#like an angst with comfort?

[get0sfav]

GOJO SATORU doesn't like to be touched.

take it as you want, but the strongest sorcerer doesn't let people touch him, not after geto. no, it's why his infinity is up all the time. he thinks he'd be vulnerable once again if he lowers his guard, that he'd become weak if he lets someone touch him. It isn't like that at first glance, he looks like the kind of guy to distribute hugs to every single person. but he isn't. he doesn't like physical contact, he can't have physical contact, or he'll crumble.

that was, until you came. what started out as simply being his roommate turned into so much more, watching studio ghilbi movies together, cooking together and what not. but that was all a front. yes, he'd comfort you when you were sad, but he'd never hug you, or even hold your trembling hands. it's like he's almost repulsed to touched you. things worsen when one day you see him with his head in his hands, hands that were trembling. you approached him, put your hands on his shoulders to give him support, but instead, he flinched. flinched hard, and it all came crumbling down. he yelled and yelled, he screamed that he didn't need anyone, that he didn't need you to care for him. hell, he was the strongest, and he sure as hell didn't need someone like you to care for him. he was fine. he was fine alone. it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than you, red eyes and trembling body. worst part? you couldn't do anything about it. because he wouldn't let you.

and he was right. you did care too much, too much to the point where you confused care with love. the word slipped out of your mouth with no thought, and he froze. he couldn't believe it, he needed to hear it again. he made you say it ten times, before you had to blurt out every single thing you loved about him. that's when he realised, that maybe it wasn't so bad to let someone in, that it didn't need to be so lonely at the top. you changed him, you made him a better person, and most of all, you showed him that he'd always be the strongest, no matter how vulnerable he is, or no matter how many people he'll let in, because at the end of the day, he's the people's hope, more so, he's the light of your life.

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

[cringefail-clown]

comfort

a birthday gift for @borzoilover69 !!! happy borth dude, your dirkjakes bring me so much joy <3

[gojos-thot-patrol]

No one really loves the way that Sukuna does. For Sukuna to even consider the possibility of caring for someone, he has to already be drowning in love for them. A captain who went down with the ship without ever realizing it was sinking. Loving for you sneaks up on him and catches him off gaurd. If he had realized what was happening sooner- he would have gotten rid of you. But, it's far too late for that now.

Sukunas love is tinged with hate. He'll never forgive you for burdening him with this weakness. He knows how love can decimate someone, he's seen entire empires ruined by it. Its probably the one thing that truly terrifies him, and why for as much as he needs you- he'll always resent you at least a little bit.

As you lay in his arms, snuggled into the warm safety of his chest, he considers snapping your neck. It's delicate, and frail. He knows it wouldn't take anything form him. It would be as simple as lifting a remove to turn on the TV.

But unlike when he thinks about the death of the rest of humanity, when he thinks of yours his stomach turns. He gets seasick on dry land, and can feel an ever soft tremble in his fingers. His spinal column turns to ice and suddenly he's pulling you closer, despite wanting to be so far away.

He can't get rid of you. You're apart of him now, as indispensable as his eyes or his voice. He can't imagine a world without you. He won't imagine a world without you. So he makes sure you're safe, keeping you in the most secure parts of the temple if not directly by his side. He doesn't trust anyone else with you, and as such your room is only known to only the most nessicary personal. And even that feels like too many people.

You haunt him. A poltergeist in the graveyard of his mind that never let's him rest. No body thinks of you even half as much as Sukuna does- no the gaurds, not your family wondering where you vanished to, you don't even give yourself a fraction of the thought Sukuna has dedicated to you. Even the joy of battle has turned into 'what's the fastest way I can finish this and get home to them?' And he hates it. He hates it so much.

He comes home furious at you for having so fundamentally changing who he is. For taking this once fearsome warlord- a lion on the battle field and domesticating him into a fucking house cat. For wrecking him in such a beautiful and sweet way he didn't even notice his ruin until it was too late. He wants your blood.

And then he sees you. Looking up at him with sweet, gentle eyes, glittering with excitement at his return. No one has ever smiled at him like that. No one has ever gotten up to greet him like that. Or hugged him like that. Or treated him with a hand so loving.

And he just melts again, knowing in his heart he could never hurt you. You're apart of him, it would just hurt him too. Claws once aching for your ruin gently wrap around you, pulling your body closer to his, and whispers about how he's happy to be home.

To be back by your side.

[ciy0]

i just thunk a thought so please bare with me

I’m thinking about how Mingyu is definitely the type of guy that’s drawn to someone who’s severely lacking love or might’ve been hurt deeply in past. He doesn’t do it consciously, but he just starts to notice you. How sometimes you have this far away look in your eyes, or how you keep your head down when talking to others or god forbid he overhears you demeaning yourself disguised in jest. He so full of love I see him gravitating towards someone who’s cup it’s damn near on empty but trying their best to save every last drop and he just wants to pour everything thing he has into it and then some; till it’s overflowing.

He doesn’t even realize his initial interest blossoming into a full blown crush. He wants to be the shoulder you cry on, he wants to carry any burdens you have, he wants to see that smile that reaches your eyes be directed at him. He just wants you bursting at the seams from happiness but he’s a little selfish in the fact that he wants it to be by his hand.

He notices the little things and big things about you that may go unnoticed by others and finds himself worrying over you and rooting for you even before you both have a proper conversation. Wondering if you ate, if you had a good day today, if you enjoyed the new episode of that anime he overheard you liked (he started watching it too), if you slept well even though the most you’ve both uttered to each other was a simple pleasantry in passing and a bow.

His mind reels when you kindly pick up things people accidentally dropped or that one time you helped clean up the coffee he’d spilt on the floor without a word. Or even that time when you offered a staff member your umbrella on a rainy day saying you had two, just for him to see you drenched in the rain a couple blocks away as his driver took him home (once recovered from the shock he shot out of the car running back to where he saw you last but you were long gone). His heart clenched painfully when he heard the reason he hadn’t seen you around the week after that was because you had come down with a nasty cold. You give and give without ever expecting anything in return; without thinking you deserve anything in return. But who’s giving to you?

He finds his gaze wondering off in your direction during social gatherings. His own features softly morphing into a for-longing smile as he sees you enjoy yourself with your group of friends, hearing that rare burst of genuine laughter at whatever you guys were joking about. He cursed his cowardice, not being able to approach confidently like how he’d imagine in his head so many times. He had some mutual friends maybe that’d be a good place to start—

He was startled out of his reverie as Seungwan pointed out his goofy expression teasing “What’s got you so distracted lover boy?” Mingyu ops to just huff a smile in into his drink as he bashfully looked away.

You, it was you who had him like this

[pupkashi]

scars

gojo learns to love the scars on his body

a/n: hi friends ! here is sweet and soft lil something about our favorite white haired sorcerer <33 thank u for the request and i hope u guys enjoy :3

wordcount: 1,547

masterlist

he stares at it every morning. when he pushes his hair back to fix it and put on his blindfold, when he wears a shirt that isn’t his Jujutsu uniform. his eyes seem drawn to the faint scars on his forehead, neck and chest.

they seem jagged and out of place compared to the rest of his smooth and perfect skin, serving as a reminder of his failures and losses.

“g’morning pretty boy,” you mumble, walking past him and sitting on the toilet, too asleep to notice the way satoru jumped, quickly letting his hair fall to cover the scar.

the pet name seems unfitting as his eyes move back to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. “morning sweets” he finally answers, washing his face and grabbing his toothbrush.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, still as intuitive as ever when it came to your lover.

“‘m fine, just a bit stressed,” a tight lipped smile as he hands you the toothpaste. you don’t believe him, but you decide to hold off until at least after you’ve woken up a bit more.

you don’t say anything as the two of you continue to get ready, letting your gaze linger on satoru. there was nothing you could think of that could’ve made him upset so early

it’s a bit quiet as you both make your way into the living room, flowing easily as you two make breakfast, making each others coffee, with satoru carrying the plates to the table and you the coffees. (the last time he carried the coffees burned his hand and spilled both cups everywhere.)

and as he’s about to head out the door you’re pulling him by his collar, fixing it a bit and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. satoru melts into your touch, hands slipping around your waist and all worries being thrown out the window.

“have a good day angel boy,” you mumble, pressing on last kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“cant be that good if I’m not with you,” he pouts, not bothering to make a motion to leave, not until you’re forcing him out the door as he whines ‘just one more kiss!’

it’s anytime there’s a reflective surface, he’s stealing a glance, making sure his neck is covered. he’s so careful about it, wanting to keep his scars hidden, too ashamed to show them to the world.

“sensei is that a scar on your neck? that’s so cool how’d you get it?!” yuji’s voice is enthusiastic and his eyes are glimmering as he stares up at his teacher.

satoru physically tenses at the acknowledgment of the scar on his neck, quickl flashes of that day coming into his mind. geto, riko, where it all went wrong.

“just a nasty fight is all” he shrugs his shoulders, hoping the younger boy would drop the topic.

“but if you have infinity how’s that happen?” his brows furrowed as satoru tries to calm himself down.

“yuji come look! megumi found something!” nobara calls out, the pink haired boy rushing to her side as making their way to their other friend.

satoru’s hand unconsciously brushes over the raised skin, recalling how he’d tried so hard to get the skin back to normal, begging shoko to help him.

that afternoon he’s wearing a bigger sweater, letting his messy bangs fall over his forehead and trying his best to cover up his neck when he catches you staring at him.

“what?” he asks, a nervous smile on his lips. did you realize how ugly they were? were you finally done calling him pretty?

“nothin’ you just look so pretty” you sigh, smiling as you press a kiss to his cheek, hand reaching to push his bangs out of his eyes. satoru stops you immediately, his much larger hand wrapping around your wrist, eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles, hand shaking slightly as he lets go of you, rushing into the restroom and taking deep breaths. you were gonna hate him after that, you would realize how fucked up he was and you were gonna leave him and-

three soft knocks on the door pulls him from his thoughts, “angel boy? you okay?” you sounded worried, and he couldn’t help the tears filling his eyes.

“I’m sorry if i overstepped, i didn’t mean to” your voice smaller, satoru opened the door immediately, almost instantly pulling you into his arms.

“no you didn’t” a shaky breath leaving his lips as he debates on where to go from here. “it’s just, i don’t really like my scars,” he frowns, eyes averting your gaze.

you gently take his hand in yours, leading him back to the couch, watching as he tentatively fiddles with the hem of his sweater, pulling it off of him.

there’s a scar running from his neck down his chest, the skin raised ever so slightly. he shrinks as your eyes land on the skin, clenching his jaw when he lifts his bands and reveals the smaller scar on his forehead to you.

“they ruin everything,” he whispers, watching as your fingers ghost over the skin.

“may i?” you’re looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what the emotions swirling behind your eyes are, but he nods anyway. shivering when your fingers make contact with the skin, trailing down the entire length of it.

he jumps a bit when you place a feathery kiss to the top of the scar, he watches as you continue to kiss down his chest, following until the end of the scar. your hands feel cold compared to his now flushed skin, watching as you look up at him.

you don’t say anything as you cup his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “they don’t ruin anything, pretty boy,” your words laced with love.

“but-” he begins, the shake of your head cuts him off, the slight furrow of you brows is enough to have him stay quiet.

“no, i don’t wanna hear it,” you frown, “they don’t make you any less attractive, they don’t make you any less of my pretty boy,” the words comfort him in a way he never thought words could. the warmth blooming in his chest has his eyes watering slightly. “in a way they show how much you’ve grown, what you’ve learned and lost” you begin, your fingers intwined with his, grip tightening a bit.

“you don’t think they look, i don’t know, ugly or out of place?” he pouts, still not daring to look into your eyes.

“don’t be silly angel boy,” you grin, pushing his bangs out of his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead, atop his small scar, “nothing about you could ever be ugly, you’re the prettiest.”

his cheeks are dusted pink as a small giggle slips past his lips, finally meeting your gaze when you gently lift his chin with your index finger.

“but as much as i love you, you smell like sweat,” you scrunch your nose up, “so go shower,” laughing when his jaw drops, letting go of your hand and sniffing himself, scrunching his nose in agreement.

satoru doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around you, smothering you in a hug, laughing loudly as you struggle to free yourself.

after his shower satoru’s eyes linger on his scars, the dewy mirror distorting his reflection slightly. for the first time since he can remember, satoru doesn’t think about that time when his eyes land on his scars, rather he thinks of the love of his life, the one who comforted him through it all, the one waiting for him now.

a small smile on his lips when you welcome him into bed, clinging to him as soon as he slips under the covers. you pull him close to you, peppering kisses along his jaw, then his cheeks and finally landing on his lips.

“you’re my pretty, angel boy,” you whisper, eyes staring into his cerulean ones, “i don’t want you to ever think otherwise,” pressing one last kiss to his lips before cuddling into his chest.

instead of flinching away, he lets you. he lets himself relax as your hand rests over the scar, only the thin fabric of his t shirt separating your fingers from grazing the skin. he relaxes into your touch, smiling when you press kisses to any open you see, whispering compliments into his ear, comments reserved for only him.

slowly satoru finds himself not even glancing at his scars in the mirror, he no longer tugs at his shirt collars, and he doesn’t dread staring at the mirror. he doesn’t sleep with a shirt anymore, and he walks around shirtless, a boost of confidence shooting through him when he catches you staring.

they no longer feel out of place or ugly. not as you kiss them, each press of your lips more filled with love and tenderness than the last. not as your fingers ghost over them, giggling when he flexed his abs under your touch. not when you accidentally let slip that you think he looks hotter with scars.

not when you’re there to kiss away any insecurities he has, to push away any doubts in his mind with a shower of compliments.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[heynhay]

I've done the math, there's no solution, we'll never last

[lanshappycorner]

my rendition of that one meme thats been going around on twt

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

“Steve.” 

He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.

“STEVE.”

He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.

Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by 

“Alexa, volume up.”

“Steve – STEVE!”

It hits different, it hits different this time

“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.

“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”

“I’d rather not.”

Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They lay in silence.

“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even text me.”

“I know.”

“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”

“I know, Steve.”

There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”

“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”

Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”

Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”

“Steven, I’m always right.”

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”

“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”

/////

Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle. 

“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”

Silence.

What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.

He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.

The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.

There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.

Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:

I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.

Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank. 

Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.

Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else. 

Your biggest fan, Steve

He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit. 

He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.

It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.

What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.

And now Steve is gone.

Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.

“Fuck.”

Five days. 

He’s five days too fucking late.

He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.

“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”

Jeff’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m on my way.”

[whumpypepsigal]

#the unspoken “you’re not alone” gesture

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

but not everyone likes fun and games.

it was only supposed to be silly, lighthearted, something to bring a smile to your face. and how could they have known that somewhere inside you is an animal that still holds the fear of being trapped, held down, torn apart?

(could be considered a sort of side-part to the Bitter-Bones saga, that weird edgy angsty thing i did a while back that was abt Sun n Moon disliking a self insert and the self insert taking it badly lol. maybe this takes place when sun n moon are trying to be nice n make up for being huge jerks for so long lmao)

[rosieofcorona]

A Light To Break All Shadows

Just a fluffy little Halsin x Tav fic to keep the darkness at bay. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading! 💕

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Tav is eyeing Halsin suspiciously from the opposite end of Art’s bedside, where he’s been keeping watch over the sick man for days. At least, Halsin thinks it’s been days– perhaps three (or maybe four?) at the most. It is difficult to keep track in the Shadowlands.

At any rate, he cannot answer her immediately, which means his answer is insufficient.

“If you have to think about it,” Tav continues, “It’s been too long.”

She has a point.

He is exhausted, as they all are, but cannot bring himself to rest. They are so close– he is so close– to finding the child that will save them, to ending the hundred-year darkness, to restoring light and balance to the land. 

And Art Cullagh, ill as he is, is the key that will unlock their victory, so Halsin feels as though he must protect him every moment, must stay by his side in case he should wake, or take a turn. 

For days, he has persisted, spurred on by his stamina and willpower. For days, he has waited and watched. Now the idea of sleep falls on him like a spell. 

“It is my duty.” He protests. “I will see this through.” “You will,” she agrees, “When you wake. These people will need you in the days to come. And they will need you to be rested.”

She is playing to his sense of responsibility, he knows, but he is too tired to argue. Reluctantly, he nods his agreement. 

When he rises from his chair, it seems that all his centuries of existence catch up to him at once, his joints and muscles burning. He feels old and sore and weary as he drags himself toward an empty bed.

“Go on,” Tav commands gently. She feels like a mother nudging a child off to sleep. “Even the greatest leaders need rest.”

“Then you ought to rest yourself.”

She laughs at that, though Halsin means it. He knows so few who are so capable, so resilient, so kind. She has already accomplished so many things that he could not, not in hundreds of years of practice.

“You flatter me,” Tav smiles, but Halsin shakes his head. 

“You are extraordinary.” 

His gaze is on her when he says it, on her eyes and mouth and hands, the way her armor cleaves to her, the way her weapon rests against her hip. In another place, another time, another life, he would have had her already, would have known her inside and out if she asked him to. 

And she had asked him to, once, before they came here. He remembers. At the time he had denied her as gently as he could, in the knowledge that what was growing between them, if cultivated, could later prove a distraction, a weakness. 

But gods, he had wanted her then. He wants her still. 

Yet such urges, much like sleep, must be suppressed. At least for now.

Tav stares back at him with wide eyes until she feels a flush come over her cheeks. She turns her face away, just slightly, so that Halsin will not see. 

“Well.” She clears her throat, and redirects. “I’ll rest before we go scouting tomorrow. And I’ll watch Art while you sleep.” 

“As you say.” 

**********

In his dreams, he is back in the Shadowfell, that sunless, cursed place. 

At his feet are bodies, Harper and druid and shade alike. He knows their faces, their names, their stories. Here is Atlan, a boy from his own grove, no more than eighteen years of age. Halsin had cured him once of pox, had later mentored him in the healing arts. 

And here, Jehan the Harper, who had just received word that his wife was expecting. Twins, he’d announced, over a round of drinks at Last Light. 

And Moranna, the Selunite priestess who had blessed them again and again on their journey, had prayed over them and shielded them to the best of her ability. 

All lost to the shadows, corrupted beyond recognition. All dead, cut down by his hand. 

Halsin does his best to avoid stepping on them as he presses onward, each step a battle of its own. The weight of darkness seems to crush him, seems to drain the very life out of his body. 

His god is nowhere here. 

There comes a voice through the black night, distant, disembodied. Halsin, the shadows whisper, and whisper again, closer. Halsin. 

Wildly he turns and swings his glaive, hitting nothing, the panic rising in his throat, and–

“Halsin!” Tav exclaims, blocking a swing of his fist with her forearm. 

She is sitting at the edge of his bed looking concerned, frightened even. His skin is slicked with sweat, his breathing heavy, his body tangled in the bed linens. 

Immediately, a white-hot shame rushes over him, that he should be the one to cause her fear. 

That he should strike at her, even unconsciously, his savior, his ally. His friend, though that is too weak a word for the feeling that grows within him, wraps around his heart like wild ivy. 

“Forgive me,” he pants, “I was–” 

I was lost in the darkness, he means to say, I was frightened and alone, but the words stick in his throat like flies in honey.

Yet Tav seems to know already, a tenderness softening the furrows of her brow. Not pity, he notes. Understanding. 

She has seen equivalent horrors, has seen friends fall and foes flourish and still, and still, keeps fighting toward goodness, toward light. He aches with the thought that she might have such nightmares, that she might know firsthand how he feels now. 

But she soothes him, reaches out to wipe the sweat from his brow, her touch as light and cool as an evening breeze. 

“It’s alright,” she promises. “You don’t have to explain. You are safe here.”

Halsin lets out a breath he’s been holding for too long. It has been many years since he was last comforted, truly comforted. He is so accustomed to doing the comforting that he has almost forgotten what it feels like to be on the receiving end. 

Tenderness is no stranger to him– many of his lovers have been gentle, have been sweet– but none have ever known his burdens, none have carried them, taken them on as their own. Here is one who has, who does, who will, if he will let her. 

He takes Tav’s hand in his and guides it, flattens her palm over the rabbit-fast beat of his heart, breathing deeply, willing it to slow. He wants to say, Thank you, then, I love you, but it’s too soon, he thinks, too desperate, no matter how true. 

“Thank you,” Halsin allows, and swallows the rest. 

Tav smiles at him then, a soft, bright thing, like a single star in the night sky. The true last light in the Shadowlands. 

“Shall I stay with you?”

“Art–,” Halsin starts, but she shakes her head calmly, knowingly. “He’s sleeping soundly. Seems his bad dreams have come to visit you.”

“I do not wish to burden you with something so trivial.”

“You could not burden me,” Tav says quietly. “But I will leave, if you prefer.” 

Her thumb strokes over his chest, her hand still pressed against him. His pulse quickens again at so intimate, so innocent a touch. Halsin wonders if she can feel it.

“I prefer your presence, always. But you need your own rest.” 

“Very well.” 

Her palm slips from him as she rises to her feet, and he thinks for a moment that he’s made a mistake, has waved off her kindness, dismissed her.

Rather, she motions for him to move over and climbs slowly, wordlessly into the bed next to him. He finds himself lifting the sheets for her, inviting her in without hesitation. 

She’s changed, he realizes as she comes close, her armor cast aside for the day. Her nightclothes make her look, make her feel smaller, softer. He wants so badly to slip his hands beneath the fabric, to see how soft she is beneath. 

“Is this alright?” Tav whispers, looking earnestly into his eyes. Her fingertips flit over his cheek, brushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you alright?”

The bed is small and Halsin is not, and she is pressed against him like a flower between the pages of a book. He can only nod. 

“I will rest here then, with you.”

In the gentlest act he can or will ever remember, she leans forward and kisses his eyes as if bestowing a blessing upon them, a ward against the darkness.

**********

Halsin wakes again in near-total silence, save the gentle inhale-exhale of Tav’s breathing beside him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and for the first time in a long time, doesn’t mind. 

Instead, he is aware of how peaceful he feels in this moment, sheltered from the dangers beyond the inn, aware that at one point or another he had let go of his worry and settled deep into dreaming. The earlier tension in his muscles has melted into a tired ache, as if he is returning from a very long walk in the Grove. 

And she is here, wrapped in his arms. A light to break all shadows.

He can’t be sure when it happened. The shift had been imperceptible, like the feeling of falling asleep, or falling in love.

[vitamimesea]

love yourself

[rapidhighway]

everyone who knows me knows im so weak for my fave getting magically de-aged for fluff and plot reasons

[greenunoreversecard]

Don't hide your pain

-> Angel dust x reader

A/N: I made this of my own violation. I needed to therapize myself

Reader POV, ftm male, who's ✨️traumatized✨️

It always starts like this.

Things go well for a while. Things go great, even.

And then it gets bad. And it stays bad, and i ruin every close relationship and im alone.

And then it repeats.

I just wish I could be better. I guess that's why I'm at the hotel.

Things have been good for a while, so good, infact I though the cycle could be over.

Angel brought so much light to my life. He made me feel so happy, and wanted and needed.

And I was so much better. But it seems like the happier I was the worse i fall.

I sigh, rolling over in my bed, grabbing my phone. Fuck it's late in the day. Charlie will be upset, but i cant seem to care. I just- I don't wanna leave my bed.

I look away from my lockscreen, a blurry picture of angel in my Hoodie chasing after nuggets, who has his phone in his mouth, trying to run away with it. It caught angel off guard, and i was laughing so hard i couldnt get a steady photo.

Its one of my favorite memories. I feel a small smile tug at my lips, but my body and my face feel like led that I can barely move.

Theres a knock at my door.

"Hey, baby. Are you ok? Haven't seen you in a day, and I wanted to make sure ya alright.." I hear his quiet voice as the door squeaking lightly as Angle peeks in, silhouette gently illuminated from the light in the hallway.

I grumble in reply and roll over. He sighs, and for a moment I think he leaves but i feel him sit on my bed, next to me. I can feel his warmth. Despite having the features of a cold-blooded spider, he's always run rather hot.

He rests his hand on my back.

"Baby, I can't help you if you dont talk ta me"

Irritation rises in me.

"Don't. I dont need you. I dont need your fucking pity. Just fuck off, please." I say, voice rough and shoulders tense.

His determination doesn't deter, though.

"I don't pity you, love. I just wanna help."

I know my irritation is irrational, logically. But I can't help being angry. Angry I am this way, angry I'm so helpless. And I'm ahry he has to see me like this, considering he has it so much worse. He deserves better than this. Better than me. But I can't seem to stop the slow of my defensive anger, vomiting out words I'm uncertain seraid him I know they do me coming out my mouth.

"Don't pretend, angie."

"I'm serious, though. I want to help."

"Don't play with me. I don't need you, and I don't need your pity."

"Why are you doing this?"

This freezes me. I tense. I don't know why I do this. I don't know why I'm hurting him. I don't know why I'm hurting myself by hurting the only person thats treated me like a fucking sentient being..

I realise, at this point, he's as rigid as a brick, and I look over at him. He tears in the corners of his eyes, eyes slighrly red from the effort it takes to stop his tears. His hair is a mess, and he's shaking, God's he's shaking.

"I- please, sugar. I just wanna help you but- but I can't if you push us away. I you push me away. I- I don't wanna lose you. I can't fucking lose you. And I can feel you sliping and its- it's scary. Please, if not for you then for me."

At this, a sob wracks its way through my body, every viceral emotion I've held back hitting me like a dam destroyed. Apologies spewing through my lips like it's a lifeline. And in a way, it is. Because, I know hes right. And I know if I continue on the way I do, I'll be destroyed at my own hands. And I'll lose him, I'll lose my lifeline.

...

..

.

I don't know how long I cry for. It's all kind of blurry, really. I know i tell him everything ive hid from him about my life through choked sobs, and at some point he's holding me to his chest, gently stroking my hair, touch gentle but deep, afraid to let me go as if I'll disappear, or break like glass.

The good never used to last for long, but maybe this time I can make it last forever.

So long as I have him.

--------------

End note: vv rushed lmfao. Anywhore, hopes this gives a small gauge as to my writing style. I can also try my hand at different possibilities.

Hope ye likey likey

[deadsetobsessions]

Trigger Warning: blades, mild torture, injuries, and what amounts to suicidal thoughts and actions (he lives at the end but he does need a hell of a lot of therapy)

Tim shudders, as best he can while bleeding and bruised and broken.

The Red Hood is above him, mechanical voice melding into the raspy deeper tones of an Older Jason Todd. His voice is hollow and cruel as he digs his blade into Tim’s flesh. It hurts. But, Tim thinks dazedly, having Robin, Tim’s Robin, hating Tim hurts worse.

“Wow, Replacement, no last words for the person you stole everything away from?”

Jason’s mocking him.

“Okay.”

“What’s that, Replacement?”

Tim is so incredibly tired. And the blade held to his neck is starting to look like comfort. Tim thinks-

“My last words. You- You want to hear it?”

His hero’s face tilts, green eyes sparking something deep within Tim’s memory. But he’s so tired.

“Sure, let’s see what kind of recruitment pitch you’ve got for me, Replacement.”

Cruel. So cruel. Mocking him with false warmth. But false warmth is better than the coldness of Drake manor, the coldness of Bruce’s grieving form or Dick’s smile, sometimes when he thinks Tim’s not looking.

Ah, Tim knew it. His Robin will always be better than any other heroes, even if the false warmth makes his heart hurt worse than the broken ribs he’s now sporting. That Hood is pressing a knee down on to keep him immobile. Not that Tim could move anywhere considering both of his legs are broken. Tim wonders what it is about him that makes it impossible for people to muster up warmth towards.

“Do you know why… why heroes are so… so loved?” He wheezes out. He doesn’t wait for a response from Hood. “It’s because… they choose good- they choose to better the world- to save people, even if… even if they weren’t saved themselves. No matter how much- the obstacles, there’s always, an obstacle. But they try anyways.” Tim has to wrap this up. He’s losing coherency. “It’s why… it’s why this is okay. You… you’re choosing to save… to save Gotham from the Joker. Ev’n if you weren’t saved yourself. You’re not… good. You kill.”

Red Hood- Jason, snarls. Tim, blinking slowly, admires the man’s green eyes. “That’s fucking right-”

“But, you can be. Y’re helping.” And because this is important, because Tim has an alter set up to mourn Jason, “You were my hero,” Tim says, and Jason stops short, expression blanking. “So. I’ll help- help remove an obstacle so… so you can keep helping. Helping people like… like me. Or, not like me. Something.”

With that, Tim summons the rest of his strength and presses his neck towards the blade, starting the process to slit his own throat.

Jason flings the knife away, expression crumbling in horror as he stares down at the child he just tortured.

And as Tim’s voice fades, as blood spills out of his neck, as Tim gives him time to retrieve the knife, Jason breaks.

Oh, Tim thinks. His eyes weren’t green. They’re supposed to be blue.

——

Jason sits beside the medical cot, the steady beeping of the heart monitor grounding him as he held two fingers on the kid’s- oh god, he’s a fucking kid, Todd, you monster- pulse.

Jason will grovel when Tim wakes up. Because he turned into the kid’s Joker and Willis and if there’s anything Jason won’t ever allow himself to turn into, it’d be those two. He crossed a line. If Tim wants him to rip his liver out and present it to him, Jason thinks he’d do it on the spot.

Fuck. He fucked up.