your mouth (gently, so that you could pull away if you wanted) and keep talking as if you'd never interrupted). What, you haven't noticed? It's impossible to notice anyone else in any room you're in. Every expression on your face and every movement you make scream I am somebody you want to know. It's impossible not to want to be closer to you. To want you.
Now, he won't hear another insult aimed at the only person he's ever cared about. He would gut anyone who ever dared to talk about you the way you just talked about yourself.
You're beautiful, darling. Please don't forget it.
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minminyoonjii Ā· 4 months ago
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Hiiiii. This is a request you donā€™t have to answer but I would like to know your thoughts on. I know youā€™ve done a few scenarios where ot8ā€™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 wouldnā€™t want to let them go after it.
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ā¤ļøUltimate Masterlist
šŸ’œRules and Guidelines
šŸ§”Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist
šŸŒ¹CW
Wholesome Sleepy Boys|Hurt/Comfort|Domestic Settings|Fluffy|Soft Reassurance Fic|Crying|Panic Jolts|Tooth Rotting Sweet
šŸ’Œ This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.
šŸ„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.
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roxygen22 Ā· 7 months ago
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Sick Timothee with fem reader as caretaker plz ā¤ļø
Thanks to You
Summary: Fem!reader takes care of feverish Laurie
A/N: Decided to write using Timothee's Laurie as the main character because the time period makes fevers much more scary.
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Laure's restless stirring awakened you. You blinked, unable to focus since it was still dark out. You reached your hand out to place gentle, comforting pressure on his arm, as you often did if he was suffering a nightmare, but instantly drew it back in shock. He was putting off more heat than your fireplace.
You grabbed the oil lamp on your nightstand and raised the flame. There was a sheen of sweat blanketing his forehead and chest, though he was shivering like he had been out in the snow. "Fever," you breathed out worriedly.
You jumped out of bed and quickly set to work gathering supplies. You immersed a cloth in water and wrung it out to place on his forehead. You rubbed the herb poultice Mrs. March had shown you how to make onto the soles of his feet and covered them with socks. He shifted his head side to side, mumbling your name.
"[Y/N], [Y/N]," he muttered weakly.
You ran your fingers through his damp curls. "I'm here, my love. I'm here."
"[Y/N]?" Laurie's glazed eyes opened, but they never focused on you.
He's delirious, you thought to yourself. You looked out the window, countenance falling as you realized the blizzard meant you could not send for help. The whole town was snowed in. "You have to get better, Laurie," you stated as you cradled your slight baby bump with your free hand.
He became slightly more alert as the dawn arrived. You took the opportunity to get him to drink some water. He was shaking so much from the throes of fever that he could not hold the cup without spilling. You sat beside him to support his head and hold the cup to his lips. You were grateful to see that at least some water made it into his mouth. Exhausted, he flopped his head back onto the pillow and looked up at you.
"Y-you should k-keep your distance. You d-don't n-need to get sick, too," Laurie said through chattering teeth.
"Nonsense. Who else is going to take care of you, hmm?" You half-smiled, not quite enough to reach your eyes. You wet the cloth again and gently wiped his neck, chest, and arms. "Are you hungry?" you asked when you finished, but there was no response. He had already fallen asleep again. You surveyed the dark purple circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin.
You rose from your perch by Laurie's side to start some soup for when he woke again. He came to about an hour later. You helped him sit up against the headboard so he could eat. He scowled when you attempted to spoon feed him. "Come on, now. You need to eat something to keep your strength, and I'm sure you don't want to spill hot soup in your lap," you chided. He rolled his eyes and acquiesced. You chuckled. At least he was feeling good enough to give you an attitude.
The food did him some good, because soon he wanted to get up and move around. You helped him to the front room to his armchair. While he read by the fire, you changed the damp sheets. It wasn't long before he was ready to lay down again. The two of you repeated this cycle throughout the day.
When night came once more, the fever ravaged again. You covered him with every blanket in the house and practically laid on top of him to warm him up. The shaking eventually relented, giving both of you a reprieve. You fell asleep sitting next to the bed, holding his hand while your head rested on your arm.
You woke to the feeling of a hand playing with your hair. You groggily raised your head and were greeted by Laurie's smile. "Good morning, my dove."
You smiled at the nickname and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Your fever broke," you said in relief. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. "I was so worried."
"I'm alright, thanks to you."
<><><><><>
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