#emotional hurt/comfort Tumblr posts

  • whumpyourenemy
    02.12.2021 - 13 hours ago

    Dialogue parallels *squeals in good character development

    'I don't need anyone'

    'I need you'

    'Get out of my sight'


    'I am never wrong about this'

    'I was wrong. I was so wrong.'

    'People like us don't have the luxury of caring for others'

    'Get behind me'

    'I couldn't care less how you spend your time'

    'Where are you?'

    'If you're too slow, I'll leave you behind'

    'Get on my back, we've got to get you to a medic'

    'You will never be one of us'

    'On this oath, I pledge my loyalty to you; my leader (my love)'

    #whumpyourenemy list #can someone teach me how to format this so that there arent massive gaps lol #a bit of a short list but enjoy these parallels I squeezed my brain for #whump#whump scenes#whump fic#dialogue inspiration#angst#hurt/comfort#hurt#whump prompt#injury#whump tropes#whump ideas#caretaker#whumpee#emotional whump#whump community#whump writing
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  • emmithar-blog
    02.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    If any of you happen to be reading my mini series, here's the latest update

    Just Another Turn

    Chapter Ten

    But maybe it wasn't too late.

    He rolled the book up, tucking it carefully in the folds of his jacket. He'd keep it for now, as a token for later, or a peace offering if nothing else. Offer it up as some sort of compensation, or maybe a way to bridge that awful gap between them had come about. If that was at all possible.

    If you want to catch the series from the beginning:

    The Adventures of Arthur and Boadicea

    I've been thinking about renaming this series to something more fitting, though I haven't a clue what. Initially it was going to be a three piece series that followed Arthur and how he got Boadicea, but it's gone beyond that with several more short fics planned (I say short, though my current fic is already at ten chapters), and now I have no idea what to properly call it....

    At any rate, check it out if you're interested :) Plenty of young Arthur, and all of the early gang day stuff, with a few added twists

    #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #young arthur morgan #pre canon #boadicea the horse #early gang days #found family#angst#hurt/comfort#emotional turmoil#O'Driscolls#Many more
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  • toasted-eggs-and-guinea-pigs
    02.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Destined Interlude 1 Part 2

    geez that title is complex oof

    Oh yeah side note, if you want to see something in this au then send in a request (askbox or reply, please don't dm me) and i'll try to write it

    leviathantale belongs to skumhuu?

    Link to part 1

    Link to the main storyline

    Read on AO3

    “Hey, C, look it’s really jus’ a scratch, okay? Don’t-” Cross, ignoring his mates' calming words, pulled him closer. Killer let out a burst of bubbles as he hit Cross’s chest, Cross immediately whining apologetically. He loosened his hold, checking Killer over for further injury. “Really, cuttlefish, ’m fine.” Killer pushed Cross away gently, receiving another whine in complaint.

    “Really, tiny, we’re more worried about you.” Dust swam up behind Cross, hugging him from behind.

    Cross paused for a moment. “...Why?”

    “What’dya mean?”

    He tore from Dust’s grip, spinning around to face him, “Why do you care about me? I do nothing but fail, I can’t protect myself, much less you, I hurt you all, and I’m a fucking weak failure- WHY THE HELL DO ANY OF YOU CARE ABOUT ME?!” Cross was borderline sobbing at this point, pent up insecurities streaming out like a flood. “I’m just a worthless piece of trash. You all- you’re like- everything and I’m just a fucking worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything! I DON’T FUCKING DESERVE ANY OF YOU!”

    Dust’s mouth opened and closed in shock, making him look like a fish out of water. Luckily Killer came to his rescue, gently resting a hand on Cross’s humerus. “What gave you that idea, C? We love you, more than anything! Nothing could replace our precious little guard!” He pecked a kiss on Cross’s cheek, pulling him into a hug. “We love ya, Cross, and nothing can change that.

    A displacement of water signalled the approach of another mer. Horror’s deep voice rung out, “Pearl...?”

    Dust snapped out of his shock, swimming over to wrap himself around the group. “Tiny, I dunno what gave ya’ that idea, but you’re amazing. Our perfect little treasure, darling pearl, sweet little cuttlefish. You deserve so much love, I don’t know whatever makes you think otherwise.”

    “Dust is right, Cross. You deserve the world.” Nightmare’s voice, instead of ringing throughout the cavern as usual, came from a single spot off to Cross’s left. A soft purple tentacle wrapped around Cross’s arm, holding it gently. Cross glanced over, being rewarded with the levithan’s small form. Bright purple eyelights looked earnestly up at Cross, deep with so many unidentifiable emotions. “We all love you, nothing can change that.”

    “Yeah… Cookie…” Horror agreed, his voice still foggy with sleep.

    “C’mon C, let’s get ya comfy in the nest, then we can pamper you all we want. All you deserve.” Killer guided the mass of bones and flesh to the circle of seaweed nearby. Cross ended up in the middle of a giant cuddle pile, warm flesh surrounding him. Horror and Dust’s comforting purrs filled the air, and tiny tentacles massaged Cross’s bones. Killer reappeared with a fish, feeding it to him in strips while whispering quiet reassurances.

    Cross burst out crying.

    Nightmare immediately moved to look him in the eyes, worry filling his eyelights.

    Cross sniffled, a smile growing on his face. “Happy tears, Night.” He buried his face in Nightmare’s chest, his own warbling purr joining the cacophony of sound. “I love you all so much.”

    “...Please never leave me.”

    “Never. We promise.”

    “...Thank you...”


    im projecting again

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  • dreamsclock
    01.12.2021 - 1 day ago
    #> fate's favourites fic #> my writing !! #> c!endersmile #> endersmile #tw character death #tw death#tw grief #tw emotional distress #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #tw blood#tw wounds#tw injury #tw hurt no comfort
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  • dreamsclock
    01.12.2021 - 1 day ago
    #> diskduo #> that one clock guy #> tommy (derogatory) #tw exile arc #> my writing !! #tw unhealthy relationships #tw mental instability #tw mental deterioration #tw trauma #tw emotional distress #tw manipulation#tw cruelty#tw injuries#tw wounds #tw hurt no comfort #tw abuse #> my asks !! #tw panic attack #c!dream neg #c!tommy hurt
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  • randomized-ice
    01.12.2021 - 1 day ago
    #I don’t think they notice they’re holding hands òuó #but yeah Dabi is sensitive to being ignored so he acts like the most dramatic asshole in the room #which doesn’t excuse his actions at all like you read #and Spinner hates being bullied by Dabi like that #I have never wrote this ship so I hope I got it right! #emotion-based hurt/comfort#spinnerdabi#spinner#bnha dabi #birthday thing!!!
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  • merakivel
    30.11.2021 - 2 days ago

    coffee shop au in which namjoon is working at a café on a rainy day and jungkook suddenly appears all wet and with tears in his eyes. fluff? wamth? sweetness? i really want to own a pastry.

    #namkook au #i actually want to write this #should i#fluff#comfort #namjoon is a big soft bear #jungkookie has been hurt noo :( #jk our favourite emotional support #jungkook#namjoon#bts
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  • pixiesfondlingmyballs
    30.11.2021 - 2 days ago

    you ever just see a certain series of off the wall tags on a fic and know someone is projecting. me too, bestie, i wish the best for you on those endeavors

    #mainly talkin about the oddly specific non sex related fics here #them folks be taggin: trauma. ptsd. hurt/comfort. crying. emotional conversations. annnnd so on #like yea darling. ik ur goin through it and ur hard core projecting bc that was just fucking gut wrenching #this isnt abt a specific fic so those tags r just off the top of my head. but my point still stands #sometimes people will write gut wrenching fics and i just /know/ they didnt pull that out of their ass for just something to do #healing is projecting onto your favorite characters. ig. #ao3
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  • fitzselfships
    30.11.2021 - 3 days ago

    Really just sitting here crying because my rat's health is deteriorating and he could die any day now

    #vent#negative #animal death mention #even though I know the day is coming and I can't avoid it I'm not prepared to have to deal with losing him #he means a lot to me and is one of the only reasons I can make myself get out of bed #idk what I'll do when he's gone #but I can't deny anymore that he will die soon #he can hardly walk anymore because his abck legs went out and he can barely get up when he lays down #it hurts me to see him like this but there's nothing anyone can do #I'm trying to keep him happy and comfortable until the day finally comes when he passes away #I don't want to say gokdbye to him but I don't don't want him to suffer anymore either #and my mom most likely won't let me get another rat after he's gone #sorry about all the tags and stuff I just had to get all this out (trying to stop bottling up my emotions lol)
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  • wordsofthefanfic
    29.11.2021 - 3 days ago

    He finally gets off three stops later in a neighbourhood he doesn’t recognise. It’s still drizing, and Dick’s umbrella is sitting in his other backpack that’s sitting in his apartment, and his phone is on 23% charge.

    Dick breathes out.

    He breathes back in.

    He thinks, very clearly, I wish I could scream right now.

    — baby, it’s a sign of the times, danishsweethearts

    #i haven’t stopped thinking about this fic in four days #why do i resonate with it so much #actually i know exactly why #dick grayson#batfam#fanfiction#angst#hurt/comfort #i think there’s a bit of comfort #when ur a smol town child livin in the big city u know #jshjfhsjf HAHA #ANYWAY I LOVE HIS FICS #THEY MAKE ME FEEL THE EMOTIONS AND ITS SO GOOD #also the reverse batfam au :’) that’s some good stuff right there
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  • girlyliondragon
    29.11.2021 - 3 days ago

    I wanna write more but I’m back in a terrible funk.

    #I could get back to that hurt/comfort fic I said I was gonna do a while back #but again. Ideas are sparse. How do you injure a character constantly without it being repetetive #or write scenarios around that that are distinct each time #I'd be four fics in by now if I knew what to do there #and this sudden emotional funk ain't helping #Em Speaks
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  • muddells
    29.11.2021 - 4 days ago

    Step in Step, Chapter One: It's Alright! It's Really Not

    (Gen, Blue Exorcist, One Shot Collection)

    Main Relationship: Yukio Okumura & Rin Okumura

    Main Characters: Yukio, Rin

    Other Characters: Sugaro 'Bon' Ryuuji, Moriyama Shiemi, Shima Renzou, Paku Noriko, Kamiki Izumo

    Word Count: 2.5k+


    A collection of one shots focusing on the Okumura brothers.

    Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32927092/chapters/81719575

    Around the class the temple crumbled. Stone pillars that stood steady for centuries lay scattered across the floor, knocked out of place. The ceiling they upheld collapsed, falling in pieces and raining down to smash at their feet as more supports failed.

    “Everyone out!” Yukio shouted, panicked. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, dripping in sticky and warm streams before his gaze. He cast a frantic look around, grabbing a nearby Shiemi as she stumbled and shoving her in the direction of the exit.

    “Yukie?” she said, eyes wide.

    Larger sections began to fall, walls caved—in moments, they would be buried.

    “Let’s go!” He ran, tugging Shiemi along at his side, towards the gap of light he could see shining through the surrounding cloud of dust. Stones and wooden splinters embedded the floor in their wake. Pink hair dashed through the opening ahead—Shima was safe, at least.

    Shiemi stepped wrong on the uneven floor, her ankle giving. She staggered and winced. Yukio clutched her upper arm, heaving her up and practically dragging her the rest of the way as she struggled to help their progress.

    They reached the exit, barreling into the outdoors and inhaling clean air hungrily. Shima was bent over nearby, hands on his knees as he recovered himself. Sugaro stood at his side, patting his back as he choked.

    Kamiki and Paku sat in the grass a little further, the purple-haired girl pressing her discarded sweater against her friend’s shoulder, blood leaking through the cloth.

    Shiemi, Shima, Sugaro, Kamiki, and Paku. That’s five. But what about...

    Yukio blanched.

    “Stay here,” he told Shiemi, releasing his grip on her upper arm and pushing her further away from the temple.

    “But what about—”

    “I’ll be right behind you!” he promised, already diving back inside.



    “Mr. Okumura!”

    The shouts followed him, soon drowned out by the shifting of stones and cracking of wooden beams. Yukio dodged larger debris as he plunged through the temple. A beam crashed down beside him and he just managed to dodge, the effort sending him to the floor, his head landing against something hard and steady. Pain burst across the side of his face, and he shifted with a groan, the crinkle of glass joined the din.

    The shattered right lens of his glasses and the haze of pain left his eyesight half blurry. He got to his feet anyway, only to double back over as another section of ceiling landed before him.

    The temple was in shambles, only a skeleton of the former foundation intact, a few groaning braces remaining. It would only take one to fail for anyone inside to be flattened.

    Rin, he thought desperately, whirling around and searching desperately. Where are you?

    Overhead the main beam creaked.

    “Rin!” Yukio cried out. “ Rin!”

    A warm weight grasped his shoulder, yanking him back. Yukio jumped, giving himself whiplash with how fast he turned his head. Rin—?!

    It was Sugaro.

    “We got to go!”

    “No—!” Yukio argued as Sugaro yanked at him again.

    “If we stay here we’ll die,” he insisted. “C’mon teach, we gotta move!”

    “I need to find Rin—”

    “Yukio,” Sugaro hissed, dark eyes boring into his own. “We’re going to die.”

    Yukio paused at that. If it was just him nothing could have convinced him to make for safety without Rin. But Sugaro was there too, and Yukio had a feeling the other teenager wouldn’t be turning and running, leaving him to die alone. They would leave together or they wouldn’t leave at all—and it was Yukio’s job to keep his class safe.

    Sugaro seemed to realize he’d struck a chord when he hauled Yukio along again and this time he didn’t struggle. Together they dashed forward, lurching over obstacles and choking on the contaminated air. His stomach seemed to clench painfully and his mouth tasted sour as he moved, blatantly aware of the fact Sugaro stayed at his side, not Rin.

    It wasn't an exaggeration to say they just made it. As they reached the opening and staggered free the temple fell to pieces, a wave of dust expanding from the wreckage and enveloping them in its gritty sting.



    “Nii-san!” Yukio screamed into the smog.

    Rin had been inside . He was still inside, where Yukio had left him. Crushed and battered—because what good would his fire have done to protect him against stone? Not that they’d seen any sign of the blue flames. He was probably pinned, hurt, or, or...

    He lunged forward, towards the shattered remains of the building they’d just escaped, only to come to an abrupt halt as Sugaro got a hold on him. “Let me go!”

    Suddenly Shima was there too, his face right in front of Yukio’s, expression crumpled, eyes wild, hair astray.

    “It’s dangerous—” he warned.

    But Yukio didn’t listen.

    “I have to find him—” he explained hurriedly, wrenching himself free from Sugaro’s grasp. I have to protect him.

    Kamiki came up beside the trio, stepping into Yukio’s way. “Just calm down,” she implored, though her voice sounded strained. “We will find him—but get yourself together. You’re no good to him if you’re not thinking.”

    Calm down?

    “We know how you feel,” Shima added. “But just rushing over to haphazardly sift through the wreckage could make it unstable—it could even hurt him more.”

    We know how you feel?

    Yukio exhaled shakily. The cloud of dust began to disperse, tendrils still remaining at their feet. The wreckage of the temple shifted and groaned, settling on itself, and all Yukio could think about was the limp form of his brother. Buried. Bleeding. Bones snapped. Body trapped. God, Rin hated being confined.

    He couldn't calm down. They didn't know how he felt.

    But his class did have a point. They needed to do this in a way that made sense. Yukio closed his eyes tight enough to be painful and forced them open, looking from face to unsure face. He forced away the panic threatening to overwhelm him. That wouldn’t do Rin any good.

    “We need to split into groups,” he ordered abruptly. “Shiemi and Kamiki, summon your familiars. The more eyes the better. Sugaro, Shima, you two take the right side. Shiemi and I will take the center. Paku, Kamiki, you have the left.”

    “On it!”

    “Sure thing.”

    “Of course!”

    Yukio stalked forward. “Everyone watch your step and be careful."

    For ten minutes they searched.

    As the second ticked away, they picked their way through more wreckage. Even as the unsearched section of the rubble grew smaller, no sign of Rin showed up.

    Soon, Yukio’s hands were shaking, his throat felt dry and his eyes itched painfully. Everything seemed surreal and confusing. He didn’t know what to do, how to act. He felt dizzy and weak and wanted to both claw through the rubble with his bare hands and collapse at the same time. He wanted his brother safe, alive.

    The others were affected also. The pieces of debris Sugaro shifted through landed harder when they were cast away. Shima was whiter than a ghost. Paku continued to look to a stone-faced Kamiki more often, who had chewed her lip enough to draw blood. Shiemi's face was washed with silent tears.

    They were all thinking the same thing.

    Rin should have been found by now—at least a sign of him. In the confusion of the battle with the demon who caused the temple's collapse, no one could remember where Rin had ended up, but the temple's grounds didn't span a large area, and they'd combed through enough space that something should have turned up. If Rin was buried he would have heard their efforts, would have known they were searching for him.

    So why didn't he say anything? Call out?

    Yukio didn't want to know—didn't like any of the answers he could think of.

    Grimly, robotically, he reached down, moving aside a beam split down the middle, wood creaking in protest as he shifted it away from it's resting place.

    The silence was peppered with grunts and the sound of work. It was Kamiki who broke it next. They'd all called out at some point, sharing updates, casting for any hints or signs even though they all knew the moment someone found something everyone would know.

    "Anyone got anything—"

    And it was so ironic, so unexpected, so infuriatingly like him that Yukio shouldn't have been surprised with what happened next.

    “Heeeeeey!” a voice interrupted her. It cleaved through the air, vibrant and loud. “Guys! Is everyone okay!”

    Yukio froze.

    He was so focused on the idea of Rin trapped beneath the wreckage, he couldn’t believe his ears. But everyone else…

    “Rin!” Shiemi called. She jumped to her feet where she'd been picking through a pile of stones, favoring one, hands clasped around her mouth and tears gathering in the corners of her red eyes.

    Yukio spun around.

    Rin marched towards the group, an easy grin crossing his face when he saw them all mostly unhurt and alive. His sword thumped against his side with each step. There was gray dust in his hair and his white shirt was marred by streaks of dirt but he appeared otherwise intact. As he drew closer he gave an explanation.

    “There was a basement—who would have thought?” he laughed. “I managed to slip out that way—but the only way out was this really cool passageway that led all the way over to the woods so I had to race back after I found my way through it." He rubbed a hand along his nape, shaking his head. "But wow, talk about a close one, right....”

    As one Yukio's students scrambled over the wreckage to join him on the safety of the grass. Yukio followed, feeling cloudy and heavy and absentmindedly finding his steps in the minefield of rubble.

    “Dumbass!” Sugaro shouted, socking him in the shoulder as soon as he was within reach.

    “Ow!” Rin complained, lurching away to hide behind Kamiki, eyes wide. “Bon—hey!”

    Kamiki had delivered a punch of her own to his opposite arm. “Idiot,” she mumbled, but the way her nails dug into her palms betrayed her.

    “What’s the deal? You guys are so violent ,” Rin whined, only to stumble back as Shiemi gathered him into a gentle hug.

    She gave a small sniffle. “You’re okay!” she stated, relieved.

    “Uh, yeah?” Rin agreed, baffled, but happy with the turn of events.

    “I’m glad,” Paku told him as Shiemi tightened her grip for a brief moment and released him. “We were all so worried…”

    “Yeah, dude!” Shima joined in. “Don’t scare us like that next time!”

    He clapped Rin solidly on the back.

    Rin looked around at them all, understanding dawning in his eyes as he took in his friend’s expressions and the ruins behind them. Sheepishly he lowered his head. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to make you guys worry...”

    He looked down at his feet, face twisting guiltily, tail twitching sadly at his side. Satan's son or not, he looked like a kicked puppy.

    “It’s alright!” Shiemi assured him.

    “It’s really not—” Sugaro began heatedly.

    “As long as you’re okay,” Shima said easily, though his skin tone still looked a few shades too pale, “All’s forgiven.”

    “Says who—” Sugaro tried again.

    “It was Mr. Okumura who was really worried anyway,” Shima continued, talking over the other teen, whose mouth closed with an angry click. “He flipped out really—not that anyone could blame him—”

    It was then Rin finally turned to Yukio, who had been silently staring at him for the duration of his return.

    “Yukio…?” Rin scanned him, taking in his shaking, red eyes, and the way he bit his lip. Rin’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yukio.”

    At this he unfroze. Rin was talking to him. Rin was safe. Rin wasn’t buried. Rin was right there . The relief consumed him and a tightness in his chest eased away.

    Before he could think about it, the teacher rushed forward, grabbing hold of Rin and wrenching him closer, arms encircling his twin in a tight embrace that knocked the breath out of him. He lowered to head to rest against Rin’s shoulder, which smelled like smoke. Quietly, into his sleeve, he mumbled, “Nii-san…”

    The rest of the class fell silent around them, staring, unabashedly shocked.

    Rin didn’t seem overly surprised though. He only raised his arms and hugged him back. “It’s okay—I’m okay. We’re good.”

    Yukio wasn’t crying, but the pressure behind his eyes grew and his throat felt rough. He curled his fingers around the fabric of Rin’s shirt and squeezed.

    Everyone else came to life and started finding reasons to wander away from the pair, awkwardly shooting them not so discreet glances but also trying to ignore Yukio’s sudden transition from professor to teenager. Kamiki and Shiemi became increasingly interested in Paku’s wound and Sugaro was examining a deep scrape on Shima’s knee further away, all out of earshot.

    Rin patted Yukio on the back. Quietly he asked, “Are you crying?”

    Yukio shook his head and Rin nodded. “Good...there’s no reason to, you know. I’m right here.”

    “You almost weren’t—” Yukio pointed out.

    “But I am.”

    And he was—right there in his arms. Yukio nodded. It was the first actual hug Yukio could remember them sharing in recent memory, and he hadn’t realized how much he had needed one until then.

    "I thought you were dead."

    "...I'm sorry."


    Rin just tightened his hold. They stayed there for a little longer.

    Finally, Rin grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back lightly—Yukio let him. They made eye contact and Rin smiled softly, reaching out to snag his broken glasses, tucking them into his pocket. Yukio looked down at his feet.

    “Don’t do it again.”

    He didn’t quite know what he was asking—and was aware Rin had only saved his own life by taking the backdoor—something Yukio was grateful for. But the words felt right.

    And Rin nodded anyway. “Promise.”

    Yukio swallowed thickly and stepped out of his brother’s hold.

    He rubbed a hand down his face, pressing against his eyes. The rest of the class had wandered further off. Sugaro and Kamiki had started arguing, Shiemi’s efforts at keeping the peace made senseless by Shima’s attempts at egging them on. Paku watched onward, sighing at their antics.

    After a moment Yukio sighed.

    “We should head back to the academy,” he said, voice steadier.

    “Okay,” Rin agreed. He glanced at the class and lowered his voice. “You ready to join the others?”

    “Yeah,” Yukio confirmed.

    Rin grinned widely. “Alright then—If you're sure.”

    In sync they made to join the group, naturally falling into step with each other. This turned out to be a good thing because Yukio, as soon as he began to walk, realized the world was spinning slightly, and his steps were uneven as a result. Without the purpose of searching through the temple, suddenly each movement didn't agree with him. Rin’s hand reached out and curled around Yukio’s waist, who leaned against him not half as reluctant as he expected to be.

    “You’re hurt?”

    Yukio shrugged. “Concussion maybe.”

    It hadn't seemed like a big deal, considering the circumstances.

    Rin eyed the blood, dried and otherwise, covering his brother’s face with a sigh. “Alright, I’ve gotcha.”

    Yukio believed it. He rested against him, allowing his twin to steady and help him over to the class, the crumbled remains of the temple looming behind them. Rin was okay.

    They were okay.

    #rin okumura#yukio okumura#blue exorcist#fanfiction#brothers#brotherly love#platonic#fluff #fluff and angst #emotional hurt/comfort #one shot collection #no beta we die like fujimoto #I don't make the rules #just roll with it #muddells
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  • feelinglikecleopatra
    28.11.2021 - 4 days ago

    Not Just Yet

    Fandom: Six of Crows / Kaz x Inej

    Word count: 1804

    Rating: teen

    C/W: canon typical violence, references to suicide, suicide attempts, and suicidal intent.


    Dock scene rewrite.

    There was a knife poised at his—her heart.

    In the span of a breath, Kaz saw her intention. He saw the knife slide between her ribs, pierce her heart, saw the blood that would follow, the stain on his hands.


    “I stuck your Wraith,” Oomen giggled. When Kaz spotted him, he was curled up in a ball on the ground. A pool of what could only have been blood spreading, dark as the sin, beneath him. “I stuck her good.”

    By the look of the gash in Oomen’s thigh, and the ichor spreading between the slats, she got him too. More than anything, it was Oomen being alive, capable of spitting and snivelling to himself, that tore a ragged hole in Kaz’ chest . Inej’s aim had been off and there was, Kaz had made certain, no such thing.

    The Wraith did not miss.

    Not unless—he did not allow the thought to form. He could no more picture her injured, incapacitated or worse, than he could negotiate his hesitation to do just that. There was more at stake here than one crew member's safety.

    The docks were dark and terrible. Kaz could make out the sound of the surf, crashing and foaming at his feet.

    Sending Rotty to the Ferolind with Oomen, Kaz swallowed a mouthful of bile and followed the blood.

    Finding her proved simple enough. There was a gaggle of Razorgulls clustered beneath a precarious looking pyramid of crates less than a hundred yards away. He was close, cloaked in shadows and muffled by the sound of their buffoonery, when he heard what they were saying.

    “Geels wants her alive. Nabbing his Wraith is the surest way to Brekker and after Oomen, she won’t be putting up much of a fight.”

    They were eyeing up the crates. For all their talk, it seemed they weren’t entirely sure how best to make the climb without falling on one of her knives in the process.

    By the time they heard Kaz coming, the weighted crows-head of his cane had left a bloody crater in the side of the chatty one's skull. The Gull went down without a peep. There were three others, two were carrying pistols and the third was wielding a wicked-looking blade, its serrated edge twinkling ominously in the light.

    The blade-carrying one and one of the gunmen rushed Kaz with a shout. He had only a second to wonder at the breed of stupid the Gulls seemed to produce that a man with a gun would come at him with fists. The third seemed less inept. The click of his gun’s hammer was crystal clear as Kaz swung his cane at the legs of the first, dropping him to the boardwalk. He pushed his heel into the groaning man’s jewels, leaning on his cane to use his good leg. The second man aimed a right hook at Kaz’s chin, he heard it whistle as it flew past his face. To his credit, meeting Kaz’s downward lean, the Gull drove his other fist into the Bastard’s gut.

    With a grunt, Kaz stumbled back. In the tangle of limbs, he managed to wrap a gloved hand in his opponent's collar, dragging him back against him. The press of the Gull’s body against Kaz’s front made his heart lurch sickeningly but he needed the shield as the one without shit for brains levelled his pistol.

    “Your Wraith isn’t here to protect you now, Brekker. Let my man go.”

    Kaz didn’t bother responding. Throwing his full weight onto his good leg, he shoved his shield. The big man lurched and tipped forward, caught off balance. With a twist of his wrist, Kaz spun his cane and hooked the head around the falling man’s ankle—sealing his fate. He landed with a nasty crunch. Spooked, and similarly caught unawares, the gunman fired a shot that flew wide, over Kaz’s shoulder. By that point Kaz was already on him.

    Unlike the Razorgulls now dying and moaning on the floor behind him, Kaz didn’t hesitate to make the climb. The way up was no trouble at all.

    The glistening, near-black splash at crotch-level against the side of one of the crates told an eloquent enough story. Above this, Kaz could make out a smear of blood leading up and over the lip of the crate. Cane flat in one hand, Kaz hauled himself up and dropped into a crouch. Blood, fresher and redder under the cold light of the moon, tracked across the top of this crate too.

    It was all he could see, that trail of blood.


    Climb, Inej.

    “I can’t, Papa,” she whispered. Even now she hated to disappoint him.

    Move, she told herself. This is a stupid place to die. And yet a voice in her head said there were worse places. She would die here, in freedom, beneath the beginnings of dawn. She’d die after a worthy fight, not because some man had tired of her or required more from her than she could give. Better to die here by her own blade than with her face painted and her body swathed in false silks.

    A hand seized her ankle. They’d climbed the crates. Why hadn’t she heard them? Was she that far gone? They had her. Someone was turning her onto her back.


    Her ankle and wrist were impossibly slender in his hands. The slightest pressure, he thought, and they’d snap like twigs. Everything about her belied the power she wielded.

    The myriad corpses that had shaped his life blurred into this bleeding version of Inej. Something had torn loose inside him and was making a mockery of his control. Memories old and new, pulling him apart at the seams.

    All he could think was, this is the first time he’d ever touched her so deliberately . Vision tunneling, he got her onto her back.

    There was a knife poised at his—her heart.

    In the span of a breath, Kaz saw her intention. He saw the knife slide between her ribs, pierce her heart, saw the blood that would follow, the stain on his hands.

    If Kaz were not the one with his hand around her wrist—squeezing painfully—it would have been the right thing to do. The Wraith knew too much, was too valuable an investment to let fall into enemy hands.

    These were the kind of terrible lies he told her everyday. The kind of lies that might lead her to believe she was alone here, that although she had saved their lives she could rely on none of them to save hers.

    She wanted a life and a death on her own terms. Never had this been clearer.

    Dirtyhands would not be reduced to begging. “Not just yet, Inej.” He pulled the knife away from his heart.

    The cold, tin roof of the crate bit into his knees as he bundled her into his arms. She was still and slight against him.

    Bracing himself for the jump, Kaz felt the tremors in her thighs.

    If he had ever pictured himself holding Inej it would not have been like this. If—he would have pictured her whole, laughing, soft and warm and wanting. With her in his arms like this, Kaz realised he could not remember what it felt like to hold someone except in the moments just before or after violence.

    She moaned as they hit the ground. He grit his teeth against the stabbing pain in his knee, almost dropping her in the process.

    “Did we win?”

    “I’m here, aren’t I?”

    He was here. Too little and too late.

    Even in the darkness, riding the slick clarity that came with a fight, the heat of her breath was the only thing he felt with any certainty. All sensation narrowed to the exposed length of his throat, caressed by the ragged tenor of her breathing.

    “I don’t want to die.”

    Gritting his teeth against the memory of steel pressed to her breast, he said, “I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.”

    The boardwalk rang hollow beneath his pounding feet and he had to keep an eye on their surroundings. The mist rolling in off the sea. The smell of gunpowder. The heat of her breath. Watching the flurry of activity aboard the Ferolind, Kaz fought every instinct to look down at Inej as she slipped from his grasp.

    “Keep talking, Wraith. Don’t slip away from me.”

    “But it’s what I do best.”

    That wasn’t true. She could no more slip away from him than she could sneak up on him. Not anymore. He always knew. Though he may not be able to follow her, he would always know. If she slipped away from him now, he would feel her go. He would feel her leave.

    “Just make it to the schooner. Open your damn eyes, Inej.”

    She felt like a corpse in his arms, lax and unresponsive. All her warmth had leached out but he felt none the warmer for it, as if he too, were a corpse.

    He needed her for this job. He needed her for the Dregs. He needed her for her skills. He needed her.

    “I can help you,” she said now.

    “Help me with what?” Those were the first words she ever spoke to him. Was that what she was thinking about? Being wrapped in false silks, spotted and perfumed, stepping out of a shadow with a bid for freedom. “Talk to me, Wraith.”

    “You came back for me.”

    “I protect my investments.” Kind lies, terrible truths, and the spaces in between.

    “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

    She was angry with him. She had been angry with him as she’d held that knife to her heart.

    “Say you’re sorry.”

    For what? For which of the hundred hundred jibes?

    Dirtyhands did not like the taste of regret. Already, he could feel shame gnawing at his extremities, determined to devour him. But Kaz Brekker was not made for shame, for remorse. That was for the boy he had been; burned up with fever, drowned in the harbour.

    “Just say it.”

    He couldn’t.

    An apology was not what she needed.

    He would get her what she needed, he would get her onto the schooner and to Nina and out to sea. If it was freedom she wanted, a life and death on her own terms, this job was the way to get that. Enough money to buy herself free of Per Haskell and the Dregs and Kaz, all the chains binding her to a city and a life of sin.

    Just say it.

    He couldn’t.

    An apology was not what he wanted. It had too much the taste of goodbye and Kaz wanted . He did not have the words for what it was he wanted but it was not this, it was not Inej dying in his arms, dying at the end of Oomen’s knife. A death she might have chosen for herself stolen by him. They could—they would get what they needed. Of that much, Kaz could be sure.


    A/N: the whole discord had a minor crisis thinking about kaz finding inej with a knife to her ribs. twenty-four hours later, here we are.

    #kaz x inej #scene rewrite#extended scene#dock scene#kaz’s pov#angst #hurt no comfort #hurt#my writing#drabble#one shot #i wrote this in 24 hrs #it’s rough and emotional #kanej fanfic#soc fic
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  • aftgficrec
    28.11.2021 - 4 days ago


    Inheritance by DucK_walKed_up_to_the_401 is honestly one of the best fics i’ve ever read! neil gets a call from the people dealing with his father’s will and is told that his father promised everything to him (though the investigation still needs to finish and the suspicious things will not be returned) and he drives to the house in baltimore without telling anyone. the first two chapters are 100% angst (and written so well!) but the third resolves things and fills you with fluff and the content warnings are super thorough. anyway it’s the best thing i’ve ever read and i had to share it.

    Thanks for this rec, @birdsdontwearshoes, and the great review! - S

    Inheritance by DucK_walKed_up_to_the_401 [Not Rated, 10610 words, complete, 2021]

    Welcome home, Nathaniel.

    tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attack

    #submission#rec #Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard #universe: post canon #theme: angst with a happy ending #theme: fluff & angst #theme: hurt/comfort #theme: emotional hurt/comfort #theme: established relationship #theme: bedsharing #tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied/referenced child abuse #tw: panic attacks #birdsdontwearshoes
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  • oshii
    28.11.2021 - 4 days ago

    one day at a time (Terriers, 1x11 AU, post-breakup, consoling Hank, sick!Britt)

    *SPOILERS for Terriers post 1x06, even though it aired in 2010 - some of you might just be getting into this show!

    1x11, between flashbacks. Britt’s gone in a bottle and sick as a dog. Hank’s seen it all before. Lived it.

    Hank sat on the edge of Britt’s (and Katie’s) bed, gingerly, like his ass would disturb the sanctity of the relationship those two used to have and share together on this sleeping platform.

    Damn shame.

    Britt was still in the bathroom. He’d gone to pee, he’d said, before staggering past Hank and bumping into the doorframe and haphazardly shoving the door shut. The lid had thunked heavily against the tank, piss commenced, the toilet flushed, and Hank waited. “I don’t hear any water running,” he hollered, just for the sake of noise. “I hope you washed your hands.”

    Nothing. Then, a rough cough echoed off the porcelain, and, abruptly, most of a fifth of rotgut whiskey surged up in an unmistakable, graphic heave, splashing audibly into the toilet with what sounded like enough force to splatter the surrounding porcelain. Hank cringed, grimaced, turned his head as if to hide from the sounds. He knew all too well the demons Britt wrestled, and how it felt to cling to the rails of that shame-and-vertigo-fueled Hell Express.

    “Shit, kid,” he muttered, sighing in absolute resignation and more than a little sympathy. Hands clapped on denim knees, aching joints popped in ferocious disagreement of motion, and Hank stood up to make his way across the hall and into the bathroom, accepting his roles as sponsor, priest, and hair-holder.

    It was just as bad as he’d imagined. Britt, way past fucked up and absolutely miserable, lifted his head to look at Hank with shattered red eyes, tears streaming, nose running. “I can’t,” is all he could choke out. His face crumpled with fresh tears, and he abruptly doubled over with one last wrenching heave before slumping limply into the bowl with a pitiful little sob of defeat.

    It wasn’t the grossest he’d seen Britt, but it was by far the saddest. It shattered Hank's heart to see the kid like this, and the knife in his gut twisted its familiar pattern of shame at the memory of Katie sobbing into his shoulder at Carter's diner, burdening the both of them with her forbidden liaison – a secret never to tell, a cursed vow of silence for the good of their favorite person. Hank knew he could (probably) stay mum, but Katie never could. The guilt was too much to bear.

    “I know,” Hank murmured, kneeling down to rub his back. “Just breathe. It’ll be all right.”

    He kept up the litany of trite reassurances as Britt gasped and coughed and spat, eventually regaining his composure enough to sit up and blink away tears, catch his breath in ragged little pants, and finally turn around to bury his face into Hank's day-old shirt and sob quietly like a little boy, fingers clinging desperately. Hank embraced him, puke and drool and snot and all, and held him tight, offering all he could to the man who had become not only his partner, but his best friend, his ride or die.

    "I got you," he told Britt, murmuring into his greasy hair. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I promise." He glanced upwards to ward off the threat of his own overflowing tears, and inhaled resolutely. “One day at a time.”

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  • cupidford
    28.11.2021 - 4 days ago

    This Time by Berty

    Johnlock Love Letters #2213

    After five months of silence, John asks Sherlock to meet him for a coffee. Five months of learning to live completely without John has been harder than he could have imagined.
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  • dreamsclock
    28.11.2021 - 4 days ago

    quackity’s legacy burns. (short c!quackity centric angst from yesterday’s lore — spoilers!)

    [warnings: character death, suicidal thoughts, self destructive behaviour, mourning, extreme emotional distress, hurt no comfort, mentioned torture / abuse, c!quackity hurt, c!slime hurt, c!dream hurt, c!purpled hurt]

    quackity’s legacy burns.

    it’s kind of funny, he tries to tell himself on the first night, huddled blankly in the bottom of the pit purpled had dug for him, because it’s sort of the same way he’d started it.

    the revive book was supposed to be the beginning of something bigger. something better. las nevadas had been the real start, but the country wasn’t even finished yet: getting the revive book had been his plan to kick las nevadas off — a show of power, a show of control.

    a show that he belonged. a show that he could be happy.

    his happiness burned up beside him while he sobbed.

    quackity hasn’t sobbed like that before.

    but yeah, no, the revive book had meant to be the beginning. and hadn’t that been in lava too? hadn’t he watched dream desperately try to escape him, throwing himself into lava to avoid torture, hadn’t he laughed as he’d watched him respawn in the pit?

    (“you can’t fuckin’ escape me that easy, pal,” he’d grinned with sharp teeth, and dream had cringed back from him, bloody and burnt, “not until you give me that fuckin’ book.”)

    lava is the beginning, lava is the end — quackity barely has the coherency to haul himself out of it after slime’s death, barely has the good sense to collapse hysterically on the sand he’d begged slime to climb onto, barely has the willpower not to let himself burn too. he feels rotten from the inside, like he’s moulding and decaying, and he can barely breathe.

    burning is the beginning and burning is the end. the smoke billowing from purpled’s ufo catches thick in his throat, the memory of it still haunting him, and quackity retches, tries to calm. he’d been an idiot to underestimate purpled, to think he’d be forgiven. hadn’t trusting been what he’d tried so hard to teach slime about?

    (“quackity from las nevadas,” slime had asked him the night of that lesson, “if i can’t trust anyone, am i still meant to trust you?”

    “yeah, course! just— don’t trust bad people. people who want to hurt you.”)

    (is he a bad person for not protecting slime better?)

    it starts and ends with betrayal.

    he’d betrayed purple’s trust. purpled’s betrayed his. it’s not fair, that it hurts an innocent, but hey, maybe it’s funny, in a fucked up kind of way. a lot of things had grown funny to him in fucked up ways — karl’s treatment of him, wilbur’s competition, his torture of dream, techno and dream’s escape — so this? this is…

    …it’s not funny. it’s not funny in there slightest.

    foolish gets him out the pit, and quackity lets him check him over for injuries, lets him coax a health pot down his throat to deal with the burns.

    he’d rather be dead, he thinks. he’d rather be with slime.

    his legacy starts and ends with lava, with burning, with betrayal.

    really, his legacy starts and it ends with his incompetence. with his failure. his legacy burns in front of him and quackity can’t save it. his legacy—

    “gone,” he croaks to foolish, “it’s fucking gone.”

    foolish isn’t his friend. foolish is a god, a death god, one he’s manipulated, one he let die — foolish could snap his neck and quackity would be helpless to stop him, doesn’t even know if he’d try.

    foolish is kind. he fixes quackity’s beanie and tries for optimism.

    “it’s not gone anywhere,” he says in an attempt for reassurance, “las nevadas is right here, yeah? i mean, we can get rid of the massive pit here, uh, but— but your legacy is still here.”

    quackity closes his eyes and doesn’t tell foolish he’s not talking about las nevadas.

    instead, he lets foolish’s careful hand on his back guide him towards his room, and pretends every part of him isn’t begging to be back in that pit.

    quackity’s legacy burns.

    he wants to burn with it.

    #> las nevadas finale #> my writing !! #> vegas disaster #> normal flesh guy #tw character death #tw suicidal thoughts #tw self destructive behavior #tw mourning #tw emotional distress #tw torture#tw abuse#tw suicide #c!quackity #tw hurt no comfort
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  • dapandapod
    27.11.2021 - 5 days ago
    #minor#lambden #aiden x lambert #the witcher 3 #the wild hunt #game spoilers #briefly mentioned character death #faking death#hurt comfort#hurt/comfort #look at all the emotion i can put into this one #hug prompts 2021 #dapanda writes#the witcher #geralt of rivia #witcher eskel#witcher lambert#witcher aiden#kaer morhen#keira #i remember her last name i promise #only two friggin hug prompts to go people kdfksjfk
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