#2k words of nothing but whump

[mothervvoid]

1/1, 2k wc

Kagemane was a lot like tug-of-war, his father had told him once.

"You’re all out of wack, Shikamaru, you need rest. If you don’t you’re going to fucking die, and I will not be letting that happen.���

[songforeddiemunson]

Haunting in Blackwood Hollow

An Eddie Munson x F!Reader Miniseries

Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.

Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)

Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.

Chapter One: Steve's Big Mistake

Chapter warnings: naughty language, mentions of drinking, weed use. This is largely setting the scene babes. Author's Note: Submission for @stcreators Event 5: Dynamics Submission for @somnambulic-thing, @allthingsjoeq, and @bettyfrommars event: strangerprompts (#14) {Okay so I took a bit of liberty with the prompt, but that's just how my brain wanted to do it! You know how that goes. ;) }

Word Count: ~2K

You swore under your breath as the taxi pulled away, leaving you staring at the monstrosity you were meant to be staying in for the weekend.

“This is the last time I leave that jackass in charge of anything,” you muttered, prompting a snort from Eddie, who stood beside you.

You liked Steve. Loved him even, in the way that friends that have known each other for years did, who’d seen each other at their worst, thick as thieves, none of that ‘will they or won’t they’ shit, especially after you started seeing Eddie. But in that moment, you could strangle him.

Most of your group of friends had scattered to the four corners of the country, so when you all received your invitations to Joyce Byers’ and Jim Hopper’s wedding in the Smoky Mountains, you decided to rent a whole house instead of getting hotel rooms. Correction: Steve came up with the idea to rent a house, and admittedly it was a good plan. It would likely be cheaper to pool your resources, and you could all hang out in the common areas and catch up.

And then you saw the house.

It was a stereotype in peeling paint and dilapidated wood. The porch was creaky and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Gnarled old vines and weeds encroached from every direction; you thought maybe it had been landscaped last sometime in the 1960s. A broken old fountain sat on the front lawn, with a scummy green puddle of rainwater gathered at the bottom, and there was a broken gate that hung loose on its hinges near the drive.

Eddie tilted his head in a manner reminiscent of a terrier as he surveyed the old structure. “I think it looks kinda cool, like that house in IT. The house on Neibolt Street, remember?”

You blinked at your paramour. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend the weekend in a house like that. It’s one thing to read about it in a spooky story, it’s another thing to actually sleep there.” He had the good grace to laugh at that sentiment.

“Fair enough,” he conceded.

Of all the houses in Asheville, Tennessee, THIS is the one he chooses? You thought bitterly as you made your way up the walkway toward the porch, stepping carefully on the worn wood and looking for nails that could be lying in wait to impale your foot.

You had no idea if anyone else had already arrived, and whether you were supposed to knock or just walk in. You had decided to try the former, but your knuckles hadn’t had a chance to make contact with the wood before the door was whipped open, revealing a clearly exasperated Robin.

“Omigosh you’re here!” she cried joyfully as she threw her arms around you. You let your weekend bag drop to the porch as you reciprocated the hug.

“Robin! I’m so glad to see you!” you cooed as you gave her a good squeeze then released her. “But what the hell is this house?”

“Right?! I feel like it’s right out of a Scoobie Doo episode or something. Talk about creepy. Eddie! Hi!”

“I’ve seen worse,” a deeper voice intoned from out of eyesight, shortly before Steve stepped into the foyer.

“Steve! It’s lovely to see you, but what the fuck?” you scolded.

Steve’s expression was so sheepish that you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“I know, I know,” he moaned, before putting his face in his hands.

“Come here and hug me, loser. I haven’t seen you in almost two years and you’re gonna make me sleep in the house from Amityville Horror?”

“Hey now,” Robin countered, “The Amityville Horror house was waaay nicer than this.”

“True. Eddie said it looked like the house from IT.”

“Oooh yes! That fits,” Robin said.

“What’s that? It?” Steve asked, never one to embrace pop culture.

You hugged Steve despite wanting to hurt him a little bit. “Nevermind. So what were you thinking with this house?”

“Okay so in my defense the pictures were much nicer in the Want Ad, and in black and white. I didn’t realize it was going to be so…”

“Shabby?” you offered while Robin said “terrifying” at the same time.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a shrug.

Eddie chuckled as he hugged his friends by way of greeting.�� “Alright well, as long as the bed is clean, I don't really care,” he said. “This one is scared of spiders,” he said, gesturing toward you. 

“I am not, you are!” you yelled.

“I am NOT afraid of spiders,” Eddie replied defensively. “It’s those fucking centipede things with all the legs. I hate those things.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure there are plenty of things in this house to trigger all our phobias.”

The interior was a little less gloomy than its exterior, but that wasn’t saying much. The common room in which you were standing was decorated in 50 year-old wallpaper that was peeling and yellowing. The floors were hard wood but hadn’t been refinished since the wallpaper was installed, and the dusty old upholstery was flat and worn around the edges. 

“Where are we sleeping, anyway?”

“There’s three bedrooms, one with a queen and two with a pair of singles. I figured we could draw straws or someth–”

“Dibs on the queen!” Eddie shouted.

“Eddie, we have to–” you began.

“Nah babe. We’re a couple, and we got here first. You snooze, you lose.”

“I think that’s fair,” Robin said with a shrug.

“Nancy and Jonathan won’t love that,” Steve said. “But you can fight it out amongst yourselves. I’m staying out of it. Looks like you’re bunking with me, Robin.”

“I don’t care, as long as you don’t snore.”

Nancy and Jonathan arrived about an hour later, and while they weren’t thrilled to be relegated to a pair of twin beds, they conceded that Eddie did in fact call dibs.

“I feel like we’re eighteen again,” Nancy laughed as she explored the kitchen for a clean glass for water. “Calling dibs and bunking up together. Feels like old times.”

“It does,” you agreed from where you were leaning against the counter. “I don’t know if I would use any of the dishes in this house though.”

“I might just make a store run, get some solo cups and paper plates,” she said as she put one grimy glass back in the cupboard with a look of distaste. “Any requests?”

“Oooh, cheez-its, snapple peach tea, pizza pretzel combos…”

“PBR,” Eddie contributed as he sidled up next to you and bent to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“Well of course,” Nancy said with a smile. “Can’t forget the beer.”

Robin poked her head into the room. “Grab a couple of pizzas! I’ll give you cash.”

You all pitched in for the snacks and sent Nancy on her way as the sun began its descent behind the trees. The rest of you gathered in the living room to figure out what to do for the night.

“Care for a toke?” Eddie asked, as he held up a joint he pulled from his jacket and set it alight.

“Yessss,” Jonathan replied with enthusiasm, leaning forward to pinch the little joint between his fingers.

“That didn’t take long,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

“Lighten up, Harrington,” Jonathan said in a fragrant plume of exhalation, stifling a cough. “You could probably use this more than the rest of us. You’re too wound up.” 

“It’s true Steve, why are you always so stressed out?” you asked, taking a pull from the joint.

“I don’t know, I just feel like I’m the responsible one–” he began, but was cut off by a chorus of jeers and naysaying.

“You think you’re the responsible one, but everyone knows it’s Nancy,” Robin said, laughing.

“Yeah man, like…the King Steve days are over, you can stop trying so hard,” Eddie added with a grin.

“Okay, okay, I get it…” Steve said, accepting his ribbing with a modicum of grace. His voice trailed off, however, as his attention was pulled in another direction. “Hey what’s that?”

“What?” you and Jonathan asked at the same time, following his gaze. 

“It’s on top of that bookshelf…” he began, already getting up and walking toward it. He had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach it, and pulled it down, unleashing a cloud of dust and grime.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

Steve brushed the dust off the cover before looking up at you with wide eyes. 

“It’s a ouija board,” he said.

“Oh shit,” Eddie said, laughing. "You can't be serious."

“What! No, no thank you!” Robin yelled.

“I dunno man, you might want to put that back and pretend you never saw it,” Jonathan added with a smirk.

“What, nah, that stuff isn’t real,” you said.

“No, it’s not,” Steve agreed. “It’s just a silly game.”

“If it’s just a silly game,” Eddie taunted, "why don’t we take it for a spin?”

“Oh man, no, don’t give him any ideas,” Robin piped in with her trademarked ‘mile-a-minute’ cadence. “Did you see the movie Witchboard? Well I did, and I didn’t sleep for a week afterward. Too scary for me. And it’s kinda weird that that thing just shows up in the spookiest house I’ve ever seen, and we’re in the middle of nowhere and…”

“What’s Witchboard?” Steve asked.

“Dude, watch a movie…” Eddie moaned while Jonathan doubled-over laughing.

Steve laid the box down on the coffee table. “Well, just because there was a movie about these things doesn’t make them real. The Princess Bride isn’t exactly real either.”

Eddie gasped with mock incredulity. “It’s NOT?”

“Have fun NOT storming the castle I guess,” Jonathan tried to say without laughing, which came out as a choked squeal.

“Inconceivable!” you yelled, making the entire room erupt in hearty laughter and dispelling some of the unease that had grown since the discovery of the ouija board.

“Jesus guys, are you that stoned already?” Steve asked with a smile.

“Eddie only buys the good stuff,” you said.

“Zero to zooted within three hits, or your money back,” Eddie said before taking another pull from the joint.

“Good to know,” Steve said sarcastically. “So are you guys gonna play with this thing or not?”

“Fine fine,” you said. “Eddie, let’s do this.”

He agreed, and you sat on the floor on either side of the coffee table. You opened the box, took out its contents, and each placed the index finger of your right hand gently on the planchette. You sat silent for a moment, not doing or saying anything, unsure of where to begin.

“Uhhhh,” Eddie said before dissolving into giggles.

“Ask it something!” Robin whispered, leaning forward in her excitement.

“Okay, uh…” you began, pausing to think. “Is there anybody here with us right now?”

It seemed like the entire room held its breath with anticipation.

“Is there anyone here in this house?” you repeated.

The silence ticked onward.

“Well this is thrilling,” Jonathan said with a snort.

“Give it a minute,” Steve said.

“Thought you didn’t believe in this stuff, Stevarino,” Eddie teased.

“I don’t, but–”

You thought you felt the planchette move ever so slightly. 

“Wait!” you gasped. “Did you feel that?”

“No, wait. Maybe?” Eddie whispered.

You sat motionless for a beat, but nothing happened. You began to think that it was your imagination when…

….suddenly the front door banged open with a loud smash, and every single person in the room screamed like a banshee.

“Jesus, guys!” Nancy said as she struggled to hold several brown paper grocery bags. “A little help here?”

“Oh fuck, sorry babe,” Jonathan said, and the rest of you sheepishly got up to help, leaving the ouija board on the table. You bustled into the kitchen to put things away and pop open cans of beer, laughing about the silly jump scare you’d all just shared.

What none of you saw, however, was the planchette on the ouija board slide over to ‘hello.’

To Be Continued...

Sorry this one is short, but I needed to get it out. More is coming! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!

PART TWO MASTERLIST

[donationwayne]

DONATIONWAYNE BUDDIE FIC MASTERPOST

Title: Miles and Miles Pairing: Buddie || Words: 6.6k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Seal!Buck, Returning Home From Deployment, Secret Relationship, Established Buddie, Married Buddie, Buck as Chris' Dad, Comedy, Fluff Synopsis: Three years after moving to LA Buck decides to surprise Chris and Eddie at the end of his final tour. Of course nothing goes according to plan. The 118 have a lot of thoughts about the mysterious Eddie Diaz.

_____ Title: Response Time Pairing: Buddie || Words: 2k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Established Buddie, Married Buddie, Secret Relationship, Buck & Eddie know each other before the 118, Buck as Chris' Dad, Comedy, Fluff

Synopsis: The 118 respond to a call, which isn’t unusual in itself. But it might explain a lot to Probational Firefighter Evan Buckley’s new crew. Eddie tries to burn the kitchen down.

_____

Title: Blame Me (For Mistakes You've Made But You Can't Own) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 4.5k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Sick!Buck, The 118 as Family, Pre-Relationship Buddie, Fluff, Comedy, Angst, Casual Mentions of Childhood Neglect & Trauma, Maddie Buckley as Evan Buckley's Parental Figure Synopsis: Buck goes into work sick and the 118 take care of him. We delve into Buck's complicated relationship with illness, due to his parents relationship with ill children.

_____

Title: I'm Alone In The City (And Nobodies Coming For Me) Pairing: Buddie, Bobby & Buck || Words: 18.1k || Chapters: 12/12 || Main Tropes & Tags: Bobby as Buck's Dad, Buck!Whump, Buck's Loft Burns Down, Discussion regarding Eddie's Will, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Angst with a happy ending Synopsis: The one where I burn Buck's loft down with Buck inside! When Buck wakes up cold, scared, and alone all he wants is Bobby (his dad). Buck and Eddie finally get their shit together.

_____

Title: Feelin' Good (Could be Better) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 24.6k || Chapters: 10/10 || Main Tropes & Tags: Emotional Whump!Buck, Athena Grant and Bobby Nash are Evan "Buck" Buckley and Maddie Buckley's Parents, Angsty!Buck, Margaret Buckley is her own warning, angst with intermittent fluff, mutual pining, Protective Eddie Diaz, Outing, Margaret Buckley and Phillip Buckley Bashing

Synopsis: The Buckley parents arrive in LA, turning Buck's already shaky mental status from precarious to worse. Buck consents to join Maddie, Chimney, and his parents for dinner. Buck is super fine, he'll just bake about it. And think about kissing Eddie, obviously. Secrets are revealed, leaving the 118 reeling.

Authors note: **This fic deals with Margaret Buckley as a emotionally and physically abusive parent. (Trigger Warnings Available or msg me)

_____

Title: punch my face (do it because i like the pain) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 3.7k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Emo/Alternative Teenage Evan Buckley, Athena Grant and Bobby Nash are Evan "Buck" Buckley and Maddie Buckley's Parents, Evan "Buck" Buckley & May Grant are Siblings, Fluff, The 118 As Family, Mention of Eddie's Will,

Synopsis: When faced with a potentially abusive father on a call, Buck goads the man into punching him to keep the kids with their mother. The 118 learn a little bit about Buck as a teenager.

This is mostly fluff. Maddie and Buck make jokes at their own expense.

_____

Title: this could be a disaster Pairing: Buddie || Words: 15.9k || Chapters: 11/11 || Main Tropes & Tags: Wedding Fluff, Christopher Diaz is a Little Shit, Brief Tsunami Flashback, Canon Divergence, Clipboard!Evan Buckley, Groomzilla Evan Buckley, Everything That Could Go Wrong Does

Synopsis: Light hearted romcom about Buck and Eddie's wedding day, which was it turns out is a disaster. Nearly everything that could go wrong does go wrong. Chris is sarcastic about it. Maddie is going to kill them if they sneak off to see each other more time. Bobby and Athena are Buck's parents. The lesbians save the day. Business as usual.

_____

Title: obsessed with the things that you do, low-key I need you to move (in) Pairing: Buddie || Words: 27.8k || Chapters: 9/9 || Main Tropes & Tags: Teenage Chris, Canon Divergent Post-Season 6, Eddie Goes to Therapy, Eddie Adopts A Cat, Mutual Pining, Angst and Fluff, Coming Out, Gay Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Christopher Diaz is a little shit

Synopsis: Eddie adopts a cat while Chris is away summer camp. He goes to therapy and comes out to his parents. He continues navigating life post gay realization while being deeply and embarrassingly in love with his best friend.

Buck pines over Eddie.

Chris figures it only a matter of time before they finally get together.

_____

Title: come on, you can show yourself Pairing: Buddie || Words: 8.7k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: Coming Out, Blow-Job Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Gay Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Eddie & HenRen bestieism, Getting Together, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Eddie tells HenRen about his Will, Eddie sees footage of Buck during the Well collapse

Synopsis: Eddie goes to a gay bar, says Buck's name during a hook up, curses Frank extensively, and comes out to Hen and Karen. They talk about the will and the well and the Buck of it all. Also Buck shows up.

_____

Title: Because Regardless Of How Soft The Touch, I Still Bruise Pairing: Pre-Relationship Buddie || Words: 3.3k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags:

Bobby Nash is Evan "Buck" Buckley's Parent, Worried Bobby Nash, Athena Grant is Evan "Buck" Buckley's Parent, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, past self-harm, Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, Margaret Buckley and Phillip Buckley Bashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: After sustaining an injury on shift, Buck stays with Bobby and Athena while he recovers. They discover some hard truths about Buck's childhood.

_____

Title: Backtrack Pairing: Pre-Relationship Buddie || Words: 3.3k || Chapters: 1/1 || Main Tropes & Tags: 07x09 Spec, Implied Pre-Relationship Buddie, Worried Buck, Buck has a feeling realization, Angst, Divorce Era 2.0

Synopsis: Speculation about what could happen if Buck finds out about Kim (S7x09). Buck catches Eddie in public with Kim, he confronts Eddie about it. He also has some feelings about it.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 24 - I never knew daylight could be so violent. (No light, no light)

Warnings: whump/angst/therapy

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Olivia needs help; but then again so does Natasha.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist.

.

Pain shoots through her abdomen and and she bows to it.

She doesn’t allow herself a cry of pain, only a huff of a breath and closes her eyes.

Her hand shakes as she empties the last of the tryptophan her heart sinking as she feels nauseousness rise and tremors shudder through her.

“Fuck,” she swears.

The night is going to be long.

She takes one of the last two tablets anyway knowing it’s only delaying the inevitable.

She sighs, laying down and trying to breathe through the pain.

Shield had the medications that she needed, but she didn’t quiet trust them.

Pain thrusts its way through her, making her clench her fists and forcing breath in and out consciously.

She decides in the moment to find Coulson or Fury. Shield is not safe but the two men would perhaps help.

She owed them, they owed her, and she’s sure she could call in a favour.

.

The seizure leaves her on the floor, her head pounding as she feels her consciousness return to her.

Wiping her mouth, she pushes herself up.

Hands still shaking, Olivia takes the last pill, hoping it makes her functional.

She knows she’s running out of time. She didn’t realise how close she was running out when she left.

Stupid, she berates herself.

Living in America had made her soft, dependant… Compliant.

If she was on her own, she’d have stocks, but instead, she’d just worked through the emergency medication knowing she’d have access to more.

Allowing herself a moment of self pity, she wonders just how to find the others, and slowly dresses herself.

The number she’d memorised for Fury may still work, and she contemplates if she’s able to make it to the closest pay phone.

The small apartment’s furniture helps her to move on shaking legs, and the walking stick she keeps in the closet feels like a good option.

Armed with a knife and sunglasses, she makes her way out to the harsh light of day.

Nauseous, she descends the stairs, tremors still wracking her body.

She can do this, she’s done much harder things.

One hundred steps, she tells herself.

When she reaches that, she counts 100 more.

At 345 she stops, breathing labored at the public pay phone.

“This better fucking work,” she mutters to herself, dialing the number.

Four rings in and she feels bile rise in her throat.

On the fifth, the phone picks up and she closes her eyes in relief.

“It’s bad,” she opens, “I need… what you owe me.”

Fury seems to understand.

“Safehouse six. I’ll organise for it to be sent there.”

He pauses.

“You owe me too. Don’t think I won’t collect.”

The phone hangs up and she groans, sinking to the floor, holding onto the walking stick and feeling another seizure coming on.

.

The knock at the door sets them all on edge.

Even though Fury calls to tell them that Olivia is coming, they all stand. Maria’s hand on her gun, Clint close to his bow and Natasha stands near the draw with the knives.

Coulson opens it, and finds Olivia standing there, just as Fury had said.

He opens the door wider, letting her in and showing the others that they have nothing to fear.

She enters, and Clint frowns.

“Are you… are you okay?”

The woman waves him off, and says something quietly to Coulson. He walks to the back room and returns alone.

“She needs some privacy and sleep,” he announces, much to all their confusion.

The shower starts running and Clint thinks of all the scenarios that could have had her looking so drawn and pale.

He turns back to the game of cards that he had been playing with Maria and swears as he loses again.

“I’m bored,” he complains.

Maria shares a look with him.

“How do we know Fury is okay?” she asks, much to Coulson’s annoyance.

“He’s okay,” he assures, “but if you want to go help, then fine, I can’t stop you.”

Maria grins at Clint.

“I’ll let you know how I go.”

“He’s gonna be angry,” Clint assumes, throwing the cards to the container.

“Nah; he’ll be appreciative. Who reads the lackies of Shield, better than me?”

Coulson sighs.

“I should go with you.”

He looks to the door that Olivia just moved through, and sits back down.

“Go. Call me in four hours and tell me what’s happening.” He looks at time.

“Four hours okay?”

Maria grabs the keys and a piece of pizza.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll call,” she smiles, pleased to have something to do.

The evening feels early, even though it’s 6pm, the sun moving to sleep. Maria reveals in the fresh air; and heads for shield.

.

Natasha lays on the couch. She’d opted to take first watch.

Olivia was still in the room, door closed having not come out since she went in.

Coulson in the other room, and Clint gently snoring on the other couch.

She doesn’t feel tired.

Probably, would be unable to sleep anyway.

If nightmares plagued her like they did in the cabin, she would have the whole house on edge.

At least the cell was soundproofed.

Here, she thinks she would wake up the whole apartment block.

Clint has eyed her when she’d offered to take first watch, and she had nodded assuringly.

Maria had called to say she was with Fury, he hadn’t sent her away much to Coulson’s surprise.

Coulson had decided he’d return in the morning, barring no incidents during the night.

Natasha was determined to just let them sleep.

She liked the darkness, and with others around, she was sure she wouldn’t be seeing anything… anyone.

Lost in her own thoughts, she catches movement on her left and stands to confront it.

“It’s me,” Olivia announces quietly.

Natasha sits up straighter.

The psychiatrist moves into the dimly lit room, and then to the kitchen finding water and taking a sip.

She downs two pills as Natasha watches on in interest.

“I’m defective,” she says, noticing Natasha watching her.

“They experimented with us, trialing… god knows what, to try and make us better soldiers. And they succeeded but at a cost.”

Olivia’s eyes rake over Natasha.

“Shield has drugs that help combat the symptoms. The Red Room would have just killed me.”

She feels scrutinized and wants to hear so much more of her experience of the Red Room.

It’s like piecing together bits of her own history, things she’s forgotten, things that have been wiped.

Part of the debrief had asked so many basic questions that she should know, but couldn’t retrieve it.

Experimented was right.

Natasha moves to seat at the bench to sit across from her.

Her face itches where the cut on her forehead is healing, and she suppresses the urge to touch it. Her whole body is itchy, uncomfortable and foreign.

Olivia looks to Clint, and deciding he’s asleep enough, starts to make coffee.

Natasha watches practices motions and refrains from talking.

She wants to ask her so much.

Waiting until Olivia sits, Natasha takes an offered coffee and they sip it together.

“Ask, if you need to,” she tells her, voice tired and resigned.

Natasha has so many, she thinks of the last couple of days. How impaired she had been to take care of herself, of Clint and how, if she was back in the red room, she would have been killed ten fold by now.

“How do you stop the nightmares? The flashbacks? How do I… I can’t sleep and then when I do… it bleeds into the day. I try.. But everything in me keeps remembering.”

Natasha holds back, the feelings and worries that have been plaguing her, she wishes she knew how to articulate them.

She feels like she’s going insane.

Wounds wide open and she can’t stop remembering.

Olivia looks at her, takes a slow sip of her drink.

“Your mind is an open wound, they’ve dug into in debrief and left it bleeding.”

Natasha nods.

It’s exactly what it is.

She feels like an exposed raw nerve.

Olivia sets down her coffee.

“We don’t have a lot of time together. Not what you need anyway.”

She sighs heavily, fatigue seeming to weigh her down, but the kindness and patience that she has always shown to Natasha remains.

“It’s not fair, that you have to deal with this. So the coping mechanisms I’m going to say to you I want you to use when and where possible. There are going to be a myriad of times, where they don’t work, but for a lot of the times it will.”

Natasha swallows, understanding what she’s saying.

“We haven’t the time so I need you to listen. To hear me. Okay?”

Olivia doesn’t even wait for her to respond.

“Being triggered, doesn’t apply to you because your nervous system is always going to be heightened, walking on eggshells, and when they crack, is likely going to be when you will feel it. With or without flashbacks, the emotions will come, and you won’t always understand it. When this happens I need you to note that it’s there, label it and stay with it, even for a moment.”

The urgency in her voice makes Natasha give undivided attention.

She doesn’t notice that Clint sits up, moves closer; but Olivia does.

“Emotions, they try and tell us something, things we aren’t subconsciously aware of, they sit in our body, in our chest, sometimes like a weight, sometimes like itch you can’t scratch. They can sit in our minds; numbing us to the world that’s happening around us. In small ways, in big ways too.”

Natasha feels her face grow hot.

Olivia’s words are true and she knows it.

“Work on finding where the emotion is in your body. Close your eyes, for a moment and extend your mind out. Learn Natasha, learn about emotions, their labels and how they feel. The Red Room didn’t care and the words you have for emotions mean nothing. You have to learn beyond happy and sad.”

Natasha swallows.

“Learn what happiness feels like, and remember it so you have something to compare it to. Learn anger, and how it’s different to hatred. Disappointment. Anxiety. Frustration. You know these in a sense, but your education on them is poor.”

Olivia stops, taking a breath and then a sip of her coffee, acknowledging Clint.

“Accept help from those that are willing but don’t trust blindly. You have your own thoughts and feelings and they matter too. Do you hear me?”

Olivia talks softer.

“They never taught you, because they never wanted you to know, how smart and powerful you are. The feelings and emotions and the rawness of it all won’t last forever. But when it comes do something with it. Do something with your hands like shooting a gun at the range, clean, shower, breathe. Anything that you can do that acknowledges the feelings but doesn’t erase them.”

She reaches across and grabs at Natasha’s hand, pulling her sleeve up to expose raw handcuffed chaffed wrists.

“Nights will be the hardest,” she acknowledges, “but they will get better.”

Natasha pulls away, embarrassed.

“Feel it,” encourages Olivia, “try not to hide from it.”

The silence in the room extends; but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“What if I can’t?” Natasha whispers.

Olivia smiles.

“Then you can’t. And you try again next time. This is not pass or fail. This is not the stakes of the Red Room. You won’t die because you can’t do something; even though it might feel like it.”

Finishing her coffee, Olivia stands.

“I’m truly sorry, Natasha, for everything you’ve been through. I can see why you’ve made it this far. I believe our paths will cross again, but it might not be for a while.”

Natasha nods, biting down on her lip.

The one person that understood her and everything she had been through… disappointment and grief floods her.

She feels it.

Olivia touches her hand again.

“You’re not without support.”

She nods to Clint.

Coulson bustles in and looks at the two women and Clint.

Daylight streams through the windows and Natasha feels herself withdraw.

.

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

Liv my wonderful writer. I'm in desperate need of some protective Frank Castle fic. Frank and fem reader are best friends and know each other for a long time. He's always very protective and soft with her. Finally settling down they're both happy that they know live near each other and see each other as often as possible (both are harboring deep feelings for the other, but both are too dumb to admit it) unfortunately the two had a big fight and reader storms out of Frank's apartment, clearly disappointed at Frank's harsh behavior towards her (maybe she criticizes him for his one night stand or you can come up with something else) one evening reader is attacked at her apartment and hurt badly... With her mobile broken (the guy who attacked her smashed it) she's not able to call for help, so she stays at her apartment for two days until she's able to stumble to Frank's house. He finds her at his doof, hurt badly with a raging fever....

Hopefully with a fluffy ending, after Frank takes care of her and apologizing to her. I know the best friends to lovers is a trope which is rather used often. But I LOVE it so much and as a sucker for whump hurt and sick reader fics, I really need this trope.

Love ya girl =)

Thank you so much for requesting this, it’s such a cute concept. I changed it a small bit so I hope you don’t hate that. :)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Violence and Language

Yours and Frank’s friendship consisted of almost daily check-ins, so you found it odd that he hadn’t checked in. You realized you hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, and this worried you. You called a couple of times and received no answer, which wasn’t too strange considering his line of business. Occasionally, he had weeks here and there where he would need to be unbothered or keep a low profile, so he’d turn his phone off, but he always warned you. Having waited a bit longer and still having no answer, you grabbed your coat and keys and exited your apartment. Walking to his apartment wasn’t too bad, as it was a few blocks away. You knocked on the door, but there was no answer. You gave it another try, this time you accompanied it with a shout of his name.

"Frank?"

However, there was nothing, no shuffle, no callback, and no door pulled open. There was silence. You stuck the key in the handle and unlocked the door. You slowly opened it and stepped into the apartment. There was nothing out of the ordinary at the front of the apartment. Everything was still in its place and nicely organized, just as Frank liked it. You headed towards the bedroom, finding the door slightly jarred. You pushed it, and as it creaked open, you could see that Frank wasn’t on the other side. No Frank in his apartment. Instead of returning to your apartment, you became comfortable on his couch and decided to wait.

Frank couldn’t have been happier to see his shitty one-bedroom apartment. His night was completely shit. The situation escalated, causing his arm to receive grazing from a bullet and his thigh to throb from a stab wound. Nothing that would kill him, just more of an inconvenience, and he was annoyed by the pain. Covered in blood and disgusted, he wanted to shower and collapse into bed. But upon inserting his keys in the door, he realized it was unlocked. He perked up and was ready to fight again. Slowly creeping down the hall, he strained his ears to hear anything. His gun was held tightly and ready to unload the clip. He cautiously stepped into the living room and scanned for any sign of an intruder. All was silent, but he held his breath. He knew that he was not alone. As he turned to check the kitchen, you had started your return to the living room. He pulled his gun up as you screeched.

"Oh my fucking god Frank!" You covered your face with your hands as you tried to calm your heart which was racing a like you ran a marathon. His hands trembled as he put his gun away, he had almost shot you. He was relieved that it was just you. He took a deep breath, calming his own racing heart.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I almost shot you!” He dropped the weapon on the counter.

“I was trying to check on you, I hadn’t heard from you so I was worried.” He knew that your intentions were pure, but he was stressed from the night and wore out, and still upset about almost killing you that he had become more irritated.

“You can’t just be in here like that.” His eyebrows were furrowed, you looked him over, there was a lot of blood, How much was his?

“I should help you, you look in pretty bad shape,” You wanted to change the subject, you wanted to help him. He wasn’t having any of it.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. You should go home.” He moved away so you could make it to the door.

“Frank I can’t just leave you here without helping-”

“I don’t need you here, there’s nothing you can do. Leave.” He wasn’t shouting but his voice was stern.

“Goddamn it Frank, can you please stop being so stubborn and let me help you?" You outstretched your arms to him, hoping that if you touched him, he would melt and let you in. But not tonight. Frank wasn’t having it. The last thing he wanted was to feel your warmth, both physically and emotionally. You being sweet on him would only make him feel worst for almost killing you.

He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve love. How dare he try and not feel guilty.

He flinched backward like you were going to burn him. You stood still processing and feeling your heart begin to ache.

“Go home. You shouldn’t be here anyway, I don’t need your help.” He almost snarled at you.

“Fine, hope you don’t fucking die.” You turned on your heels and stormed back to your apartment. How dare he? All you wanted was to help and he treated you like that? Of course, he didn’t need or want it. How foolish of you to believe that he needed you. Your eyes burn from tears, and you feel idiotic . You felt stupid for being there and stupid for letting him hurt your feelings so easily. Slamming the door to your apartment you quickly made your way to the bed and laid down. You wanted to sleep to forget tonight. You prayed that when you woke up in the morning, this night would have just been an awful dream.

There was a loud noise. Loud enough to wake you up. You groaned and sat up in bed, looking towards the door, you couldn’t see anything. Getting out of bed, you slowly made your way toward the hall. There was nobody in the hallway, but the noise seemed to come from the living room. As you approached, you noticed a man standing in the living room holding a huge knife in his hand. You needed to get back to your room to call Frank. As you walked back to the room, you tried not to make any noise. As you approached your room, you grabbed the door, and as you moved it to close it, the door made a loud squeaking sound. You knew he had heard, so you knew it was only a matter of minutes before he got to you. Closing the door and locking it, you could hear him running towards your room. You quickly grabbed your phone, which had a charge of 2 percent.

Fuck

As your hands trembled, you quickly thought about what to do. The only thing you could do was to hide. Running into your bathroom closet, you attempted to call Frank, but your phone had already died. You hear the man outside, banging on the door. He would get in soon

You grabbed the metal bar you kept in the closet, you were relieved that your paranoia was paid off. The bedroom door cracked open, you gripped the bar so tight your hands were hurting.

“I know you’re in here, it’ll be easier for you if you just come out.” He moved his way to the bathroom, looking to see if you were hiding. As he made his way, you stood and quietly emerged from the closet. As he turned back, you slammed the rod against him. It collided with his ribs. He stumbled back, and you moved to hit him again, but his hand caught the bar and yanked it toward him. You wanted to fight to keep the rod, but you knew that there was no reason. He was strong, and if you kept your hands on it, you would have been too close.

You took off running to the living room. If you could just get out of the front door, you would be fine. You could run to Frank, and he would keep you safe. He would hold you in his arms and congratulate you on your bravery and kiss your forehead, as he had done before. He would be firm against your body, and that’s all you could think about. You had almost reached the door when he grabbed your arm and his other hand wrapped itself in your hair. He shoved you on the ground.

“I just want to ask you some questions about Frank and depending on how nice you are determines how well I’ll be treating you.” Crawling to the kitchen you were hoping you could get a knife, he flipped you over on your back and stood above you. “Don’t try anything or it’s gonna get worse.”

As he interrogated you, you denied knowing anything. He became angrier, and he took it out on you. He started hitting you and threatening to kill you. You felt the blood drip down your face. The warmth of the sun started to leak into the apartment, in stark contrast to the coldness of the behavior you were receiving. You were dizzy and your eyes felt like cinderblocks. He had taken a break to use the bathroom and thinking that you were too weak, he left you untied. The knife he had wielded was left on the counter, waiting for you to grab it. As he approached you, you struck. The knife slashed across his chest and into his shoulder.

You slashed again, using your fleeting strength. You made contact over and over again, but you faltered stumbling back at a loss for breath. He knocked the knife out of your hands and slammed your head to the counter.

Frank let the coffee cleanse him of his sleepless night, but it couldn’t save him from the fight replaying in his head. The look on your face when he snapped replayed. His eyes squeezed together, and he shook his head in the hope that it would disappear. He knew he had to apologize; he needed to fix what he had broken. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his phone to call you. He had to try to make things right. He pressed the call button, but it didn't ring. It was sent directly to the voicemail. He gave it another shot and got the same outcome. He almost lost his breath. He knew you would need your space but didn't realize how much that would break him.

Your body must have woken you up. You were sweating and freezing; the sunlight made the pounding in your head worse, and you listened carefully, not wanting to show you were awake. Not hearing anything, you looked around. You were alone. You began elbow-crawling to the bedroom, praying your phone was there. Getting your arm up on the bed took all of your remaining strength. You can see the phone towards the top of the bed, just out of your arm’s reach. Trying your hardest to reach, you couldn’t make it before your eyes begin shutting and your body collapsed onto the bed.

Not waiting any longer, Frank left his apartment and headed to yours. He needed to see you, even if it meant you were mad, even if you slammed the door in his face. He just wanted to see that you were still there. Making his way up to your door, he noticed that it had been cracked open. His blood ran cold.

He called you, but there was no response. He pushed slowly inside and noted the blood in the living room and kitchen. His mind raced. Making no noise as he entered the room. His eyes landed on your sweating, bloodied form. Rushing to get to you, he gently inspected you to make sure that you were still breathing.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” You were breathing, but unresponsive. He needed a rag and bandages. He helped you quickly, cleaning the sweat and blood off you. Although you grumbled, you didn’t fight against the help. To you, this whole situation was just a fever dream. You knew Frank wasn’t here, but at least your brain was kind enough to conjure an image of him. You had accepted the fact that you were fighting a fever and probably bleeding all over your bed.

Night had passed and so had your fever. Frank kept a watchful eye on you. He cleaned up your apartment and fixed your door. At noon, you opened your eyes. Blinking a few times, you registered you weren’t alone. The smell of soup from the kitchen and the sound of low music playing let you know it wasn’t anyone with malicious intentions but instead, it was Frank.

“Frank?” You tried to call out to Frank, but your voice was too hoarse to do anything, but squeak. There was tightness all through your body. Your body was unhappy to move. Frank appeared at the bedroom door, holding a glass of water. His black shirt stretched tightly against his arms, and his hair was slightly disheveled. Damn, did he still look so handsome.

“Don’t move,” He brought the cup gently to your lips and allowed you to drink as much as you needed, his eyes soft.

“What happened?” Sitting on the bed he rested a hand on your leg. You looked away from him, having trouble finding the words to say. Frank waited, he would have waited years if needed it.

While you found your words, Frank already knew what he needed to say. When he found you lying in your bed, passed out, and covered in blood, he knew he needed to tell you how he felt once you were better. He couldn’t go without you knowing he loved you anymore.

Once you turned back to him, he held your hand. You told him everything, how the guy wanted information on Frank, how you almost whooped his ass, and how all you could think of was Frank toward the end.

“I am so fucking sorry you got in the middle of my shit, sweetheart. This should have never happened to you, you didn’t deserve this. I was so–so scared that you were gone when I got here. I have never been that scared. And I’m sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have snapped, and I didn’t mean anything I said. I need you in my life. I want you here.” He shook his head and licked his lips, you could tell that his words were heavy with emotions. You can see it in his eyes that he wants you to feel these emotions.

His truth made you cry harder. You pushed yourself forward and hugged Frank. His arms wrapped around you tight enough to make you feel safe and secure, but not enough to cause pain. Slowly pulling back, you looked back into his eyes. He was so close, you could see the small scar on the side of his head and the little stubble growing.

Frank looked down at your lips and then back into your eyes. He brought his hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek, and gently guiding your face toward him. Your eyes closed, and you waited for his lips to meet yours. Kissing him now was far better than you imagined. You hoped Frank felt butterflies like you were. You hoped his heart was racing. If only you knew just how much of an effect you were having on him. He never wanted to stop kissing you.

Finally, pulling apart, you rested your forehead on his chest and basked in his scent. Frank’s smile was so big, his eyes were bright from the love he was allowing himself to feel. It had been so long since he felt something like this. That horrible night was far from you. Frank chased it away. Now that you had Frank, you were never letting him go, and you knew that Frank would never let you go. You couldn't help the smile on your face, as you reveled in the feeling of Frank being all around you.

[pigeonwhumps]

Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @cepheusgalaxy @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @bbu-on-the-side

Anita receives an email from WRU about Lea's training, sending her spiralling.

2k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, anger issues, self-harm, implied past suicidal thoughts, rape, sexual slavery, self-hatred, past transphobia

Theo is next door when Anita receives the email.

She's glad. He wouldn't be able to hear her, but he's very sensitive to her emotions and behaviour as a survival mechanism, and she wouldn't want him witnessing her primal, anguished scream. Mittens streaks out of the room, ears flattened to their head, as she throws something at the wall. She's not sure what. It doesn't matter. How dare they? Those utter–

"Anita? What have you done to your room?"

Her paati is behind the curtain giving her a little privacy with the open door, and Anita sniffs. Paati's words are serious but her tone is more worried than anything. It's been a long time since Anita's done anything like this.

"You can come in," Anita croaks, and her patti pushes the beaded curtain aside slowly, cataloguing the room. "I–"

She gestures to the computer. Paati approaches, takes the recently-vacated seat, and frowns at the email on-screen. Anita takes a deep breath and translates it into Tamil.

Paati sucks in a breath and reads it through for herself. She flattens her sari over her lap, a nervous movement. She always used to do that before Anita's parents evenings.

She did that in the hospital. It's one of Anita's strongest memories from the place.

"What are you going to do?"

"What they want. I have to, right? It's too dangerous to do otherwise."

Paati looks at her, and as always happens, she finds her thoughts bursting out of her in a torrent of pain and helplessness.

"They're trying to make her for me and I don't want that. I just want her to be safe and loved and with Theo, I don't– I'm not going to have sex with her. But I need to send these, don't I, they'll be suspicious otherwise, and I hate it, I've never even said those things to someone I love, let alone– let alone to help condition a sex slave."

The last part comes out in a choked whisper. She's buying a sex slave. Participating in this horrific system. No matter the reason for it, it's still abhorrent, and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for not being able to find another way to reunite the pair.

"I know what you're thinking. Stop it. It's not your fault, chotu. You're getting Lea out of there, safely and subtly. There's no need to feel so guilty."

Anita knows. She knows. Everyone's told her that, Marjorie and Alix and everyone. But she can't believe it, because she's still buying a sex slave.

It took her years to stop being a coward and help people again. And now she's buying a fricking sex slave.

Her paati hits her gently on the arm. "Stop it. I'm making you tea, and you're going to drink it all, and that will help. Wallowing won't. Get up and do something."

So she does. She finds Mittens and their favourite toy, and plays with them in apology for earlier. Trying to block out what she has to do.

Lea will be here soon. So at least there's that. Even if... even if Anita has to do this to get her. It's nothing compared to what Lea is going through.

Absolutely nothing.

Paati comes into the living room and sets a steaming mug smelling of her favourite blend of tea leaves and cinnamon down beside her. "Drink it all before you do this."

"Thanks," Anita croaks, taking a sip. Then a gulp, scalding her throat but worth it. She nurses it a little, liquid turning into little whirlpools with her tears.

She doesn't want to move but she supposes she had better get it over with, so she swallows the rest of her tea in two more gulps.

It's a shame to waste it. Maybe, if she asks nicely, paati will make her some more later.

She walks to her bedroom and sits on the bed, scrolling through the list of suggestions WRU sent on her phone. She just can't think of any herself. She chooses the three she thinks she'll most be able to stomach.

She closes her eyes briefly. She doesn't want Lea made for her. She doesn't want Lea made for this. But she has to go along with it, or she'll risk everything.

Okay. She can do this. It's just three sentences, it's easy.

Anita's stomach churns as she presses 'record' on her phone.

"Oh that's good."

She plays it back to herself. She sounds choked, like she's being forced into recording at gunpoint.

She tries again.

The second try is better. She still has to resist throwing her phone at the wall. It's not fair.

Next phrase. As her therapist used to encourage her to do when she got hopelessly angry as a teenager, moving on.

She swipes at her eyes angrily, glad there isn't video.

"Go on. Just like that."

This one sounds slightly wavering, but Anita decides that that's okay. If she was about to cum maybe she would sound like that.

And the third... the third, she just gives up on holding back her sobs and tries to turn them into sobs of ecstasy instead. She thinks she does a pretty good job. WRU suggests several sounds, and Anita isn't trying moans. She couldn't manage that, and she never intends to, with Lea.

And then she just about makes it to the toilet before spewing her guts up.

She thinks she's probably chucked up everything she's eaten or drunk today. Her mouth tastes disgusting, but it can't be as bad as Lea's is if she's being trained.

It reminds her of that taste though. She throws up again.

She needs to clear her head. She needs to clear her head, she can't afford to remember that right now. She can't afford all these emotions, can't afford to sit here and tremble and throw up, she needs to get up and submit those files.

But she can't move.

She scratches at her arms fiercely, desperately, itching to get the emotions out, gone, to push herself to move and get it all done. She finally breaks the skin with a spike of pain and a rush of relief.

And she crumples to the floor.

She takes a shaking breath, and then another, watching the blood as it drips to the floor in slow, red, hypnotic droplets, joining the salt water there. She feels better, even through the trembling and tears.

Two pale, scarred, wiry arms take Anita's upper arms tentatively and she looks up. Theo.

"May I help you, Mistress?"

Anita nods. As he helps her sit up, she thinks how much he's grown. The first time he was in here he didn't dare speak, let alone ask questions and touch her without permission.

Theo fetches bandages and tape out of the cupboard and kneels down in front of her. She holds out her arm, which he diligently cleans and wraps a bandage around.

"Miss Indira told me what you are doing, Mistress. Lea has been training as a Romantic for months. If you did not send the recordings she might think she is unwanted as a Romantic. Or her handler will tell her that. It's the worst feeling for a pet, Mistress, to be unwanted for your only purpose."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining."

She wonders if his explanation makes it any better. She decides that it doesn't.

Lea isn't just being raped. She's being taught that she's nothing without it.

Anita just watches as he smoothes the bandage carefully over her wrist and ties it off. She wonders where he learnt how to do all this.

When he looks back up at her, she says carefully, "I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel unwanted. You're not. You never will be."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Thank you for this. I can finish with the rest if you'd rather go and relax. It's my mess."

Theo shakes his head and gives Anita a tentative hug. When she returns it, resting her head on his, his gets tighter.

They're both shaking, she realises. Theo needs this just as much as her.

She rubs his back soothingly. It's good for Theo, and anything to distract her.

Eventually, she draws away. She needs to get on with the day. Get the submission over with. She can't just sit here.

"I can clear up."

Theo shakes his head, again, and stows the bandages while Anita wipes the floor. She flushes the toilet several times and dumps cleaner down it, unable to clean properly but unwilling to let Theo do it.

"Okay, sweetheart. Let's– let's go."

Anita makes a valiant effort to carry her own weight but she's not sure how well she succeeds. In the living room they bump into paati. Almost literally.

"How are you doing?"

"I've finished the recordings, just need to– upload them."

"That's not what I meant, chotu. You know that."

She nods. She does know that, she does, but she doesn't want to worry her paati more than she clearly already is.

"Better than Lea."

Paati holds out her arms encouragingly and Anita falls into them. As has been the case since she was little, it's one of the only places she feels completely safe, and she buries herself in her paati and cries her heart out.

"You're safe. No-one's going to hurt you here."

Of course, her paati knows exactly where her mind has gone. It wouldn't be anywhere else.

"I know. I know I know I know."

And she's lucky. At least when she was told, more or less, that she would only be only a proper girl if she could take someone's penis well (and she certainly knew she wasn't a boy so what was she?), she had people to convince her she was worth something. In Lea those sorts of thoughts are encouraged. It's sick and twisted. How can it be legal to systematically, repeatedly rape one group of people and for another you can receive a life sentence for it?

The sleeves of her jumper have pushed themselves back at some point, and paati touches her wrist.

"Do we need to contact your therapist again?"

Anita shakes her head. She can't anyway, she doesn't know what they'd do if they suspected she supported pet lib.

"I won't let it get as far as before," she croaks. She has people to look after now, and this is just a blip anyway, caused by a combination of Lea's treatment and some of the phrases WRU sent.

"Good. Tell me if you start to think that way again, because I can't lose you." Anita nods. "Why don't you finish the submissions, then you can have tea and a nap, and after that we can decide about this evening?"

"Can't sleep."

"Try." She turns to Theo, signing something and then repeating it out loud for Anita's benefit. "Do you still want to go tonight?"

"Yes please, Miss Indira, if that is acceptable to you and Mistress."

Paati nods. Anita could cry at his progress. He's expressing himself.

She makes her unsteady way to her room and collapses in front of the computer, trying to upload the files without thinking too hard about what they are. It's a complicated process made all the more so by the tears blurring her vision, but she manages it after a few tries. As she finally presses 'submit', she feels a surge of self-hatred so strong she has to cling to the table to keep herself upright. Lea's being made for this, made for her, made to be a sex slave, and Anita's just condemned her to the worst of it, whatever Theo says.

She's as bad as her own rapist now.

By the time paati comes in with three steaming mugs, she's curled up in bed, blankets over her head, Mittens sprawled on her, Theo pressed against her side. Leaving the world to sort itself out.

[bamber344]

Whumpee intro: Jordyn's Training - 1

prev/next

masterlist

heyo ik I said the updates for this would take a while but I wanted to get this out quickly so there was some actual whump to sink your teeth into for the story. the 'Jordyn's Training' arc was meant to just be one thing but this first section absolutely ballooned way bigger than I thought it would (just over 2k words) so it will most likely be a 4-parter

Anyway this series actually has a name now! it is Project Genesis, courtesy of my brain in the shower this morning; the birthplace of many great ideas.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the tag list btw! chapter begins below the cut :3

CWs: broken bones, whipping, emotional manipulation, vomiting, blood, meal restrictions, mentions of recovery, female whumpee, male whumper, superpowered whumpee

(let me know if I need to CW anything else I forgot about!)

Jordyn's Training, part 1: The First Mistake

3 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

The obstacle course stretched out before me, vast and daunting. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before, but the fast-spinning metal poles and swinging wrecking balls never failed to make me anxious before I threw myself in for another go. I’d been hit by them more than enough to know how much they hurt. Still, this sort of training was necessary for my rehabilitation, so I steeled myself and prepared to do another run-through, aiming to beat my personal best under Father’s watchful eye.

It had been three months since I woke up in that room, cold and confused, lashing out at anything that moved. If not for Father, I would probably still be in that helpless, animalistic state. He took me in when no one else would, taught me how to speak, and read and write; how to be a functional human being again. I was in an accident, apparently, injured badly enough that when I woke my mind was completely blank, bare of even the most basic muscle memory. Father’s treatment may have fixed my body, but my mind still needed hands-on work; work that he tirelessly took upon himself. He spent countless late nights with me, speaking to me, reading to me, letting me get a feel for English again. He allowed me to lean on him while I was relearning how to walk. He spoon-fed me when I lacked the coordination to feed myself. There was still a lot that I didn’t know, and I got confused often, especially when he used bigger words, but he said that was okay. I didn’t need to know everything. So long as I did good, and he gave me that warm, tingly smile, nothing else really mattered.

Apparently, I used to be something called a ‘superhero’ before my accident. I would use this strange power I had to take down criminals and bring them to justice. If I ever wanted to be able to do that again, I needed to train. My body may have been passably functional, but it needed to be exceptional, or so Father said. He always smiled when he talked about me being a superhero again, so I knew that was where I needed to focus my efforts.

“Jordyn? What are you waiting for?” Father asked, his voice gravelly and stern.

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Sorry, Father. I was just preparing myself.”

He shook his head and something inside of me shrivelled up. “Not good enough, Jordyn. Do you think the criminals will wait for you to be ready? You need to do what I ask when I ask, not when you think you are ready.”

I clenched my fists, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “S-sorry, Father.”

“It’s alright, Jordyn. Now, go.”

I wasted no more time, charging forward as Father started the timer. I needed to do good on this to make up for my blunder before. Father had spent so much of his time and energy on me; I couldn’t let it all be for nothing.

The beat of my feet against the floor fell into a rhythm as I jumped, dodged, and dashed my way through the course. I’d been running it for over a month now, and it was quickly becoming second-nature. I knew exactly when to duck my head to avoid the spinning beams, how to deftly move between the wooden knives shot from the walls, and just which way I should step to avoid the pitfalls in the floor. The burn in my lungs and legs was distracting, but I didn’t let it slow me down. Just like Father always said: ‘Pain isn’t real.’

Something looked a little different about the second set of spinning poles, but I ignored it. The course was always the same every time I ran it; I was probably just thrown off because of Father’s reprimand. They always stung in a way I didn’t know how to deal with. 

I leapt into the fray of rapidly spinning wooden beams, ducking the ones at head-height and hopping over the ones aiming for my legs. It took a little bit more focus to ensure I wasn’t hit this time; it seemed as though the poles were spinning faster than usual. Still, with all of my practice, I was making good time. My personal best wouldn’t know what hit it.

Crack!

Something slammed into my shin and my leg buckled from under me. That was fine, this wasn’t the first time I’d been knocked down. I made sure to roll out of the way of any on-coming beams so I had a safe spot to catch my breath in before continuing.

Then the pain hit, so hard and so strong that I immediately gagged from the shock, agony shooting up my leg like bolts of electricity. It was hard to breathe. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as overwhelmed sobs tore from my throat. I looked down at my leg to see what was hurting me so bad and almost threw up. My shin had already turned an ugly purple, and the rest of the limb below that point was twisted unnaturally. My heart lurched.

“F-FATHER! HELP!” I shrieked. The pain was too much; my entire body was locking up, too afraid to move in case I made it worse.

“What are you doing, Jordyn? Get up. Keep going.”

Disobeying his orders hurt almost more than my snapped leg, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. “I- I can’t! It hurts! Father, please!”

“That’s not good enough! Use your shadows, steel yourself! The course is not over until you complete it! Get up, girl! Your pain is not real!”

The thought of going on made me want to curl into a ball, but I did as I was told. Father’s orders came before all else, especially my own comfort. I owed him my life; a little pain meant nothing in the face of that. I reached out to the shadows around me, wrapping them around my injured leg like a splint. My skin turned black, sucking in all of the light around it, but the pain did lessen somewhat. A whimper escaped my lips as I forced myself up. Shards of agony stabbed my flesh every time I put weight on my leg, but it was manageable. I could move, albeit slowly. So much for beating my personal best.

It took an embarrassingly long time, but eventually I was able to limp my way to the end of the course, receiving more than a few extra bruises from the traps I was unable to dodge due to my injury. I collapsed at Father’s feet, dropping to my knees with my head hanging low as sweat dripped from my brow.

“That was disgraceful, Jordyn. Even your first attempt was better than that.”

I bit back a sob. “I’m s-sorry, Father. M-my leg, it-”

He grabbed a fistful of my short hair and tugged my head up, slapping me across the face. “I don’t care for your excuses. If you allow something as trivial as a broken leg to slow you down, the criminals out there will tear you to shreds. You should have learned by now how to use your power to protect yourself against this sort of thing without my instruction. I’ve already spent so much time healing you; I will be very disappointed if it turns out to all be a waste. Are you a waste of my time, Jordyn?”

“N-no Father! I’m not a waste!”

He let go of my hair, allowing me to sag back down to the floor. “Hm. I expect not. Remove your shirt.”

I blinked up at him. “F-Father?”

He struck me again, hard enough to whip my head to the side. “If you cannot even follow a simple order without talking back, how can I expect you to perform well in the field?”

I didn’t make the same mistake twice, pulling off the black, skin-tight garment as quickly as I could.

He nodded his head to the side, indicating a metal pole in the corner of the room, with two handles sticking out of it on either side. I’d yet to learn what purpose it served, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

“Grab the handles of that pole and remain on your knees.”

I shuffled over with my head down, each drag of my injured leg across the floor causing tears to spring up in my eyes. The metal of the handles was cold under my palms, numbing my fingers. The rough floor dug into my knees uncomfortably. Father was moving around behind me, and every time it sounded like he was approaching, I inadvertently flinched and shied away. Anxious curiosity burned in the pit of my belly. What was this all about? I risked a question.

“Father, wh-what’s happening?”

“You need to learn how to ignore pain, Jordyn. The only way for you to do that is to experience it. It isn’t real; just chemical reactions in your brain. You must internalise that.”

“I- I don’t know what that means, Father.”

He ignored me. “While this is because you failed today, it doesn’t have to be a punishment, Jordyn. Consider it a lesson; a lesson on conquering pain. If you use your shadows to protect yourself from this, or let go of the handles at any point, I’ll have your other leg broken and forbid the medics from repairing it. Remember: pain isn’t real.”

“Father, I-”

SNAP

All of the air rushed out of me and a line of fire lit up across my back. It was so sudden that I couldn’t stop myself from crying out. Surely that wasn’t what he meant to-

SNAP

My stomach rolled uncomfortably as the strike shook my entire body. I couldn’t help but scream as the pain echoed through me.  

“FATHER! FATHER, P-PLEASE STOP!” 

“Be silent, girl! Who told you you could speak?!”

SNAP

His command overrode even my most basic need to express the utter agony I was in, and the following scream got caught in my throat. Shadows flickered and writhed underneath me, licking up my legs out of protective instinct before I forced them back down again, Father’s warning ringing in my mind.

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

It felt like it would never end. My vision darkened at the edges. My abs clenched and a surge of bile spilled from my mouth. Warm blood dripped down the burning, torn skin of my back, my anguish heightening with each consecutive blow.

Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real Pain isn’t real

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

SNAP

Seconds passed, and no new wave of pain came. I gasped, sucking in as much air as I could to refill my lungs before it was all inevitably expelled again by another strike. My ears were ringing so loud I could barely hear anything and my entire body felt numb aside from the battlefield that was my back, which was still sending lancing aftershocks deep into my muscles even as time continued to press forward with no hint of the next lash.

“You may release the handles, Jordyn.”

I let go and my whole body went limp as I dropped to the floor into a puddle of my own blood and vomit. The movement sent arcing memories of fire through my torn-up skin, and a sob slipped from between my clenched teeth.

“Clean yourself up and report to the medbay when you are ready. After that, head straight to your room. Do not expect dinner.”

All I wanted was a warm meal and for the pain to stop. “Wh-whyyy?” I moaned.

“I will not reward mediocrity, Jordyn. You did poorly today, and as such, you will not be receiving dinner privileges until you beat your personal best again. Be better.”

His footsteps echoed as he walked out of the training room, leaving me alone to cry. This was my own fault. If only I’d been good like he wanted, he wouldn’t have had to hurt me like that. I never wanted to disappoint him like that again.

“I’m s-sorry, Father… I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star

feel free to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed :) I like hearing from you!

[whataboutthefish]

Hi hi! I hope you’re well. I am craving to read omega Steve whose parents don’t allow him to nest. Or Steve’ parents flipping out when they come home unannounced and find his nest. I know you have written a couple of drabbles about nesting, which were all fantastic 😍 but I was wondering if you had any other thoughts or knew of any fics like this? Either way, I hope you have a great day!

Hi nonny!

Thank you for the prompt, I've had a great time whumping the heck out of omega Steve. I hope you enjoy!!

As for other fics, I have to admit I'm a terrible fan and I don't really read a lot of fics at all. I'm stuck in writing mode. But if anyone reading this has recs for Stranger Things nesting fics please comment below!

Now onto the angst

Omega Steve, pre-steddie, alpha Eddie, religious trauma, abuse, neglect, Steve's terrible parents

Words - 2k

Steve knew two things to be true, one- that he was a shame upon his family and two - being a male omega was the mark of the devil. 

He’d been told this since birth, every memory laced with these facts and Steve had watched it proven to be true time and again. Steve was a great shame upon his family and his mother, to have birthed him, there was no sin greater. Steve was taught to atone before he even knew how to tie his shoes. Steve spent a lifetime on his knees praying to a god who saw only evil when he looked upon him. 

He was given no comforts in life, he believed if he gave way to sin then he could bring about the end of times. Steve wanted to try chocolate but he wasn’t evil, he couldn’t do that to the world. 

When Steve’s first heat hit he was so scared, he was home schooled and knew nothing of an omega’s cycle. He ran straight to his mother begging for help as slick ran down his legs and he craved something he couldn’t name. It hurt so bad, and he didn’t understand. His mother tied him to his bed, grasped the family bible to her chest and prayed by his side for two days. 

Steve wasn't allowed a nest, that was a comfort afforded to clean omegas. His mother had been a clean omega- chosen by god- before Steve came and soiled her. Steve was just a stain upon his family. 

His mother still had a nest, it was only right and fitting since Steve’s father as head of the home, deserved the comfort. He would look in at his mothers nest when he could, stolen glances, wishing to reach out to take a piece and take comfort in the scent of family. 

Steve never got to touch though, the door was locked when his parents were not home, and he was alone a lot in that large empty house. The older he got the more he had to repent, the more his body changed, softening and blooming, it was only more proof he hadn’t prayed hard enough, that he was breaking rules. 

Steve thought he knew all the rules, was good at following them to the letter but he must not know them all, it didn’t matter how hard he tried he kept losing. 

His parents started leaving him alone for longer periods, Steve’s father always working and his mother, done with her dirty secret at home went to live a life not weighted down by the blight that was her son. He was sent him to public school then.

High school was so much more than he could have imagined, he was shy at first everything so new and strange, people acting like this was real life, like they didn’t have a the weight of sin laying on their shoulders. 

Then Steve actually started to make friends, first was Robin, a sweet beta that had a sharp whit and even sharper tongue. Then there was Tommy and his girlfriend an alpha pair that Steve couldn’t even begin to understand, who were both a bit brash but Steve loved how easily they swore, it made him blush bright every single time. Nancy was Steve’s first omega friend, he had his first sleep over at her house, his heart hammering in his chest when her beta boyfriend Jonathan climbed through the window with a movie and snacks.

And then there was Eddie, an alpha who somehow subverted every societal norm and still command the room. Steve blushed bright red every time the alpha looked his way, Robin swore Steve had a crush, but Steve wasn’t sure. There was no way an alpha would want someone like him, no matter how often Eddie seemed to hang around when Steve was there. Even as he made friends and learned more about the world, he was still the stain upon his family. 

Steve learned to forge his mothers signature to join sports teams, he knew it was wrong but he wasn’t hurting anyone, surely it wasn’t the worst sin. Steve felt out of his depth for every minute of it, continually waiting for the other shoe to drop and yet it didn’t. He found he was good at sports, his friends were so encouraging, his couch put him in the game early and the fact he was an omega never seemed to work against him. 

Of course when his heat his mother returned, calling in to school for him then strapping him down to his bed and leaving him to ride out the pain alone. Steve was always so aware of her presence so close but nowhere in reach. When his heat was over his mother left, barely a word spoken, no indication of when she’d be back. 

Somehow this time it hurt so much more, now Steve knew what connection felt like, he’d seen his friends with their families, saw the touches and the way they scented one another, he saw comfort asked for a given freely. The stark comparison to his own life hurt like a knife to the heart. 

As his friendships bloomed it also came with gifted nest items. A common practice among friends was to share scented items for one anothers nests. Steve took these items, treasured them and began to slowly assemble a nest. Hidden in the base of his closet he surrounded himself in the scents of his friends. His most treasured item, a shirt from Eddie, his scent felt like coming home, if Steve was honest he was obsessed with Eddie’s scent.

He went to the mall and bought a couple of blankets and a body pillow that was so soft Steve never wanted to let go, letting himself give in to the need within him, a need he hadn’t realised he’d had. What he thought was just a constant state of unease from holding the sin of the devil turned out to be his inner omega in pain. He bought a bunch of cheap shirts that he pushed into his nest for a couple of weeks before he was able gift them to his friends. The joy he saw when they received the gifts made Steve question everything his mother had ever said. 

And the way Eddie’s nostrils flared and eyes darkened did things to Steve and had him running to the bathroom when he felt wetness pool between his legs. Robin had followed him, talked him down from a panic attack as he curled into a ball on the filthy floor in a bathroom stall

Steve started to question everything his mother had claimed, because surely people wouldn’t want the scent of evil in their nests, and yet they eagerly took his offered items. 

Questioning his mother’s words like this was ultimately a mistake because Steve started to relax, he became careless at home. Leaving the door to his nest open, letting items spill out as he stretched out in his nest. He started to scent mark the house, it was all unconscious actions but finally his omega was allowed some comfort and naturally that comfort spilled into every aspect of his life. 

The day Steve had finally let Robin scent him, he’d melted into the touch as the beta rubbed her cheek against Steve’s, it was nothing more than a comfort and friendship, nothing sexual about it. Steve felt bouant as he drove home, he’d never imagined how amazing holding someone elses scent on his skin could feel and he couldn’t wait to get home and roll around in his nest, sharing that scent so it would last longer. 

The way his whole world came crashing to a halt when he drove up to his house. His father’s car sat in the driveway, the lights in the house shining through the windows and when he glanced to his bedroom window his stomach dropped. The light was on, and he could see the silhouette of a person standing in the room. 

Steve opened the door, shrinking in on himself when he heard the lines of scripture falling angrily from his mothers mouth. He thought he might be sick when he heard the sound of shredding fabric, blindly running up to his room, falling to his knees when he saw what was happening inside. 

His mother was destroying his nest, her sewing shears rending it to shreads as she tore into the fabric. Her words tumbled into tongues compelled by the spirit spitting and baring her teeth as Steve shook and cried bent over in supplication, neck bared and utterly helpless. 

That night his mother spilled rice across the hardwood floor in the cold kitchen, pushed Steve to his knees and watched while he prayed the entire night. His legs had gone to sleep hours ago, the pain that struck like needles into his knees and shins by the end the pain came in waves as he swayed on his knees fighting sleep, repeating the prayers until the sun came up. 

Steve was sent to school with no sleep, it was Eddie that saw him attempt to hobble his way into the school, it was Eddie that ushered him into the back of his van with little effort. Steve was barely a shell of himself, his scent dulled and mind clouded in a fog of fatigue and pain. Steve didn’t speak, only pulled the leg of his pants up and allowed Eddie to help pick the rice from his skin. They didn’t go to school that day, instead Eddie drove out to lovers lake and let Steve curl up into his side and sleep. 

Steve wakes with a fright shooting upright and unsure where he is until Eddie’s deep purr comes from behind him and Steve turns to see Eddie relaxed back against a pile of blankets in the back of his van. He knows he has to go home, his thoughts are still sluggish his head still full of fog but his body has stopped aching and some part inside of him feels so much more at ease than ever before. He’s never slept so easily, even if he was sleep deprived the level of comfort he feels right now is so overwhelming he doesn’t really know how to process it. 

Eddie drives him back to school and Steve’s car, Steve doesn’t think twice when Eddie leans in to scent him, Steve melts into the touch and whines when Eddie pulls away. Eddie promises to be here tomorrow, that Steve can get through this. Steve doesn’t let himself linger on the reality, that Eddie is in no position to promise those things, instead he holds the promises against his heart and dares to hope. 

When he gets home though all of that disappears. His mother and father were sat at the dinning table with a priest. The shreds of Steve’s nest lay on the table along with forged notes and what looks like the contents of his gym bag. When he gets close enough he see’s the three of them scent the air. 

Steve arrives scenting so thoroughly of an alpha that even his father begins to shout, his mother prays rocking back and forth and the priest, he has a look of danger in his eyes, a look that has Steve’s hindbrain in a panic, a look that promises pain. 

Eddie waits for Steve the next day and next and the day after that, he waits every day for a week, before he dares to drive past Steve’s house. A for sale sign hangs in the yard and the place is dark. Steve’s friends do their best to search for him, but they are young and their resources are limited. It doesn’t stop Eddie from waiting just an extra few minutes every morning, search the car park for any sign of Steve. 

It doesn’t stop Eddie from travelling the country, moving from job to job searching, always searching for the chance that he might see that brown haired omega that could have been his.

[sneezeplease]

Angel Undone

Hello fellow queers or Haz/bin enjoyers, and welcome to the results of my poll!! I had a ton of people choose option 2, and while I'm such a sucker for Huskerdust this fic kind of got away from me and this is mostly Angel whump.

Tw: Cannon-compliant Valentino Abuse, slight mess, references to ep. 4

Enjoy 2k words of Angel with a bad cold, although he does get some help in the end//

“Amorcito! Dressing room, now!" Despite how lightheaded he felt, Angel struggled to get up out of the bed, grateful that he was just doing a simple gangbang. His hands were shaking far too much to be able to untie anything, and he doubted the other “actors” were anything but disgusted with him right now. The spider tried his best to seem unafflicted, but it was rather hard when even standing up caused the room to spin. He ran a hand through his hair, and must have looked pitiful enough that some new actor helped him to stand. 

“Are you okay?” the guys voice was deep, and although he had long since made an effort to forget the name and face of the dozens of people he worked with daily, he remembered starkly where the guy was from, his breath catching in his throat and causing him to cough weakly. 

Charlie getting yelled at, looking so apologetic and teary-eyed. Valentino turned back to Angel, Angel knowing he had caused her so much pain for no reason, that he had led another one of his friends to be hurt by the cruel man who used to be so kind to him. That was when Angel really knew he couldn’t stay like this anymore, that he needed to fight back in the smallest ways so Val could lose interest. 

“Not really, can you- help me to the wall?” His voice was quieter than it ever was while he was performing, but he really didn’t want to get the man sick after he had been at least decent to Angel. He knew that the only person in the industry who really liked him was Valentino, and he was fucking fine with that. He had to be, there was no way he could change that when Val was so fucking controlling. 

[in the back of his fever-addled mind, Anthony was able to recognize that he had never wanted this life. The sinner was manipulated into it, and his feeling of helplessness is what caused his deeply rooted desire to forget everything, to numb the pain of his bleeding heart for even just a moment]

"Here… you look way… out of it. Did ya start using again?” Despite his aching throat, Angel scoffed loudly. 

“Of course I didn’t! It’s just- some cold I picked off from the prin— from where I live, alright? it’s nothing else!” He didn’t bother to say that he had sworn to his best friend that he could stay away from drugs and didn't feel the need to explain something like that in such an open environment. Instead, Angel tried to stumble forward to the door. He was so- so close, when that terrible tickle got even worse in his head. His stuffiness switched to a twitching, lingering itch, and despite rubbing it slowly, it did nothing to help. 

The spider felt his breath catch, almost like a moan, as he began to sneeze? No, he wasn’t sneezing yet, but it felt like he had to sneeze so much that it was making him gasp and whine, teasing him much worse than an orgasm ever had. “Uhhhhh’kSHIEEwww!! Uhhhh’PTChhh!! Ehhhhh’Tshihhh!” he managed to bring an arm up to sneeze into, only moving it down to grab the doorknob. “It doesn’t sound like any cold, but if that's what you want it to be it can-” the man shrugged before walking away from Angel, leaving the spider sinner to take a deep breath in. he knew what was waiting in the dressing room, but he also knew that he had to face Valentino. Hopefully, it would be quickly over with, but Angel Dust wasn’t going to count on it. 

He opened the door nearly silently, then winced as he saw Valentino sitting down on his chaise lounge, smoking like he always did. “Angel Dust, someone isn’t looking too good. Tell me, did you finally come to your senses? Or is this just the consequence of being around such filth at that damned hotel?” Before Angel could even speak, Valentino’s face twisted into something sinister and angry, the rage he usually concealed displayed as he stood up and walked closer to the other. 

“Perhaps… you’ve gotten terribly close to Lucifer’s bimbo daughter, haven’t you? Or the old-timey overlord that Vox can’t stand? You probably got sick from whoring yourself out again, without my permission!” Angel winced at the accusations, his arms crossing over his body to defend himself. Despite how much progress he ever thought he had made, it always faded away in this forsaken dressing room, where his confidence and self-esteem had been destroyed so many times before. 

Still, Angel knew the repercussions of not filling the silence, knew the blows he would be getting for being cowardly if he didn’t even attempt an excuse. Between the fever and the panicking, all Angel could manage was a shitty, overused excuse: 

 “Val, I didn’t mean to get sick, I swear!”

“Really? You didn’t leave me just so you could find some other bitch to control you? To make you feel good?” His leash materialized suddenly as Valentino yanked him closer. The pressure from the collar on Angel's throat caused him to cough harshly, whining as he finally got his breathing under control. 

“I haven’t! I just help out at the hotel, that’s all! Someone probably wandered in while— while!!” He tried every trick he could think of to stop himself, even putting his tongue to the roof of his mouth. constrained as he was, he knew he was too close to Valentino to not sneeze on him. 

“While?” Valentino blew a puff of smoke in his face, and that was what did it. Any control Angel had fought for was quickly taken away from him, the usually clingy scent from his cigarette now invading his nostrils and causing him to lose his breathing. 

“HEhhhHHH’GSHUEWWWW!!! EHHHHHH’TCHuhhhh!!! HAhhhhh’CHIEWWWWW!!! AHhhhhh”PSHOOOO!! Uhhhhhh’TSHUEWWWWW!!! IHHHHHH’KSHIEHHHH!!” The sneezes caused him to pull against the restraints with each one, and they were definitely loud enough to hear from outside the room. Valentino first looked intrigued when Angel seemed to be moaning, but now he looked nothing short of disgusting.  

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to Snehhhh-EIhhhhh’TCHIEHHHH!! HIHHHHHH’KSHUHHHH! EHHH’PTSHUEWWWW!!” The tickle was far too overwhelming for Angel to even attempt to cover or hide them, and all he could really do was sneeze, the perfume from the smoke setting his nose aflame. 

“Fine!” The chains released as Valentino threw them aside. That caused Angel to stumble and fall, barely being able to shift and fall on the couch, even if it was face first. “I’ll call off the team for today, but you only get three fucking days Angel! Three days to get rid of that disgusting illness.” The door slamming shut only made Angel's headache worse, but at least he could get dressed now, right?

He tried to get dressed for fifteen minutes, having to pause between his skirt and shirt to muffle another wrenching fit. Each sneeze was taking away energy Angel Dust simply didn’t have and caused him to cough afterwards. The usually high-spirited spider was barely functioning, and he grabbed a black robe to cover himself with, as an added layer of heat (not that he could keep warmth well anyways).

Angel dust isn't quite sure how he got back to the hotel, but the spider was close to tears when he finally opened the door. His entire body felt like it was freezing and overheating at the same time, the fever that had given his fur a notable pink flush getting worse as he pushed his body to the -

"Angel? What happened? Charlie came up to him, her hand hovering like she waited to support him but waiting for his consent, and Angel only pulled himself together long enough to give her a plastic smile. 

“Nothing Toots. It was just a long day at work-" his second set of arms appeared again to steady himself as he tried to hold off the sneeze long enough to make sure he wouldn’t get Charlie-

“hhh’EhhhhhhTch’ieWwwww!!” The one time he had wanted not to make an entrance, and his body couldn’t even listen to him. his sneezes were typically over the top, and while he didn’t find the sensation good or bad, he wished that just once he could sneeze quietly. 

“Damn you! Are you feeling alright?” And now Charlie sounded way too sympathetic. Angel had to resist the desire to bang his head against one of his arms, he knew there was no way to hide his sickness now. 

So he did what came most easy to him when feeling his shittiest: put on a good performance. “I feel great Tootz! Just amazing, ya know?” he racked his brain to think of something, anything, that could make him sneeze like this, but besides one that could get him kicked out of the hotel, nothing else came to mind. 

“You look ill, my effeminate fellow!” Alastor was smiling like usual, even though Charlie was currently attempting to help Angel to the foyer couch. He fell on it dramatically, batting his eyelashes a couple of times. 

“I’m not sick, just had an extra-long day of work. Val’s going on some “honeymooning” weekend with that TV head and the other one, so he made me work for my time off. Nothing I can’t handle, I’ll be fine with some rest–” his voice cut off at the end of his perfect performance, the tones and inflections making his piss poor excuses actually believable.  Angel couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this sick and miserable from something other than trying to quit cold turkey.  The spider couldn’t even turn his head before coughing his lungs out, and it must have sounded bad enough that Al slipped back into the shadows, leaving just the two of them.

“Here you go Angel,” Charlie gently placed a cup of water into his hands, which the sinner gulped down eagerly. 

“Thanks Toots.” Angel couldn’t keep up any sort of act anymore, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Charlie hesitating to run a hand through his hair. “You are a lifesaver, I tell ya.” he drank the water as fast as he could, gulping it down. It barely did anything for his nose, but at least now he could actually say a few words. 

“I could get you some medicine, or an ice pack, or a heating pack but Nifty took that somewhere so it might take awhile, and actually-a-thermometer-would-” Angel laughed softly, but he appreciated how much care Charlie showed to him. Right now, after he had just been belittled and mocked by Val, most of his cares flew out of the window, including any personal touch.

Charlie had just felt his forehead and compared it to her own when Angel felt his nose twitching once again. He wished that it would just stop, that he could force all of these aches to go away and just be able to sleep. “Toots, ya should try to m-move…” Charlie pulled back quickly, although she seemed confused as to the reason. “Is something wrong? I can get you an ice pack or more water–” Charlie’s worried ramblings were cut by Angel lifting a finger, his breath catching a couple of times. It sounded ragged and desperate, but he couldn’t control it. “Ahhhhh’Kihhh’SCHOOooo!! Hahhhh’TCHIewww!! Iehhhh’KCHUHHHH!! HeHHH’SHuHhhhh!!” The fit even sounded tired, and Angel groaned lightly as he did so. “Angel, are you sure you don’t want some help to your room? I could see if Vaggie or-” Charlie stopped talking, looking over Angel's head. All the sinner could do was grumble, hiding his face in the pillow. 

“It’s fine toots, I’ll just fall asleep right here. No need to mess with that room stuff,” A deeper chuckle came from behind Angel's back, and he didn’t need to look back to tell Husker was there. He hid further into the pillow, determined to keep another person from seeing him like this, especially one that Angel had gotten so close to. 

[heliophxle]

ooh if you're doing fic prompts.

allow me to introduce. when smosh did the just dance stream you know how hard trevor went on rasputin.

like 2 songs later someone volunteers him as a joke and he just goes "no, my chest hurts."

uh, mildly concerning? but you as the trevor whump author might be able to play with that :P

also idek why i go on anon for this shit, i'm the self proclaimed CHAMPION of whumpfic in this fandom

I hope I do this justice haha been very busy with exams (philosophy is going to kill me i stg)

• 2k words•

Trevors' chest was tight. Tight enough that his breath caught in his throat and he wheezed slightly, hunching forward, hands pressing into his thighs as if grounding himself that way might bring some relief. His head dropped between his knees, his vision dotted with stars at the edges. He knew, deep down, that bending over would probably make it harder to breathe, but the thought of anyone seeing him gasping, of letting them witness his throat close up, was unbearable. more below the cut

He finally managed to draw some air in but then he had trouble getting air out, and he was starting to panic a little bit. He tried to cough, just enough to clear his throat, but it came out thin and weakly brittle, barely a sound at all. Still, it was ordinary enough that he might get away with it.

His mind was racing, flipping through excuses he could give if anyone saw him like this. Just tired from dancing, a little lightheaded, no big deal. But his chest didn’t loosen, the grip on his lungs only worsening, and he pressed his fists into his thighs to stop them from trembling. Just breathe, he told himself, hearing his own words in that strained, raspy way that made it feel like his voice wasn’t even his.

He was still catching his breath when someone called his name, laughter ringing through the room.

“Trevor! You’re up next!” Ian teased, shooting him a mischievous grin from across the room.

A chorus of laughter and cheers erupted from the crew. Trevor managed a laugh, trying to play it cool, but he could feel the tightness in his chest again. He put a hand over his heart, hoping to steady himself. “Nah, I’m good, actually—think I’ll sit this one out.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t wimp out!” someone else yelled, egging him on.

He tried to shake his head and brush them off with a smile, but the pressure in his chest was climbing. Each breath felt thinner, his pulse pounding against his ribs. He forced himself to look up, to act unfazed, but someone behind him—maybe Shayne or Damien—gave him a light shove toward the center of the room.

Trevor managed a forced grin, trying to turn the whole thing into a joke. “Yeah, about that,” he started, his voice coming out strained and breathless. “My chest kinda hurts.”

The laughter died down, a few faces turning from amused to mildly concerned. Trevor’s gaze dropped as the attention shifted from playful to questioning. He regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth, but it was the truth—his chest did hurt, and just standing here felt like an effort. His knees wobbled, and he took a slow, unsteady breath, hoping it would pass.

He could hear the concerned voices, but he forced himself to straighten up a little, forcing a sheepish grin onto his face. “it’s alright, guys. Guess I’m just a little out of breath from Rasputin. You know how that song is,” Trevor said, his voice light, trying to push past the discomfort. He leaned forward and wiped his forehead, exaggerating the movement like it was no big deal. “I’m fine. Just, uh... need a minute to catch my breath.”

The chat was full of concerned messages, people asking if he was okay, if he needed to stop. But Trevor gave a thumbs-up, smiling as best as he could, even though his chest still ached with every shallow breath. “We’re gonna wrap this up soon anyway,” he added, hoping to ease the tension. “Nothing serious, don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, guys, I think we’re gonna call it for today, we’re all a bit tired,” Ian said into the mic, clearly trying to wrap things up quickly. “Thanks for hanging out and donating. We’ll see you next time!”

The screen flickered as the livestream cut off, the chat’s frantic messages lingering in the background, but as soon as the feed ended, the room shifted. The crew didn’t immediately leave. There was a quiet undercurrent of worry, and Trevor could feel it pressing down on him, despite his attempt to downplay it.

As the others started gathering their things, Trevor took a breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. “I’m really fine, guys,” he repeated, though the words felt hollow. Shayne didn’t look convinced.

“Trevor,” Shayne started, voice low and firm. “Let’s get you to the couch, yeah? I don’t think you’re fine.”

Trevor tried to argue, but the last of his energy had already drained away. Instead, he let Shayne guide him to the couch, his mind already full of that gnawing panic, even as he tried to ignore it.

Once they were seated, the others began to hover, exchanging worried glances, their voices low. Trevor leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest. His chest felt like it was caving in, each breath shallow and ragged, like his lungs were barely big enough to hold the air he needed. It wasn’t a pain so much as a pressure, pressing down from inside, from the very center of his ribcage. It started as a subtle tightness, but it grew worse with each minute, slowly stealing his ability to breathe normally. His ribs ached, sore in ways that made him feel fragile, like the smallest movement might crack him open.

He could feel his pulse thumping in his throat, every beat a reminder of how tightly his chest was squeezed. The air in the room felt heavy, thicker than it should’ve been, and he fought to draw in more of it—just enough to make the panic recede. His throat constricted, though, and no matter how hard he tried, the air seemed to get stuck, leaving him gasping, his breath hitching with every failed attempt to take a full inhale. 

His arms were starting to tremble, too, the fine tremors almost imperceptible at first but growing, spreading into his fingers until they were stiff, unresponsive. He clenched his fists in his lap, the tightness in his chest almost matching the ache in his hands, as if everything—his heart, his lungs, his limbs—were struggling to work in tandem. His stomach churned, and he fought the wave of nausea that rose with the frustration of not being able to fix it. Not being able to fix himself.

The pressure in his chest seemed to mount, pulling every ounce of energy out of him, until even sitting up straight felt like too much effort. He slumped, shoulders rounded forward, curling in on himself, hoping that somehow it would ease the sensation, but it didn’t. His breath felt too shallow, like it couldn’t get deep enough to fill his lungs, and every exhale seemed weaker than the one before it. The room around him felt distant, his vision blurry at the edges as though the pressure was forcing his mind to slow down, to shut down.

Shayne’s voice cut through the haze, but it felt like it was coming from far away, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears. "Trevor?" It was a whisper, but it felt like it reverberated through him, sharp and insistent, bringing him back to reality with a jolt.

Trevor nodded, or at least, he tried to. His body felt like it was moving through thick water. Every small gesture, every tiny shift, was exhausting. His head felt light, like it was floating just slightly above his shoulders, detached from the rest of him. His stomach twisted again, and the nausea surged, forcing him to swallow hard, but it didn’t help. It only made the tightness in his chest worse.

He felt his body betray him in that moment, felt the weakness spread like a slow fire. The tension in his chest wasn’t just physical anymore—it was all-consuming. It wrapped itself around his mind, making it harder to focus, to think clearly. All he could think about was the next breath, the one he hadn’t quite been able to take yet, the one that was slipping further and further out of reach.

“Just breathe, just breathe,” he whispered to himself, but the words felt foreign on his tongue, hollow, as if the act of breathing itself had become too much to manage.

Shayne’s hand on his shoulder felt like an anchor, steadying him in ways Trevor couldn’t quite process. He wanted to push it away—he could push it away, but the idea of being alone with this suffocating pressure, this overwhelming sensation of not being able to breathe, felt worse than anything else. 

Trevor squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the world, to block out the pulsing pressure in his chest, but the feeling refused to go away. It was like a vise, closing tighter with every second, and no matter how much he willed it to ease, it only grew worse. His lungs burned with the effort of each shallow, trembling inhale. His head felt heavy, spinning in a dull, foggy way, as if everything was moving too fast around him and he couldn’t keep up. The simple act of breathing had become the hardest thing in the world.

A shaky exhale left him, ragged and thin. He wiped his brow, his skin clammy with sweat, and felt his stomach churn again. It took everything not to double over in discomfort, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t show how bad it really was. He forced his gaze back up, blinking through the haze, and caught Shayne’s worried expression. There was no hiding it now; it was all over his face. The worry. The concern. The realization that Trevor wasn’t okay, and had been lying about it for too long.

“Trevor,” Shayne said, his voice softer now, a touch of urgency creeping in. “You don’t have to keep pretending, man. This isn’t just some after-dance thing. You need to let me—”

Trevor shook his head weakly, cutting him off with a soft, hoarse voice. “No, I’m fine. I just need—” He coughed, the dry, brittle sound forcing its way out of his chest, and the ache deepened, a raw kind of sting that made his throat feel even tighter.

Shayne was right beside him now, his hand warm and firm on Trevor’s back, pressing lightly against the tension in his shoulders. “We’re not doing this. Let’s get you checked out, alright?”

Trevor opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat, swallowed by the tightness that had crawled into every corner of his body. It was impossible to ignore now, and it was getting harder to breathe through it, to pretend he was okay.

As they helped him up, the room felt like it was tilting, his vision dimming at the edges. It wasn’t right—none of this was right. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so helpless, so utterly broken. The thought of being seen like this made him want to crawl into a hole, to hide away from the judgment, the questions, the worry. But all he could do was follow Shayne’s gentle pressure, letting him guide him through the haze of discomfort.

The voices around him grew quieter, softer, but Trevor could barely focus on them. His chest was still tight, still aching, and the reality of what was happening began to sink in—this wasn’t just exhaustion. This wasn’t just a joke or something that would go away after a drink of water or a couple of minutes of rest. It was worse than that, and the thought settled heavily in his chest, deeper than the pain.

Shayne’s voice was a steady presence in his ear, urging him to stay with him, to keep going, just a little bit further. Trevor closed his eyes, focusing on his breath, trying to slow it, trying to calm the storm inside him.

“Just stay with me, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

He nodded weakly, even though he wasn’t sure how. Even though his body still ached, his lungs still fought for air, his mind still tangled in panic.

All he could do was try. Try to breathe. Try to hold on.

[oatmilk-vampire]

Life Worth Missing || Eddie Munson x Reader

Eddie Munson x gn!ex!Reader

Part 2 of Off My Mind (Read part 1 here)

Summary: Reader goes after Eddie, not willing to let things end without everything being said.

Mostly Reader POV.

Inspired by another song I like Life Worth Missing by Car Seat Headrest. Give it a listen!

Word count: 2k of angst, whump, and happy ending.

TW: Coping with suicide attempt, talking feelings. No actual death.

~~~

Only when you got to your car did you finally let the tears fall.

All of those months of crying because you missed him was nothing compared to finally realizing you lost him.

He hadn’t even had the decency to break the news to you sober, like you had. Neither one of you ever had a problem with substance abuse but you had given up alcohol and the occasional smoke sesh as soon as you and Eddie went on your break. Drinking when you were sad and lonely was never a good idea, and weed held the same sentiment for you. Plus you would never dare to get it from anyone else, it felt like a betrayal.

But here you are, hiding away in the relative safety of your car in the Hideaway’s parking lot as Eddie drinks. To forget you? You’d think yes, if it wasn’t clear that he already had.

You wonder what she’s like, his new lover. If she makes him laugh so hard his whole face crinkles up. If she holds him when he’s had a bad day, smoothing a hand over his scars that you helped patch up as fresh injuries.

You wonder if she’s waiting for him at the trailer you once occupied.

Before you can make yourself leave you finally notice your now-ex pushing open the door, wobbling and swaying as he fumbles with the keys to his van.

You should let him go. You should accept it’s over between you two; he already had.

But you can’t. Instead when he pulls out you quickly turn your car on to follow.

You convince yourself it’s to make sure he makes it home safe, then you’ll leave him and his new lover alone. But as he turns into Forest Hills Trailer Park you still follow, albeit at a slower pace so as not to alert him to your presence. He pulls into his driveway and goes inside. No one comes rushing out to him as you had expected, but he still rushed in nonetheless.

You have a moment of hesitation before pulling in behind him and turning off your car. You wait in bated breath for him to come out angry and ask you to leave, but he doesn’t. You notice Wayne isn’t home either. If you’re going to make one final attempt at saving your relationship this was it.

As if on cue someone in the park lit a firework, bringing you back to reality. That’s right. It’s New Year’s Eve. How could you ever forget? Some part of you remembered when you asked him to meet, hoped it would end with a kiss between you two. A new beginning, not an end.

You run fast to get to him, suddenly feeling like it’s a life or death situation even if you had no reason to believe so. You just sensed it.

You throw open his door, grateful he forgot to lock it but fearful or what that entails.

“Eddie?” You call out to him, not wanting to startle him. But the lack of response spurs you on until you come across the bathroom, door open.

“Eddie!” You scream in horror, racing forward to rip the toaster out of the wall and out of his reach. You throw it behind you, not even flinching at the way it smashes into a bunch of pieces as you direct your fearful eyes at the man you love.

“Angel?” His voice is broken and eyes wild and wide.

“Oh, Eddie. Why? Why?” You crowd around him not caring if there’s a new girlfriend involved. She would be here if she really cared about him.

You drop to your knees and pull his cold freezing frame toward you, wrapping your arms around him tight as if your hold alone could stop him from leaving you in the worst way possible.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here. You’ll get hypothermia.” You pull him up with all your might, and he helps. If he hadn’t there’s no way you’d be able to lift him. He could almost laugh. Here he was about to electrocute himself and you’re worried about him getting hypothermia.

You grab two towels on the way out, wrapping them both around him, ignoring how badly your own body is shaking. You guide him to his bedroom and leave him standing in the middle of the room as you dig through his clothes in search of the warmest sweatpants and sweatshirts. You gather him fresh underwear and socks, the thickest long sleeve he owned.

He watches in disbelief. You’re here. You’re actually here. His Angel.

Maybe he died. Maybe he didn’t feel a thing and he’s in Heaven now. Now that’d be absurd. What’s more crazy? You coming back or him going to Heaven after all this? At this moment he decides he doesn’t care. You’re here and that’s all that matters.

“Let’s get these off of you.” You wait for his approval, just a slight nod of his head before moving with a purpose. You push off his jacket, unbutton his flannel, unbuckle his belt and slip off his jeans. It’s all much more difficult than it used to be thanks to the soaked state of it all, but you don’t complain one bit.

Once he’s fully naked you dress him in the same sentiment. Careful hands avoiding lingering too long but unafraid to touch all the same.

He’s sitting on his bed by the time he realizes you’ve brought out the hair dryer you gifted him a year ago. He hadn’t dared to use it since you left. The memories attached to it hurt him too bad, so he left his hair in the same state you had met him in. The days of having perfectly diffused hair were long behind him.

He notices the clip on diffuser attachment isn’t on it, you must have removed it.

You put it on the highest heat setting before letting the heat roll over him as you dried and warmed him further.

When you’re happy with the state of his dry hair and his contented sighs, you switch off the hair dryer.

You would have slipped it under his shirt for more warmth, but you really needed to talk to him and you couldn’t do that over the loud motor.

You sit beside him, tired of standing. “Eddie, we need to talk. We can’t leave things like this.”

You didn’t want to leave at all, but if there was someone else in his life you knew you had to.

“What’s there to talk about?” His voice is sobered up but you suppose a near death experience and icy tub will do that to you. Hell, you’re still freezing.

“You know we need to.” You insist. “You know we didn’t mean to end things back then. I didn’t want to end things. It was only a break, Eddie. Time we needed apart, so we could handle our own problems without taking it out one one another.”

“Angel, I–”

You cut him off. “But I understand. I do. Just because I waited for you didn’t mean you had to wait for me. I’m sorry we didn’t talk this over sooner. I’m sorry I found you like this, I’m so sorry. But I won’t apologize for ruining your plans.”

You rest a hand on his shoulder, it’s still too cool for comfort but you find some anyway.

“Where is she? What’s her number? I’ll call her and I’ll leave you be.”

He’s so lost in your words he doesn’t remember his earlier drunken lie.

“Where’s who?”

“Your new lover.” You remind him, and his heart drops into his stomach.

“Angel, there is no lover. I don’t know why I said that. I was drunk and stupid and I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” His dark eyes are boring into yours, glossed over with fresh tears yet to fall.

“You’re not just saying that?” There it was again. Hope.

He shakes his head. “I promise you it’s the truth. I could never move on from you, I tried, not with anyone!” he adds on, “But by myself and I just couldn’t. I was so stuck on hoping you’d walk through that door that I just pushed you away the first chance I actually had at making things right with you. I’m. So. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” You apologize as he pulls you in like he wanted to earlier at the bar, like you did when you descended upon him like the guardian angel you actually were. He’s been so wrong.

“Jesus H. Christ.” He shudders and pulls away from you.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re freezing, Angel. Let me get you into some warmer clothes too. Why didn’t you change out of yours? I made them all wet.”

“I wasn’t worried about me.” You answer simply as he runs to his closet just as you had minutes ago.

He helps you change, eyes lingering on your face the entire time. You feel flushed under his gaze but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You were here. With him. You were both alive.

“Eddie,” Your voice gets caught in your throat as you finally lose control over your emotions. You can’t be strong for him anymore.

“Yes, Angel?”

“You tried to kill yourself.” A sob rips from your throat as you finally break down into his arms.

“I’m so sorry.” He’s crying too now, you’re both shaking.

“Why are you apologizing? I’m sorry. I’m sorry you felt like it was your only option. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.” You cry into his chest until he pulls you away and places both hands on either side of your face so you’re forced to look at him.

“Angel. Baby, this was not your fault. Please never blame yourself for my stupid decisions. Since you left I hated myself for letting you go. Even though you said it was only a break and it was for good, I somehow convinced myself you were leaving for good. I didn’t blame you for it. I couldn’t blame you for it. If you ever left me, if you leave me, it’s entirely my fault.”

He pauses to kiss your forehead.

“Today I let all those bad thoughts get to me. Instead of being happy to see you I punished myself more. I hurt you. I lied to you. I felt like I was coming up short in a life worth nothing, and I took that out on you instead of being truthful. I thought I was worth nothing. That I wouldn’t even be worth missing. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

You brush a stray curl from his face with a shaky hand.

“Eddie, your life is worth missing.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I ever didn’t believe that. Please forgive me for all of my mistakes.”

“Only if you forgive me too.”

“Even if I don’t think you did anything wrong?”

“Especially then. If nothing else please just understand I’m sorry for not getting here sooner.”

He smiles at you, a genuine smile. A smile you haven’t seen in so long it physically hurts to see it again.

“You got here and that’s all that matters.”

You stare into each other’s eyes and hold onto one another.

The both of you think about kissing but are both worried about making the first move. Until the clock chimes, startling the two of you before realizing what that meant.

Midnight. It’s New Year’s.

Now you kissed.

It was soft and sweet and passionate all the same. Everything you didn’t get to say, all of the feelings you both kept bottled up over these six months was felt through the kiss.

When you pulled away to breathe Eddie had a grin on his face and you knew you had one to match.

“Happy New Year, Angel. I love you.”

“Happy New Year. I love you too.”

Everything was so much better than before.

~~~

Tag list: @ali-r3n 🩵

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 31: Setbacks

So. Tumblr decided to delete this one, so I had to hurriedly rewrite it just today. This is not what I originally wrote, and I'm not super proud of this one, but I would rather have something to show for the final day of Whumptober than nothing at all. This has been an amazing journey, and thank you all for taking it with me! Happy whumping, and I hope you guys loved the ride while it lasted <3

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @toastingpencils37 @ghostwalloper @lightning-chicken

Words: 2k

“Sorry,” Jay babbled, leaning down to try and clean up the glass shards littering the floor, “sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry—”

The ringing sound of the plate crashing against the floor rang through his ears on repeat, every loop making his anxiety grow more and more. How stupid could he be?

First his friends were just talking about how good dinner was, complimenting Zane and his cooking skills when Jay’s vision just started tunneling and his breathing was coming up short. He didn’t know what triggered it, but the next thing he knew his hand was loosening and the porcelain slipped from his grasp. So now the least he could do was try and clean it up. Maybe they would forgive him.

“Jay,” Nya tried to say from a couple feet away, cringing at his bare feet and the large pieces of the broken plate surrounding him in a rough circle, “it’s okay, I promise, just stay still and we’ll handle it.”

He cried out as the shards cut into his hands, and he dropped them back onto the ground. Why did this have to happen now, of all the times? Jay was finally starting to get used to being in a friend group, to having people to talk to, and now he went and ruined everything just because someone brushed a little too close to him in the way that he hated and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and he couldn’t breathe and the next thing he knew the plate he was using to get food was shattered on the floor and there was no way he could step over all of the glass.

Fresh blood flowed from the small cuts in his hands, and Jay’s heart sank when he spotted Zane going for the small medkit that Lloyd kept in his apartment. The cuts stung pretty bad, but Jay would’ve put up with it. So of course, of course it was him that was going to be costing Lloyd medical supplies that he could be using to treat his own injuries instead of Jay’s. First Master knows how many bullies jumped Lloyd per day. How selfish was he?

“Hold on, bud,” Cole said, and the bigger boy used his boots to gently brush away all of the glass shards. He hooked his hands under Jay’s armpits when he reached the smaller boy, lifting and depositing Jay onto the kitchen counter. Jay felt like a child, and he hated how he couldn’t hate feeling like that. “That’s better. Just stay up here while the others clean up the glass.”

Kai came around the corner with a broom, Lloyd behind him with a dustpan, and both of them shot Jay a smile as they started to sweep up the broken glass. Zane stood next to him, rifling through the medkit, and Jay latched onto his sleeve out of pure instinct. Zane’s sweaters always felt nice.

Cole hummed on Jay’s other side, locking arms with the smaller boy and staying quiet so that Jay could gather his thoughts. Not that Jay had any coherent thoughts to gather.

“Nya, can you grab a bowl?” Zane asked, and the girl moved to do so.

She held the bowl under Jay’s hands, and Jay didn’t understand why until he saw Zane pull out the peroxide. Oh yeah, it was probably a good idea to try and clean the cuts before bandaging them up. He wouldn’t have remembered to do that if he was on his own. The bowl was also catching whatever blood wasn’t flowing past his wrists and down his arms, soaking into his sleeves.

Warmth stung in his chest, and Jay swallowed thickly to keep the tears back. The last thing he needed was to show all of them how much of a crybaby he was.

Zane dabbed at the cuts with a soaked cotton swab, and Jay had to restrain himself from flinching away. “I’m sorry, I know it stings,” Zane said, but Jay only shook his head. It wasn’t his fault, and there wasn’t really anything that Zane could do about the pain. Jay could suck it up for a few minutes; he had definitely taken worse.

He worked with precision, gently cleaning the cuts and wrapping them afterwards. Nya started talking about her latest art project to help distract Jay, and even though all of the colors and the terminology went straight over his head he still loved to hear her talk. She forgot that he was self-taught and knew jackshit about anything professional art, but that was okay. At least they had some common ground to work with.

Finishing up, Jay glanced at his hands with a guilty expression as Zane packed up the medkit and moved to put it away. Cole was still humming, tapping his fingers on the back of Jay’s hand in a beat that made Jay smile despite the anxious feeling still clawing at his chest with the world’s largest talons. He kicked his feet back and forth in an attempt to burn off some of the nervous energy, but to his dismay it only seemed to be getting stronger. It peaked when Lloyd and Kai took steps towards him, and any happy feelings that he may have had before were gone, replaced by a growing sense of dread as the two started to box him in.

Because he didn’t see Lloyd and Kai. Instead he saw two bullies, much larger than him, closing in and getting ready to hit him—

“Jay,” Nya tried, noticing the way he was curling into himself. Jay brought his arms up and over his head, scooting backwards on the counter until his back hit the wall. He was shaking, tucking his head between his legs and doing his best not to throw up all over the counter that Zane had literally just cleaned. “It’s okay, really. We’re not mad.”

“I-I-” and Jay had to shut his mouth to keep the sobs inside. He couldn’t break down in front of his new friends, not when he had to put in every effort to not look like the weak person he knew himself to be.

Zane, sensing Jay's distress, immediately moved back to the counter, bending down to meet Jay at eye level. He made sure to push Kai and Lloyd back, knowing that Jay needed some space at the moment. "Jay, it's all right. You're safe here. We're not going to hurt you."

Jay could barely hear Zane's comforting words over the rush of blood in his ears, pounding against his skull. He was trapped, caught in the grip of a memory that clawed its way to the surface and between the bodies of the girl he loved and his best friend since forever. Even if he could get off the counter, he still had to worry about getting past the other three. The vivid images of past confrontations with bullies flooded his mind, overwhelming him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being surrounded by people who wished him harm rather than wishing him well.

But it wasn’t just bullies.

Cole placed a gentle hand on Jay's trembling back, offering a grounding touch. "Take deep breaths, Jay. In and out. We're here for you."

Lloyd and Kai exchanged concerned glances, realizing that their attempt to comfort Jay had backfired. They took another step back but still looked on, faces filled with worry. Eventually Kai stepped away, whispering something to Lloyd about getting Jay a blanket before disappearing off into the living room.

Despite the words and the hands trying to reassure him, Jay felt the walls closing in tighter and tighter. He did his best to focus on his breathing, trying to follow Cole's advice, but the memories clung to him like a vice.Cole eventually shooed Nya away and off the counter, and Jay sobbed as his best friend’s arms wrapped around him and held him, rocking them back and forth on the counter.

"Jay," Zane's voice was calm and soothing, "we're here to help. You don't have to be afraid. You're safe."

The smaller boy rapidly shook his head, hiding into the depths of Cole’s sweatshirt and continuing to cry. He didn’t feel safe, not when he was surrounded by people with no way out. Not when he just fucked up and knew that they would be upset with him. First Master, what if Lloyd’s mom ever found out? She would be so upset. Jay would never be allowed to come over again and she would ask him to never talk to Lloyd ever again and he already knew that the others would pick Lloyd over him and Jay was going to be alone again—

“Bud,” Cole said softly, hand starting to rub Jay’s back, “I need you to talk to me, alright? What’s wrong?”

Cole was the only one here who knew Jay’s past; he was the only one that Jay could trust. He grabbed at Cole’s hoodie, the pain shooting up through his arms as he did so, but Jay couldn’t bring himself to let go. It was getting so much harder to breathe, and Jay wanted nothing more than to be back home and safe and under a blanket with his pa sitting in his armchair and his mom playing music in the kitchen. Of course, Jay’s first sleepover had to go completely awry. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Cole asked, ever so patient with Jay. He always had been and Jay hoped that Cole always would be.

“I-I dropped the plate,” Jay stammered, voice soft enough that Cole was the only one who could hear it, “and I don’t want you guys to be upset with me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Good grief, Jay,” Cole sighed, and Jay’s stomach dropped with the thought that Cole was upset with him, “I’m not upset, I know that look on your face. It’s okay, accidents happen. No one’s angry, we’re not going to hurt you, and we just want to make sure that you’re okay.

And the anger that welled up in Jay’s chest was scorching and unfamiliar, the heat licking at his insides and making him shake even harder. He was angry with himself, for ruining the progress that he’d been making with his friends. It had been so long since he had a meltdown like this in front of them, and of course just when things were going well Jay had to go and ruin it by dropping that stupid plate.

“Let it out,” Cole soothed, one hand gliding up to Jay’s hair and tangling itself in his curly mop. “You bottle up way too much stuff, just let it out. I can take it, I promise. Do you want Nya next to you?”

Jay nodded, and Nya was quick to scramble up onto the counter next to them. She wrapped her arms around Jay’s waist, pressing a light kiss to the side of his head that caused Jay to instantly flush. Nya didn’t notice, only laying her head on his shoulder and whispering encouraging words as he finally started to get his breathing back under control.

"That's it," Nya encouraged, her voice a soft murmur. "You're doing great, Jay. We're not here to hurt you."

Sure, they weren’t here to hurt him, but he still somehow managed to hurt himself. “I was doing so good,” he said angrily, and both of his friends’ grips tightened, “and I had to go and fuck it up. All that progress and for what? This?”

“It’s okay,” Cole assured, “setbacks happen. It doesn’t make you any less of a person for having one or two or even three. It’s all just a part of the process. Stop being so hard on yourself and just let us take care of you, okay? That’s what friends are for.”. 

As the wave of panic began to recede, Jay became more aware of the warmth of his best friend’s arms, the faint hum of the refrigerator, and the concern etched on his friends' faces. It was a stark contrast to the haunting memories of cruel smiles and taunting laughter, the harsh words of the bullies compared to the kind words from the friends that he never thought that he would have. 

“Yeah,” Jay agreed, wiping his eyes on Cole’s sleeve. He could feel blood start to soak through his bandages, but he pushed out the guilt that tried to consume him when he thought about asking Zane to re-bandage his hands. “Yeah. Okay. I-I can do that.”

[pickledpascal]

The Way The Water Flows

Chapter Six: Nothing's As Good As It Seems

Warnings: flashbacks, whump, reliving of trauma (kinda), dehumanization

Word Count: 2k

The Way The Water Flows Masterlist

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The sickly sweet smell of syrup woke Maya up from her sleep. She rolled out of her twin bed, not caring about the pieces of hair sticking out in all different directions as she moved through her messy, dingy room to the small kitchen of her small home.

Her parents were there, talking about something she couldn’t recall but it was likely something about bills or money or the alcohol her father would drink every night. Perhaps, it was all of the above. Maya didn’t care, oblivious to it all as she was too focused on being a kid.

Maya’s father had a defined jaw and long, black hair that was styled into one long braid that settled onto his back. He had a little stubble on his chin. She got her nose from him, a small bump on the bridge that made it look hooked when a passerby saw him from the side. She would also get his height from him, six feet tall and imposing when he wanted to, even if he slouched and tried to make himself look smaller.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Her mother’s sweet voice called to her, her face shifting to happy. It was fake but Maya couldn’t tell.

Maya inherited a lot from her mother. The blackish-blue hue of her hair, the shade of her amber eyes—although Maya only had one amber eye—the slope of her eyes, the tone of her skin, the contours of her lips, and her resourcefulness. Even if they didn’t have the money, her mother would find something to eat. It could be some caribou left in the freezer for nearly a year that they all forgot about or she’d call in a favor from one of their neighbors.

By all accounts, Maya thought their life was good. Not the best, or perfect, but she loved it anyway. Her family knew every family within the thirty-mile radius that was their small town, more like village, isolated from everything else in the world.

“Sleep okay?” Her mother asked with a smile plastered on her lips while she handed Maya a plate of pancakes.

Maya didn’t answer, too busy stuffing her face with the sugary goodness her mother prepared. However, she smiled so hard that her eyes crinkled and shined as she nodded at her.

That was the morning of the day she was taken.

That sweet, innocent version of her died. Twelve years old and on the cusp of learning so much more about the world. She would have been eased into it, step by step, bit by bit.

Not anymore.

She was snatched by her leg and thrown into impossibly deep waters that she couldn’t escape from. Even if she tried swimming to the surface, she kept sinking down and down, the sun seeming farther and farther away.

Maya shook the memory from her head, sliding a hand down the side of her face. The memory hurt, her heart aching, but it was a dull ache. Her parents were still with her, even if they weren’t next to her, she was reminded each time she walked past a mirror.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Logan’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pressing light kisses to the side of her neck. He pulled her hair to the side so it fell across her other shoulder.

For the past week or so, Maya had been spending her nights with him. It wasn’t always sexual. Most times, she just wanted to be held. He made her feel safe in a way no one else had. His warmth infected her. Maya wasn’t sure when she realized her body heat was naturally cooler than others but each time she touched someone, even if they just brushed hands, they told her that her hands were cold. Logan didn’t complain.

Maya leaned into his arms and took a breath. “I’m okay,” She affirmed, “Just… remembered something. About my parents.”

Logan hummed against her skin, causing a shiver to run down her spine. He didn’t pry more which she was thankful for.

Soon, he left the bed and got dressed for the day. He did have classes to teach, mainly sparring and he had to do a history class since Hank was otherwise preoccupied. Maya wasn’t sure what it was but she assumed it had to do with something for the US government, a meeting possibly since Charles left as well.

He bent down, cupping Maya’s cheek to kiss her one last time before he had to leave. “I’m free during lunch. Just in case… you were too.” He murmured. He felt awkward every time he had to leave.

Logan had never really dated someone. Not in years. And he knew Maya didn’t date either but he was giving her a pass. On the other hand, he felt helpless. He was trying his best to show her how much he appreciated her, cared about her. Occasionally, he’d bring her food when he noticed she hadn’t eaten in a while. Something simple since he wasn’t the best cook but he had been alive for a while to know how to properly season a meal.

He even got rid of that Native American belt buckle. It was in bad taste anyway. Instead, he replaced it with a rectangular silver buckle that had intricate engravings with a blue gem set in the middle that reminded Logan of the streak in Maya’s hair. He liked it a lot better than his previous one.

“I have time. Don’t worry.” Maya smiled as she sat up in the bed, eyes filled with adoration as she saw him leave.

Her eyes stayed on the door for a few seconds before she stood, throwing the sheets to the side of her. She was in her designated pajamas, a simple t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. She was about to leave to change in her room when she noticed Logan had left something on his desk.

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the black notebook. Or so she assumed. She didn’t peg Logan as someone who took notes or thought in-depth about his lesson plans if he ever did have a lesson plan. So, she didn’t think it would be an invasion of privacy if she peeked inside. However, she was not expecting what she saw.

In actuality, it was a sketchbook. There were a lot of different sketches, done with pencil, that littered the pages. Some of random people she didn’t recognize, one of the mansion, and a few of landscapes that were filled with trees and other foliage. She could even tell where he became frustrated, noticing a few scribbles and eraser marks that were drawn over just for him to erase it again.

As she flipped toward the end of the book, she found some sketches of her. Her profile was captured so beautifully she was sure Logan must’ve been seeing things when he drew it. There was one of her where it seemed she was looking down at something but was still partly facing forward, with her hair falling in her face and a flower tucked behind her ear.

Her face burned with heat as she shut the book and set it back where she found it, looking up at the wall. There was still a lot she didn’t know about Logan and, while she could read his mind to find out everything, she wanted to learn it like a normal person. Knowing he was somewhat of an artist made her further intrigued to find out more.

Maya left the room in exchange for her own, putting on a pair of jeans, chunky boots, and a leather jacket Logan gifted her as winter began to take hold of New York. It was black and she filled it out nicely. It quickly became her favorite jacket.

As she was about to leave her room, she noticed some movement outside her window. She stepped closer, peeking through the opened blinds. In front of the mansion were three black SUVs.

Dread settled in her gut.

Logan had just finished up his first class for the day when he noticed a commotion at the front door. Storm was talking to a bunch of men in suits, clearly hiding some tactical gear underneath.

The one in front, a blond with a buzzcut and cocksure attitude rolled his eyes. “Look, we’ll get out of your hair as soon as you return it to us. Simple as that.” He plastered a sickening smile on his lips.

“I don’t know what ‘it’ you’re talking about.” Storm said, eyes hardened as she stared at him.

Logan stepped next to Storm, feeling a simmer in his chest. “You need something?” He looked between Storm and the blond.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Howlett,” The man’s brightened at the sight of Logan, sounding a little less condescending. “I’m Colonel Paxton. My men and I have been looking for something that belongs to the Canadian government. It got loose and it’s incredibly dangerous and we worry for the safety of the children housed here. Wouldn’t want them to wake up in a pool of their own blood, would we?”

That simmer began to boil. Logan and Storm shared a look. “We haven’t stolen anything and we haven’t registered any new students so I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.” Logan tried to keep the bite in his tone to a minimum.

“Look, Mr. Howlett, I really don’t wanna use force and ruin this pretty thing the Professor has going on. It’d be a shame to stain these walls red.” Paxton threatened, glancing at Storm.

Logan took a breath through his nose. “You don’t know if whatever you are looking for is here. Not really, so come back when you have a fuckin’ warrant.” He narrowed his eyes as Paxton stared.

The Colonel let out a small laugh. “You’re sentimental towards it, aren’t you?” He shook his head and sighed under his breath, “I understand why.” The way he said it made Logan’s stomach turn. In a normal tone, he relented. “I’m afraid you’re right and I know when I’m wrong,” He let out an exaggerated sigh, “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Howlett.” He bowed his head at Logan, ignoring Storm, before he turned to leave, guiding his men to do the same.

“Logan—” Storm turned, trying to talk to him but he was already gone.

He followed Maya’s lingering scent, she hadn’t left the second floor all day. He soon found himself in his own room, where the most recent traces of her scent lingered. But she wasn’t there. A window was left ajar. Did she jump from there? Logan went up to the window, looking down to catch a patch of grass that wilted. She did jump. She ran.

Logan pushed his hands up his face and into his hair, heart racing at the idea of Maya getting hurt. Or worse. And his head was beginning to throb slightly at the smell of fresh pen ink.

He blinked when he realized where it was coming from. He walked to his desk and flipped open his sketchbook. Slipped in between a sketch of Maya and the forest behind the mansion was a note.

Hey, Logan

I know what you may be thinking. That I ran away. From you. From everything that’s good in my life. But I’m not. I know what I have to do. I have to take my life back from them. Show them the kind of weapon they made. I can’t hide forever. I don’t want to anymore.

Please, don’t come find me. I don’t need saving. Promise. Knowing you, though, you’ll come anyway. And I love you for it. But, please, don’t. I don’t want you seeing that part of me.

— Maya.

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 16 - Don’t go where I can’t follow

Warnings: whump but nothing explicit

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Yelena sends a coded message, a trap or askance for help?

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

‘Meet me in Stockholm. Come alone.’

The coded message bypasses Tony’s AI and Natasha feels it could only be Yelena.

The message is accompanied by coordinates to a café and time.

Natasha smiles at the old language and tries to explain to Clint, that the coordinates and time are wrong.

By swapping the second number and reversing it, you get the true coordinates and time.

It’s not Stockholm.

It’s Rome.

Not 1pm but 4am.

The date reads for the next day.

She still thinks the ‘come alone’, still stands though.

There’s a distinct happiness and apprehension that comes and Natasha pushes the feelings down, she can’t afford hope.

Not just yet.

Clint is adamant on coming, but Natasha worries that if he does, it’ll spook Yelena into leaving, and when he puts it to the others she finds that Tony also wants to help.

Steve stands back and watches the arguments unfold until she explodes at all of them.

“Likely we have one chance at this. You,” she points to Clint, “don’t need to come, you do however need to broker peace with Fury, so on the off chance she does want to defect we have a place for her. Shield may be gone but he can still pull the strings. And you,” she points to Tony, “can do the behind the scenes setting everything up. If she comes here, can you find her a place to stay? Somewhere near mine or Clint’s apartment. She probably won’t stay there but maybe the offering of it, could entice her to come. Pepper knows what I mean, there’s money in my bank account to lease it; just use that?”

Natasha puts her hand up as Tony starts to protest, “just use the money? It’s not like it’s my only bank account.”

She smiles.

“And you, Captain, sorry, I don’t think symbolism of America is quite what I need right now.”

He nods back.

“It’s fine, Sam and I have a lead on Bucky anyway, you don’t think it’s all connected do you?”

She shrugs, stepping towards him.

“Where’s the lead?” Clint asks.

Steve looks at Tony who makes it appear on the screen.

“It actually is in Stockholm, Tony’s AI picked him up in the Vasa Museum and tracked him to Strotorget where it lost him. The main square was too busy,” he tells her.

She looks to Tony and nods.

“I didn’t know you were helping?”

Tony gestures around.

She shakes her head, cutting off his cocky retort.

“No, you follow your leads and I’ll follow mine, hopefully both of us will get some answers.”

She can feels Clint’s gaze on her.

“I’m coming,” he tells her, “whether you want me there or not.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods; “fine but you’re coming to talk to Fury with me.”

.

The train station in Rome is busy, like the airport.

Clint climbs up the rafters dressed as electrician and hopes that he’s been inconspicuous enough that no one has noticed his ascent.

“Nat, I have eyes on you,” he tells her, “three exits and a café to your right.”

He uses the sight to look at the furthest exit.

“Do you think she’ll come as herself?”

“Blonde hair and all?”

Clint knows she can’t answer, but he likes to talk all the same.

“What’s your opener going to be?” he wonders, out loud.

“How’s it going? Long time, no see?”

He looks at the the other exits, not seeing anyone matching Yelena’s description.

A young girl approaches Natasha and immediately she stands.

Clint’s heart sinks, of course Yelena would be underhanded and use little girls to lure Natasha.

It’s effective.

He watches her move, following the girl.

“Nat, stop, no, don’t follow her,” he huffs, adjusting his potion and tailing after her from above.

The second exit, he thinks.

“Natasha, do you hear me? Don’t be a fucking idiot and get played,” he tells her.

He reaches a dead end from above and is forced to just watch as she makes her way to the exit. He races back the way he came, hoping she takes small steps as he loses sight of her.

He hasn’t even seen Yelena.

“Nat. No. Don’t got out, don’t go where I can’t follow, slow down I’m almost there, just wait,” he swears almost out of breath, as he hurries down the ladder.

By the time he reaches where he last saw her, she’s gone.

.

“Can you help me find my sister?” the little girl asks Natasha.

“I lost her and I can’t find her.”

Natasha’s heart sinks, as openers go, it’s a pretty good one she’s got to admit.

“I’ll help you find her,” Natasha replies.

“That’s what she said you’d say,” the little girl smiles.

“Follow me.”

Natasha stands, hears Clint’s warnings, his panic, as the little girl moves seamlessly through the crowd.

If she stops, she knows she’ll lose her.

“She wants to see you alone, she says your boyfriend can’t come,” the little girl says, eyes following Natasha as she walks backwards and then forward.

“Follow me.”

They exit through a news agency, the girl nodding to the owner as she leads Natasha through.

The exit leads behind the shops, into a thin corridor the girl running down so that Natasha has to hurry to catch her.

“Follow me,” the girl giggles.

And then, she disappears.

Natasha turns where she did, and comes face to face with Yelena.

“Hello, big sister,” Yelena says, gun held at Natasha chest.

“So easily you fall into a widows web,” she taunts, and then, pulls the trigger.

.

Clint calls Tony, he has no idea what to do.

They’ve disappeared and whilst he knows how absolutely flawless Natasha is at running and hiding, he feels they should have planned this better.

He knows she is compromised when it comes to Yelena, but he didn’t think she would be stupid.

“Can you get a live map or the area?” he asks in greeting.

If Tony is put off by it, he doesn’t say, he just sends Clint a real-time map on his tablet and tells him to swipe through the cameras and exits.

“Can you track where Natasha went?” he asks, looking at all the available ways of exit.

Tony does so, far quicker than Clint knows he ever would, and then sends them back to overlay the camera.

“Car park,” Tony surmises, “or basement, is there a basement?”

Clint growls in frustration, “which one!?”

“Car park,” Tony tells him, “I think.”

Clint runs, heading to the endless car park, and the rows of cars outside.

“Which one!?” he asks, “where do I look?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

“You can’t find her can you?”

He starts with the first row, then down the column and feels the desperation bubbling.

“Nat, you idiot, why did you have to be such an idiot?” he mutters to himself, “not compromised, my ass.”

“I’ll run the full diagnostic,” Tony promises, “we’ll find her, I swear.”

.

“Wake up,” Yelena says, wafting smelling salts underneath Natasha’s nose.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” she smiles, squatting in front of Natasha.

“Isn’t that what Melinda used to say to us?”

Natasha opens her eyes and watches Yelena pace.

Her arms tied to a metal chair, knotted into her legs as there’s no movement in either.

Yelena stops and looks.

“Are you going to kill me?” Natasha asks bluntly.

Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Isla came to see me, was that you?”

Not answering, Natasha tries the restraints again.

“I think it was. It’s what Isla alluded to anyway. The tracker, you disabled it, and now they just want me back. The thing is, I like being free. It’s only been months and already I know. I have this headache, and it’s like I’m forgetting something- I can’t concentrate- that I need to do something.. But the only thing I can think of is you.”

The pause is large as Natasha waits for her to continue.

“I don’t know whether to forgive you or kill you and if the thing that I need to do; the thing that will set me free, is something that they’ve programmed in my head. A fail safe, for both of us. I kill you, then I kill me,” she holds the gun away from both of them, and places it on a chair opposite Natasha.

“Forgive you, or kill you,” she repeats, “but to be honest, I don’t think I can do either.”

She moves slowly around, the cadence of her voice slow.

“I had to see you, to see if I could perhaps do both, maybe one and then the other and maybe this headache would go away.”

She picks up the gun and sits on the chair.

Natasha hesitates.

“What do you think now?”

Yelena stands, emptying the bullets, placing them in front of Natasha.

“There is a part of me that angry. So angry and confused. I want them to tell me what to do. Tell me what my next mission is, give me some structure to my life. There’s nothing. Just endlessness,” she pauses.

“Is that what life is? Is it what freedom is?”

“But no, you’re not the one that needs to die,” she finishes. “I see that.”

Natasha feels the adrenaline fade and the drowsiness of the drug run through her.

“Your people will be coming soon,” Yelena says, not moving.

“You can come with me, with us,” Natasha offers.

“If you wanted too, of course.”

She pauses in the offer, trying to gauge Yelena’s reaction.

“You could be a freelancer within the remnants of Shield or under their employ. Defection,” she offers.

“Or, you could just be here, with me,” she says softly.

Yelena stands.

“You left me,” she says off handed, “you didn’t come for me.”

The words hold such sadness that Natasha doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, unsure what else to say.

“I don’t want your apology, not now, but I do know, I maybe, I think I know why. I think…”

Pacing, Yelena holds the gun.

“They’ll be here soon,” she repeats, still not leaving, perhaps wanting to hear what Natasha is saying.

“There’s an address in my top left pocket,” Natasha tells her, “it’s your apartment if you want it. Leased under Fanny Balankov.”

Yelena’s small smile at the name and the inside joke gives Natasha hope.

“There’s money, passports and an offer of defection, or if it feels better, freelance supports, it doesn’t offer the same protections but it does give more options and no full debriefing that usually takes months.”

Natasha feels like she’s doing this wrong.

Clint should be here. He did it for her, he knew all the right words to say, all the ways he could give her hope.

Right now it just feels like she’s failing her sister again.

“They’ll be coming for you,” Yelena repeats, sitting down.

“Yeah,” Natasha replies.

“They are.”

.

Clint finds her in the basement, tied to a chair.

Gun raised he points it at Yelena.

“Hello,” she says casually, “you must be Clint.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

Yelena holds her gun away and shakes her head.

“Put it away, we’ve called a surrender,” she smiles.

He does as she asks, but only because there’s no way he’s going to be responsible for taking down Natasha’s sister, he doubts they would get close anyway.

Yelena turns to Natasha.

“Be seeing you,” she nods, and then sets the smoke grenade off, forcing Clint to rush to Natasha.

By the time the smoke clears, Yelena is gone and Natasha is untied.

“What happened?” he coughs, leading her to the exit.

Natasha is silent until they reach the car.

“I don’t think I did a good job at convincing her,” she whispers.

Clint half hugs her as he opens the passenger door.

“Maybe you did better than you think,” he consoles.

.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

The Bad Batch Fanfic Round-Up

Long Fics & Series

Test Subject / System Upgrade AO3 (Complete, ~35k words) Echo's ordeal doesn't end when he is rescued from Skako Minor. The clones are Kaminoan property; they want to know how his altered body works, and upgrade the Techno Union hardware that keeps his body functioning. After that, he has to integrate with his new squad.

Pieces Of The People We Love AO3 (~28k words, In Progress) Seeking to improve their most valuable export, the Kaminoans develop a new breed of enhanced clone. CT-9904 'Crosshair' grows up alongside his batch-mates.

Welcome To The Outpost Tumblr | AO3 (Complete, ~32k words) Clone Commander Mayday is given the unenviable task of managing a storage outpost on the remote, inhospitable planet Barton IV. Adversity takes its toll on his squad, but will things change when an elite Imperial sniper arrives with the relief transport destined to relieve them of their long patrol? Tales of the Outpost includes additional short stories about Mayday's squad Distinguished | Under The Same Sky

Savage Hunter AO3 (~7.5k words, In Progress) Enhancing Hunter's senses came with the side effect of heightening his feral instincts. When his family is threatened, he cannot always control it. Rope Burns / Adrenaline Crash | Adrenaline Crash 5+1

Beach Days & Hair Braiding AO3 (~36k words, In Progress) Tantiss is destroyed, and Hunter and Omega have settled on Pabu. The Empire is still out there though, and Crosshair fights alongside Echo in Rex's Resistance to keep his family safe. Despite it all, they find time to explore the tentative new depths of their feelings for each other. Beach Days & Hair Braiding | All The Time In The World | Fairground Date | R U Mine?

Short Stories

The Bad Batch Short Story Collection Tumblr | AO3 (33 stories, most under ~2k words) Assorted short stories written for various writing prompt events. Check here for Cadet stories, birthday cake, whump, brotherly feels, obligatory nerf nugget transport fic, Tech/Phee, water gun fights, settling down on Pabu, Omega gets a girlfriend, ugly haircuts, how Wrecker got Lula, Outpost Boys at the beach, Domino Twins on Pabu and more.

This is the last time I abandon you Tumblr | AO3 (~11k words) AU in which Mayday survives, and later returns to the Barton IV outpost with the remaining members of the Batch

A Fair Price To Pay Tumblr | AO3 (~12k words) Crosshair is determined to get Omega out of Tantiss, even if their freedom comes at a price. Along the way, Omega saves him too.

Ink AO3 (1099 words for CT-9901) Despite his status as a CT-99, Hunter bore the same face as the millions of regular clones. Although his sensory abilities were altered, his genetic code hadn’t mutated in a way which caused differences to his appearance. He could have passed as normal – if only he had wanted to.

i'm not trying to replace you (only hold on to your memory) Tumblr | AO3 (~2k words) Omega misses the quiet rituals that had been hers and Tech's alone, and turns to Hunter for comfort.

Radio Silence Tumblr | AO3 (~4k words) After Eriadu, Hunter tunes the com to a familiar frequency and sends a message out into the void, hoping beyond hope for an answer.

i reach for you in the night (you're still my brother after all) Tumblr | AO3 (~2.5k words) Since his return from Tantiss, things between Hunter and Crosshair have been nothing but tense. But even in his anger, Hunter is unable to ignore how distressed Crosshair is when he is trapped in a nightmare.

Hot Chocolate (Your Absence Has Torn A Void In My Heart) AO3 (~2.5k words) After fleeing Kamino with the enhanced clone Omega, and leaving their brother Crosshair behind, Echo takes a moment to check in on Hunter.

Phobia Tumblr | AO3 (~365 words) Omega helps the Batch deal with an unwanted guest.

Soup of the Day Tumblr | AO3 (~1.5k words) In which Crosshair gets to eat an undisturbed meal, with a side-helping of angst.

[Untitled HuntEcho] AO3 (~1k words)Inspired by this fanart - Hunter is reluctant to bid farewell to Echo as he leaves to join Rex

The Bad Batch Stardust Collection inspired by @kybercrystals94 The Batch get a space-hamster. Chaos ensues. A Cosy Bed | Elusive | R.O.U.S.'s

Fanart

Bad Batch S3 Launch Party Cupcakes Because icing cupcakes counts as fanart, right?

Swimming Lessons Scene illustration to accompany 'Beach Days & Hair Braiding'

Batch-mega Fullmetal Alchemist x The Bad Batch Crossover

Others' Art Fanart produced by some of the wonderful members of the Tumblr Bad Batch Fandom for my stories

[mellowwhumps]

off-white; sunlight

OCs: Ida, Yuuto (by @qiuthewhumps / @lemlem21) — blogger x art dealer AU

no i did not say i was going to post this a week ago. this isn’t whump, by the way! just an idato au that kinda spiralled into this oneshot!! i liked it so i’ve decided to post it here ^^ happy reading the first and only 2k+ words i will reach

———☆———

He is a storyteller. 

And maybe he isn’t, just there to spread opinions on some dumb blog he made a few years ago, the moment he left all those cram schools and graduated. He comes up with a plot, something to honor or critique as wanted. It’s a simple thing, really, one he does as a hobby. The few people he was followed by were dedicated to his cause, giving their own take after his. It was fine.

The nearest museum to his rented room advertises a new exhibit, people flocking by the masses to the location, merely a small ways away from the nearest train station. It’s free. He laughs, because nothing can be free and good at the same time. 

He’s not wrong. All the exhibits are what he calls nothing but a mess of color. There is no story to be told in lines or blocks or dots, in his opinion, but his fans were likely waiting for his input. What was he to say? Search up the artist and it’s just some rich guy probably wanting to make a dime off others like them. 

He scoffs. Beside him, a lone person makes a small noise, something between a laugh and a sigh. He doesn’t recall the man approaching at all; silently, he curses his half-functional hearing.

To him, humans are just as fascinating as art. Some amalgamation of all the things they’ve been through, each small thing shaping them into who they are now. The person beside him doesn’t scream of money or formality, yet sophisticated enough to look on without seeming too judgemental. Now, this he finds more interesting than the painting in front of him.

“Don’t get it either, do you?” The man smiles, a small quirk of his mouth.

“It’s a blue square. There’s nothing but a blue square and some errant strokes. I don’t see how this would interest anyone.”

“Hm. Well, maybe look at it this way…” The man holds his arms in front of him, then makes a tilting motion. “A courtyard, you see? Perhaps the three lines behind represent a house.”

He tilts his head to the side, angling it ever so slightly. When the man states it like that, it’s hard not to imagine the scene. The blue, vibrant sky, idyllic, a home on top of a hill. It’s not forced. He can truly see it.

“There, you see? Hasty smears by the corner. The flick of an artist’s hand. People, I think, are rushing around. Playing.” He hesitates, studying the image for another while before continuing. “A third character by the corner. Just beside the house.”

“An interesting interpretation.”

“I pride myself on that, thank you.”

Nobody else comes close to the exhibit, taking one quick glance and moving away. They, on the other hand, talk for a long, long time. Then another, then another. 

It’s quite a large exhibition. Once, he would have walked away without any conclusion. Now, his mind weaves tales of tragedy, trials and emotion, together with this stranger that no longer was. Sometimes, they disagree, some petty conflict ending in laughter and smiles. Sometimes he can do nothing but nod his head in silence.

They grab a small drink from the local cafe he frequents as some horrible replacement for lunch before immediately returning, flitting from artwork to artwork. 

Dawn turns to dusk. He turns for a moment to glance at the painting they met in front of, and when he looks back, the presence by his side is gone.

In all that enjoyment, he hadn’t even thought of asking for a name.

——————

His recent posts gain traction. He appears on some small local news site for his skillfully interpretative works on the new exhibition, and has to send a message to tell them not to give him sole credit. To whom else, they ask, and he hesitates before saying that he doesn’t know. 

There is a story behind every person, pieces of a puzzle to be fitted together in an imperfect image. He wants to figure it out. He wants to know who to give credit to.

The man, he learns, is Yuuto Kikuchi. 

There are no records of his past to be found online, merely some odd, fragmented website that details him as an art dealer’s assistant. Too many missing details. Well, he was never someone to source his details secondhand.

Tomorrow, he arrives at the museum, some odd feeling compelling his legs to move. He spots a certain man lurking alone by a painting, lost in thought, and promptly realises all too drastically that he had looked forward to another meeting. 

Just like yesterday, he positions himself by the man’s side. He knows he is seen, from the way the other shifts a little to the right to make space for him. The man called Yuuto asks, “What do you think?”

For once, he knows what to say. It’s like water, the way his words flow, smooth as the blue of that unremarkably memorable square. Yuuto stands in silence, but when he finally turns away from the painting to check on him, there’s a glint in his eyes that Ida doesn’t ever recall seeing yesterday. 

Yuuto speaks, replying, repeat. They throw words back and forth, and regardless of that silence he recognizes that he must have passed some sort of test. It’s a quaint feeling, a strange sort of adrenaline.

They head to the same cafe after. He encourages the other to at least get something filling, and in return gets his entire bill paid for after a full meal of sandwiches, enough for the both of them.

The trip back, he gathers the courage to ask about his job. Yuuto replies, “You know, don’t you?” 

The man smiles. 

He wants to say anything at all. There’s more. There’s always more.

“What’s your name?” Yuuto asks. He hesitates, because he knows Yuuto has the answers too. Yet so it is, and so it is.

“Ida. Seong Ida, but skip the surname.”

The man smiles. He knows he’s caught, even if he doesn’t know how. Still, Yuuto says, “Nice to meet you, Ida,” and the conversation ends at that. In technicality, he still shouldn’t have the other’s name.

Dawn turns to dusk. They talk for the whole day. The evening crowd, now off work, floods into the museum. When he pushes forward and breaks through the masses, Yuuto is gone.

——————

The amount of followers Ida has is officially more than a thousand, comments flooding in like yesterday’s rush hour. He can’t head to the museum today, because like any other non-filthy-rich person trying to survive in this economy, he has to work sometimes.

Ida spends his lunch break scouring the web for more articles. Another name drop.

Mrs. Salomea Nowak. Foreigner. Widowed. Supposedly living alone, though he knows where to check for the lie to break through.

Dawn, dusk, dawn. He doesn’t sleep very well.

——————

“You haven’t slept well,” Yuuto says. Ida does not respond, yawning and attempting to blink away sleep.

“Mmm.”

“Me too.”

The both of them are less tense than usual today, he notes. The atmosphere is significantly lighter. More noticeably, Yuuto doesn’t speak in questions. It makes all the difference. He doesn’t want to break that fragile peace, so he turns to the painting and makes some offhanded, haughty remark, inspired by one stray opinion on his posts. 

He isn’t expecting Yuuto to laugh. 

It starts small. A small bubble of noise escapes his lips, then it escalates, until at last he’s wheezing and gasping for air, eyes crinkled in such a genuine way Ida thinks only Yuuto could pull it off. He finds himself laughing, too. 

The joke wasn’t even that funny.

There’s a weird turning in his chest, a sharp pang of…something. What exactly, he can’t quite figure.

Dawn. They walk around the museum. They’re not even half done with what this exhibition has to offer, lurking around the same general area. He never gets tired of it, and if Yuuto does, he doesn’t notice. Neither of them mind.

Afternoon. Cafe. The barista has memorized their orders, apologising for a certain mix-up on their first arrival here. Yuuto tips them in return. He attempts to do the same, only to find the money in his pocket when they leave. They chat all the way back. 

Ida notices the way their footsteps sync, the same leg first. Yuuto’s looking somewhere else. If he catches the quickening of their pace, he doesn’t point it out.

Dusk.

“Where do you always go?” Ida asks, much too calm to mind his words. The apprehensive atmosphere returns, covering them like a thick blanket.

Cautiously. “Home.”

Curiously. “Where?”

”You wouldn’t know.” 

The conversation ends there. At least, it’s meant to. He messes it up, no doubt.

“Salomea, right? Your mother. Foster.”

Silence.

“Yes. But you never wanted to ask me that, did you?” Questions, albeit as neutral as usual. Not angry, not disappointed, nothing. 

Again. They’re all the way back at the beginning. The man’s expression is unreadable. The museum isn’t quiet, but in their little bubble, it was always the two of them. It was always the two of them. Wasn’t it?

“If you have nothing else to say, I’ll be leaving.” He smiles. It’s genuine. Ida sees the glint of his eyes.

He’s unsure, now.

Nothing interrupts them. Not a crowd, or some circumstance, or a turn of the head. Instead, Ida watches him get further and further away until he’s gone, disappearing somewhere he wouldn’t know.

——————

“Do you think it ended happily?” They’re back at the painting of that blue square. Back to normal. Ida no longer needs to tilt his head to see the image.

“What makes you say that?” The man called Yuuto asks.

“I don’t think the brushstrokes are rushed because they’re happy. I think something happened. A hint of a different hue there, see? A small splatter, not very notable in such a large piece, but they’re present.”

“Huh. I never noticed that.” There’s an odd tone in his voice. “But aren’t those people at the bottom of the hill still having fun? The extra color doesn’t overwhelm anything. The majority of it is still blue.”

“Smudged. The paint is smudged. Judging by this artist, I don’t think it’s unintentional.” There’s something wrong with this painting, looking at it for the umpteenth time. At first glance, unremarkable. On inspection, a story.

Ida is a storyteller. What happens when the story isn’t his to tell? The man called Yuuto is staring at her, words on his lips, unsaid. 

He doesn’t want to argue. Not about this image. Not when they already agreed that it was a happy little image, and that was that. The strange feeling strikes him again, choking and saccharine sweet. It’s wrong. There’s something more, a lost piece of the puzzle.

They move on, anyway.

In the cafe, the coffee tastes more bitter than usual. They chat all the way back, talking about not-quite everything under the sun. Halfway back, a bout of heavy rain begins and they run to the nearest shelter, otherwise known as a museum.

Dusk comes. It’s fine, because the entire thing is a cycle and he could go at it forever, this back and forth of lighthearted banter and chit-chat. When the stranger leaves, it’s normal, because there was never anything wrong about that.

——————

He walks past the cafe on his way home. The silhouettes of yesterdays echo in the closed shop like a painting in motion, unreachable, unreachable.

A poster is plastered on the nearby lamppost, the exact direction he remembers the man looking at. It’s an advertisement for the new exhibit. Tomorrow was the last day, ending off with an auction. An auction of everything that was his world for the past five days, everything under the sun. How did time pass so quickly? Leaps and bursts, perhaps, but fast nonetheless.

He doesn’t sleep. Dawn arrives. He grabs a small wad of cash and runs to the museum, praying it’s enough.

——————

It isn’t enough, of course. Ida takes the first bid to just slightly more than a thousand; it ends in the millions. Nobody cared about it before. Nobody cared about that blue square and some errant strokes, and still it goes to the man with the most money. If the price of art was decided by cash, why make art at all? 

His blog followers would agree. Yuuto might agree. He wouldn’t know.

He stays for a particularly desperate man who does end up getting the final bid on another work, not particularly high but instead just the bare minimum to deter others. He admires the passion, perhaps, or simply the ability to try harder. 

He should have tried harder.

Anything after that doesn’t interest him. He leaves.

——————

There’s nothing in the museum.

Which is an exaggeration, of course. There are still paintings. There are still people. But where the exhibit was, there remains pristine white walls. Too perfect.

He wanders aimlessly. Navigates the rope barriers, first floor, second floor, last floor. No sign of the man he’d spent so much time with, gone like the paintings.

Walking turns into a brisk walk, then to a full-on dash. Out of the museum, into the cafe, barely registering the bell chiming to signal his arrival. Their usual table is filled by someone else. He takes a seat and waits.

The barista asks where his friend is and whether they should prepare the usual order. Inexplicably, he says yes. 

That’s when Ida shatters.

The paintings he likes don’t disappear. Brushstrokes don’t just run away, forever stationary. That’s why he likes them, precisely because they are still images. Paintings don’t change, merely interpretations.

But he did, didn’t he? He’s not the shell of yesteryear, staring at paintings just to judge them objectively.

He knows what that feeling is now. Longing. There is no finality in all this, no entry for him to write about. He doesn’t even know the other’s contact.

It was always going to end. No matter how he looks at it, they are two strangers, stragglers of a world unwelcome.

——————

His boss asks why he skipped work. Not-Ida ceases waiting around and tries to go back to his usual life, away from the nearly five thousand milestone of followers. What use is it without credit?

——————

There is a package by his doorstep and he nearly trips over it on his way in, barely paying attention to the floor. Long, thin. When he unwraps it, it’s a roll of blue.

The painting is a miniature version, small enough to fit on the walls of his room, an accurate replica, albeit with duller colors. 

He hesitates. There’s something wrong with that statement.

It’s not a false painting, he abruptly concludes. The fading seems so natural it can’t possibly be anything but the real thing. He turns it over, and just as expected, there’s a signature.

S. Nowak. 

Seong Ida is not a storyteller. He is a blogger, an art connoisseur, a wanderer, a caged bird. Most importantly, he is a person who won’t stand for an incomplete tale. They will meet again, he swears. There will be no more rhetorical questions, no more formality, nothing less of the truth.

——————

small analysis