#mostly comfort

[xmrnothingx]

Samus Aran from Metroid

I ended up liking my sketch of Samus with a side-ponytail so much I ended up drawing a full sketch right after. I just think she looks really cute with one

#metroid #Samus Aran #Zero Suit Samus #Sammy with a side-ponytail and gentle smile is making me feel things #mostly comfort #I want to hug her

[zeestarfishalien]

Lingering Souls

CW: Drugs (fear gas being referred to as a drug), Panic Attack (again it’s fear gas)

[Day 2 dpxdc week 2023; Danny Fenton // Full Hazmat AU // Fear Gas]

• MemeLords (Danny Fenton/Stephanie Brown) if you squint.

When the adrenaline hits, Stephanie prepares herself to face the visions of her failures, of people she cares about dying in her arms, or even visions of dying slowly somewhere cold and alone.

What she doesn’t expect is the odd warping of reality where all the shadows move. There’s people, so many people. Most of them have some sort of violent wound on them hanging open but not freshly bleeding. Her eyes can’t accurately judge distances any more as figures seem to loom closer or flick away with the barest hint of movement. There’s a glow from up on the roof ledge above her that attracts her attention even though moving her head makes her stomach turn.

There. Stretching in a blur of shadows and neon green glow, a figure moves. Suddenly all she can hear is heavy breathing filtered through a mask and the sound is so loud. She can’t hear her own breathing. Is she breathing? Panic rises further as she can’t hear her own breathing, feel her chest rise and fall and the breathing gets louder and louder, the figure hasn’t moved yet, watching Scarecrow monologue.

An ice cold hand grips her shoulder without warning but before she can scream, another is pressed against her mouth, silencing her. She can’t see them, but they’re so cold, like her hands that one time she got captured by Mr. Freeze.

“Shhhhh,” the raspy voice murmurs in her ear. “I need you to breathe with me.” Then she hears the exaggerated rattling breath through a filter that’s different from the overwhelming heavy breathing that’s still plaguing her ears.

They’re trying to get her to breathe. She really wasn’t breathing? That thought nearly sends her spiraling into panic all over and the heavy breathing picks up in speed once more.

“Hey, hey…” the raspy voice is soft, soothing even if it sounds like it must hurt its owner’s throat. “Close your eyes, I’ll put your hand on my shoulder so you can feel me breathe.”

She does it, she closes her eyes. She’s not usually one to listen to a stranger’s command but this is not a usual sort of situation. There’s the shifting of what sounds like rubber then her gloved hand is placed on Raspy Voice’s shoulder. She can feel them breathe and she finally drags in a shuddering breath to match their pace after a few moments of fumbling.

The strange breathing plaguing her matches her own shakily drawn breaths and slowly ever so slowly as her adrenaline plateaus, it dawns on her that the breathing matches hers because it is hers. The drugs are altering her sense of reality. She knows this.

She jolts as a crash and a human squawk cuts off Crane’s monologue. She almost opens her eyes, it’s habit. She needs to know what’s going on, but she knows she’ll lose her tenuous grip on her fear if she does.

“We’ve got him,” the voice reassures her. “Just breathe with me. I won’t leave you.”

And she believes them. Something about Cold Hand’s voice cuts through and draws away the drug induced fear. Which logically shouldn’t be possible but far be it from Stephanie to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Crane must have made this strain short acting. She can hear her heartbeat settling back into something resembling a normal pace. It helps that Cold Hands is murmuring reassurances and documenting what is going on so she can relax a little easier. Crane is caught. The material beneath her gloved fingers is odd. She can’t tell the details obviously but it doesn’t sit in her grip the way she’s used to.

“I’m gonna…let me take my hood off before you open your eyes,” Cold Hands says suddenly.

There’s a rustling and a hiss of air being released from closed circulation, more rustling and then a raspy “okay.”

It’s so quietly said that Stephanie almost doesn’t hear it. It still takes another few moments for her to gather the courage to open her eyes again.

She’s looking into a face spiderwebbed with glowing green lines. The lines reach up to their eyes which also glow in that same ominous color. She has to remind herself that it’s the same color as Kori’s eyes, panic is still easily bubbling up.

She notes the black and white hazmat suit, an odd color. Their companion also wears one in the same colors, their mask is still on but their back is turned as they keep watch over Crane and his goonies.

“I’m Phantom, he/him,” Cold Hands, Phantom says obviously trying to pull her attention back to him. She lets him.

“Spoiler, any.”

“Even Neos?” She’s pretty sure he’s only asking to keep her talking, to keep the conversation going.

“Especially Neo-pronouns.”

Phantom’s grin is infectious. She firmly ignores that thought.

“Who’s your twin over there?”

Phantom pauses at that and not the human sort of pause, his entire body goes absolutely still. Stephanie thinks his heart might have even stopped but she’d have to move to check his pulse. After what feels like an eternity (it’s probably not been that long but time gets wiggy when you’re high on mind altering drugs), his gaze flicks away and she knows he’s either debating on whether or not to lie or about what lie to tell.

When he looks back, he meets her gaze steadily (so probably not lying).

“It’s just me,” he says in that low rasp. The other one, the other Phantom turns to look at them even though he shouldn’t have been able to hear the first one’s voice. Maybe they’re connected?

“An illusion?” She asks it just to eliminate unlikely theories.

“No,” Cold Hands Phantom says, confirming her theory. “He’s completely separate from me until we merge back together.”

Well that’s…got to be confusing.

“It is,” he replied.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you’re still pretty out of it.”

“That checks out. Why hazmat? Seems cumbersome and not for fighting villains.” She knows it’s probably rude but figures the guy might cut her some slack since she’s drugged up at the moment. She’s not one to miss an advantage where she can get one.

For his part, Cold Hands Phantom doesn’t look offended. If anything he looks a little bemused and she wonders how many other thoughts she might have said out loud instead of in the privacy of her own mind. That could get embarrassing real fast. It’s better not to think about it for too long or she’ll lose her nerve.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The non sequitur throws her addled mind for a bit of a loop and then she has to think about it for a minute. Does she believe in ghosts? She certainly believes that some spirits linger after death and for people to return from the dead, their souls must have been somewhere.

“I believe that our souls can linger, yeah.”

He nods.

“I’m that; a lingering soul. I died in a hazmat suit so that’s what I’m stuck with. At least until I’m dead long enough to change it.”

“Is that why your hands are so flipping cold,” she bursts out.

He laughs. It’s a cracking horrid sounding laugh, but it’s genuine and filled with his amusement.

“Yeah,” he takes a breath to get the few lingering chuckles under control, “that’s part of the reason my hands are so cold.���

“Hmm…seems like it sucks.”

“Which part? The suit or the cold hands?”

“Both, but I was referring to the suit.”

“Sometimes it does but then again, I don’t have to deal with the stares or the patronizing adults nearly so often. The suit itself is just a part of me so it doesn’t get in my way.”

“You doing alright though?” She doesn’t know what makes her ask that. Possibly the drugs? She’s gonna blame the drugs. But even though she didn’t plan to say it, she finds that she really does mean it. Obviously he’s not gonna want sympathy or pity for his death. It’s something he has to deal with every day. But how many people ask him how he’s doing?

“I…” he fumbles. His face contorts, shifting the glowing lichtenburg figures into interesting shapes and contortions. His fingers come up to rake through his unruly white hair as he takes the time to truly think about her question.

“Some days are easier than others,” he finally settles on. “Being here, now? That’s good. I’m doing good.”

“Okay,” she says and sits back tipping her chin up as she closes her eyes. The nausea is getting worse, but also she doesn’t know what else to say or how to look Phantom in the eyes. So instead she focuses on her breathing.

B would want her to try to find out everything she can about Phantom. But respectfully, screw him. She’s still struggling with the drugs and Phantom did nothing but help her through it and tie up Scarecrow and his goons. While she might want to know how he managed to get her over the effects of the drug so fast and with no antidote, she’s just grateful he did it.

She’ll claim that she was too out of it. Alfred won’t let B get on her case over this.

And well…the dead deserve to rest.

Author’s Note: Steph absolutely was saying much of her thoughts aloud. Will we ever know how much? Who can say. Danny didn’t want her to feel embarrassed about it since she couldn’t really help it.

Also Steph using any pronouns is something you won’t even be able to pry out of my cold dead hands. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc week 2023 #potential memelords ship #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (5)

Part one here

Continued from here

Back to my favourite Kingdom~

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo managed to walk at a respectable pace with Henrik’s arm around him, supporting him as they followed the King’s trail through the palace. It felt nice to have freedom of movement in his arms, the iron cuffs were a welcome weight off his wrists.

This part of the palace looked less… formal. Less imposingly grand as the trial court had been. There were also less people, less humans, so maybe that had something to do with Cosimo’s sudden easement.

They turned a corner which opened up into a large room. Not as tall or grand as the court, but clean. Clinical. The walls were the same bone white, but three beds made up the back wall with cabinets full of bottles scattered around everywhere else, filling the space.

Nikolas was there, smiling and charming off the other grumpy human that could only be Artzet. He was taller than Nikolas, and where Nikolas was fair Artzet was dark. He had long dark, raven hair pushed back off his face, that stopped just above his shoulders. He had a wide face and a strong jaw, lined with dark stubble. His eyes were blue, when he turned his head to Cosimo and Henrik, like ice.

“Ah, there he is now,” said Nikolas with a smile, walking over to Cosimo and Henrik to stand beside them. “The man of the hour. He had a rather unfortunate arrival and I was hoping you could bandage his wrists from the cuffs.”

Artzet cocked an eyebrow at Cosimo, silent as the grave. He had a strange aura about him, unapproachable and stormy. His eyes flicked to Cosimo’s ears and Cosimo felt the shame rise in his face as he looked down.

“The boy’s an elf,” Artzet said, his voice like gravel, with a strange accent. Not unlike Henrik and Nikolas but certainly different. Foreign, like Cosimo.

“Yes,” said Nikolas brightly. “He’s a boy. His name is Cosimo, and he was mistreated in my name, Artzet.”

Artzet’s eyes were hard when they cut to Nikolas. “Don’t you usually execute elves?”

There wasn’t a malice in his words, nor anything else really. It was more… matter of fact, as if trying to glean understanding. Cosimo was dizzy with the range that humans came in. Evil, kind, happy, grumpy— and then Artzet who just… confused Cosimo.

Maybe he was going mad.

“Yes,” Nikolas replied in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Adult elves with intentions to kill me first. This boy is a child, Artzet. He doesn’t even know of our tumultuous history with elves.”

Artzet looked at Cosimo again with those icy eyes, calculating, searching Cosimo’s face for what Cosimo didn’t know. Then his face broke into a smile and it made him look a couple years younger.

“An innocent elf,” Artzet said with a bark of laughter and a shrug. “Well. It’s not everyday I get to treat an elf, please put him on the bed.”

Nikolas grinned in return, flashing his smile down at Cosimo and then patting Henrik on the back. “Marvellous!”

Henrik helped Cosimo over to the bed while Artzet milled around the room, humming a tune to himself. “You okay, kid?” Henrik whispered as he lifted Cosimo onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Cosimo replied, the room swirling slightly. “Yeah I’m fine.” Henrik smiled and grabbed Cosimo’s legs, helping him to stretch out on the comfortable bed and it felt so good. So nice and soft and warm. So unlike the cell’s cot.

Nikolas smiled at Cosimo from the entrance of the room. “I have to go and see to some arrangements about fixing you a room, Cosimo.”

Cosimo frowned. “A room?”

“Yes,” Nikolas said, smiling kindly.

“You’re not letting me go?”

The humans stilled in the room. Cosimo looked between Nikolas and Henrik, Artzet’s humming stopped. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

They weren’t going to let him go? What about? He had to save the boy and the fox he had to return to them, he had to—

Darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, Cosimo’s breath getting away from him and thrumming his chest in a staccato rhythm.

“I have to— I have to— my brother, I have to—” Cosimo wheezed, clutching his chest but it was no use. His thoughts were against him, his mind turning in on him and shattering. He couldn’t breathe. He had to—

Henrik was beside him, hand on his and squeezing. “Hey. Cosimo! Hey! Look at me, it’s okay! We’re not keeping you here. Cosimo!”

Cosimo’s eyes darted around the room searching for escape, everyone, everything was too close to him, the mattress too soft so he would struggle to run and could he even run?! In his state?

Icy eyes appeared in front of him and then smaller golden eyes. Cosimo stared, stunned at the furry creature that Artzet held in front of his face. Tears flowed in steady streams down his face but even then he couldn’t understand what was happening.

A cat?

It was a cat… Artzet… was holding a cat up to Cosimo? To take it?

“There we go. See? Everyone loves Myshka. Eh? Pet her if you like,” said Artzet with an encouraging nod. Cosimo lifted his hand and stroked the cat’s head. The cat purred under him, grey fur so soft and fluffy. “She is my nurse, helps me with all my patients. Isn’t that right Myshka?”

Myshka purred in reply. Cosimo let out a small happy laugh at her, as the grey cat curled up on his lap, content. Cosimo raised his head to see Henrik and Nikolas sharing a look of bewilderment. Cosimo swallowed, embarrassed at all the fuss he had caused.

“Mmm,” Artzet hummed in response to Myshka. “I agree. He is a lovely boy. Too tall for his age, but that means he will grow strong.”

“Cosimo.”

Cosimo looked up to Nikolas, who was frowning his brows forming a furrow at the top of his nose. His green eyes met Cosimo’s, with something heavy in them.

“You said…” Nikolas began then stopped, worrying his lip between his teeth. “You said you had a brother?”

Cosimo’s chest swelled again. He looked to Henrik who stared at him with the same tentative look that was on Nikolas’s face. So he must have said it. Cosimo didn’t remember saying it…

“You didn’t run away on your own,” said Henrik softly. Cosimo glanced down at the cat, fearing if he looked at anyone else he would start crying again. “Did you?”

Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat.

Artzet spoke first. “Cosimo, if you wouldn’t mind stretching your arm here so I can clean it.”

Cosimo was happy for the distraction. His tongue had turned to sand in his mouth, too dry and thick and much. What would they do to the boy? To the fox? Would they kill them? Sure, Henrik liked Cosimo but that didn’t mean they liked elves. Would they put him in irons too? Force him to be in a cell? To stand trial, and then bandage him up again with an apology and an offer to stay and live with them.

“Cosimo,” it was Henrik this time. His eyes soft and trusting. “You can tell us, okay? We just want what’s best for you. And for your brother.”

Cosimo felt tears building behind his eyes. He couldn’t tell them, could he? He remembered during the trial, how Henrik had just stood back as he was tied down to an iron pole and it flared something angry in his chest. He couldn’t just tell them.

“If I tell you,” Cosimo said, tone guarded, shielding himself from the answer. He raised his head and stared straight at Nikolas. He had to hear it from the King. “Will you subject him to the same thing you did to me?”

The question seemed to suck all air out of the room. Henrik straightened, turning his body a little away from Cosimo, to look at Nikolas. Nikolas’s green eyes didn’t leave Cosimo’s. He walked closer to Cosimo’s bed and stopped at the end of it. Nikolas lifted his right hand, tucking his left behind his back and formed a fist over his chest.

His eyes solemn as he stared at Cosimo.

“I promise you, Cosimo. That your brother will not come to any harm in my care. I will treat you both as if you were my subjects. If you wish you can pass through my territory if you would prefer to keep running from where you’re from. I will provide the King’s escort so you can pass safely through.” Nikolas’s gaze softened then. A small flush fell over his cheeks, and Cosimo realised with a start that the King was… embarrassed.

“Or, if you prefer, you can have a room here in the palace. In my court. You would be treated with the utmost respect and kindness, as well as I would treat any other human. More so, because I know what pain you have been caused under my care. This, I give you, my vow as King. No harm will come to you.”

Cosimo stared without words. It felt as if his breath was taken from his chest. The only thought running through his head was that: Nikolas really did look like a King. The kind of Kings from stories Cosimo grew up with; good Kings, kind Kings, brave as knights and chosen by Gods. His golden brown hair like a crown, standing like a soldier in front of Cosimo, offering him a salute.

A King saluting Cosimo.

A human saluting an elf.

His enemy.

Maybe he was like everything Henrik had said. Maybe he was too good to be a King.

Cosimo broke down into another round of sobs. Nikolas blanked, like he had done something wrong immediately looking to Henrik who shared his look of confusion.

Artzet was bandaging Cosimo’s wrist, movement unbroken as if there was no life changing exchanges happening behind him. Myshka purred on Cosimo’s lap happily.

“Cosimo, I—” Nikolas began but Cosimo cut him off.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing all this trouble, I’m sorry for forcing you to be kind. I’m sorry—” Cosimo blubbered, looking up at Nikolas with watery eyes, as wide as saucers. “I’m sorry… that I’m not strong enough to say no. I— I ran with my brother, we— I didn’t have a plan, we have nowhere else to—”

Henrik engulfed Cosimo in a hug, stopping him mid sentence. He was so strong he could take the weight of them both as sobs wracked through Cosimo like a storm. Blubbering up and broiling over in waves.

“We’ll find your brother,” Nikolas said, and he was so certain. “As soon as you’re rested and—”

Cosimo’s eyes flew open, panicked. “No. Please, we have to find him now.”

Nikolas softened. “Of course. As soon as Artzet has looked you over we will set out to find him, Cosimo.”

“How wonderful,” Artzet said happily, returning Cosimo’s bandaged wrist to his lap. “I am already halfway through! Henrik, please. Let us swap sides.”

Cosimo flushed at Artzet’s manner of speaking. He spoke from the back of his throat, pausing as if for effect after every couple of words. His voice happy and upbeat, his face still the same imposing sternness that had initially scared Cosimo.

Henrik pulled back from Cosimo, and Cosimo offered him a smile. It was all he could do. Henrik returned one and walked around the bed to where Artzet was before, sitting on the edge of the blanket.

“How far away was your brother from where we were camped?” Henrik asked.

“Not too far,” Cosimo replied. “I’ll know when we get there. I left him in an elfbow. It should protect him from humans.”

“And from elves?”

Cosimo looked at Nikolas who had an unreadable expression on his face. Cosimo frowned, he didn’t even think of that.

“No,” said Cosimo softly. “No it wouldn’t.”

“No trouble,” said Artzet with a smile. “I will just work faster.”

Nikolas nodded at Artzet. “Thank you, Doctor. Henrik will stay with you Cosimo, while I send word to the stables to prepare the horses so we can leave as soon as you’re finished here.”

“Okay,” said Cosimo. “Thank you.”

Nikolas nodded and then he was gone.

“Oh no,” said Artzet not a second later. Turning Cosimo’s and Henrik’s head to him.

“What?” Henrik asked, his eyes flickering to Cosimo’s wrist.

Artzet grinned. “I think the King likes you, Cosimo.”

Henrik rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Cosimo didn’t know how to react to that statement, but it did make something warm around his heart. It was good if the King liked him, that meant he would survive. The boy would survive. They would be okay, that Cosimo didn’t actually doom them. That he saved them both.

That all this had meant something.

Artzet smiled when he was finished and straightened. “Now, Cosimo. You are good as new! Well, not new, but better.”

Artzet spoke at Henrik next: “make sure he doesn’t ride his own horse in case the pulling of the reins aggravates his wrists.”

“It’s okay,” said Henrik, getting to his feet. “Cosimo will be riding with me anyway.”

“Marvellous. Now, Myshka,” said Artzet with a sigh. He leaned down and hooked his hands under the cats belly to her mewl of protest. “I know, I know. Terrible. Cosimo has a brother to rescue, Myshka, don’t be selfish.”

Cosimo got to his feet, his head only slightly dizzying now. The stress seeming to have left his body with Artzet and Myshka.

“Thank you,” Cosimo said to Artzet who was cuddling Myshka to his chest.

“Anytime, Cosimo. Now go, save your brother. I will see you again.”

Cosimo walked beside Henrik out of Artzet’s room and turned a different corner than the one that led back to the court room with the throne and the iron pole.

“Cosimo, are you sure you’re okay to ride?” Henrik asked, the skepticism evident in his voice. Cosimo for his part was doing his best to stay focused and upright.

“Yes,” said Cosimo. He did feel better, much better than before. He was a little woozy but he just attributed that to the blood loss. His hands looked a little funny with the white bandages wrapped firmly around them. Soft, yet strong. “We need to find him.”

He could feel Henrik’s eyes on him as they walked down the steps they had come up from the stables. They were so close to being safe, Cosimo could rest when he saw the boy, didn’t Henrik understand that? He could relax and let Henrik fuss over him then, but not until he saw the boy.

If the elves had got to him…

No, Cosimo couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t. They would find the boy and everything would be fine.

They emerged from the side door of the palace to find Nikolas and some soldiers preparing horses outside the stables. Ebony was already geared up, tied off beside a white horse that Cosimo could only presume belonged to Nikolas.

He seemed like the type of man to have a white horse. It made him look more like a Hero. Henrik walked them around to where the gathering of the soldiers were to see Nikolas in the middle, sitting on a bale of hay and laughing at something with the stable boys.

He perked up when he saw Cosimo and Henrik, smiling and standing. He clapped one of the stable boys on the shoulder and then he was in front of Cosimo and Henrik.

“You’re all patched up,” said Nikolas.

“Yes, Artzet worked quickly.”

“Good. Then let’s not waste anymore time, hmm?”

They didn’t. Henrik helped Cosimo onto Ebony again and then climbed up behind him, while Nikolas mounted the white horse beside them. Henrik offered something to Cosimo and he took it, realising it was the hood and cloak Henrik had given him before to hide his ears from the other humans.

Cosimo frowned at the green material. Did he still have to hide? Was he not free by the king’s decree?

“People won’t know that you’re pardoned yet, Cosimo,” said Henrik behind him as he walked Ebony towards the palace gates. “They will still have reason to fear you if they see your ears. People have the tendency to think the worst. It will just cause panic.”

Cosimo swallowed his pride. He didn’t really have any grounds to fight Henrik who had only been kind with him. Henrik was doing this for Cosimo too, so he wouldn’t have to see the fear and hatred in the people’s eyes.

With a few orders from Nikolas they were out the palace gates and walking through the city to the border. Cosimo was awed with the reception Nikolas got from his people.

“Your majesty!”

“Your highness!”

“Three cheers for King Nikolas!”

A street band from the upper city followed the precession with lively music as they walked through the streets. Nikolas, Cosimo observed, smiled and waved and nodded when he needed to. He had no crown and yet everyone knew he was the King. He was adored by his city.

When they got into the outer parts, the poorer parts Cosimo expected some of the love to dwindle but if anything it just got louder.

“Nikolas!”

“King Niko! Where’re’ya off ta?”

“Your highness! We named our son after you,” a woman cried, holding a baby up to him. Nikolas laughed and stopped his horse beside the woman to gaze down at the sleeping child in her arms.

“Mmm, he’s going to be a handsome one, Sierra. Look at that, he’s got his father’s strong nose.” Nikolas looked up at her and smiled, what Cosimo could only assume was his charming kingly smile. “I wish you three all the happiness in the world.”

Then they continued on.

More music.

Flowers thrown at his horses feet. It’s like a festival.

Cosimo can’t help but feel a stab on envy. He can only watch as the humans fawn and fuss over their King, and with good reason, because he’s wearing a cloak right now to cover his features. His ears, his skin, his eyes. All too strange to humans, all hateful. That’s why they were greeted with flowers instead of curses and words of praise rather than hatred.

He shrunk a little into himself, pulling the cloak tighter around himself. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not until they rescued the boy, that’s why they were leaving Oskana at all. If the humans knew why… well, they wouldn’t be cheering as much.

Or maybe, some tiny voice said at the back of Cosimo’s mind, maybe they would cheer even louder.

It was just a thought, fleeting, and yet somehow heavier than anything Cosimo had thought in the past day. He ignored it. The voice could be right, but Cosimo couldn’t be sure until he saw the boy again.

Until he saved him.

Cosimo raised his head as they reached the city gates, staring out into the Kingswood, as one of the soldiers in his trial had called it.

I’m coming back with help, Cosimo promised. Please, be safe.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be tagged or removed): @annablogsposts

#a benignant mischief #writblr #medieval fantasy? #medieval fantasy #medieval fantasy story #elves #humans #elf whump #fanatsy #fantasy world #fantasy character #Kingdom #royal fantasy #royal fantasy writing #found family #found family dynamics #fluff #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #this story makes me happy #Cosimo the elf #Henrik the soldier #Nikolas the king #Artzet the doctor #medieval #medieval kingdom fantasy #fae folk #fae courts #faerie #orphan writing

[voidwhump]

“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

It begins. I can safely say be ready for a part two to this tomorrow because I already wrote it so it's definitely there!

Ingredients: Unspecified illness, vertigo, nausea mentioned, not expecting help, mostly comfy

They navigate mostly by muscle memory toward their room, drifting into the wall for support without really noticing. The texture of the paint absorbs their focus briefly, cool, slightly rough, before they’re pulled away from the wall to face someone. Do they know him? They squint, but even only a foot or so away from them their vision is blurred. He’s saying something, he’s already quite a ways into saying something in fact. They’ll catch up later, if it’s important he’ll follow up and they’ll deal with it then. They nod at the end of whatever question they were just asked, and their stomach drops as the world tilts abruptly to one side. He’s moved in to catch them, and they push him back, try to form some sort of reassurance. The words don’t come. Their vision goes staticy. 

The next thing they hear is a not so quiet conversation being had between the person who stopped them and someone who must be at the end of the hallway. The footsteps of the new person approach rapidly, the floor vibrating a little as they get close. The floor is nice. Lying down might be the only thing they’ll ever do again. 

“Have they been out long?” That’s the new one, her voice has body, like the has a cello in her throat. 

“Not really, not even thirty seconds I think.” 

They should do something, they don’t like that these two are worried about them. Fortunately, opening their eyes seems possible now. They blink, the ceiling coming into focus. That’s better, maybe all they needed was a reset. That thought is quickly proven wrong, though, as they roll their head to look at the two crouching next to them and their vision streaks and breaks as they move. They blink a few times, but the doubled edges of the two worriers don’t resolve. The floor seems to be back at its tilting again as well, despite them being plastered to it. They feel like they’re being pulled down, as if the wood wants to absorb them. 

“Hey, are you listening?”

Oh, did they miss something again? They mumble a yes that barely leaves their mouth, and close their eyes to focus on the words.

“I said, do you think you’ll pass out again if you stand up?”

They shrug. “I’ll deal.. With it. I think.” They can hear themself slurring the words and slow down in the middle, sacrificing a normal talking speed for clarity. They roll to get up, swallowing as the lurch the motion causes intensifies the vertigo into nausea. As they sway on their knees, the first person puts an arm around them. They flinch away at first, not expecting the gesture, and he pulls back as they do, but they start to slump back to the floor almost immediately and he moves back in. He’s warm. Just the heat from his arm is enough for their shoulders to relax. They’re standing, albeit with most of their weight on him and now the second person. They’re not sure when she joined him. Or that sure why. They’re up on their feet now. Walking might be challenging, but they’ll have to get back to their room somehow. They are moving though. Mostly being carried, but now that they’ve caught up to the situation they put in some effort, taking some of their weight back. They’re trying to only lean on the two when they lose their balance, but they’re off balance more often than they aren’t. They could use the wall for this, it would be slow but they’d get there. Maybe they come across as too disoriented to find their room, so the two would be walking them there anyway. That would make sense.

They’re still thinking about it when they reach their door. How do the worriers know?  Do they know the woman? Or were they guiding the two?

“Key?”

Right, that. They fumble with their pocket and retrieve it. The keyhole proves evasive, the overlapping edges of everything they see combined with the constant dizziness making the small target impossible to hit. Eventually, one of the worriers places their hand over theirs and guides them, and finally they’re at home. This is the end of the line as well then. No reason to think they can’t figure out their own apartment. The man shifts their weight onto the woman and they prepare to be placed in their entryway. They can use the table by the door as support, but the more they think about it, the more it seems like they’ll end up crawling to bed. Maybe they’ll just sleep on the floor.

The world tilts again, but there’s something supporting their head and back. They’re in bed. Did they do that? They jump when the woman places a hand on their knee. She’s still here. She’s probably saying something too, but the bed is soft and they’re done thinking for the day. They’re asleep before she starts taking their shoes off.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #safety net #swooning #lyric #OC #writing #sickfic #sick whump #dizziness #vertigo #nausea mention #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #whump #fever whump #nameless whumpee #whump writing #here we fucking go bois

[omamorens]

And nobody would ever see us anymore

📓 : honkai: star rail. blade & kafka. general audiences.

🖇️ : hurt/comfort, mostly comfort, character study, fluff with no plot, mentions of death, no beta, result of brainrot, just blade sleeping against kafka while she hums gymnopedie no. 1

An endless sea of stars was the only light that illuminated their ship and yet Kafka didn’t need more to see the obvious displeasure on Blade’s face.

Blade, who sat in front of Kafka on their ship cabin as they ascended further away into space, had this silent, troubled look about him again.

After the events in Luofu, it was no surprise to her to see the eerily silent disposition Blade has taken up on. It was not his usual mood of persistent quiet and solitude— no, Kafka assumes this to be somewhat deeper and personal.

Now, Kafka was not one to pry.

In essence, the Stellaron Hunters should primarily be co-workers more than anything. Though she would be lying if she denied certain friendships formed along the way— but that was certainly too wholesome of a term for them.

They’re more complex to put a word to, but one thing was for certain: intimate relationships skirting more than ‘friendships’ risks danger to Elio’s scripts, and without their sense of purpose, what would all this make of them?

Exactly the reason why both Blade and Kafka understood clearly the nature of their relationship.

She was his tether, his leash; He was her weapon, her Blade.

Surely there was a physical attraction too, to which they’ve indulged themselves in countless of times across several missions all over the galaxy, but that intimacy was purely physical and nothing else.

And yet, at the sight of his seemingly melancholic mood, Kafka wanted nothing more than to dissect it apart and study piece by piece the reasons for someone who swore to be nothing else but a weapon is able to feel so human.

Perhaps it was her fascination in understanding emotions she could not feel; perhaps it was her own pursuit of the rough beauty of his agony that pleasured her. Either reason made sense, and yet Kafka knows it was not the entire truth.

“Kafka.”

The sound of her name rolling off his tongue finally snaps her out of her thoughts. Her? Lost in her thoughts? It was an occurrence that rarely ever happens and so as if second nature, she smiles at him, coy and almost sultry just to distract him of that fact.

“Yes, Bladie?”

And yet Blade sees it too— the performance of it all.

Kafka was a talented actor. Flawless, even, as she always is in most things she enjoyed to do, but nothing of her nature seemed to slip past his keen gaze. Not even her alluring smile could distract him from the hidden curiosity brewing deep in those lilac eyes.

When they first met, Blade was all rough edges and sharp teeth. She defeated him in that battle though he barely recalled the details of it. The only lasting memory he remembered is one of how he died at her hands— and the peace he felt in that momentary ‘death’.

It was different from the previous deaths his immortality cursed him; in those deaths, he remembers the feeling of the weapon piercing his skin, how his blood felt warm as it rushed out of his body, how he could still taste the iron in his tongue. His vision would flood with red and then he’d feel his muscles stitch back together in endless persistence of inflicting him agony.

Only by the death at her hands did he experience peace— at first, he thought the monster inside him subsided, that this would be it. But no. The monster was still there, it simply listened to her.

It was such a rare marvel in all his hundred years that he simply allowed it and followed her through in seeking destiny.

It was her gift, it seems— an ability she masterfully uses for manipulation. Though for Blade, it was his peace and saving grace.

“Listen, Bladie, unleash the mara.”

When she needed a weapon, she simply had to tell him so.

“Listen, Bladie, loosen up.”

And when its all over, she simply had to sheathe the weapon back and the monster inside him listened obediently.

“Listen, don’t think about anything at all.”

Even at times when thoughts flooded his senses and the overwhelming grief was too much, she only had to speak and it would all be gone in an instant.

Those were the same words she uttered to him when they first met and he agreed with a nod at her then, feeling the emotions subside to a calm.

Though now that he recalls it, he wonders if she actually used her ability on him. He still remembers a singular thought that pestered him that moment: how she smiled at him, and how he thought how sad that smile looked.

It was the same smile she’s giving him now.

“Earth to Bladie? Hello?” she repeats again, her voice always calming him even without the use of her ability. “You’re staring.”

At the mention, Blade instantly looked away, setting his gaze back to the endless sea of stars beyond them.

“You stared first.” he replies.

Kafka chuckles, almost shy and amused, though Blade knows it was only an act.

“I couldn’t help it, Bladie.” she reasons, leaning back comfortably on her seat. “You were having this look on your face again.”

‘This look’ , Blade sighs at it, closing his eyes and wishing away his previous thoughts before they drifted to Kafka.

Even without saying it, Blade could anticipate the next words coming out of her mouth. He knew her too well, and she knew him well enough to see the pain he keeps.

“Do you want me to whisper them away?” she offers kindly, though he assumes this not to be true either.

Kafka simply offered for the sake of the next mission they were heading to. She would need a weapon then; an efficient and sharp one, not the kind that he is right now.

Kafka has already done so much to get him back to his senses. Blade already felt uselessly reliant on the peace her voice brings him.

“No.” he answers curtly, silently insisting himself to fix it on his own. “I’m fine.”

Kafka hums, a sound that said ‘if you say so’ without even uttering the words out loud.

Still, Blade could still feel her gaze prickling his skin, demanding to be acknowledged.

He could never refuse her for long.

“Kafka.”

“You’re thinking deeply. What are you thinking about, Bladie?”

A forgotten part of Blade deep inside him instinctively answered home as he thought of Luofu. He didn’t even know he was still capable of this feeling— didn’t even know he was capable of remembering his history past the hurt and suffering blinding it all together.

And yet, back in Luofu, some of it came back to him like a movie in which he was both audience and main actor.

Pain, nostalgia, suffering, betrayal— they all molded together inside Blade’s mind and he wanted nothing more than to stop thinking.

These were not memories of home, and even if Blade had the vaguest idea of home, home would not give him the peace he seeks.

Only Kafka could give him that. She even offered her abilities and he knew it would work. The memories would condense back into the deepest recesses of his mind and he’d be numb of feeling this pain— finally at momentary peace.

But until when would he be reliant on her?

Blade knew more than anyone about the dangers they face, especially the dangers Elio’s scripts always pose upon them. And as always, Kafka was at the center of it all.

Unlike him, she is not immortal, and yet her lack of fear convinces most people she is.

That’s why he was needed for the next part of the script. To be her protection, to be her weapon. Blade could not allow danger to befall her. Though her skill in battle is not to be underestimated, a nagging fact keeps pestering his thoughts, troubling him to the point of silence and contemplation—

Kafka was mortal, beautifully and tragically so.

The thought of losing her felt too much pain enough as it is.

“The mission.” he answers instead, finally turning back to stare at those lilac eyes.

They seem to be staring past the white lie he gives, and Kafka thinks he’s right to assume so.

She didn’t buy the reason one bit but Blade already declined her offer to whisper to him.

Kafka always respected his decisions, so she doesn’t push further, even when she notices how he looks more exhausted than he lets on, even when she knew that grief was ripping apart every fibre of his immortal being.

Instead, she gets up.

Blade thought she was about to leave him alone— it was the last thing he wants— and he almost stops her from doing so until he realizes she simply circled over to his side of the seat, placing herself next to him.

“I understand. But we’re not due to another warp until tomorrow.” she says simply, placing an elbow on the table and placing her chin on her open palm, her face turned to the side to look at him.

“Relax, Bladie.”

Being under her whisper numerous times already, Blade knows the familiar grasp of it to his subconscious. It always felt like a string, wrapping and coiling around him at the sound of her velvet voice, caught like an insect on the spider’s web. He also knew the tone of her voice when she made an order but this one, none of those things were this.

Her suggestion to relax merely sounded like a request.

And even then, ‘relax’ was a word not in his dictionary. Blade didn’t know what to do with himself.

To Kafka, it was obvious the thoughts still troubled him. She didn’t even understand why his troubles bothered her too: was it because of their upcoming mission? Is it a leadership instinct to keep the team in tact? Is it still her curiosity to pry apart the emotion he feels to study for herself?

But Kafka knows Blade’s signs. She could see when he’d need her to whisper to him, she understands her responsibility to keep him in check.

This time though… it doesn’t seem like the mara is the one causing his internal struggle.

Kafka would rationalize with herself all she wants of the reason why she was so insistent to help with his worries, pointedly evading the truth of it all.

The truth that she cared for someone other than her own. The truth that she was able to feel it in her own way.

It was not part of the script.

It was not a move she planned on or an emotion she foresaw. It didn’t even seem like an emotion she thought herself capable of. Her affections for Blade was like an extension of herself, they were hers and she saw him as a part of her being.

Still, all of this feelings were foreign to her.

It was not part of the script…

…then again, if it wasn’t, then why should it matter?

Kafka gracefully stretches her arms out, yawning into her palm. By all means, she was not tired, but it was easy to pretend just to be able to lean her head to his side, her head resting on his solid shoulder.

“Mmn, we should rest, Bladie.”

Blade made a low sound that vibrated in his throat. Kafka has learned to understand that as his sound of agreement.

She made no move and simply rested herself next to him like that. Blade didn’t dare to move either.

In their silence, they both found their own comfort.

It was Blade’s voice that broke the silence, “Tell me a story, Kafka.”

With her eyes still closed, she hums, pondering which story to tell him this time.

A more recent memory came to mind: of dinner parties and expensive gowns, of pearl necklaces and tailored suits. Kafka told him that story, even when Blade himself was a part of it.

Could you blame her? Seeing her Bladie in a suit was a core memory even when there were parts of the night she’d rather forget.

On the other hand, Blade knew better than to bring those parts up— he’s always so obedient, isn’t he? Or perhaps he simply did not find interest in doing so. Blade rarely ever finds interest in anything, really…

Except this time, Kafka finds the reason for his unresponsiveness.

As Blade’s weight slowly piled on the crown of her head, Kafka heard the low rumble of his chest— Blade has fallen asleep, leaning into her with his arms crossed over his chest.

Still, Kafka finished her story, voice going lower until it almost seemed like she was whispering her words to float within his dreams. All the while, she carefully slips the sword clutched in his arms and placed them carefully beside her.

Blade was still in deep sleep as she replaced the sword with her own arm, looping it around his as she made herself comfortable against his shoulder.

Then, she closed her eyes, humming a classical piece she knew like the back of her hand.

The sound of his breathing was the deep undertone to her own orchestra, and she knew no other melody could be any better than the one they made.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

cross-posted on AO3. english is not my first language and i wrote this in my notes so apologies for errors. i was brainrotting so bad i had to get them out of my system.

title is taken from the quote:

I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more. — Franz Kafka, The Castle

created by omamorens. please do not plagiarize.

#honkai: star rail #honkai star rail #hsr #fanfic #kafka #hsr blade #hsr kafka #kafka hsr #blade hsr #kafblade #blafka #hsr fanfic #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #character study #fluff with no plot #result of brainrot #just blade sleeping against kafka #while she hums gymnopedie no. 1 #no beta #we die like Cocolia #fan fiction #writing #ryu.txts

[cluelesspigeons]

This is written for the prompt “Dark Side” by Kelly Clarkson from @drarrymicrofic

Word count: 225

Drarry microfic: that dark side of yours

Cw: implied panic attack & implied depression

“I don’t understand how you can still love me!”

Harry was sitting on the ground of their bedroom, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. “I can’t… I don’t…”

“Hey.” Draco placed a comforting hand on Harry’s arm, pulling one of his hands away from his face. “Harry, look at me.” His voice was soft, tender. As if he was trying not to scare a wild animal.

Harry did look up. The sad look visible in his green eyes broke Draco’s heart.

“I love you,” Draco said, squeezing Harry’s arm. “I love you so much that I can’t even put it into words. And I know you’ve been struggling with that… dark side of yours, as you’d like to call it. But you have to know that I’ll always be here to remind you who you really are. I’ll be here to remind you how perfect you are to me.”

They looked at each other as silence filled the small space between them. Harry’s eyes were still wet with unshed tears, though the sadness had disappeared a little. He sighed deeply, before turning his gaze away. “I love you, too,” he mumbled softly, leaning his head on Draco’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

“Of course,” Draco said immediately. He intertwined their fingers and rested his head against Harry’s, closing his eyes. “Anytime, my love.”

Prompt from April 14th

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#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #my writing #cp writes #cluelesspigeons #dark side #kelly clarkson #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #crying #hugging #love confessions #implied panic attack #implied depression

[dipstar1489]

Blue and Red Headcanon

Shortly after the Herobrine incident, Red became a little bit insecure about his now lack of sight in his right eye. Blue seeing this decided to make matching eye patches (one for Red and the other for herself) to help Red feel comfortable with his new disability and remind him that he will always have the color gang’s support. Red appreciates the gesture and helped quite a bit with this insecurity.

#dipstar1489 #ava #animator vs animation #avm #animation vs minecraft #headcanon #Red #Blue #hurt/comfort #Mostly comfort

[ruethenerd]

I come bearing more fanfiction! *Bows dramatically*

#disabled writer #ao3 fanfic #wriothesley #genshin impact #wriolette #neuvillette #neuvillette/wriothesley #they love each other #fluff #wriolette fluff #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort

[fe-fictions]

I’m a hopless romantic with my only hope being the fire emblem boys. Do you have any Angst left over from lonqu or maybe gauis

(How about Gaius having a nightmare about when you sacrificed yourself to Grima??? ;;; A ;;; )

It was such a common thing to wake up numb. It was two years, after all, of drinking himself to sleep and waking up feeling positively miserable.

However the misery that came from a hangover was far preferable to the misery of grief and heartache.

He was never much of a believer in anything besides himself, but he had to have faith that you would be home, again.

So when you really did show up it was world shattering in the best of ways. Everything was turned upside down the instant he felt your touch for the first time in years.

He just didn’t know what to do with himself unless he was attached to you. That entire first day having you back, it was impossible to get Gaius away from you.

As far as he was concerned, you weren’t getting out of his embrace for at least a decade.

He stayed awake long after you went to sleep that night, almost afraid that if he did, he’d wake up and realize it was all a dream.

When he eventually did drift off, though, he was pleasantly surprised to find you still there, sleeping soundly beside him. You looked like you’d been through the ringer, and it was clear you needed a good long rest.

So he stayed there, awake and alert, watching over you while your chest rose and fell beneath the bed sheets. How long had it really been since he’d shared his bed with you? Had it only been two years? It felt like a lifetime and a half.

He traced a finger along the side of your face, ghosting over your nose and lips, committing every inch of you to memory.  You breathed deeply, tugging on his heartstrings as you always did. Gaius smiled to himself. How precious.

With a soft, silent movement Gaius leaned over you, kissing your forehead. 

It wasn’t too early in the morning...he would need to at least get ready for the day. His initial plan was to get ready, make the Exalt’s breakfast, then return to you.

He didn’t make it out of the blankets.

Gaius turned to move away when your hand caught his wrist, gripping him just tight enough to make him realize you were awake and very interested in him staying.

“Do you have to work today?”

He resisted the urge to grin. It didn’t work.

“If you need me here, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I do.” You were still sleepy, but determined. A deadly combination.

“Then I’m here.” 

Gaius settled in beside you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your chest. Your fingers wound into his soft ginger hair, practically lulling him back to sleep in seconds. He sank into your touch, the sweet comfort of your warmth enough.

“I should probably let them know I’m not gonna be there this morning…”

“They’ll figure it out.” You mumbled into his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I don’t think they’d blame you.”

Gaius snickered, burying himself in your sweet hold. 

“Me, neither.” 

#gaius #robin #fe 13 #fire emblem awakening #gaius x robin #hurt and comfort #mostly comfort #but also lots of fluff #LMAO #fe awakening #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!robin #fem!robin #f!mu #gaius missed his wife and he is very happy she is back #and that is why we love gaius

[jaythesaltybastard]

Short wenclair brainrot fic

Characters may be a bit OOC since this is my first time writing either of them

Synopsis: A freshman werewolf doesn’t know Enid is off limits. It’s not as if Wednesday had announced it, though, it was just common knowledge.

However, maybe it is time for Wednesday to announce it to everyone.

Pre-established wenclair

Warnings: violence, blood, implied bodily mutilation

Obligatory not beta’d

“You.”

The group of werewolves paused, each looking down at Wednesday. Most of them had enough sense to shuffle back with wide eyes, but the three freshman stared her down with unjustified confidence.

The one she was staring at matched Enid’s description. Tall and lanky, just beginning to fill out into himself so he still looked like an awkward puppy with limbs too long for it’s body. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a smug look on his face that Wednesday wasn’t even sure his mother could love.

He grinned wolfishly (har har) at her, stupidly undeterred.

“What do you want, little girl?” he asked, blinking when a few gasps rang out. Someone let out a sympathetic hiss, and Wednesday would’ve revelled in it if she weren’t so pissed off.

“Do you enjoy having the ability to reproduce?” Wednesday asked, her voice hauntingly low, edging on a snarl. Before he could reply, she stepped forward, getting far enough into his personal space that he stumbled back. “The last time a boy messed with someone only I am allowed to mess with, he lost his testicles and his friend lost his life.”

“She’s not lying!” a voice she didn’t recognize called out helpfully. Wednesday didn’t acknowledge them, staring unblinking at the werewolf before her.

The boy, clearly an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, got close enough to her that she could smell his breath.

“Who the fuck do you think-“

“You might not even need my help,” Wednesday interrupted, wrinkling her nose in a slightly dramatic way. “Who in their right mind would lay with someone who doesn’t know how to brush his teeth?”

Snickers arouse from around them, the boy turning beet red. Wednesday might’ve smirked at his humiliation if she weren’t already thrumming with anger.

“You bitch-“ the boy began, but Wednesday once again interrupted him, this time with with her fist rather than her words. The punch landed square on his open mouth, his fangs slicing into the skin of her hand as she made him swallow an unhealthy amount of his own teeth. She ignored the pain, already attacking for a second time as he stumbled back. She brought up her foot in a high kick, the hit landing square on his jaw and earning a satisfying crack as the bone either snapped or dislocated. She caught him before he fell, grabbing his ears and digging her nails in hard as she slammed his nose into her knee. He collapsed into the ground, crying out in pain as he dealt with several broken bones in his face. For good measure, Wednesday grabbed his hair and lifted, bashing his face into the ground and breaking his nose further.

She didn’t let go of his hair as she stood straight again, the blood from the wounds on her knuckles dripping onto his head.

“Listen up,” Wednesday said, her monotone voice carrying loudly through the silent courtyard. With everyone looking at her in horror, she dropped the boy’s head, not even glancing at him as he smacked into the concrete path with a dull thud. Blood trickled down her fingers from her sliced hand, but she was numb to the slight sting. She’d had worse. “This is me being merciful. Anyone else who hurts Enid answers to me, and I promise you will not get off nearly as easily. This is your first and final warning.”

She stepped on him as she walked off, first on his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs and a choked gasp to accompany it. Her second step landed right on his balls, causing him to shout and sob as she stepped off.

The students parted for her like the Red Sea did for Moses, her entire being radiating hostility that everyone could sense. She kept her chin high and her eyes locked forward, her jaw set in a muted, seething rage. The students remained silent until she had vanished from view, though the chatter was more of an uncertain murmur than the cheerful socializing from before. Just last week, if she had stunned nearly a hundred students into fearful silence, it might’ve made her lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile. But now? Now it lacked the same satisfaction. Yes, Wednesday had hurt the boy who hurt Enid, but Enid still got hurt.

Wednesday clenched her fist, the strain causing the already-mending wounds on her hand to re-open. The smell of her own blood wafted up to her nose, the scent sharp and metallic. It along with the pain calmed her, flexing her digits to reawaken the stinging sensation.

When she got back to her and Enid’s shared room, she had gotten a grip on herself and calmed considerably, unlocking the door and stepping inside without much fanfare.

Enid was still sniffling on her bed, but she perked when Wednesday walked in. Her happy expression briefly made Wednesday soften, glad to see her girlfriend—the word still left a strange but not unpleasant taste in her mouth—had cheered up a little.

However, Enid sniffed the air and her happiness dropped to concern almost immediately.

“You’re bleeding!” Enid cried, jumping up and rushing over to Wednesday. The shorter girl’s first instinct was to step away, but she steeled herself, begrudgingly allowing Enid to hold and inspect her injured hand. “What happened?? Did that asshole to this??? I’ll rip his throat out I swear to fucking god-“

“As attractive as you are while upset on my behalf,” Wednesday interrupted, effectively shutting Enid up and a cute blush blossoming over the blonde’s cheeks, “it was my fault for punching him in the mouth while it was open.”

Enid was a tad shaky, grabbing a conveniently placed towel and using it to press onto the cuts. “What…” she began, swallowing, “what did you do to him?”

“I made an example of him,” Wednesday stated, glancing to her side at the sound of shuffling. Thing was bringing out the first aid kit, how thoughtful. “Everyone should know that you’re off-limits now.”

Enid gave a watery chuckle, picking up both Thing and the first aid kit as she led Wednesday over to the colorful side of their bedroom. “He’s- he’s alive, right?” she asked uncertainly, as if she weren’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“I would kill for you,” Wednesday purposefully misled, quirking a tiny smile at Enid’s horrified expression. “But expulsion would mean separation, so, unfortunately, he still breathes.”

Enid let out a breathless, relieved laugh, pouring some alcohol onto a rag and pressing it into the wounds. She didn’t warn Wednesday about the sting, there was no point.

“I won’t need stitches,” Wednesday added when Enid said nothing, staring unsubtly at the taller girl.

“That’s good,” Enid murmured, wrapping an appropriate amount of bandages over the cuts. They were small enough to not require gauze, but Wednesday suspected they may scar. “Do you think people know?”

Wednesday raised a brow. “Know what?” she questioned, genuinely confused when Enid glanced at her.

“Know about us,” Enid clarified, pressing a small kiss to the back of Wednesday’s bandaged hand. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but the smaller girl felt a tiny bit of warmth on her cheeks at the sickeningly domestic action.

“They may suspect,” Wednesday replied, trying to embrace the warmth rather than push it away, “but most believe me to be incapable of love.” Enid scoffed, offended on Wednesday’s behalf. “I do not mind if anyone knows,” the shorter of the two added with only the tiniest smidgeon of hesitation.

Enid was less subtle with her hesitation. “I don’t think we need to announce it,” she said eventually, blushing and smiling a bit sheepishly. “But we could… y’know, do more ‘coupley’ things in public.”

Wednesday grimaced a bit at the thought of PDA, causing Enid to back off.

“We don’t have to!” Enid backtracked immediately, her eyes panicked. Wednesday gripped her girlfriend’s forearms, keeping her from pulling away.

The smaller of the two stayed silent for a moment, milling over her thoughts before she spoke. “I draw the line at hand-holding and cheek-kisses,” she said sternly, accepting that there were sacrifices she was going to have to make for this relationship to work.

“And hugs?” Enid near-pleaded, smiling that damned smile that made Wednesday’s heart rate pick up.

The goth girl let out a long breath, resigning herself to her fate. “Half hugs,” she bargained, relieved when Enid took the victory as it came. Wednesday’s compliance was met with a bright smile and, to her delighted surprise, a sudden kiss to her lips. She startled for only a second before kissing back, a genuine grin painting itself over her lips when Enid pulled away.

“Please don’t kill anyone,” the blonde werewolf requested, close enough for Wednesday to lean in and peck her on the mouth again.

“Only if you ask me to,” she promised. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Or if anyone makes moves on you.”

Enid smiled, her tears mostly dry at this point. “I’d rather you stick to just punching,” she admitted, knowing that requesting Wednesday to refrain from violence entirely would only end badly for everyone, involved or not. “Remember: expulsion means separation.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. She was expecting an angry note to go down to the principal’s office at any time, but until then, she was happy to lean into Enid, getting about as close to cuddling as she would allow without it actually being considered cuddling.

“They can’t expel me if I kill the principal too,” the goth girl quipped. Enid laughed.

“They can and will,” the blonde contradicted, smiling because she probably assumed Wednesday wasn’t serious. The ravenette decided to let her believe that, settling more comfortably into the werewolf’s chest. Her uniform had a small amount of blood on it, but she wasn’t concerned about changing just yet. When she did inevitably end up in the principal’s office, she wanted to show up exactly how she left the scene, sans her bandaged hand.

Until then, though, she was content to relax with the one person she felt comfortable around. She’d earned that much, hadn’t she?

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #my fics #violence #blood #hurt/comfort #kinda #mostly comfort #fluff

[wisteriasymphony]

comfort snapshot for @asukiess ignore whatever the other one's name is queen she's not important just crtl+f mari onto it no biggie

---

The lock looked simple, and like it had been forced upon before in the past. Claudia fought with the doorhandle for a moment, but it wouldn't open.

Jesus, calm down. You know he gets a bit of a fuse sometimes, hearing you try to break a door down isn't gonna fucking help you much.

She sighed, speaking softly.

"Adrien, I'm going to try and open the door," Claudia whispered, "And then I am going to step inside. I am not going to hurt you. I won't even come close if you don't want me to. Okay?"

Three minutes of dead silence. And so, she slipped her fingernail into the lock's middle slot, the lightest force enough to spring it open. She tread carefully into the bathroom, finding Adrien in the corner. He had ransacked every cabinet in the room and stolen all the towels and washcloths and even the bathroom rug; And in that corner, he had curled up in a ball and covered himself with them, until his silhouette was more of a shifting mass of fabric than a boy.

He didn’t bother to look at Claudia, only muttering “I’m disgusting” under his breath like it was a curse.

“Hey, people say things they don’t mean all the time.” Claudia slowly knelt down onto the floor, watching Adrien with a concerned gaze.

“I promise I didn’t mean it. I don’t– I wouldn’t want—“

“Shh. It’s fine, okay? I’m not mad over it or anything,” she said, crawling over to him. “…I’m going to put my hand on your head. Is that alright?”

He nodded, and so Claudia started to stroke his hair again. Adrien still couldn’t bear to look at her… but the feeling was nice. Even if it only led to more tears. It was insane to think that she’d still really love him after that. Was he even worth it? She had to have known that he wasn’t.

"Why do you stay?" Adrien finally asked. "You seem to make it so clear that I don't mean anything to you. Like one of these days you're going to discard me at the drop of a hat." He stared her down with dull, watery eyes, for the first time in a long while. "Why do you even stick around?"

It was clear that there was a very specific answer he was looking for. One that validated all of his worst fears, one that reminded him that even the person he loved most in the world would only ever see him as one thing. But Claudia was tired of lying. Even when it meant she said things people weren't expecting to hear.

"Because I don't know what I'd do without you." Claudia slipped her jacket off her shoulders, placing it in Adrien's lap as another thing to cover himself with. "Because I like hearing you talk, and I like your laugh, and I like that none of your fancy photos ever show the dimple on your left cheek but I get to see it everyday." Claudia laughed to herself, admitting "..It's very faint, but it's there."

Adrien shifted closer to Claudia, leaning on her a little more. He was still crying, sure, but the tears were slowing down. She was doing something right for once.

"What else... I like listening to you play piano. I think you're the best in the whole world."

"Th... that's not true..."

"Psch! To me, it is. Beethoven can suck my left nut for all I care, he's probably terrible compared to you."

This time she got a laugh back. Another shift closer. Adrien had finally reached a hand out to cling onto her.

"..So you do love me?"

"Mhm." Claudia planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, I love you, I love you, and I mean it even more every time I say it. I don't care what you look like, what you say to me, even who you are. 'Cause I don't love Chat Errant, or Chat Noir, or even Adrien Agresté." She placed her pointer finger on his chest, leaning in to let their foreheads touch. "I just love you."

He broke out into sobs again, his face contorting into something scrunched and unsightly. "Y-you won't let me be cold anymore, right? I was s-so cold— I-" Adrien let his head fall to her shoulder, heaving and blubbering into it. "And the lights and they'd— The way she touched me in- I-in— It lasted for so long and- There's pictures of all of it and— A-all I can remember is that I was so cold-"

He stopped when he felt her hand hover over the towels draped on his shoulder—stopped talking, stopped breathing, probably stopped blinking too. Claudia could feel he had the most terrible fever, was probably only going to kill himself with all these layers... but she moved her hand to his head, ruffling his hair.

"No, I won't let you be cold," she said, taking off her shirt, then her bra: giving him the former but setting the latter on the floor. "Here. I'll warm you up."

When Adrien went to hug her, a few of the towels fell off his shoulders. Claudia swore she'd never been hugged this hard in her life—maybe that even most people would never been hugged this hard. He seemed to wrap his body around her, clinging on by every means he could, shaking and heaving and yet still holding on however he could. But Claudia was stable, and her skin felt like dew-kissed stones in a riverbank. Not cold, but just.. a little less warm. The good kind.

"D-do you ever feel like you want your mom," he asked, the words breaking against his tears, "...But you— But you know that she'd only make it worse?"

Claudia knew that if Adrien's mother had still been alive, this would have been the moment Claudia planned to kill her.

"...Every day, Eddí," she said, shifting to kiss the top of his head. "Every day."

#technically tweos spoilers oopsies #but if queen asukiess demands i shall provide <3 within reason #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #thewarmembraceofshadow #miraculous fanfic #ficlet #cw csa mention #tw csa mention #csa ment tw #csa mention #cw child abuse mention #cw abuse mention #tw childhood trauma #tw mention of trauma #miraculous adrien #adrien agreste #mlb adrien

[whumpsical]

Jay

contents: flashback to a minor whumpee, homelessness, discussed homophobia, bio family blues

Some sweet comfort from one the rockiest eras of Jian's past <3 the gays stick together <33

sometime in 2014

taglist!!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🌲🌲🌲🌲

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

He was only sixteen at the time. He didn’t like nicknames. He’d never liked nicknames. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; no one had beaten or bullied him out of a taste for them, and he had no past relationships to any particular nicknames to turn him off to the concept. He just didn’t like them.

But at Casanova, one of the many gay bars in Jian’s early rotations, the owner liked to call him Jay. And Jian found that it didn’t grate on his nerves the way it usually would, not coming from Cal.

Cal first caught Jian sneaking into Casanova on a chilly, rainy night. It wasn’t the first time Jian had gotten in. He’d just had a harder time blending with the partygoers that night: waterlogged and shivering, too exhausted to even talk, sitting by himself on a leather couch near the bathrooms. His clothes were damp, leeching all the warmth from his small body, but even shedding his wet jacket didn’t feel like an option. He was convinced that the moment he slipped his scrawny, narrow shoulders free, his age would be made even more pathetically obvious than it already was. It was better to keep still and try to pretend that he wasn’t there at all.

Cal was on the floor that night, covering for a sick bartender. He’d wondered how he’d missed the obviously underaged kid’s entrance into his bar. It was a Tuesday night. Not very busy at all. Maybe it was the rain. The patio sat empty, everyone instead gathering inside and cluttering up Cal’s view of the front door.

Jian flinched when Cal approached him. He was a tall, hefty man, comfortably in his fifties. Though with age his ratio of muscle to fat had shifted, he still had an intensely intimidating power in his stature, especially from where Jian was sitting.

“Hey,” Cal said, with just a hint of the stern edge to his voice which he only fully put on for the handsy creeps and mean drunks.

Jian looked up at the man, numb in the face. He had nothing to say, and was too shocked with cold and fear to even try to squeak out a word.

Cal stood tall, unyielding. “You wanna show me some ID?”

Jian looked at his shoes, a lump growing in his throat. His head was too misty to comprehend much, but he understood enough to recognize he’d been caught, which meant that he had to find somewhere else to hide from the rain. He already couldn’t remember how many times this had happened that night. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go back to the shelter, but he was quickly running out of options. With stiff, freezing hands and a weak, trembling effort, he pushed himself off the sticky seat and started on his staggering trek to the exit.

Cal’s large hands stopped him, butting against his shoulders. Not grabbing. Jian couldn’t even muster any awareness of the act, just pushing his empty body against Cal’s hands like they were an invisible wall in a video game. Cal pushed back a little more firmly, and Jian’s feet tripped to a halt. He stood in place, blinking through confused sparks in his eyes, feeling lightheaded.

“Hold on, hold on. Hey,” Cal said, stooping down to meet Jian’s eyes, and, as twenty-something year old Jian suddenly realized with fondness, to shield him from the activity of the bar around them. “Do you need… Would you like something hot to drink? A warm meal, maybe? Someplace dry?”

Jian had no clue what his face was doing. He remembered his body as a hollow wooden vessel. Still, something must have come across in his silence, because Cal softened even more.

“Look, I don’t know your situation,” he said, squeezing Jian’s shoulder. “But I can tell enough that you need help. I have the means. Come on, honey.”

Cal started to usher Jian towards the bar, and a volatile switch flipped in Jian’s gut, instantly rubbing every inch of his skin raw and sucking the air from his lungs.

“No,” Jian managed in a desperate whisper, shrugging his way out of Cal’s hands and stumbling backwards a few feet before blinking the blind terror from his eyes and halfway remembering where he was. Cal’s hands hovered in a deliberately non-threatening airspace, allowing Jian to retreat as far as he needed.

“Okay,” Cal said quickly, in a peaceful, hushed tone. Jian’s focus still whipped around the bar, but Cal let that manic vigilance die down in its own time, keeping his own body still and distant. “Okay. You don’t have to. But I really don’t want to send you back out there, to who knows what, without at least getting you dried off. You can stay here, honey. You don’t have to go.”

The vividness of Jian’s memory drained to an uninviting mist. He knew that at some point he’d started to cry, and that Cal had led him with an open hand -- so broad it nearly spanned Jian’s entire waistline, at least in those days -- to a more secluded area behind the bar, where both Cal and the small kitchen crew could keep an eye on him while he ravenously devoured a warm plate of various bar staples and a few Casanova specialties. Jian remembered being offered an offensively sugary Shirley Temple in that same spot, but that may have been on another night.

Sometime later, a shift change freed Cal up to drag a second black painted chair over to Jian’s, where he’d been working on drying himself off with an only slightly ratty towel, having adamantly refused a change of clothes from Cal’s apartment above the bar.

“Hey there, kiddo. You feeling any better?”

Jian nodded sheepishly, embarrassed at all the drama he’d become the center of tonight, now that the terror had mostly passed. The heat from the crowd and the food had long since stilled his shivering, and an almost contented sleepiness was taking over instead, a feeling so unfamiliar that he was struggling to guard against it, finding himself nodding off every now and then. He’d been focusing his energy on staying upright in the chair, and was glad for Cal’s interruption.

“I’d like to have a little chat with you, if that’s okay,” Cal said, leaning forward in his seat to match Jian’s height. Jian visibly tensed, swallowing nervously and breaking eye contact. Cal’s voice only softened more. “Sweetheart, you’re not in any trouble with me. What’s your name, honey?”

When Jian only gulped again with considerably more effort, his eyebrows starting to knit with growing anxiety, Cal nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

A rush of cool air flowed through Jian’s chest, relief unclenching his jaw before he’d even realized how tight he’d been squeezing it shut.

“I would like to know how old you are, though,” Cal continued lightly. “But don’t tell me that either. I want to guess. Flex my skills. Is that something the kids are saying today?”

One corner of Jian’s mouth lifted a bit.

“See, I’m out of the loop. This’ll be fun,” Cal said. “Hmm,” he hummed, one hand rubbing his chin as he made a show of scrutinizing Jian’s scrappy appearance. “I’ve got nieces in the eighth grade, but they’re all shorter than you. They definitely eat better, though.” Jian couldn’t help but chuckle silently under the heat of the spotlight, feeling himself becoming invested in the game, despite everything. “Fourteen, maybe? No, fifteen.” When Jian shook his head to both, Cal leaned back, worry overtaking his expression. “Oh, sweetheart, please don’t tell me I started too high. I don’t think I could handle it.”

Jian shook his head again, an easy smile finding its way onto his face. “Sixteen,” he said, his delicate voice all but confirming his answer.

Cal nodded, solemnity gently wafting away the air of humor that had eased them to this point. He leaned forward again, hands clasped in front of him, and looked into Jian’s eyes as he spoke. “It was a long time ago, but it was tough for me when I was that age, too. I can’t speak for your experience, honey, but I know what it’s like to feel alone in the world.”

His defenses down, Jian felt the words hit him square in his chest. Fear and apprehension prickled at the edges of the impact, but the crater was deep enough that genuine empathy was what struck Jian the most. He felt breathless and fragile as he listened, but he didn’t look away.

“I’ve seen some very good friends go down dark paths because of that feeling. And it’s hard to find your way back out. It’s hard out there, baby, I know. But no matter how lost you feel, you will never be unworthy of love, and safety, and peace. Do you understand me?”

Jian wasn’t sure that he did, but Cal spoke with such an urgency that Jian felt he should at least nod, though unease was building in his stomach again. Cal watched him with earnest conviction as he waited for Jian to answer, but Jian shied away from the intensity of it, breaking off eye contact and betraying the gnawing guilt he suddenly felt. Cal sighed, too softly to hear beneath the noise of the bar.

“I know that look, sweetheart. Your family?”

Jian hadn’t realized how obvious it could be. His stomach dropped and a flash of heat pushed tears behind his eyes as fresh wounds burst through their haphazard stitches. He could feel the metaphorical slam of the door all over again, the pain of his father’s violent and consummate rejection only compounded by the past year he’d spent trying to stitch himself back together without him. Failing miserably. He bit his cheek to keep the rest from spilling, and locked eyes with Cal to silently implore him to continue.

Cal didn’t falter. He wrapped Jian’s restlessly clenching fists between his warm hands and leaned in.

“There’s not a lot I can do to change the truly fucking awful things that happen in this world,” Cal said. “But what I can do is help lift some of the burdens that fall on us. You are welcome here, honey.” He accented this with a squeeze of Jian’s hands, then paused, blinked a few times, and made an undecided gesture with a tilt of his head. “Not in the bar, mind you.”

At the gentle chiding, Jian found himself laughing with him, vaguely relieved to be acknowledged as something other than a novelty or a criminal. Cal looked at him without hunger. Being the object of someone’s worry instead of their hatred or desire had faded to a memory from another world, and Jian didn’t know what to do with or even how to identify the bubbly feeling which sat high in his chest. The release of pressure set free a cold crop of tears that he had been clinging to. With grace, Cal let them fall without address.

“But any time it’s getting too heavy,” Cal continued, holding Jian’s hands tight, “if you’re ever hungry, tired, need someone to talk to, anything, you come to Casanova and you ask for Cal, okay? I mean it. We make our own families here.”

Jian nodded, with emphatic gratitude this time. His head felt too fuzzy and exhausted to really comprehend the mess of emotions that writhed and tangled inside him, like a rat’s nest of colorful yarn choking his heart, but the mess itself was colorful and soft, and that had to be enough for now. He took a steadying breath.

“My name’s Jian,” he said, feeling shy under the usually anonymizing glow of the blacklights. But Cal beamed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jian,” he said. “Now, the big questions: Do you have a place to stay tonight? Is there someone I can help you call, to let them know where you are?”

“No,” Jian said simply, and the scalding, mortified blush that would’ve normally flooded Jian’s entire face and neck just wasn’t there. Instead, Cal’s hands landed on his shoulders, blanketing him in steadiness and warmth without suffocating.

“Now you do, Jay. Now you do.’

From somewhere in the comfortable fog of Jian’s distant memory, Dickass Lee’s voice wormed back into his ears.

“Come here, Jay.”

Jian bristled.

“Ugh, yeah, no. No. I get it,” Dickass Lee said with a comically exaggerated shudder, mimicking the tension in his captive’s shoulders. “I’ll stick to ‘Jian.’”

#eric #eric write #whump #whump writing #oc whump #environmental whump #hypothermia #found family #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #emotional whump #jian #cal #Dickass Lee #sin squad #hello everyone<3 I've had this cooking for a long time but i just got around to finishing it<33 #poor baby boy #this was before he met King #but anyway #in irl news. bc what else is a personal writing blog for #I've lost the ability to breathe😩😩 currently surviving on steroids and inhaler juice #i gave Jian asthma and he clapped right back at me😔 no mercy #im gettin an intimate lesson in experiencing & recovering from an asthma attack and I'm sure Jian reached across the ether to give it to me #so hey #if anyone wants gritty details for their own writing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ask away #it's funny i literally came across & reblogged the post under this as i was in the urgent care patient room with 8ml of steroids in my ass

[leefallengay]

oh how rude of me, to bring my thoughts in your bedrooms

TW: depictions of an autistic meltdown

TLDR: Karl has a meltdown, and his boyfriends are there to comfort him through it :)

(title from "song for a guilty sadist" by crywank)

Karl walked through the doorway to the homey apartment, heart pulsing in his chest, sight blurry, and hands shaking. He could hear the electricity, the tapping of keys, the hum of the aircon, the faint music from down the hall, and the quiet chatter from the TV. He felt like he could hear everything. It all felt like too much, but he needed to keep himself together, as having another meltdown would be embarrassing. He was supposed to be normal, or rather he needed to be. How else could he be there for his boyfriends? For Sapnap and Quackity who gave everything they could for him? Letting himself go would be selfish, and another burden on their shoulders. So he squared himself up, tossed his bag and shoes next to the doorway, and darted for the bathroom.

He kept the lights off, and took deep, long breaths to try and keep himself at bay. All he has to do is say hello to his husbands, and then lock himself back into the bathroom, he’ll be fine. He reached into the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing the cold water onto his face, hoping it would help. But unfortunately for him, it did the exact opposite. He felt the wetness seep into his pores, and it made his face feel heavy and soggy. 

Tears brimmed his eyes as his fists clenched and unclenched. It took everything in him to not scratch his skin off to get rid of the awful feeling. Instead, he grabbed a nearby towel, rubbing his face into the fabric. But even that felt offensive against his skin, and he let out a shallow sob.

He frantically wiped his eyes, breathing deeply, before darting out of the bathroom. I need to get this over with, he thought, sauntering over to one of the rooms down the hall from the restroom, quietly knocking on the door. 

“Come in!” one of the two replied.

Karl cracked the door open, peeking inside, before being bombarded by the sound of the music, loud and heavy in the air. He had to resist the urge to cover his ears and scream for it to stop. It all felt like too much, his ears were starting to hurt from the stimulation. He felt the tears well up again, the frog in his throat clawing at him to be released.

Karl opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. His throat felt clenched, and he reached a hand up to scratch at it.

At that motion, Quackity raised his eyebrows, sitting up, “Karl? Babe, what's wrong?”

Upon not receiving much response other than Karl’s piercing stare, he shoved Sapnap for help, not really understanding what was wrong with the brunette.

Sapnap gave him a what the fuck? Look, before Quackity pointed at Karl.

“Oh, oh, oh.” It didn’t even take him another second before he got up, slinking over to Karl with as much gentleness as he could muster. 

He reached out to grab him, but as soon as he made contact, Karl let out a loud sob, recoiling in onto himself. He grumbled under his shallow breaths, and his whole body was shaking.

Sapnap looked to Quackity, his eyes wide and fearful. They didn’t fully understand what was happening, and were unsure of what to do. 

“Karl, what can we do for you right now, hun? We can’t help if you don’t tell us.” Quackity whispered to him, laying a hand on his quivering shoulder.

Karl’s eyes were looking at the floor, and his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. He reached them up, and made a grabbing motion. When the two didn’t respond, he took his hands, and squished them together. They looked at each other, then back at karl. “You want to be held?” Sapnap cautiously asked. Karl shook his head slightly, repeating the same motions. “So you don’t want to be held?” Karl shook his head harder, pointing at them, then at himself, and then doing repeating the movements again.

“Do you want to be squished?” Quackity asked. He had remembered Karl mentioning something about enjoying the feeling of someone putting immense amounts of pressure on him (or being squashed like a bug as he described it), and was hoping maybe that was the answer to this game of charades.

Karl shook his head up and down, tears finally spilling out of his tired eyes.

“Oh, baby, come here.” Q gently led them over to the bed, before positioning Karl into his arms, and signaling Sap to do the same.

After Karl had been safely sandwiched between them, he had reached his hands up to cover his ears.

Sapnap took the hint and shut off the blaring music, opting for the humming silence of the room.

Karl sobbed loudly, curling more in on himself. Q tightened his arms around him, squeezing him gently. At that action, Karl almost immediately calmed down, his body loosening and his cries quieting themselves (Q compared it to when you give a baby a pacifier, it was that instantaneous). 

Sap and Q looked at each other incredulously, before deciding to close in on Karl again.

His breathing evened out, and the boys took their opportunity to investigate.

“Karl, babe? Are you alright?” Q asked carefully, brushing a hand over his face.

Karl gently shook his head no, squeezing his eyes closed. Looking at everything was too much, the colors felt like lasers burning into him. 

“Can you talk, baby boy?” He shook his head lightly, he felt like if he had to hear his own voice, he would explode.

“Can you try?” Sap piped up, only to receive a smack from Quackity and a glare.

“I… I… loud, hurt.” Karl whimpered, his hands coming up to cover his ears once again.

Quackity gently removed one, and whispered “Hey, it’s alright. Are you overwhelmed right now? Is this a meltdown like the ones you were telling us about?” Karl frantically shook his head up and down at that, tears dripping out again. Sap made a small o-shape with his mouth, locking eyes with Quackity in mutual surprise. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can stay like this as long as you need, okay?” Sapnap mumbled affectionately, curling around the whimpering brunette once again.

Quackity leaned down and gave Karl small kisses on his face, brushing his fingers through his hair gently.

After just a few minutes of this, the tall boy’s breathing had evened out, and his body was relaxed and still. No more fidgeting or scratching or shaking. He had finally calmed down, and unfurled himself from his ball, reaching out to hold his boys closer.

#karlnapity #karl jacobs #sapnap #quackity #dsmp #characters not ccs #dreamsmp #they are boyfriends your honor #ao3 #cross posted on ao3 #follow me on ao3 #i post these on ao3 first #mostly comfort #hurt/comfort #fluff #they are in love your honor #they are gay your honor #they are so sweet

[newyikecity]

consumed by a most sick and twisted mushishi fic idea where ginko loses his second eye (by unrelated means)

#i have never written fics but its almost singlehandedly got me compelled to start #would any of yall read that #would be lots of hurt lots of comfort #mostly comfort #mushishi

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Sick, Disoriented Whumpee

inspired by this prompt I made a while ago.

Whumpee grabbed another tissue from their spot in bed and blew their nose. Their sinuses cleared for a moment, then plugged themselves back up again. To make matters worse, Whumpee’s head started spinning as soon as the snot left their nose. Whumpee put their free hand to their head and fell back against the pillows. They weakly threw the tissue into the trashcan that Caretaker had placed at the foot of their bed. Whumpee’s stomach growled loudly. Whumpee groaned and kicked the covers off. They supposed they’d have to go to the kitchen and eat something. Whumpee willed themselves to stand up. No sooner had their feet touched the floor that their world started spinning. Whumpee swayed on the spot. They fell to the floor, and even as they lay still, their world still spun.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker called, “are you alright? I heard a noise!”

Whumpee groaned loudly in response. They heard Caretaker run up the stairs and open the door to their room.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker gasped.

Whumpee felt strong arms hoisting them up. They looked over to see Caretaker, their features etched with worry.

“What happened, Whumpee?”

“I fell out of bed,” Whumpee tried to say, but all that came out was slurred gibberish.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Caretaker soothed, “let’s get you back in bed, okay?”

Caretaker lifted Whumpee back into their bed and pulled the covers up to their chin. Whumpee’s stomach growled again, louder this time.

“Hungry?” Caretaker asked, “how about I go make you some soup?”

“I can do it,” Whumpee tried to say.

Whumpee went to sit up, but Caretaker gently pushed them back down.

“No, Whumpee, you need to rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes, alright?”

Whumpee watched Caretaker leave. They reached over to their nightstand and picked up a book. They might as well do something while they were stuck in bed. Whumpee opened their book to where they had left off. Whumpee barely read half a page before their eyelids started to droop. Shaking their head, they set the book back down on their nightstand. They couldn’t even read without feeling tired out.

“Soup’s on!” Caretaker called, coming in with a tray.

On the tray was a bowl of soup and a glass of water, along with two fever reducers. Caretaker helped Whumpee sit up, then they handed them the fever reducers. Whumpee swallowed them and took the water to wash them down. They went to grab the spoon for the soup but they could barely keep a grip on the handle before it fell down on the tray with a clang.

“Here, Whumpee, let me,” Caretaker said.

Caretaker picked up the spoon and dipped it into the soup. They blew on it softly to cool it, then held it out to Whumpee. Whumpee took a bite and felt relief as the warm soup went down their throat.

“I’m-” Whumpee tried.

‘What is it, Whumpee?”

“I’m sorry I’m so helpless right now,” Whumpee breathed.

“Oh, Whumpee, no,” Caretaker said, “don’t be sorry, I’m happy to do this for you. Anything to help you get better, right?”

Caretaker spoon-fed Whumpee the rest of the soup. By the time they were done eating, Whumpee felt absolutely exhausted. Caretaker took the tray and set it on the nightstand. They guided Whumpee back into a laying position and carded a hand through their hair. Whumpee’s eyes began to flutter closed.

“Just go to sleep, Whumpee, I’m right here.”

Between Caretaker’s hand running through their hair and their soothing words, Whumpee was quickly lulled to sleep.

#sickfic #sickfic whump #sick whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #writing #writeblr #creative writing #whump #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort