#heavy on the comfort

[booksanxietyandsports]

Stephan Leyhe/Andreas Wellinger - "Quiet of the night." (fic)

well well well. what do we have here.

right after welle won the first four hills comp in oberstdorf this season i wrote like a thousand words, then completely forgot about it. i just discovered it again and in a lovely case of hyperfixation wrote the rest of it in about an hour, so do with that what you will. better late than never, right?

so as for the timeline, this takes place after andi won the first comp of the 23/24 four hills tournament. for the sake of plot they’re not roommates in this (although we all know they always share, but let’s just pretend they all got single rooms for the tour). even though it’s a rather quick and short one at 2.2k, i hope you guys enjoy it. as always, i’d love to know what you think and appreciate any kind of feedback <3

Knock Knock. 

Stephan turns over in his bed towards the door, sheets tangling with his legs. The room is pitch black when he blinks sleepily, eyes protesting the unscheduled awakening. There’s someone knocking at his door, which isn’t an uncommon occurrence in the team hotel during the tour because someone always wants something, except it’s two at night and they only went to bed like two and a half hours ago. Stephan‘s brain is still muddled with sleep after the adrenaline crash that inevitably always follows a competition, especially one as electrifying as yesterday‘s. So, what on earth-

There‘s a third knock and Stephan squints at the door as someone gently pushes it open, causing a sliver of light from the hallway to spill into the darkness of his room. He can barely make out a silhouette when there‘s a whisper- “Stephan? Are you awake?”

Andreas.

Stephan sits up abruptly, every last trace of sleep gone. “Yeah,” he whispers back, which isn’t true at all given that Andi quite literally just woke him up but he’d rather fling himself off a hill than tell the younger that. It’s not like he minds, anyway, he’s got an open ear for all of his teammates, although maybe it’s a bit different where Andi is concerned. Stephan tries not to think about it.

Andi tiptoes into the room and closes the door behind him. Darkness falls back around them and for a long moment neither of them moves. Stephan looks in Andi’s general direction and waits for him to offer some kind of explanation, to start talking the way he always does without paying any mind to time, company or circumstances. After a full minute goes by without a sound Stephan starts to grow increasingly concerned. “Andi?,” he prompts gently, eyes searching the darkness for any kind of movement. 

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up, it’s late, we’ve got training today and it’s stupid anyways, I’ll just-“ 

“Don’t you dare open that door, Andreas. It’s the middle of the night, what’s wrong?” Stephan hears Andi shift on his feet followed by the faint click of the door handle being released. The silence returns as the questions hangs between them, unanswered. Despite the odd situation, Stephan smiles quietly to himself.

“Stop biting your lip, Andi. It’s gonna be all raw and red on camera tomorrow.”

He hears Andi sputter over where he’s still standing by the goddamn door. “I’m not! It’s pitch-black in here, Stephan, you can’t even see me! How would you know that?”

Because I spend most of my time watching you. Because I could paint your face in a thousand different ways if I had just an ounce of talent. 

“Because you always bite your lips bloody when something’s bothering you. Now come on over here and tell me what’s wrong, please.” Stephan sits up straighter as he hears Andi shuffle through the room, leaning against the headboard. The mattress dips beneath him as Andi sits down on the edge of the bed next to his stretched-out legs, which isn’t as close as Stephan would like him, but it’s better than the other side of the room.

He figures this is the moment they should turn on the lamp on his bedside table since they still can’t fucking see, but something about Andi’s behaviour stops him. This isn’t like the younger at all; to be so caught up in his thoughts and feelings that it drives him out of bed in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s got something to do with how young Andi was when he started into the whole world cup circus, but Stephan has always admired how good his teammate seemed to be at compartmentalizing. One problem after the other, brain turned off periodically to rest, then switched back on to work out the issues at maximum capacity and all of that with endless optimism and a quick smile. 

So yeah, the more Stephan thinks about it, the more alarming he finds this entire situation. The least he can do is offer Andi the courtesy of keeping the lights off.

Not that it helps much. He can feel the tension in Andi’s body, every muscle coiled as if he’s preparing to make another jump from the hill. Stephan bends his knees a little, tucking them closer to his body in a silent offer for Andi to lean against them. He takes a deep breath and tries to prompt the younger into talking with an easy question.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Andi sighs. “Uh, not really. I think. Kinda been dozing on and off since we all went to bed but…time hasn’t really felt real tonight anyways. That’s so weird don’t you think?”

“What is?” Stephan’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to make out Andi’s face turned in his direction to look at him, eyes way too wide and awake for this time of night.

“This! Me waking you up at this godawful hour just because, what? I won a competition? Been there done that, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. And yet here I am and my body just doesn’t- it doesn’t-“ 

Andi cuts himself off with a frustrated sound, dropping his head into his hands and pulling at his hair. “My brain’s not shutting up, Stephan. It wasn’t like that after Lake Placid last season, right? What’s different now?” He’s desperate for an answer, voice breaking on the last word. 

Stephan’s heart breaks a little, too, because Andi sounds tired. Utterly tired; the kind of exhaustion that creeps up on you after an entire evening of adrenaline and endorphins and riding the high of a victory. He puts a hand on Andi’s shoulder and just leaves it there, applying a bit of pressure to let the younger know he’s here. His heart breaks a bit more when Andi leans into the touch, instinctively chasing the comfort. “What’s different, Stephan?” Andi repeats quietly. “This wasn’t my first win since- since everything, and it’s not like it came out of nowhere. It’s been building up for a while, right? I’ve been doing great so far, I feel good, I-“ He stops for a second before dropping his gaze to the ground. “I think I’m scared.”

There it is. Stephan has started to rub soothing circles into Andi’s shoulder and back while the younger was clearly working something out. If there’s one thing Stephan’s learned in all the years he’s spent with Andi, then it’s that sometimes he just needed to rant. They’re different that way, Stephan supposes. Whereas he himself tends to work things out in the relative peace of his mind, Andi needs to voice his concerns. Contact, feedback, the weight of spoken words in a space to be able to see clearly. And if he needs to do that at two in the morning, then so God help him Stephan will be the one that listens. 

“What are you scared of, love?” Stephan asks softly. Andi scoffs. 

“I don’t know. Messing up? Disappointing everyone? It’s like…it’s like this victory comes with a price tag, you know? With conditions. The last few years nobody expected anything. I was the Olympic champion with the tragic injury, so getting back on track was the only task I had and nobody cared when I messed up. Every good jump was a bonus. But now people keep saying I’m back and then I went ahead and won the first comp of the tournament and now-“ 

“-now everyone expects you to win the rest as well.” 

Andi deflates the second Stephan speaks the words out loud. His head drops forward, messy hair tickling Stephan’s arm. The older carefully moves his hand from Andi’s shoulder to his scalp, gently carding his fingers through the unruly strands. “I don’t know if I can do it,” Andi whispers after a few seconds of silence and lifts his head to look right at Stephan, eyes desperately searching for answers. Stephan holds his gaze.

“Listen, Andi. You don’t owe anyone anything – not the fans, not our coaches, not us. The only thing you owe yourself is to enjoy competitions like yesterday’s since you went so long without them despite always trying your fucking best. What you do is enough, Andreas. Every jump you pour your heart and soul into is enough, no matter where you rank in the end. This victory isn’t worth more than the one in Lake Placid just because it’s got Four Hills written all over it, alright? You could’ve given up long before you ever reached where you’re at today, but you never did. That alone matters more than whatever happens in the next few days. Because I know for a fact that you will fight for every point and if that’s not enough, then that’s not on you. I believe in you and so do the team and the fans and whoever measures your talent and worth by whether you win this damn tournament or not can go fuck right off.”

He inhales sharply after his monologue, which was admittedly longer than he’d planned. Andi stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open. 

“Uh, so” Stephan finishes eloquently. “You know. Don’t worry too much.” He shuts his eyes briefly, cringing at himself internally. Way to ruin this, Stephan. You’re doing fantastic.

He looks back up when Andi snorts and dissolves into quiet laughter. He can feel a smile fighting its way onto his own lips because honestly, no one is immune to the sound of Andi Wellinger’s joy. It’s even sweeter when Stephan’s the reason for it. 

Andi’s voice is breathless when he teases Stephan. “You say all that and end it with ‘don’t worry too much’? Really?”

“Well excuse me,” Stephan retorts, untangling his hand from Andi’s hair to put it on his own chest in mock offense. “I apologise for running out of sensible things to say in the middle of the night. If you’d like to register a complaint, I’m gonna have to ask you to do it at a reasonable hour.”

Andi giggles again, wiping his eyes with his hands. He looks back at Stephan then, tilting his head in such an adorable way that Stephan’s heart skips a beat or three. The silence stretches on for a while, the mood turning serious once more as Stephan practically sees Andi going over his words in his head. 

One of us is gonna have to say something because if it gets any quieter, he’ll hear how loud my heart is beating. 

Yet Stephan doesn’t break the fragile silence. Andi doesn’t, either. Instead, the younger shifts, turning to face Stephan properly with one leg folded under him while the other hangs off the bed, and pulls the older forward into a hug.

Oh.

Stephan wraps his arms around Andi’s waist instinctively because that’s just what his body is wired to do at this point. They’re usually in an outrun when this happens, but right now, as Andi is tightening his arms around Stephan’s shoulders and hiding his face in the older’s neck, Stephan would gladly never see an outrun again if it meant he could stay right here for the rest of his life.

They hug in a way that’s only really acceptable in the tranquility of the night, when the sole witness is the moon and the darkness swallows the thoughts of any consequences a touch like this might have. Time passes and while Stephan doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes or hours, he never eases the pressure around Andi’s slim waist. He’s unconsciously started to rub circles into the dip of it with his thumb and he doesn’t stop when he notices. Andi’s breathing is quiet and steady against the side of his neck. Stephan can’t help but smile when the tension finally bleeds out of the younger’s body. 

“Did you mean it?” Andi asks after a while, voice little more than a whisper. “What exactly?” Stephan whispers back just as softly, tucking the other impossibly closer. Andi makes the transition with ease, laying almost entirely on top of Stephan, face still hidden against his shoulder. “Everything. That I owe my victories to no one but myself. That you-,” he clears his throat, a bit awkwardly. “That you believe in me?” 

It comes out like a question and something in Stephan’s chest cracks a little when he hears it. Impulsively, he turns his head to press a soft kiss into Andi’s hair. “Of course I do, love. Never stopped. And I always will, no matter how the tour ends.”

Andi exhales then, a bit shakily but Stephan can feel him settle. He removes one arm from around Stephan to search for Stephan’s hand in the dark and holds on tight when he finds it. Stephan squeezes back, interlacing their fingers. Through it he takes everything Andi gives him; all the doubts and thoughts and uncertainty that overwhelm Andi’s infinite optimism only in the shadows of the night. Stephan knows that when the sun rises in a few hours, it’ll be like the clouds in Andi’s head never existed at all, because that’s just how he works. Stephan wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

Until that happens, he holds on tight to the boy in his arms. 

Andi doesn’t go back to his own room that night. 

[owmyeyeballs]

A Bloodless Bard

On bite night things went rather awry for my sweet little gnome bard, Cyrill. Astarion took his midnight snack a bit too far, and poor anxious Cyrill doesn't know how to say stop. Without Withers in the camp yet, Cyrill had to be revived with a scroll, beginning the day with no spell slots and only one HP. Naturally, my brain decided this would be a perfect opportunity for Gale to nurse him back to health, and to have poor shy Cyrill (who doesn't yet know Gale's secret and just what he's letting himself in for) realize he's in deep.

Short, sappy nonsense... Enjoy!

When Cyrill awakens, it’s to a terrible, bone deep cold, a fierce ache in his neck, and a clamour of voices.

“I don’t care how hungry you were, if you think you’re going to lose control, you need to keep your fangs out of the people in this camp!”

“How was I to know he’d die so easily? I assumed he’d say when he was ready for me to stop! Hardly my fault he didn’t speak up!”

“Can both of you be quiet? I think I’ve got him back!”

Cyrill opens his eyes to a rather irate Shadowheart, her hands glowing softly with healing magic, which promptly dissipates.

“… Was I..?”

“Dead? Yes, you absolute donkey! Our resident leech drained you dry! I’ve not been awake five minutes and I’ve already had to waste magic bringing you back. Next time Astarion decides to try that, learn to say no!”

Cyrill flinches away from her anger, and tries to sit up. The world around him immediately spins, and he slumps down once more, eyes closed, shivering. He barely registers the sound of someone grunting in discomfort as they kneel beside him, and feels warm hands taking him by the shoulders, encouraging him to sit up.

“I doubt this bickering is helping our bard’s condition. Let’s just accept that mistakes were made, and work on repairing the damage. Now, can you open your eyes for me?”

Cyrill obliges, and finds Gale’s warm brown eyes gazing at him with concern. He attempts a weak, reassuring smile, trying not to shiver.

“There we are! Now, Astarion, I believe you have something to say?”

The vampire lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, and turns to Cyrill, giving a mocking bow.

“My sincerest apologies that my little midnight snack went a touch too far. If it’s any comfort, you didn’t even taste that good!”

Cyrill lets out a huff of annoyance, and attempts to muster up a glare.

“Well, next time you’re desperate enough to lower your standards to gnomes, I’ll be sure to tell you to stick to rats.”

Shadowheart gives a snort of laughter, and Gale holds up his hands to silence any further bickering.

“And lets leave that there, shall we? Shadowheart, can you heal him any more? He still looks dreadfully pale.”

“Not if you want me helping to scout that goblin camp. If things go badly, I need all the magic I can spare. I’m afraid it’ll have to be fluids, rest, and food.”

Gale claps his hands decisively.

“That’s settled, then. You can have fun with your scouting, and I’ll play nurse as well as cook. Come on, let’s get you settled!”

Gale helps Cyrill to his feet, steadying him as he sways and almost falls, and as he begins to shiver more violently, takes the blanket from his bedroll and wraps it around his shoulders. With Gale’s hand steadying him, Cyrill finds himself being led to the campfire.

“There we are! Now, you sit down and try to warm up, and I’ll fetch some things to keep you comfortable.”

Cyrill kneels by the fire, clutching at the blanket, and watches as the rest of the party leave for the day. He averts his eyes, ashamed by this blatant display of weakness, and trembling as the memory of the night before returns. The sharp, icy pain of fangs in his neck, the starving vampire lapping at the blood as it gushed from the wound, biting deeper to release more, not seeming to even notice as his body grew limp and cold…

“I need to learn to say no…”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Gale agrees, making Cyrill jump as he kneels beside him. “You gave us all rather a scare, seeing you like that. But I can’t fault you for compassion. You saw someone in need, and you gave of yourself without question. It’s a fine quality. One I’ve noticed in you rather a lot, as it happens.”

For a moment, Gale has a faraway look in his eyes. Then, seeming to remember himself, he displays a pile of blankets, furs, and cushions.

“These ought to do the trick! Given Astarion’s responsible for your condition, he can deal with donating some pillows. I borrowed the furs from Lae’zel, and I think you’ll find my blanket rather soft indeed. Now, let’s get you settled in, and I’ll start seeing to some food. It’ll be a nice change, having someone to talk to while I cook!”

Cyrill finds himself oddly tongue-tied as Gale arranges everything into a makeshift bed and gestures for him to lie down, then fusses with tucking the blanket over him, tucking it up under his chin. It smells vaguely like a library, and Cyrill lets out a soft noise of satisfaction, that quickly turns to a hiss of pain when Gale accidentally brushes the wound in his neck. The wizard holds up his hands apologetically.

“Forgive me! I say, that does look rather sore.”

“It’s nothing,” Cyrill replies, offering a reassuring smile and trying not to wince. “Really, you don’t need to go to all this trouble! I’ll be fine, I’ll just rest a little, really.”

Gale looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“You’ll rest, certainly, but you’ll eat and drink too. And, with your permission, perhaps you’ll let me try something? I’m… no stranger to pain.”

“Your knees?” Cyrill asks. “They seem to hurt you when you kneel.”

Gale laughs, agreeing a little too quickly.

“My knees, yes… Now, here we are!”

A whispered word, an elegant gesture, and flames begin to dance around Gale’s hand. Cyrill watches, transfixed. Whether it’s simple cantrips or great, destructive spells, Gale’s magic never ceases to fascinate him. He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until Gale dismisses the flames with a deft flick, then presses his hand gently over Cyrill’s aching neck.

Heat still lingers in the wizard’s soft hand, soothing away the ache a little, chasing away the unnatural chill that seems to linger around the wound. It’s gentle, comforting…

“Ah, ah! No nodding off yet! Though I’m glad that seems to have helped. Now, stay awake a little longer while I prepare you something.”

Cyrill struggles not to fall asleep, comfortable in his makeshift bed, while Gale sets out a chopping board and sets a kettle over the fire. His eyes are just beginning to flutter closed, when a gently steaming mug is pressed into his hands.

“There, that ought to warm you a little.”

With Gale supporting his unsteady hands, Cyrill takes a tentative sip. Tea, just perfectly sweetened with honey, warm enough to be comforting, not so hot as to shock his still shivering body. When the mug is drained, Gale takes it, and presses a plate into Cyrill’s hands. Slices of apple, cheese, sausage, some grapes, small slices of bread…

“There was no need to go to such trouble.”

“There was every need! Why are we travelling together, if not to take care of each other? Now, eat as much as you can, and I’ll fetch you some water.”

Eating is a slow process, but Gale seems to have infinite patience. He shakes Cyrill gently when he starts to nod off, makes him pause now and then to take a few sips of water, and steadies the plate when Cyrill’s hands shake. At long last, Cyrill can manage no more, and Gale takes the plate as his head slumps back onto the cushions.

“Well done. Now, rest assured, I’ll have talked you into a deep slumber in no time!”

Cyrill laughs softly, and true to his word, Gale chatters away as he sets about preparing a meal for when the others return. Cyrill loses track of what the wizard is talking about, and Gale seems to expect no response, only checking in now and then to make sure Cyrill’s condition hasn’t deteriorated. Cyrill’s eyes grow heavy, and he pulls the blanket tighter, nuzzling into the soft wool. The pleasing scent of old books soon has him breathing slowly and deeply, and he wonders if he dreams the soft hand pushing back his hair and feeling his forehead as he nods off.

The day passes in a blur, but a comfortable one. Cyrill wakes now and then, and Gale urges another bite of food, another few sips of water, and repeats his warming trick when his neck pains him. When he is awake, Cyrill watches as Gale peels potatoes, dices onions, chops meat, seasons and stirs… All the while, the wizard chats away. The differences in bardic versus wizardly magic, the first time he managed to conjure a fireball and set his neighbour’s roses on fire, a passionate rant on the magical inaccuracies in the works of one Volothamp Geddarm…

Cyrill does his best to offer a little conversation in return, but there is something mesmerizing in Gale’s easy flow of words, and more often he simply listens, enraptured. And each time Gale pauses to feel his forehead, or steady his hands as he drinks, he wonders at how soft the man’s hands are, and how gentle.

By the time Cyrill finally awakens feeling more alert and less shivery, the sky has begin to darken, the first hints of stars beginning to show. A rich, warm scent fills the air, and Gale sits by the fire, gazing up at the sky. The fading light and the glow of the fire highlight the creases around his eyes, the flecks of grey in his soft hair. Seeing Cyrill awake, he smiles and offers a hand to help him sit up.

“A beautiful time of day, don’t you think?”

Cyrill, who has penned poems and sung songs on the subject, can only muster up a tongue-tied “… beautiful.”

Gale goes to take the lid off the pot, and Cyrill closes his eyes, breathing in deeply as the savoury scent fills the air. He keeps his eyes closed, cherishing the moment, wondering if he might later try to preserve it in some poem, never to be shared… And then, there is a hand under his chin, raising his head, and he opens his eyes to Gale offering him a steaming spoon.

“There, tell me what you think of that!”

Gale blows on the spoon slightly, then presses it to Cyrill’s lips. A rich, warming sauce, flavoured with herbs and spiced just perfectly. Gale smiles fondly as Cyrill swallows, and uses his thumb to wipe a slight spill off his chin. Cyrill tries to find the words to compliment him, but this close, he can see how the firelight brings out the tiny flecks of gold in the wizard’s brown eyes.

“There, now!” Gale says cheerfully, as Cyrill blushes. “That’s what we want to see! Some colour back in those cheeks!”

Before Cyrill can reply, Karlach’s raucous voice rings out.

“Bloody hells, that smells good! I could eat a whole deep rothe! Hey, you’re looking better, little man!”

“And therefore, you’ll clearly have no further use for these,” Astarion adds, approaching the fire and plucking his cushion from behind Cyrill’s head. Judging by the blood on his armour, he’s either killed, or fed. Or both. The voices of the party fill the camp, and one by one they approach the fire, ready to eat. Gale sighs and starts lecturing on washing up before dinner as he serves up stew, and the spell is broken.

And yet, Cyrill thinks, pressing his fingers to his lips where Gale’s thumb had brushed, some strange, warm magic still remains.

[sanctus-ingenium]

a tune-up with sir victory

[ruporas]

assortment of vw (ID in alt)

[titanebaby]

SUSAN WOKOMA IN SEASON 16 OF TASKMASTER

[parisoonic]

Heavymedic kiss

please accept this crumb

[seaside-writings]

Prompt #1,178

"Scream,"

"What?"

"Scream, shout, yell, cry, howl, wail,"

"I don't-"

"Trust me, it'll make you feel better,"

[cosmicstarlatte]

two a.m.

it's two a.m. and lucifer is giving you a playful bite on your cheek while you sit and laugh on his lap, trying to not spill your tea.

it's two a.m. and mammon is kissing your knuckles, spilling his heart out to you while laying on the parks soft grass.

it's two a.m. and levi is holding your face, confidently covering you in kisses and praising you for passing that difficult level in his game.

it's two a.m. and satan is kissing you after a messy food fight; after trying to bake something from an ancient cookbook.

it's two a.m. and asmo is helping you knit a blanket that you both can share, to cuddle and kiss under later.

it's two a.m. and beel is making you laugh out loud as he pumps out witty jokes of the terrible movie you're both watching, surprising you with a kiss mid-laugh.

it's two a.m. and belphie plants a kiss on your forehead after clumsily dancing and singing in the attic.

it's two a.m. and it's just the two of you. ♡

⬦ you might also like: so this is love︱ mc's voicemail︱pick-me-up

[archiarthur]

The Texan rizz

[theendisneat]

"I love you, I love you, I love you." [Dying in their arms]

Warings - Death, mentions of illness and injury, hurt/no comfort

Characters - Xiao, Childe, Kamisato Ayaka, Venti, Scaramouche/Wanderer

Word Count - 1410

Xiao

He held you in his arms. If he wasn’t so concerned with hurting you, even now when blood slid from your lips and down your throat, he would be crushing you against his chest. But his hands cradled your body tenderly, so softly he was practically hovering them around you, not wanting to taint your already dying body with his karma.

Tears gathered in his eyes, but he forced himself not to cry when you two made eye contact. He wanted to, archons he wanted to ball when he saw the light slowly dim from your pretty eyes, the eyes he was admiring not so long ago.

“Why?” He couldn’t help but whisper. “I could’ve protected myself.”

You opened your mouth, only for no sounds to come out on the first try. You swallowed harshly, the taste of blood making you want to vomit, but you didn’t even have the energy for that. “It was instinct.”

It was then Xiao finally let those tears fall. It was instinct? The instinct to protect him? You loved him that much? He hugged you closer, pressing his forehead against your own so he could hear your breaths, your shallow, dying breaths. You protected him, you loved him, and he loved you.

Slowly he kissed your cheek. “I love you.”

Your forehead. “I love you.”

Eyelids. “I love you. I love you.”

And finally, the lips that had taken their last breath. “I love you, so, so, much.”

Childe

Fighting beside you was a dream for him. Both of you engaged in the thrill of battle, taking out enemies side by side with equal grace and power. He loved it, loved seeing you in his domain, loved seeing you kickass. It put a smile on his face knowing his lover was like him, powerful.

But everything powerful eventually falls, and you did it for him. So caught up in the heat of the battle, a rush going throughout his whole body, he didn’t notice the one enemy that was creeping up behind to stab him through the heart, but you did.

You had pushed him out of the way, the sword piercing you like a hot knife through butter, right in the heart where Childe was meant to get hit. The sword was pulled back with a metallic whine as Childe saw red. He doesn’t remember what he did, or what was happening until his body hands were holding your head and pressing down on your heart.

He was mumbling reassurances, desperate pleas to stay by his side and do everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing. Hysterical nonsense was the only thing to be heard besides your quiet breaths and the drip of blood as it painted the field alongside the bodies of the other enemies.

You used the last of your strength to cradle his cheek, accidentally smearing your blood on his pale, flushed face, but neither of you cared. You mumbled out a returning ‘I love you’ as you body went limp and Childe screamed.

Kamisato Ayaka

You didn’t know the woman in front of you, but she obviously knew you with the way she flittered about your room. Was it your room? You couldn’t recall. The memories were hazy, and your limbs were heavy. 

Ayaka had never been more scared out of her mind when Thoma had dragged you home one day saying you had gotten in an altercation with the Tenryou Commision protecting an immigrant merchant and had lost your vision. You had been beaten, that was obvious enough, but what she was really worried about was the lack of vision, with only bad things to say about the condition of those who had lost theirs.

Ayaka was right in her worry as you began to deteriorate before her eyes. You stopped knowing how to get around the house, you lost recognition of some of the house’s staff members, you would wander around, eyes glazed and thoughts foggy. It was only about time when the memories of Thoma, and Ayato, and her started to fade.

You would lean away from her kisses, struggling to remember her name, and stayed in your room when moving became too difficult. Your body was going along with your mind, becoming a corpse right in front of your forgotten lover’s eyes.

When you took your last breath, you were too weak to lean away from Ayaka’s hands. They cupped your face gently, her delicate finger wiping away tears you didn’t know the origin of. The last thing you remember was the sound of her crying, her tears dripping on your face as she hovered over you, desperate to see some last spark in your eyes before they finally went out.

She whispered to your still body. Pleas of adoration for you to come back, to open your eyes and look at her with recognition and love once more, but you couldn’t, and she knew that, and it only made her cry harder.

Venti

Your head was in his lap, hair spread across his thighs haphazardly as he caressed your face with such gentleness it felt like a morning breeze. You could feel the pain anymore, the one that had traveled through your abdomen to your heart. It had been stabbing in tune with the beat of your heart, but now, laying here, it didn’t hurt so bad.

The feeling was leaving from your feet, limbs becoming numb. You tried to twitch your fingers to reach up to your beloved’s face. Tears had begun to slide down his cheeks, but a stoic, empty smile was on his face. Why was he crying?

“Are you alright, love?” You had no idea why it took so much effort simply to speak. Your mind had begun to fog, eyes, unknowing to you, had glazed over slightly, making you look like a doll.

“Yeah.” Venti murmured, trying to make his smile more joyful, but you could hear the lingering brokenness in his voice. “Everything’s alright darling.”

“Why’re you cryin’ then?” Venti heard the slurring of your voice and had to bite down a new wave of tears. He thumbed the skin under your eye, rubbing away any lasting tears of pain.

“I’m just so happy to see you again. You’ve been off on your adventures. It’s nice to see you back home ya know?”

Venti leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Why don’t you go to sleep darling? We can do something fun in the morning.”

“Okay.” You felt exhaustion settling in your bones, going limp entirely now. Black spots entered your vision as you felt your consciousness fade. “I love you.”

Venti let out a wet laugh. “I love you too.” And with one final kiss on the cheek, you were gone.

Scaramouche/Wanderer

“You can’t do this to me!” His grip was tight, almost too tight, but you had lost feeling in a lot of your body a long time ago and now a previously bruising grip became a comforting pressure. “You can’t fucking do this to me! Are you going to betray me too? HUH?!”

He couldn’t control himself as you simply sat there, wrapped in your blankets with a content smile on your face. You were leaving him. Didn’t you understand how much it would hurt, living everyday for the rest of eternity wishing you were there?

You had been sick your whole life. No doctor had ever lied to give you hope that you would live past twenty five and so you made the most of your time before you had to move on. Content with death since the moment of your birth, you strayed away from many relationships as they would benefit nobody but misery in the long run. 

But something about Scaramouche just pulled you in.

You gravitated towards him, and he to you. Caught in each other’s orbit you danced for however long you had left. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough time. Cradling Scaramouche’s cheeks with your weak hands, you swiped away the ugly tears that marred his beautiful face. Pulling him to your chest, you immediately felt his arms circle your waist.

He tucked his face to the crook of your neck as he cried, pleaded. “Please don’t leave me too. Please, please, please. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Scaramouche heard as your heart stopped beating, your chest staying still. Your arms fell limp from where they had wrapped around his shoulders in a loose hug.

[hoodie-buck]

—chris doesn't come back au is finally here ya'll!! not only is this the longest fic i've ever written, but it's also my 200th buddie fic!! thank you to everyone who's encouraged me on this journey; can't wait to take ya'll on this angst fest 🫶🏻

rated: e | words: 110k | ch. 1/14 | read on ao3

summary:

Christopher was gone, missing.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but as Eddie watched the man he loved break right in front of him, he knew Buck blamed himself, that the guilt was already eating him alive.

Eddie had the urge to be in two places at once, wanting to comfort Buck, but needing to find his son. Chris was his whole world; Buck had stepped right into it.

They didn’t find Chris that night, or the next. He was gone, swept away with the storm. Some things floated back to shore, while others, well—they were lost forever.

—or—

After the tsunami, Christopher goes missing. He doesn’t come back, at least, not right away. This is NOT mcd.

tagging squad below, just lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @queerbuckleys @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @eddiiediaz @djdangerlove @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @jackluvsdaniel @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @transbuck @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwaterninja13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherbuckley @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie @gamer-kai @blorbodiaz @saybiwithme @trashbaget @steadfastsaturnsrings @bibuckbuckgoose @wikiangela @hobbitnarwhal @shortsighted-owl @pirrusstuff @goldencherrymooon @kinardbuckley @daffi-990 @greenfairrryy @mattsire

[kitamars]

how can you drop a heavy burden if it's holding you up as well

[dragonsbluee]

Is it just me who took a while to realize just how heavy on the angst TCF is? Mostly because our wonderful (unreliable) narrator Cale just has this nonchalant tone about everything.

Cale: oh you know, I just watched the literal apocalypse start, lived through it for years, my best friends/brothers all but blood died before my eyes, and now I'm in a whole new world where I've built a family that is being threatened by the same apocalypse and worse. Also, turns out my life was shit before I came here becuase I was dealing with the consequences of some bastard's curse since he stole my original body.

Readers: wait, what.

Cale: oh yeah, I'm deeply traumatized, but I'm not going to admit it to anyone unless I'm literally forced to by a god (derogetory). And my friends keep having to watch me sacrifice myself, throw up blood, or put myself in other really dangerous situations.

Reader: ummmm. Can we circle back around to any of that?

Cale: no.

[whumpypepsigal]

Whumptober 2023 | No. 26

Working To Exhaustion

The Flash s04e15: “I've been at this for a while.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

[seaside-writings]

Prompt #1,206

"I don't know my name. I don't know my favorite color. I don't even know what I had for breakfast this morning, but I do know that at some point, I was somebody,"