#I guess it is obvious I like whump

[tilskkarishma]

What most people see when they watch BSD:

What I (my sick head) see when I watch BSD:

[jayden-writes]

safe

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~3k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, whump

cw: kidnapping, strangulation, threats, violence, murder

summary: Did it truly matter that the hands cradling your face so very gently were bloody?

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic

A piece of fabric pressing over your mouth and nose was all it took to plunge your world into darkness, a pungent smell being the last thing you could process. You’d been on your way back from a short trip, unsuspecting, unaware of who was lurking in the shadows. How much time had passed, you couldn’t possibly tell, but as you finally came to, all you could feel was a dull pain engulfing your entire body. Upon trying to check for any injuries, you realized your wrists were tied, bindings digging tightly into your skin. Slowly, your other senses started to return to you, and you registered that you were sitting, something around your chest keeping you upright.

Forcing your eyelids open, you blinked a few times, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. It was dark, the small, sparse room only dimly lit. If you had to guess, you'd say it was some sort of basement; the floor was unfinished, and the brick wall looked rough. “Mh-” you tried to speak, but all that you managed to get out was a muffled, quiet sound. You’ve been gagged. A heavy weight settled deep in your stomach. The cloth forced between your teeth tasted musty, already damp with your saliva. Looking down with wide eyes, you took in the multiple rows of rope wrapped around your upper body, restricting your breathing, arms bound behind you at an awkward, painful angle that made your shoulders ache. The edge of the metal chair you were sitting on cut into your thighs.

When you wiggled around to free yourself, or at least loosen the restraints, the legs scraped on the crude floor, making your ears hurt. But no matter how hard you fought, it was futile. Holding back tears, you let your head hang, closing your eyes. Deliberately keeping your inhales slow and steady, you tried to think of a solution despite your racing thoughts. Panicking wouldn’t save you, you knew that. Clearly, you would be unable to free yourself without outside assistance. And with your mouth gagged, you weren’t even able to invoke one of your pacts to call them for help. So, what should you do? What could you do?

Before you had any more time to reflect on your circumstances, you heard heavy footsteps above you, drawing your attention. Seconds later, a door was opened, the light momentarily blinding you, then it was cut off again. In the remaining light bleeding through the crack of the door, you saw feet, legs and after that, slowly, the rest of someone unknown to you entered your field of vision - though it was obvious that it was a demon. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the pale blue piercing through you. A wolfish grin curled around her lips as she stepped closer. You wanted to shrink back, huddle into the furthest corner of the room. But you couldn’t.

“Ah, finally awake, are we? I bet you must have a lot of questions.” Her voice was casual, as if she was simply out for a stroll while she towered over you. “Well, too bad! You see, as much as I’d like to have what would undoubtedly be a very productive conversation with you, I know you’d just call upon one of those so-called Lords that grovel at your feet.”

“Mph…! Mn…!” you tried again, only earning an amused chuckle from her.

“I’m not particularly keen on having one of those brothers that practically fawn over you come to your rescue. Pathetic, really. Demons of their status acting like that around a human. They're supposed to be leaders, to be an example to us lowly demons. Ha, as if! Traitors, all of them, and they should be treated as such.” She gripped your chin roughly, her pointed fingernails scraping along your flesh as you glared at her defiantly despite the ice-cold sensation running through your veins.

“Don’t give me that fucking look, human, show me some respect,” she sneered. For a moment longer, she held your gaze, then her eyes wavered. Faster than you could comprehend, a sharp smack resounded in the small room, and your cheek stung. The force of the slap made your head spin. “You’ll lose that defiant look of yours soon enough and learn to grovel at our feet, just the way it should be. I’ll correct the mistake that fool of a prince made.”

Leaning even closer, she brought her hand down to your throat, closing her grip tightly around it. “I could kill you, just like this,” she whispered harshly into your ear as you struggled against her. Faintness quickly took you over, and your vision became frayed at the edges. Were you going to die like this? “Throw your decaying corpse at the feet of these pathetic weaklings and watch them become consumed by their emotions. And then, I’ll be the king.” You couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this. Not here. Not at her hands.

Finally, she let go of you, and you slumped forward. Blood rushed in your ears and you coughed into the cloth. “Tsk.” She spat on the ground right next to where you were trembling on the chair. “That was more boring than I’d expected. Thought you had more fight in you. But you'll see-”

Her speech was cut off when, suddenly, the door was thrown open, banging against the wall and making both you and your captor flinch. “And what exactly,” drawled a frigid voice as slow steps descended the stairs, “was ‘more boring than expected’? Enlighten me.”

You immediately recognized who it was - of course you did. But the softness that usually laced Lucifer's tone whenever he was talking to you was entirely gone, replaced by a sharpness you’d rarely heard from him. It wasn't directed toward you, you knew that, and yet you couldn't help the shiver running down your spine at the sound of his booming voice. Though he sounded composed, it was clear that he was anything but. The air felt electric, and the dangerous aura he exuded made your hair stand on end. Your heart skipped a beat, only to start pounding faster, a whimper escaping from behind the gag.

Lucifer came to a stop in front of the other demon, who had become virtually frozen in place, all color drained from her face. Gleaming red eyes glanced at you, swiftly assessing your state, before, whatever it was he saw, made his gaze harden even further. “Look away,” he instructed you in an oddly soft tone, and then his focus returned to your abductor, who was now visibly shaking.

“M-my lord,” she stammered, the quiver in her words unmistakable. “Please, you must understand-”

Within the blink of an eye, Lucifer had her pinned against the wall, a pained shriek filling the room. “What must I understand?” he asked, sounding deceptively calm, as his fingers dug into the throat of the other demon. She fought against the grip, trying to loosen the hold. To no avail. Lucifer was unmoving, unbothered by the nails scratching at his gloved hands. Clicking his tongue, he let go, and she collapsed to the ground.

“Please,” she tried, her voice strained as she coughed, attempting to gather herself. A hard kick was delivered to her stomach, causing her to cry out again and curl in on herself. When it was followed by Lucifer stepping on her hand, you knew you should have heeded his order and looked away. As it was, you were unable to avert your gaze as the bones of her fingers cracked beneath the force of his foot. She was pulled up to stand, though most of her weight was being held up by him, pinning her against the wall once more. “I-I'm sorry,” she choked out as he pressed his forearm into her throat.

“Are you truly sorry? Or are you merely trying to save your worthless skin?” Lucifer questioned in a dangerously low voice. He trailed a finger along her cheekbone. “Perhaps,” he mused, “I should rid your body of it. Find a better purpose for it. I believe some bookbinders still use demon skin for books. It would make a terrific present for your family, wouldn't you agree?” He paused, taking in the horror flickering across her face with an impassive expression. “Of course, that would be rather time-consuming. And, quite frankly, I have more important things to tend to than your worthless existence. Let's make this quick then, shall we?”

As if she weighed nothing, he slung her toward the opposite wall, a sickening crack audible as her head made contact with the bricks. She bonelessly fell to the floor, groaning in pain. Before she was able to regain her bearings, Lucifer was kneeling beside her prone body, not caring about the rapidly forming puddle of blood that was dirtying his pants. A dagger glinted in the dimly lit room, and only when blood spurted from her throat, her last, gurgling attempts at breathing filling the air, did you look away, your breaths coming in sharp gasps against the cloth. You felt sick.

With the mangled corpse of the demon lying at the feet of Lucifer, his gaze returned to your quivering form. The intense sheen in his eyes vanished as he took swift steps toward you, appraising your pale appearance. Crouching near you, he partially obscured the gruesome scene behind him. But now, with him finally by your side, he didn't need to. You didn't want to look at it, didn't care about the dead demon, the only thing your sight was drawn to was him. All that mattered was the man before you. The man who could easily kill you just like he killed her, who barely even batted an eye at the wounds he’d inflicted upon that woman. You knew that, rationally, you should be terrified of him, at least as much as you’d been terrified of her. And yet you weren't.

Those same hands that had just killed in cold blood, still stained red, were gently working on undoing the painful restraints keeping you in place. Those same eyes that had shone with ruthless indifference as he had taken a life now looked at you with carefully guarded concern and cautiousness. The crimson streaking his sharp features, dripping off his jaw in beads, complemented the eyes that were looking at you with a contradictory softness perfectly.

Once the cloth was removed from your mouth, all you could muster was a broken sob in the vague shape of his name. With a soft sigh that was probably shakier than Lucifer would have liked to admit, you were gathered into his arms. A hand gingerly pressed against the back of your head, guiding your face into the crook of his neck. The wet blood on his glove was undoubtedly staining your hair, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care; the warmth and safety you found in his embrace was all that mattered.

“Do you have any serious injuries?” he asked quietly, his breath brushing against your ear. Upon feeling you shake your head, he lifted you from the chair, carrying your weight with ease, and you instinctively wrapped your arms over his shoulders. As soon as he'd made it up the stairs, you could hear multiple sets of steps approaching in a hurry alongside several voices, yelling over each other. You recognized all of them, and they rushed around you, a few of them touching you.

Lucifer tightened his hold on you as the sudden onslaught of sensations made you whimper and burrow yourself further into him. “Stop it. This is not helping,” he reprimanded them sharply, and immediately, it grew quiet and the hands withdrew. “I will return home,” he continued. “Do with the body as you wish, though you ought to leave some remains. And don't dawdle too long.”

With that, he went outside, the fresh, cool air replacing the stuffy, metallic tang of the basement. The trip back was short - or was it long? You weren’t sure. It was silent, neither you nor him said anything. The tension in Lucifer was palpable, his posture rigid as he carried you. You mindlessly played with the fabric of his shirt, rubbing it between the tips of your fingers while your head rested on his shoulder.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, although it sounded hollow even to your own ears. He released a heavy sigh and hugged you closer to him.

“You're okay,” he simply echoed.

Next thing you knew, you were back inside. Lucifer's bloody hands were gentle as they worked on divesting your still-trembling form of your clothes, his gaze never lingering anywhere but his own fingers. Not that you would have noticed either way; you were blankly staring ahead, only vaguely aware of his actions. When he had finished, he spoke in a soft voice, as if afraid to startle you, “All done. Are you ready to get in?” Your attention snapped back to the present, to the warm bathroom you were standing in. The tiles beneath your bare feet were a little cold, just now starting to heat up. In the background, water was running, gradually filling the bathtub right next to you.

“Lucifer…?” you mumbled, receiving a squeeze to your hands in response. Looking down, you realized he was gently holding them in his own, ugly bruises and abrasions blooming across your wrists. His gloves were still damp, some of the blood staining your skin.

“Yes. I’m here. Let’s get you cleaned up now,” he responded patiently, directing you toward the tub. Your steps were mechanical as you followed his guidance, entering the warm water and submerging your body in it. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you hugged your legs to yourself, simply gazing at the rippling shapes around you.

“I will leave for a moment to change. Call for me if something is the matter.” For a beat, Lucifer waited for a reply, a reaction, anything from you. When he received none, he sighed wearily. “It will only be for a moment, I will be right back,” he said before stepping out. As you submerged your hands, you watched as the water surrounding you turned a light shade of pink. The pain radiating from your wrists was distant, detached from your being. You observed how you flexed your fingers, then curled them toward your palm, nails digging into the flesh. Had your hands always looked like that? Turning them around, you inspected them, spreading the fingers apart, pressing them together and-

“Does it hurt a lot?” a voice asked and you flinched hard, spinning toward the source. Lucifer was kneeling next to the tub, his brow creased in a frown. “I did not mean to startle you. You seemed very… absorbed in your thoughts. I suppose you didn’t hear me return.” His gloves were gone now, with no traces of the blood that had marred his skin just minutes ago. He had changed into clean, comfortable clothes as well. Upon your prolonged silence, he reached for a nearby cloth, dipping it into the water, then moving it over your body in slow, gentle circles.

“Is this real?” you muttered, the words leaving your mouth before you had even formed the thought.

“Yes, it is real,” he confirmed calmly, though his ministrations faltered briefly. “We are in my bathroom, back in the House of Lamentation. You are safe here.”

“Mhm…” you hummed noncommittally, your gaze drifting down to your submerged hands as you balled them into fists and stretched them out. The water rippled at the repetitive motion and you couldn’t help but stare at the patterns it created. The sensation of the cloth brushing over your skin faded into the background. Only when larger hands stopped your movements, grasping yours gently, did you glance at Lucifer again. You blinked at him blankly. Something in his expression was off, though you couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’m tired,” a voice said and you didn’t have the energy to think about whether it was your own or not.

“Let’s get you into bed then, hm?” he suggested softly, letting the water drain and carefully supporting you as you stood up and stepped out of the tub. A large towel was wrapped around you with which he patted you dry before he helped you into a set of clothes. They vaguely smelled like him. With an arm over your shoulders, he guided you out of the bathroom and back toward his room. Once at the bed, you lay down, sinking into the mattress. For a moment, Lucifer simply remained next to you, regarding you with an unreadable look on his face. Eventually, he knelt beside you and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a small container. Gingerly, he took one of your arms and scooped out some ointment to apply to the raw skin on your wrist, then he repeated it on the other side as well.

After stowing it away again, Lucifer turned off all the lights besides the candles and climbed into the bed next to you, cautiously gathering you into an embrace. A hand cupped the back of your head, hugging you into his chest as the fingers stroked your scalp. Aside from his even breaths and your slow, shallow ones, it was silent. An invisible weight was tugging on your limbs, the only thing holding you in place, holding you together, were the arms enveloping you.

“Can I let go?” you mumbled, not quite sure yourself what you were trying to ask, but he seemed to understand nonetheless.

“Yes, it’s alright to let go now,” he reassured you, squeezing you a little tighter. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

Humming in response, you nestled closer to him, feeling your breaths gradually synchronize with his as you surrendered yourself to the heavy warmth overcoming you. Soon, everything else slowly faded away until you finally drifted off to sleep, safe in Lucifer’s hold.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; injury; vomiting.

A/N: Another whumpful chapter. My little whumpy heart is happy. But some feely feel good moments too. And then some not so feely feel good. I don’t hate Andrea, I promise.

You couldn’t begin to guess what time it was. Between caring for Daryl and vomiting every drop of water you’d tried to intake, you barely knew where you were anymore. You tossed a few sticks into the fire to keep it burning low before lowering unsteadily to your knees beside the archer. 

Daryl hadn’t regained consciousness since his one-sided conversation earlier in the night. He was restless, quietly groaning; head turning back and forth with a pained grimace etched onto his features. His breaths came in shallow pants while his pulse palpitated wildly. His skin was still cool. You found yourself petting his hair and shushing him gently. Somehow, that felt okay. 

You ran a hand through your hair and exhaled shakily. How were you supposed to get both of you back safely the next morning when you were rapidly weakening and Daryl could hardly stand? What if you couldn’t even get him to rouse? Slapping your palms against the gravel, you forced yourself to your feet and began pacing. 

You were yearning for your father’s advice; missing him to a debilitating degree. For all the mistakes he’d humbly own up to, the man had never steered you wrong. He was never harsh, always finding a way to ensure you were laughing through your tears. 

“Perk up, peanut. Nothing’s that bad! When life gives you lemons—”

“I hate lemonade, daddy.”

“Forget lemonade! Why are you taking food from a stranger?”

“You’re so corny.”

“But you’re laughing. Mission accomplished.”

You wiped away a tear and smiled. You had been so lucky to have a father like him: patient, kind, funny, stern when he needed to be but never cruel. You stilled your steps and turned your gaze toward Daryl. On the surface, the hunter seemed to be the opposite of everything your father had been. But you had been granted the smallest glimpse through a crack in the archer’s self-preserving armor. 

When you were so incredibly sick in the woods, every touch had been gentle. Every syllable had been soft. Daryl was capable of tenderness and—while he may never be like your father—you easily believed the archer would be a wonderful dad in his own Daryl way. 

You sat down with your back against the tree, watching Daryl sleep. Fierce determination settled against your heart, smothering out the panic that always hid away there. You would get you both out. If you had to drag Daryl up the rocky slope tied to your back, you would persevere. You were all three going to survive this. 

You stayed in that spot, absorbing all the courage and strength the universe was offering. It wasn’t a supernatural event, but a personal battle against the weakness you had been allowing yourself to wallow in since the attack on your camp. Daryl was something in your life. More than the father of your baby. A friend? It didn’t matter. You needed him to be okay. 

As the sun began to rise and the fire burned out, you knew it was time to start the literal uphill battle toward getting back to camp. Taking a deep breath, you held it for a heartbeat as you looked at Daryl. The man was anything but weak but he was so pale, pain written plainly on his face. Exhaling, you crawled the short distance to where he lay, unsure how to approach this. 

“Daryl.” A gentle shake to his shoulder. Another whisper of his name with another simultaneous joggle. His eyes clenched, brows drawing together. He was in pain. It was obvious. Still, you had no choice but to insist. “Come on, Daryl. Open your eyes.” 

He did. “Wha’?” The archer immediately tried to sit up, but the wound’s sting held him in place. “Fuck.” You absently brushed your fingertips across his jaw. 

“Do you remember what happened?” You asked sincerely, helping him into a sitting position. It was a slow, painful endeavor but a success nonetheless. With an arm wrapped tightly around his middle, he pinned you down with a look just shy of a glare. 

“Thought I remembered ‘til I saw ya here.” He adjusted how he was sitting with only the slightest hint of discomfort. “But then I knew it couldn’t be real cause ya ain’t dumb enough to come out here alone.” Once he settled, Daryl arched an eyebrow at you. 

“Color me an idiot, then.” You shrugged with a feigned smile. He was clearly unimpressed. 

“Ya gotta stop thinkin’ s’just you anymore.” Your eyes followed his right hand as it moved from his midsection toward yours but pulled back quickly without touching. “I ain’t worth riskin’ our kid.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the first time he had acknowledged the baby as both his and yours. You decided that pointing it out was not in either of your best interests. 

“You’re important too, you know.” You argued instead. A retort was on the tip of his tongue, his mouth opening but you gave him no time to argue. “Here, you need to eat.” You grabbed his left wrist and plopped the apple onto his palm. “You really need more than that. I could reheat the beans from last night?”

“Don’t need to do all that. Just give ‘em here.” The spoon you had used was still in the can when you passed it to him. You sipped water from the canteen as he ate, watching him scrutinize every inch of the area you’d soon be climbing. Using the spoon, he pointed. “That your rope?”

“Well, technically it belongs to a moron that fell into a ravine on top of his own bolt.” Your grin met his deadpan expression. “I swiped it from your tent. Had to cut it to stop you from becoming walker chow though. Sorry.” 

He simply shrugged. “Ya ain’t eatin’?” 

Shit. You were truly hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I ate.” Not a lie. Technically. 

“If you have to say ‘technically’, you’re already in trouble.”

Your father’s voice echoed in your head. Goddamnit. “I can’t eat anything right now. Given all the shit we’re about to do, I shouldn’t have drank anything either.”

“They couldn’t find the meds?” He looked stricken and you found that caused an ache in your chest that you didn’t care to ever feel again. 

“I don’t know. I left before they got back.”

His face morphed into an annoyed scowl. “You’re an idiot.” He grumbled. He continued to eat, though he seemed more hesitant with every bite. Did he feel bad eating in front of you? “So let me wrap my head ‘round this.” That calm tone that was about to build up into his pissed off rampaging. “I can hardly move an’ you’re gonna be upchuckin’ ev’ry ten seconds, but we’re s’posed to climb outta here?”

“More or less.” You shrugged. 

“What could go wrong?” He grimaced at the empty can before tossing it aside. He stared at the canteen you held out to him but eventually took it. 

“I’ve got another, so drink up.” 

Daryl hummed and then drained every drop from the container. 

You stuffed it in your bag and slipped your arms through the straps. “We gotta go. Let’s get you up.” You stood only to crouch behind him, snaking your arms under his to lock your hands on his chest while carefully avoiding the wound. His muscles tensed at the contact. “This is gonna suck but on three?” He mumbled ‘fine’ under his breath and planted his hands on the ground to help push himself. “One, two, three!”

There was a cut off shout on the journey upright. He staggered backward but you planted your feet firmly to stabilize him. He was panting and swaying, both arms wrapped around himself tightly but he was taking most of his weight. 

“You good?” You asked, sliding your hands to hold just above hips, silently giving the bandages a once over for any fresh blood. 

“M’fine.” He managed to breathe. He didn’t sound fine but you’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Very slowly, you pulled your hands away, ensuring he could remain standing. 

Next order of business was strapping his crossbow onto your back. It took some time and maneuvering but you finally managed. 

“I can take that. Ya don’t need to be carryin’ all that shit.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Walk over here and you can have it.” Your eyes held a challenge, and you were certain he would rise to the bait, even knowing it wouldn’t end the way he wanted. He managed one step before he staggered. “That’s what I thought.” Confident he wouldn’t try again, you pulled and shifted the weapon’s strap while you studied the hill you two were about to tackle. “Jesus, this thing isn’t nice to sore tits.”

“Why your tits sore?”

You found him looking adorably confused. “It’s a pregnancy thing.” His eyebrows raised, his mouth forming a silent ‘o’. “Welp, let’s get started.” Daryl didn’t argue this time when you ducked under his arm. He needed as much strength as he could save for climbing. “Think you can make it to where the rope ends?”

The hunter narrowed his eyes. “Yeah.” He didn’t look any more confident than he sounded. 

“Okay, I’m gonna stay behind you until we get there. Then I’ll go first.” He nodded without argument. He must have felt awful if he wasn’t even trying to suggest something else. He grunted with the first uphill step, right arm encircling his middle while he breathed through the pain. “You okay?”

“Ain’t really got a choice.”

Unfortunately, he was right. You couldn’t leave him to fetch help and couldn’t drag him up the hillside. He managed another step, your hand reaching out to lie against the small of his back as you followed. Hopefully, you’d be able to stop him from falling. 

Halfway to the end of the rope, you barely received any warning before you pitched to the side and vomited all the water you had drank. 

“Oops.” You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, catching Daryl’s gaze from over his shoulder. “I spilled it.” He rolled his eyes and continued upward while you smirked at his back. Things sucked. Making light of it all wasn’t going to change that. 

After another block of several minutes, Daryl could almost reach out and touch the rope. He gripped a sturdy branch and pulled himself up further, falling short and curling inward with a sound dangerously close to a sob. 

“Daryl?” You grabbed the nearest rock and hauled yourself up beside him. “Are you okay?” He wasn’t. That much was clear from the way he visibly trembled and the tension you could see in his jaw. “Let’s rest here for a minute.”

“M’fine. Keep goin’.” 

“Daryl—”

“Said m’fine!” He snapped, beginning the ascent once again. You glowered at his back for a moment more before deciding it was pointless to argue. Once you made it to the rope, you’d take the lead and control the pace. You’d damn well make him slow down. “What now?” He panted, holding tightly to an unearthed root to keep himself from tumbling. You didn’t answer, but began to tie the rope around his midsection. “What the—ya need this more than me.”

“Shut up.” You finished the knot and reached above to give the rope a firm tug. Without a word, you climbed your way above him and grabbed onto the rope. You were certain you could make it just holding on and climbing. Your stomach was trying to revolt once again but at least you’d have the security of not falling as long as you held on tight. Hopefully, you wouldn’t accidentally puke on his head. 

With concern clearly on your face, you continued to look back. Daryl was taking significantly longer, breaths coming fast and jaw clenched. He was clearly struggling to keep quiet so you wouldn’t stop. Idiot. 

“You doing okay back there?”

“Just go.” He snapped, hissing through his teeth immediately after. If you could make it fast enough, maybe you could pull the rope to give him some support. The thought had no sooner crossed your mind before you bent forward and dry heaved, hardly able to maintain your grip. “Hey. Ya alright?”

You nodded, keeping still for a moment. The world was spinning. You couldn’t risk climbing. Your baby was more important than attempting to race your way to the ledge. If you fell—

A cool hand came to rest on the middle of your back, the vibrations of the tremors his body was suffering were felt clearly through your shirt. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He was worried for you and for the baby. It was a new but not unwelcome feeling to realize you weren’t unimportant to him. He didn’t see you as an incubator. Being friends that happened to share a child wasn’t such a terrible feeling. 

“I’m okay.” You pulled air in through your nose and pushed it out through your mouth. The breathing helped alleviate the nausea and any panic that may have accompanied it. “Let’s keep going. We need to get you back.”

“Need to get you back too.” He argued while removing his hand. He started to climb again before you were ready to move. There was no way you were letting him above you. If he fell, he’d take you with him and you wouldn’t have the rope to slow your descent. You scrambled quickly and carelessly, making it up to at least be beside him. And just in time. 

The rock Daryl placed his left foot on came loose from the soil. He let out a curse as he began to fall but you were quick, twisting at the waist to grab hold of his wrist. The sudden movements irritated his wound, your heart clenching when he cried out and pressed his forehead against the ground. 

“C’mon. Ya done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy.” He muttered to himself. 

You almost let the laughter that bubbled up force its way from your mouth. Almost. It was only slightly difficult not to tease him when he was in such a shape. You kept a keen eye on him as he repositioned and found a solid foothold. When he looked up at you and nodded, you noticed how badly he was sweating and he was growing even more pale. Reluctantly, you released your hold but kept your hand outstretched just in case. 

“You good?” 

There was a look that crossed his face, like he was about to say something snarky, but it faded just as quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, m’good.” Upon turning back to your own climb, you smiled to yourself. 

It was unsurprising that you reached the top first, keeping the rope in hand as you climbed the last several feet to the ledge. Once you had hauled yourself up, you shed your bag and his crossbow before you sat close to the tree and pulled up all the slack. If he were to fall now you’d need to brace your legs against the trunk to be able to hold him without being dragged off yourself. Little by little you pulled as he got closer. From where you were positioned, you couldn’t see him so the rope was the only clue you had as to where he might be. 

“Daryl, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer but was still moving, albeit slower. Until he appeared to stop. Shit. Taking a risk, you let go and crawled to the edge. The archer was just below the tree root. His arms were trembling, his forehead was pressed against the dirt, and worst of all, there was fresh blood spreading across the back of his shirt. 

“Daryl. Daryl, answer me.”

“Just—just need—a minute.” He slurred. Your worry compounded, a sick feeling in your gut that had nothing to do with that hullabaloo word that Hershel had given you. That god awful feeling was constricting your chest, making it hard to form any sort of coherent thought, let alone a plan. Eyes on the archer, you could see his fingers loosening around the limb and rock that were keeping him there. 

“Daryl!” You barked loudly. It had the intended effect. His body visibly jerked and he lifted his head, dazed eyes searching until they found you. You had to make a choice: try to pull him up or go down to get him. Your hands pushed you up and allowed you to spin with your legs over the edge. Leaning forward the slightest bit, you started down as you had the day before, sliding your ass against the ground. 

“Y/N!” Daryl’s voice, though angry, held very little ardor. He was barely hanging on, literally and figuratively. “Don’t—don’t ya dare come—down here.”

“Try and stop me.” You knew it was a risk. Frankly, you were fed up with risking your baby but you told Daryl he was important, too. “You can yell at me later.” Your gaze continued to flit between your path and the hunter. He had rested the side of his face against the ground again and was trying to watch you through eyes that were fighting like hell to close. 

Seconds later, his hand started to fall away from the rock, just for yours to push it back down. His grip instantly tightened. Your other hand moved to grasp his chin.

“Daryl.” His gaze was unfocused but he was still holding himself there. “Daryl, I need you to climb. I’ll help you but I need you to try.” When you had to shake his head a little, you felt a tickle on your cheek just as your lip quivered. “Please.” He remained still, leaving you envisioning him letting go. If he fell, it might not kill him but you would never be able to get him back to this point. You were running out of ideas. Adjusting yourself to reach across him and hold his left hand around the limb, you grabbed the right and pressed his palm against your stomach. “If not for you or me, try for them!”

There was nothing for a moment more, long enough for you to lose hope. You let your head fall forward against the back of his shoulder and cried in earnest, knowing you’d have to climb up eventually. 

His fingers twitched against your belly. He started to move, slowly. Very slowly. Hell, sloths moved faster. You reeled back, observing, ready to do whatever he needed. Right then, you just started whispering encouragement as he reached for something to continue pulling himself upward. 

“That’s it. Keep going. I’m right here.” You climbed beside him, careful of where you put your feet. You would reach out each time you moved up, just placing your palm on his back to assure him you were real and you were there. “Almost, Daryl.” The two of you had passed the root that held the rope when the trembling worsened but he didn’t stop. His teeth were bared, clenching so tightly that you thought they might shatter. 

When he was close enough, you scrambled past him and to the edge. You couldn’t pull his full weight, but you knew he’d rather fall than pull you over. If he couldn’t fight his way up, he’d let go. It was a terrible fact. You reached for him—over his shoulders—grabbing under his arms to give him some support when he dug his fingers into the dirt to drag himself up the rest of the way. 

You both collapsed onto the flat ground beside the tree, panting and staring up at the canopy. You rolled your head and smiled at him, though he seemed to be only halfway present. Your smile was still in place when you looked back up at the cloudless blue sky. 

“Well, that was fun.” You chuckled.

Daryl groaned and weakly lifted the arm closest to you and placed his hand over your face. Somehow, that only made you laugh harder. 

The two of you were worse for wear by a mere hour into the journey back. You were in a violent cycle of drinking water only to vomit it up moments later while Daryl could barely stay on his feet, stumbling and catching himself against a tree if there happened to be one. If not, you’d stagger over and let him use your arm to lever his way back to his feet. 

Neither of you had said a word. You were dehydrated and in desperate need of sleep. Daryl was actively bleeding, growing paler by the moment. You forced him to drink when you did, paying as much attention as possible to the amount left. The next time you doubled over, you found him leaning heavily against a tree, watching you. 

“G’on ahead.” He made a weak gesture and began sliding down until his ass met the dirt. You began shedding your bag and his weapon while shuffling over to him, dropping them both within reach before you mimicked his descent and ended up shoulder to shoulder. 

“I didn’t go through all that shit just to leave you behind now.” The canteen was right on top when you opened the pack. You held it out to him while you grabbed the remaining apple. Daryl struggled with the lid while you took the smallest of bites, praying that what Lori had said about the fruit alleviating nausea was true. You traded after that, but the canteen never made it to your mouth nor did the apple make it to his. His head fell back against the tree and yours to his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’a come—out here in—the first place.” 

You’d never tell him no one else was willing, though he probably suspected it. “Told you. You’re important too.” You sighed and closed your eyes. You wouldn’t sleep. Both of your senses were dulled, which made the two of you a walker buffet if they approached undetected. 

Daryl snorted, though it sounded more like a stunted exhale through his nose. “Yeah. Right.”

You wanted to glare at him but you were comfortable. “Shut up. You are to me.”

“Why?”

“Besides the obvious?” You lifted your head and busied yourself checking his wound. “You just are. When you’re not being a hotheaded jackass, you’re actually pretty good company.” You looked up just in time to see him avert his eyes. He apparently still had enough blood in his body to color his cheeks. Your head found his shoulder again. “Not to mention, you’re a great lay.”

“Stop.”

Your smirk remained while you forced yourself to drink a few sips, hearing him bite into the apple. Aside from dehydrating and slowly bleeding to death, the moment was nice. You couldn’t help but think back to Carol informing you that Daryl didn't like to be touched. Yet here you were using him as a makeshift pillow. Maybe it was a pregnancy perk or maybe he really did consider you a friend. He was slowly making it obvious that he cared. You’d take what you could get as long as the two of you could manage to co-parent. 

When you shifted to put away the canteen and reached for the remainder of the apple, you found his head hanging with the fruit loosely held in his palm. Checking his breathing and pulse, both were not at dangerous levels but he needed help and soon. You took the apple and put it away. 

You would let him rest a while longer before you’d be forced to press on if you were going to make it back before sundown. He became your pillow for a third time while you kept watch and listened to his shallow panting, just content with the fact that he was still breathing. 

“We’re almost there.” You all but groaned, your hand clutching your rolling stomach while Daryl stumbled along beside you. He had taken his crossbow a while ago when you fell to your knees while vomiting. He was holding the strap and dragging it along behind him. 

He grunted in reply, pale face grimacing as if each step was more painful than the last. Probably is. You clutched Sophia’s doll against your hip. They would all probably be so busy fussing over the state the two of you returned in to listen if you told them to check your pack. 

When you walked out of the trees and into the field, the house and camp in view, you could have cried. Well, maybe you couldn’t have. It depended on how dehydrated you were at that point. 

You let your steps slow to stay close to Daryl in case the adrenaline that got him this far suddenly diminished with the relief of being so very close. There was a shout in the distance and you smiled as four of them began running toward you. 

We made it. 

You allowed your steps to slow and then stop as Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glen closed in—with guns drawn?!

“Is that Daryl?” Glenn exclaimed. “Y/N?”

“S’the third time ya’ve pointed that thing at my head! Ya gonna pull the trigger or what?”

“Third time?” You asked, beyond confused. Before anyone could say anything else, a shot rang out and Daryl crumpled to the ground. Rick was yelling but you only had eyes for the archer. You stumbled over and fell beside him, holding your breath. When his eyes fluttered open and he reached toward a gash above his temple, you forced out a sob and laid your head against his shoulder. 

Hands encircled your midsection and gently pulled you back, T-Dog’s voice in your ear. “It’s okay. They’ve got him.”

“I’s kiddin’—” Daryl slurred as he was pulled to his feet between Rick and Shane. His weary gaze met yours before his eyes rolled back and he slumped. 

Rick must have seen the look on your face because he was already bringing two fingers to the archer’s neck. He nodded at you and your legs nearly gave out. You gave T-Dog a smile and patted his arm, getting your feet underneath you to follow along beside Rick. Glenn was hovering in your peripheral. Probably a good thing. As soon as Daryl was being seen to, you were sure to collapse yourself. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god, is he dead?”

You turned to find Andrea running toward the group of you, your tired eyes narrowing. She wasn’t a great shot, that much you knew. Surely it wasn’t—

“Unconscious.” Rick answered. “You just grazed him.”

“You?” You hissed, bringing everyone to a stop. “Who the hell is letting you shoot long range?!” 

Clearly offended, Andrea took a step toward you. “It was an accident. It didn’t kill him.” She vaguely gestured toward the man that you had risked your life—your baby—to bring back alive. 

“You bitch.” You sucked on your teeth, digging deep for some semblance of control. 

“Seriously? I went out of my way to be nice to you. I think we’re square here.”

You nodded. “Square. You think we’re square.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Rick lifted his arm away from Daryl’s hand on his shoulder in an attempt to usher you along. Spinning to your right, you snatched Rick’s gun from Glenn, switched off the safety, and had Andrea in your sights before anyone could blink. 

The blonde’s hands raised while voices escalated in panic. All the shocked expressions were meeting one another, clueless as to how to handle the situation. You fully expected to be taken down and locked up somewhere. 

But no one touched you. 

After a very intense moment, you flicked the safety on and held the gun back out to the kid. 

“Square would be grazing your pretty cheek or maybe a little bit of ear. Unlike you, I was raised with a gun. I rarely miss.” You sneered. “Then we’d be square.” Panting from the exertion, you staggered, your own adrenaline running on fumes. 

“What’re you gonna do with her?” Andrea demanded, pulling against Dale’s arm when Rick and Shane dragged Daryl past her. “She aimed a gun at me! What’re you gonna do?”

Lori wrapped an arm around your back, “She didn’t shoot you, Andrea. We can talk about this later. Come on, let’s get you inside.” You saw Maggie approaching, felt her take your other arm as the world tilted. Somewhere past the darkness that was looming you heard:

“Guys! Isn’t this Sophia’s?”

[whumpy-wyrms]

i’m still writing tllr but oof whump is just Not what my brain wants to think about rn.. not in a bad way but in the way that means my three month long hyperfixation has ended and is replaced by other silly stuff now so.. i might not be super active for the next few weeks probably. oh well

i am almost done with chapter 11 tho and updates will continue but i’ll probably not be rebloging or reading much stuff for a bit

anyway look at this pumpkin i carved yesterday it’s a bat because of course it is

oopsie i accidentally got myself hyperfixated on my other ocs (ones i will never post to this account sorry) andddd now writing is gonna be a bit slow probably. oops

[savebatsfromscratch]

Hey hey! I just finished a ridiculously complicated and long UQuiz about fandoms! Please take it! :D

I put my heart and soul into this PLEASE play it!! I like sharing stuff I like, it's fun I promise. <3

Edit: This is kinda aimed a little at whump enjoyers btw, not entirely but a decent bit. Warning for swearing, possible spoilers for any/all included fandoms, vaguely mentioned drug use in one answer to one question, and violence. (Fictional.)

Included fandoms: Shark Wars, Warrior Cats, Pokemon Adventures, Pokemon Diamond and Pearl Adventure, Hetalia, Percy Jackson, Gameknight999, Scratchcraft, the Pokemon Anime (with Ash as the protagonist), How to Train Your Dragon (books), How to Train Your Dragon (movies and shows), Spiderwicks Chronicles, and The Monkees.

Look under the cut for the "awnsers" to each question (after taking the quiz) if you want some context. XD This took me forever! (Warning, doing this will make this post very long.)

1. When your story gets serious, what do you want from it? 1. Pokemon DPA: A deeper meaning that gets the author in WAY over their head. 2. Warrior Cats: A deeper meaning that could be taken the exact wrong way if you so chose to. 3. Gameknight999: A deeper meaning that was probably not intentional. 4. Shark Wars: A deeper meaning that is mentioned explicitly once or twice and then never added to again. 5. Pokespe: A deeper meaning that needs a little thinking to make any god damn sense at all. 6. Pokeani: A deeper meaning that only seems to show up in half-canon material. 7. Spiderwicks: A deeper meaning that doesn't seem to have any actual bearings in reality. 8. HTTYD Books: A deeper meaning that CATCHES YOU OFF GAURD. LIKE, FUCK DUDE- 9. Scratchcraft: A deeper meaning that is pretty obvious if you ignore the fact that it doesn't actually exist. 10. Hetalia: A deeper meaning that is questionable at best. 11. Percy Jackson: A deeper meaning that hits really hard when you start growing up. 12. HTTYD movies: A deeper meaning that was better done somewhere else but I still cried. 13. The Monkees: A deeper meaning that just barely made it past the censors, and it as true to the real world as it could ever aim to be.

2. What do you want out of a protagonist? 1. Pokemon DPA: Overpowered. Also bites people on the ass. 2. Warrior Cats: I like to switch things up as the media progresses. :3 3. Gameknight999: Really traumatized but you wouldn't guess that at all from the concept of the story. 4. Shark Wars: Edgy but in a cringe way. 5. Pokespe: I like to switch things up as the media progresses. >:) 6. Pokeani: I can't tell if he's aroace or gay God Bless America. 7. Spiderwicks: I don't care. As long as they're in SOME SORT of a family- 8. HTTYD Books: Cursed by the repetition of history. 9. Scratchcraft: I want to pick my protagonist thank you very much. 10. Hetalia: Immortal, but silly. 11. Percy Jackson: Badass who everyone is scared of, but, like, they're so nice. :") 12. HTTYD movies: The more the merrier! 13. The Monkees: Someone funny, and maybe a little bit high.

3. What kind of antagonist really gets you going? 1. Pokemon DPA: Manipulators. 2. Warrior Cats: Just a little guy. :3 they kill people Just a little guy- 3. Gameknight999: At least a little edgy, preferably have motivations that don't make any sense. 4. Shark Wars: Kinda horny for no reason. lowkey 5. Pokespe: Utterly insane most of the time. 6. Pokeani: Idiots and/or common criminals. 7. Spiderwicks: Big scary beasts are good! Smart ones too! 8. HTTYD Books: Tumblr sexyman in a not-not-very-hot way. 9. Scratchcraft: Lowkey I could probably beat them up. 10. Hetalia: It's kinda weird to think of anyone as an antagonist. :( 11. Percy Jackson: Yeah. This guy would kill me and laugh about it. 12. HTTYD movies: Animal poachers are my favorite! 13. The Monkees: Is an antagonist really necessary? (Or is it the producer… hmm)

4. Pick a creature please! 1. Pokemon DPA: EXTREMLY overpowered magic penguin. 2. Warrior Cats: Cat who is cat-racist 3. Gameknight999: Minecraft wolf! 4. Shark Wars: Shark who is shark-racist 5. Pokespe: Traumatized rodent. 6. Pokeani: A weirdly athletic rodent 7. Spiderwicks: Fairies! 8. HTTYD Books: Dragon! (Sentient edition) 9. Scratchcraft: Cod God 10. Hetalia: A sentient piece of food. 11. Percy Jackson: Black Pegasus. 12. HTTYD movies: Dragon! (Pet cat editon) 13. The Monkees: Hmm... Monkee...

5. Pick an epic quote from one of the pieces of media in question. 1. Pokemon DPA: "I'm fine with being stupid!" 2. Warrior Cats: "Kill me. Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you won." 3. Gameknight999: “You can only do what you believe you can do. I can do this,” 4. Shark Wars: “Let’s get you back where you belong before you catch your death.” 5. Pokespe: “If you can only achieve a dream by being deceitful, using others, and crushing their own hopes, that’s not called a dream, it’s called an ambition.” 6. Pokeani: "I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are." 7. Spiderwicks: "We call them 'fairy tales' for a reason, you know. They're not real." 8. HTTYD Books: “We're all snatching precious moments from the peaceful jaws of time.” 9. Scratchcraft: "Goodbye everybody! I'm going to the sky!" (Storm, S2E30) 10. Hetalia: “It seems as if Americans like to be the center of attention even after they're dead.” 11. Percy Jackson: "If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself," 12. HTTYD movies: "I wouldn't kill him, because he looked as frightened as I was. I looked at him… and I saw myself," 13. The Monkees: "If, uh, people say well, I can’t carry a note, I can’t, I can’t say, I can’t sing, I, I’m tone deaf. But nobody’s tone deaf, and if you love music, then you can play music."

6. How much violence are you feeling like looking at? 1. Pokemon DPA: The real fear happens when the comic relief finally stops. 2. Warrior Cats: Somehow the worst part is that hardly anyone seems to notice something is wrong. 3. Gameknight999: It's a game, but only to half of the participants in the conflict. 4. Shark Wars: Oh, that's torture and mass killings graphically detailed in a children's book, okay. 5. Pokespe: The blood was censored, but somehow you know it's there. 6. Pokeani: It's all fun and games until somebody randomly drops dead. 7. Spiderwicks: Everything is totally fine mom! My sister DIDN'T just get kidnapped by the fae! I promise! 8. HTTYD Books: Ultimately, it's never the violence that truly hurts, but the fact that you know it will happen again and again, and all you can do is try and make things marginally better while you are still here, crawling through the mud. 9. Scratchcraft: You get to choose how real any of this is. 10. Hetalia: A comedy with an underlying truth of extreme violence and war and the realization that none of these people can be friends forever. 11. Percy Jackson: Somehow we always seem to push through. ̶u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ 12. HTTYD movies: We will always keep fighting! (But there comes a time that sometimes fighting the good fight is not actually the good fight anymore.) 13. The Monkees: It entirely depends if we're talking about slapstick comedy or the real deal here. (If you look too deep you'll find both.)

7. How do you like your fandoms. 1. Pokemon DPA: I'm fine with a small fandom. I'm not bothered by the bones of a (slightly) bigger one. 2. Warrior Cats: This fandom feels like being surrounded by a pack of wolves! thumbs down 3. Gameknight999: I have never been in a worse fandom. Seriously. Imagine being in a fandom of twelve yearolds on WATTAPAD that then transitions to DISCORD. This is what Hell feels like. (And I'm Catholic.) /pos I luv you guys but STILL 4. Shark Wars: Literally no other person in the whole world is perfect for me. :3 (PLEASE JOIN ME. PLEASE. HELP!) 5. Pokespe: This fandom feels like being surrounded by a pack of wolves! thumbs up 6. Pokeani: Most god awful takes you've ever seen because half the people here don't even like the content and the other half are eight years old. 7. Spiderwicks: What fandom? 8. HTTYD Books: When the fandom is just the size that you can't argue with each other over media or you'll fall apart. ok symbol 9. Scratchcraft: Tight knit fandoms on almost exclusively Discord and a children's coding website are good enough for me! 10. Hetalia: Honestly, I love the discourse. I'M SORRY I KNOW, I JUST- gets jumped 11. Percy Jackson: The memes are so unfunny it feels like it's stuck in the 2000s. 12. HTTYD movies: I don't even care if half the fandom is crossovers with unrelated fandoms, I want to have fun! 13. The Monkees: Pretty big and dedicated, once you get there. (Might have to sort through the graves of 2014 first though.)

8. If you were my mutual in this fandoms (HYPOTHETICALLY) what sort of content of fandom stuff do you like from a mutual. 1. Pokemon DPA: This whump fic is NOT weird, I promise! (>:3) 2. Warrior Cats: Whump fics every october. thumbs up 3. Gameknight999: 1 (one) 66,000+ word crossover fic and basically nothing else. 4. Shark Wars: Stupid meme edits. 5. Pokespe: Memes? ? Gore? ? Animating the same scene eight times? Yep 6. Pokeani: Uh… I did a ship week once? 7. Spiderwicks: Fancontent? glups 8. HTTYD movies: 80 billion reblogs once in a blue moon 9. Scratchcraft: Fanart that has absolutely no relation to canon. 10. Hetalia: The occasional shitty animation. 11. Percy Jackson: Old art posting. 12. HTTYD books: Gore art of everyone's favorite buff teenager <3 13. The Monkees: Literally over 1000 reblogs in two weeks, and then shutting up for a month.

9. (Sorry if that last question almost made you click away lol.) Now, pick a SILLY quote completely out of context! :D (And further apologizes if none of them are funny out of context. lmao) 1. Pokemon DPA: "Nah…he probably started a rock band! He's got the hairdo for it!" 2. Warrior Cats: "Okay, I'll bring back your stupid stick. Keep your fur on." 3. Gameknight999: "Theres another sign, it says…COM?" 4. Shark Wars: "It was not a good whammo. Not good at all." 5. Pokespe: "I wish [corporation name] would have a lot of customers. Preferably a hundred thousand people on the first day," 6. Pokeani: "I'll use my trusty frying pan as a drying pan!" 7. Spiderwicks: "It just figured that Mom would get back from the store NOW." 8. HTTYD Books: "…she had once stunned a stag with one blow of her mighty bosoms, and many a smaller animal had suffocated in their stern depths." 9. Scratchcraft: "SLAM DUNK!" misses horrifically (Storm, S2E30) 10. Hetalia: "YOU PEED ON THE FLOOR??!?!" 11. Percy Jackson: "Tremble before the horror of Diet Coke!”" 12. HTTYD movies: "I knew it. I'm dead!" 13. The Monkees: "Nobody even lends money to a man with a sense of humor!"

10. Pick a piece of an "outfit" 1. Pokemon DPA: A hairclip made with the symbol of a cult which brainwashed you 2. Warrior Cats: A cat collar. It's broken. 3. Gameknight999: Diamond leggings 4. Shark Wars: Tattoos put in place with sea urchin spines 5. Pokespe: Electricity proof (yet fingerless) gloves 6. Pokeani: An extremely rare baseball cap obtained by mailing in cereal box tops obsessively 7. Spiderwicks: A dress made by dwarves 8. HTTYD Books: A torn fire-proof suit (you must wear it to battle) 9. Scratchcraft: Red shirt with a watermelon (with a face) on the back. :) 10. Hetalia: Combat boots with questionable origins 11. Percy Jackson: A silver skull ring 12. HTTYD movies: A wing suit with a partially broken spring 13. The Monkees: Green wool hat.

11. Choose a location a protagonist (or perspective character) finds themselves 1. Pokemon DPA: A building rigged to explode, the only exits have malfunctioned 2. Warrior Cats: A dark forest. Bones crunch underfoot. 3. Gameknight999: A room full of gunpowder, lava sparks awfully close by 4. Shark Wars: Enemy territory, bodies float down around you 5. Pokespe: The rift of time, memories that you do not know fly by 6. Pokeani: A sunken ship on the bottom of the ocean, it is quickly filling with water 7. Spiderwicks: A dumbwaiter, it stops in a entirely closed off room 8. HTTYD Books: The mast of a sinking ship, lightning burns through the air 9. Scratchcraft: A mermaid gladiator arena, who needs to be serious? :3 10. Hetalia: An empty box of tomatoes, gunshots ring outside 11. Percy Jackson: A place so evil that you are too mortal to process it's true horror 12. HTTYD movies: The beach, making your final stand against someone you used to love 13. The Monkees: A large black box.

12. Choose an experience a protagonist has endured. 1. Pokemon DPA: You feel yourself begin to cry. No matter how evil this person is, you cannot help but forgive them. When will they understand? 2. Warrior Cats: You stand alone, suddenly in complete darkness. Overwhelmed by shame, you realize it is better for them all to think you are dead. 3. Gameknight999: You stand on a thin path under the world, your greatest enemy with a pickaxe in his hands. 4. Shark Wars: You find yourself in the deepest trench in the ocean as you are pulled down by a weight you cannot remove. 5. Pokespe: Ice freezes around you, crackling slowly up your arms as you scream for help. No one comes. 6. Pokeani: You feel your soul slowly begin to dissipate as your body turns to stone. 7. Spiderwicks: Your body shakes, skin burning as poison touches it. You lift your foot, revealing what is left of something you should have loved. 8. HTTYD Books: You have been kidnaped, and finally, your letter to your mother has been returned. You reach your skinny arms through the bars of your prison window to unravel the paper. You can't help but wonder what wonderfully army she might have sent to rescue you. What do you find? A resounding "No," you must save yourself after all. 9. Scratchcraft: Lightning rains down around you, but you smile. It's finally time to join the other gods in the sky. The people you once loved are nothing but shadows to you now. 10. Hetalia: You lock yourself in your room. Days, weeks, months, and years pass you by, but even three centuries of knowing your fate cannot prevent it from occurring. 11. Percy Jackson: As a person able to breath underwater, you are yanked into unfamiliar waves, for the first time ever, you know what it is like to drown. 12. HTTYD movies: The beautiful creature before you lays it's head on the earth, giving up. Your hands shake and the dagger falls to the ground. 13. The Monkees: You stagger through the desert, but when you have finally found a vending machine, standing there atop a drifting hill of sand, it doesn't give you what you wanted.

13. Pick another quote that made me feel emotions. (Side note, the HTTYD books series especially has a lot of great quotes. Just some unfair propaganda from me. :3 Can't be TOO serious can we?) 1. Pokemon DPA: "You're no big bad war machine? Y'know how I know that? … You're crying." 2. Warrior Cats: “My curse is to live forever, knowing what has been and what has yet to be, powerless to change anything.” 3. Gameknight999: “Sometimes we have to reach a little farther than we can, be a little stronger than we are, and do things that we normally wouldn’t be able to, because we must, to take care of those we love,” 4. Shark Wars: "You're a murderer!" "A realist," 5. Pokespe: "No matter how much I reach out to the brightness of the outside world… the darkness keeps dragging me back. No matter how hard I try, I never get to enjoy my freedom," 6. Pokeani: "We do have a lot in common. The same earth, the same air, the same sky. Maybe if we started looking at what's the same instead of always looking at what's different… well, who knows?" 7. Spiderwicks: "Don't you know me? Am I not your own self?" 8. HTTYD Books: "You, dear reader, I am sure cannot imagine what it might to be like to live in a world in which books are banned. For surely such things will never happen in the Future?" 9. Scratchcraft: "I'm am not smart and I should not have done that. Ha hA- Hope I didn't loose everything I own." (Saltyy) 10. Hetalia: "When I look into all of your stupid faces, I think how fun it will be to pound them into dust." 11. Percy Jackson: “Don't feel bad, I'm usually about to die.” 12. HTTYD movies: "A man will never how far he's willing to go until he steps to the edge and looks down" 13. The Monkees: "Um. Kidnapping man."

14. Window shopping! Pick a "iconic" cover/thumbnail with the name of the series cropped out! 1. Pokemon DPA: [A picture of the cover of the seventh book. It shows Hareta, Koya, Heataran, and Shaymin. It is mostly red.) 2. Warrior Cats: [A picture of the cover of Into The Wild. It shows an orange cat with green eyes among blades of sharp green grass.] 3. Gameknight999: [A cover of a book showing Gameknight brandishing a sword at a red Enderman. It looks weirdly off model for a minecraft book cover.] 4. Shark Wars: [A picture of the cover of the first book showing a very blue shark (Gray) with a smaller a green one (Barkley) next to him. There are others in the background. It is mostly blue.] 5. Pokespe: [A picture of the cover of book three in the Red and Blue arch. It shows Red and his pikachu Pika, as well as a few of his other Pokemon along the side. The background is green.] 6. Pokeani: [Part of a Poster showing Ash, Misty, Brock, and a whole lot of Pokemon. The background is white.] 7. Spiderwicks: [A picture of the first cover. It shows the three main characters looking down at a book with very different expressions. The drawing is brown tinted, but the area around it is blue.] 8. HTTYD Books: [A picture of one of the covers of How To Betray a Dragon's Hero, it shows Hiccup being carried above a lake by a red dragon.] 9. Scratchcraft: [The cover of StormLordZeus' final episode of season two. He is an armored minecraft man with glowing purple eyes floating in a lightning storm.] 10. Hetalia: [The cover of the first book in the series. It shows Italy, Germany, and japan on a white background.] 11. Percy Jackson: [The first cover of the first book. it shows a boy trudging towards New York City through the ocean, a golden sword in his hand. It is stormy.] 12. HTTYD movies: [A poster for the first movie. It shows a large black dragon (Toothless) reaching his nose out to touch Hiccup's outstretched hands. There is a wide moon in the background.] 13. The Monkees: [A screenshot from the Daydream Believer music video. Peter is playing piano, Davy is behind him, singing, Mike is playing guitar above them, and Micky is on the other side, also singing and playing tambourine. The room is rainbow striped.]

15. This quiz is all over the place, isn't it. Whatever. Time to pick the sort of media you would like to enjoy your chosen franchise/series in. 1. Pokemon DPA: A short(-ish) and sweet manga series. 2. Warrior Cats: It is critical that these books must have as many mistakes as possible. Also, there must be a LOT of them. 3. Gameknight999: Books where you eventually start wondering if the author proofread this stuff at all /pos 4. Shark Wars: Vaguely obscure children's books 5. Pokespe: A really fricking long manga series 6. Pokeani: This anime is WAY too long. 7. Spiderwicks: A short series of thin, but aesthetically pleasing books 8. HTTYD Books: Some surprisingly chunky books with a cool font! 9. Scratchcraft: Youtube videos where most of the series is deleted :( 10. Hetalia: Anything I can get my hands on. A webcomic, an anime, music, more than one musical for some reason, etc… 11. Percy Jackson: A book series that has several levels of optional other series to read with it :D 12. HTTYD movies: Movies and a whole lot of optional episodes if you want them 13. The Monkees: A two season TV sitcom from the 60s, a movie, several books from the people involved, and several albums of varying quality.

16. Pick a silly story I've had happen in relation to these stupid things. 1. Pokemon DPA: I thought it was a different series. Like, I picked it up and thought I was reading a different book series than I was. 2. Warrior Cats: I stayed up ALL NIGHT at Girl Scout Camp reading one of the books a few into a section of the series that I have never read before or since. 3. Gameknight999: I associate the smell of magazines with this fandom now, unfortunately. 4. Shark Wars: For some reason I could not find book two. Like. For four years. Why. I found everything else almost at once. What about book two makes it impossible to find. 5. Pokespe: I made it my mission to read through the entire series in a month every summer through middle AND high school. 6. Pokeani: My mother constantly apologizes for letting me watch this show. It's great. 7. Spiderwicks: On a four hour car trip, the only thing I brought to do was read this book. I get car sick when I read in a car. 8. HTTYD Books: When I was in like second grade I accidentally left one of the books out in the pouring rain at an aunt's house. It survived, shockingly. 9. Scratchcraft: I'm a thumbnail artist??? Idk how that happened woah 10. Hetalia: My friend and I were out watching this show in the middle of winter. She got minor frostbite. I wasn't even cold. skull 11. Percy Jackson: I read the first book instead of having Thanksgiving dinner with my family. It wasn't on purpose. Nobody could find me and I was too busy reading to notice how much time was passing until everyone was already gone and there wasn't food left. 12. HTTYD movies: This and Das Boot Directors Cut are my favorite things to watch on the TV. Yeah. 13. The Monkees: I was very upset in college and I prayed for any sort of distraction to make me feel better. A day later, I got so hyperfixated on this fandom that I could not think about anything BUT the fandom and began alternating between squeaking in joy and sobbing for about three days straight.

17. Thank God that's over! Woah, speaking of Him, pick an afterlife! (If there is no such thing in the series in question, I picked the next closest thing that appears in the media.) 1. Pokemon DPA: Chunks of earth float in the twisted sky. Somewhere you cannot see, a shadowy creature roars. 2. Warrior Cats: A life just like yours, but none of you can grow anymore. 3. Gameknight999: It doesn't apply. My code will be gone before I get there. 4. Shark Wars: A sparkling ocean, uncannily blue and full of voices, but calm. 5. Pokespe: Time is paused here. Music floats through your ears. 6. Pokeani: Not sure. Every time I die, I seem to come back. I guess it'll be a surprise? 7. Spiderwicks: Suspended in time on the back of a magical creature. If I reach down to touch the ground, I will finally disappear. 8. HTTYD Books: My death doesn't matter. What matters is what I do in my life. 9. Scratchcraft: A comedically timed Minecraft "YOU DIED" screen. 10. Hetalia: Well, I'm not ever going to die, first of all. 11. Percy Jackson: You have to be a hero to even remember living once you get there. 12. HTTYD movies: Presumably Valhalla? 13. The Monkees: Can't. The writers won't let it end. (They crushed it anyway.)

18. What "bad end" would you like to be a very easy possibility in something you read? 1. Pokemon DPA: The world has been restarted, made into something devoid of love and emotions. But you'll never live to see it, in fact, it's as if you've never lived at all. 2. Warrior Cats: A horrible drought robs a society of water, slowly, they all wither away. 3. Gameknight999: The virus bleeds out of the game, infecting the real world turning it into a nightmare. 4. Shark Wars: A horrible emperor takes over the entire world, cannibalizing or enslaving anyone who stands in his way. 5. Pokespe: The protagonist stays frozen, and unfortunately, the second follows in his footsteps. There is no one to stop change now. 6. Pokeani: A creature beyond all of humanity has decided that people do not deserve to live free. 7. Spiderwicks: The fae continue killing, families are lost to their power, the town twists, crackling into the trash heap at its center. 8. HTTYD Books: As they say, "If it doesn't end well, then it isn't the end!" 9. Scratchcraft: [I've got nothing. Honestly. I don't know how I've managed anything serious so far. Feel free to pick this if you don't like the other options lol.] 10. Hetalia: Well. Honestly. The whole thing kind of feels like a bad end? 11. Percy Jackson: The Old Ones take over again. There is nothing but suffering for humanity now. 12. HTTYD movies: Everything will continue just as it was. 13. The Monkees: Well. The band broke up.

19. Okay, if there are any fandoms you DO NOT WANT to be recommended, speak you peace now. (This will give you one point for every other fandom. Picking "no," will give you one point for everything, to even them out.) 1-13: [self explanatory]

20. One more question! Time to pick your own. >^w^< 1. Pokemon DPA: If you had the choice to, would you forgive the man who hurt you so badly? 2. Warrior Cats: If you had to break the rules to find your true place, would you do it? 3. Gameknight999: If a day for you was 72 days for your friends, how often would you visit? 4. Shark Wars: If you were a fish, would you eat another fish if they asked you to very nicely? 5. Pokespe: If you had to conceal your true self if it meant love from others, would you do it? 6. Pokeani: Would you pick ̶c̶h̶a̶r̶m̶a̶n̶d̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶s̶q̶u̶i̶r̶t̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶l̶b̶a̶s̶a̶u̶r̶, or pikachu? 7. Spiderwicks: If you were to find out faries were real, would you put your life on the line in order to see them? 8. HTTYD Books: Do you believe that it can ever get better? 9. Scratchcraft: If you were a god, would you play a quick board game before ascending? 10. Hetalia: If you were to live forever, would you take it seriously? 11. Percy Jackson: If you had the choice to life forever or be a target for the rest of your life, would you take the offer? 12. HTTYD movies: Will you keep fighting? 13. The Monkees: "Hey! Who turned on the dark?"

Fandom descriptions:

Shark Wars: Hm. Did you get kicked out of YOUR Shiver too?? Shark Wars is a book series by EJ Altbacker which goes through increasingly violent and terrible events in the lives of the main characters, all while aiming at a relatively young audience. It's one of those series that takes like thirty minutes to want to start reading the book (even as it's in your hands), but once you do, you literally can't put it down. Truly a masterpiece, if I, the only Shark Wars fan on the planet, can convince you. I highly recommend this series! It's a lot of fun! (Don't worry about the Shark Magic, it's martial arts if they say it is.)

Warrior cats: May all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather before highrock for a clan meeting! Warrior Cats is a book series written by a group of authors who, together, go by Erin Hunter. It follows the lives of a whole lot of cats, and it does so in a way that is shockingly gripping (and, let's face it, a little ridiculous), frankly, you couldn't really ask for a better middle school friend group roleplay. About a million characters, and about a million ways to interpret them… purrfect. (sorry) (The moon pool sure is cold at this time of night.)

Pokespe: The power of the Viridian Forest has bestowed upon you the ability to read something real good. The Pokemon Adventures (or Pokemon Special) manga is a very long running manga series written by Hidenori Kusaka. It currently goes from the Red and Blue games ALLL the way to Scarlet and Violet, and it does a great job too! It's characters are original and three dimensional (despite being based on game counterparts), and it's plots can be completely unexpected, even for someone who played the original games. I highly encourage getting into these series, or at least reading up to the third book. It's a lot of fun. Yes. We KNOW about the Arbok already, stop mentioning it!! Why do you think we're here!??!?

Pokemon DPA: …do you want to meet a god- Pokemon Diamond and Pearl Adventure is an eight book series by manga author and artist Shigekatsu Ihara. It centers around the travels of Hareta as he makes his way through the Sinnoh region. Very fast paced and with slightly odd humor, you may wonder why I like it so much, and to that I have to tell you that it is, in fact, my FAVORITE Pokemon media. I know. A little ridiculous. But who can blame me? The art, character designs, and story are all really good, and the action is nothing to scoff at. If you like something silly, just a wee bit violent, and a lot of fun, give this series a try! I could really use a friend in this fandom. XD We don't mind being a little stupid here. :3

Hetalia: Oh boy, here we are. Hetalia is a controversial manga, anime, and musical franchise started by Hidekaz Himaruya. It is a satirical telling of various points in history through humanized versions of the counties. It is absolutely not everyone's cup of tea, but it helped me to better understand (and find interest in) history, and if you like satire and historical situations, this may be the place for you. Uh… Make pasta not war?

Percy Jackson: Well. I didn't ASK to be a half blood. (And I guess neither did you.) Percy Jackson (which hardly needs an introduction) was originally a book series by Rick Riordan, and has since expanded into a (not very well liked) movie series, and a show, as well as many other connected series. Despite this, the original book series is by far my favorite, and if you are looking for something that is very funny, and very violent, it is the way to go. Have fun demigod! (PS: I think I saw the upstairs window glow, did you see that?)

Gameknight999: Ah. I see, you got hit with the digitalizer too! The Gameknight999 series is an unofficial "isekai" Minecraft novel series by Mark Cheverton. It can be considered childish, and most often found in book fairs at elementary schools, but it can have a much darker tone if you want to look into it. The fandom itself for this book series came at a difficult time in my life, and though I am unable to determine whether the fandom was an overall net positive or negative for me, the books were definitely a positive. They inspired creativity and community, while also being objectively hilarious in concept. Come, let's hold hands and frolic through our computer screens together. :)

Scratchcraft: Welcome new Scratcher! Click the "create" button to make a new project. :3 Scratchcraft is a Minecraft SMP that is currently in it's fourth season. What is interesting about this SMP, however, is that it was started on the website Scratch.mit.edu, and, also, that it is not very active. While the content itself in this fandom is few and far between, the community is incredible once you get your footing in it. The member who currently uploads the most goes by "StormLordZeus" on Youtube and went by "haunted_enderman" on Scratch. (His Minecraft skin is pictured in the result image above.) And NO, you can't ask to join Scratchcraft.

Pokeani: Sorry you woke up late, we've just got a Pikachu left! Oh well, no matter. The Pokemon Anime (starring Ash Ketchum as the lead character) was an anime that lasted for 25 years across 26 seasons and several movies. It is not my favorite Pokemon Media, but it is still one of my favorite fandoms of all time due to it's cast, great range of amazing to hilariously bad animation (only sparingly), and episodic nature. If you are looking for something fun that you can pretty much jump into whenever, the Pokemon Anime may be the right fit for you! Enjoy your journey, you hopeful Pokemon Master!

How To Train Your Dragon (movies and shows): Welcome to dragon training! The How To Train Your Dragon movies and shows were based on a wonderful series of the same name, but quickly fell completely off the mark. You may think, because I personally prefer the books, that this means that the movies are bad in some way. Absolutely not! Without spoilers, the first How To Train Your Dragon movie is my favorite movie of all time, and the second it's really all that far behind it. If you want something with incredible music, a great story, and a really nice message (not even to mention the characters and animation) try out at LEAST the first movie, and start branching out from there if it hooks you in like it did me. And, yeah, if you see that Night Fury, I heard pretty much everyone is looking for it.

Spiderwicks Chronicals: Must've taken the dumbwaiter up here huh? The Spiderwicks Chronicles is a short book series made by Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi. I must admit that I do not often post about this series, but despite that, it is one of my favorite fantasy series I have ever read. It's short, sweet, and very depressing when it wants to be. If that kind of thing sounds up your alley, who knows! Maybe someone just like you could encourage me and others to show more interest as well. (Don't forget to get some fairy bathwater in your eyes on the way out. Sorry if that's gross, it's kinda important.)

How To Train Your Dragon (books): Well, suffering swordfish, you've found your way here. The How To Train Your Dragon books series is a twelve book series by Cressida Cowell that follows Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third and his friends as they go on wacky misadventures through the Barbaric Archipelago. At least, it is until the true extent of everything becomes clearer and clearer. If you want something that becomes surprisingly serious (while still remaining rather funny), and is incredible and exciting all the way through, try on these books for size. Isn't fate artistic?

The Monkees: Hey hey! We're the Monkees fandom! Some people say we Monkee around! The Monkees was a 1966 show about four people who wanted to be a band, but it was also a band made up of four people who wanted to be in a band. Depending on what you want, this fandom can provide you from anything from sitcom antics, to Real Person Fiction, to a really weird movie. -and of course, save the Texas Prairie Chicken.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cloudy Christmastime

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

(A/N): Before anyone protests, I headcanon the Wayne family as celebrating both Jewish holidays like Yom Kippur and Hanukkah as well as Christmas and Easter because yes, Bruce is ethnically Jewish (though may have done Christmas as well) but Dick/Jason/Tim/Steph would have likely celebrated Christmas. So they do both.

Anyway, this is a christmas gift for @glorified-red and literally the 5th take on this fic bc they first said Hallmark movie, then damijon hallmark movie, then whump. And then it took me three tries to get something I was close to happy with so I hope you enjoy. This ended up being a mix of domestic fluff and h/c.

warnings: sensory overload

wc: ~2600

~~

“Tell me again why Santa doesn’t bring us gifts if he’s real. Like our dads have met him. And he still doesn’t bring us presents,” Jon lamented from the couch, bundled up in four blankets. 

From your spot on the floor by the tree, you looked up, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Because we’re not kids anymore? And how do you know Santa ever brought us gifts?” 

“Perhaps,” Damian added, passing Jon a cup of hot chocolate. He placed a second cup on the coffee table and lifted one to his lips. “He only brought gifts to people to make a point. I never received any from him as a child but father has gotten many over the years.” 

Jon listed to the side, head landing on Damian’s shoulder. “I think that’s worse.”

For the first time in a while, Jon felt Damian’s huff of laughter more than he heard it. Your small chuckle was similarly inaudible. Jon hated solar flaring. Not only was it a pain to deal with for the day and change—one could argue he got either lucky or really unlucky by solar flaring the morning of Christmas Eve—but it always threw his senses out of whack as they trickled back in. And, with the gray skies of Gotham’s winter, Jon was expecting it to be even weirder than usual. It was worth it though, to him, in order to spend the day itself with his partners. It was enough that the Kent family Christmas Eve was ruined by Lex Luthor. He wasn’t going to let his Christmas day be ruined too. 

“I’m sorry, mi sol,” you offered with a shrug and a smile. Jon met your grin with his own. A full-body shiver wracked his frame. Your gaze turned concerned. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “Just chilly.” Damian’s arm wrapped further around Jon, pulling their sides flush against each other. Jon maneuvered the blankets away to soak in his warmth. 

“Ameli, we can turn the heat up,” Damian offered. 

“Nope,” Jon argued, nuzzling into Damian’s neck. “This is good.” Damian’s resulting huff of air teased at the hair on the top of Jon’s head. 

“Mi luna?” You asked from the floor. Damian turned to look at you. Jon followed, eyes traveling over the mound of presents arranged under the tree. There was a pile around the back of the tree against the wall for Damian’s family (Jon still needed to give Dick his gift from the Hanukkah celebration a couple weeks ago. The blue dreidel paper was obvious against the sea of brown, red, and green wrapping paper.), and a smaller one for yours. The empty gap left behind after the Kent Christmas was already filled in with a large box Jon was like ninety percent sure was a new easel for Damian. You ordered it, not him, but Jon couldn’t think of anything else on any of your lists that was even close to that size. “Can you hand me that please?” You gestured to a precarious stack on the coffee table. 

Damian acquiesced, passing over a teetering pile of vaguely book-shaped items. Who those were for was anyone’s guess. Jon was grateful Alfred had helped you and him pay for some of the gifts for Damian. Looking at the gift tags, it otherwise would have been horribly uneven. And Damian himself wouldn’t have minded, Jon knew, but you and him would have been upset about it anyway. He deserves the world, your rohi. Damian pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of you, still arranging presents under the tree. He showed it quickly to Jon before texting it to him immediately. 

“This look okay?” You asked, peeking out from behind the tree. Jon looked it over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, but he also wasn’t exactly the reigning opinion on artistic presentation. 

“It looks fine, hayati” Damian said, eyes still trained on his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You didn't even look.” 

Damian turned to look at you. “Because I knew it looked fine, beloved.” His eyes scanned the presents. “And it does.” 

You shook your head at him, exasperated, before conceding and sitting heavily on the couch. Scooching in, you nearly pressed up against Jon’s other side. 

“Come closer,” He whined, untangling a hand from the blankets to grab yours. “You’re warm.” 

Jon could feel the look exchanged over his head. 

“I’m not that warm,” you argued even as you grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and arranged the blankets so that you could fit underneath. “You’re just cold.” 

Jon shrugged. The hand that wasn’t holding yours reached underneath Damian’s shirt and he swore, grabbing Jon’s wrist to keep its chill away. Another look passed over Jon’s head. He wondered sometimes if the two of you were aware he knew what you were doing and just didn’t care. Probably. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, amorcito?” You asked. Jon shrugged. 

“It’s cold outside and I’m human but otherwise yeah. I have you two,” he added smugly. Damian’s playful shoulder hit came at the same time as your muttered “sap.” Jon grinned. “So because I’m sick—sort of—I get to pick the movie. And we’re watching Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Despite the protests on both sides, the movie was playing before Damian could even get up to turn the lights off. To the side of the couch, the lights on the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft white glow. 

~

Jon awoke to a cold bed. On a good day, he’d wake with the sun—or whenever it wormed its way through the bedroom’s black out curtains—or to an international emergency. Okay, not that the emergency was good, just that he was feeling good enough to know it was happening. On a bad day, all bets were off. Jon stuck his hand out of the covers, searching blindly for his phone. After a moment of finding nothing but the wood of the end table, the scratchiness of the sheets was unignorable and he gave up, flinging back the covers to get out of bed. Hanging over the side of the dresser was a dark red sweatshirt. Jon grabbed it and tugged it on, rubbing his arms to get the lingering echo of the sheets off his skin. His off kilter super hearing zeroed in on the crooning of Michael Bublé before zooming back out into the general background noise coming from the kitchen. Jon winced, squaring his shoulders. That was a bad sign. But it was Christmas; he’d be fine. 

A quick squint at his phone told Jon that it was just after noon. No wonder the bed was cold. Jon shivered, then grabbed a pair of your fuzzy socks before opening the bedroom door. 

The smell of cinnamon and chocolate coming from the kitchen was pleasant rather than unbearable. Jon let himself breathe it in as he approached quietly. He didn’t even notice you behind him—though that was often true of an average day—before there were arms around his waist and a head on his shoulder. He let himself lean back into the warmth of you. 

“Merry Christmas, mi amor. How are you feeling?” you inquired. Hot breath ghosted across his neck. Jon shrugged. 

“Fine. Excited for today.” He spun around to face you, eyes taking in your christmas pj pants and sweater with a Robin logo. Over your shoulder, Jon could see flashes of blue, likely Damian’s nightwing sweatshirt. “Merry Christmas,” he added, tucking his nose into the spot just underneath your ear for just a moment. No matter what his super senses were like, he took comfort in the smell of the two of you. A hand weaved through his hair, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. Jon pulled back just enough to give you a peck on the lips before being spun around into a kiss from Damian. 

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Jon muttered, pressing a second lingering kiss to Damian’s jawline. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his fingers, wrapped around Damian’s wrist. 

“Good morning,” Damian said, wrapping an arm around Jon to keep him close. Jon blindly reached out and a second calloused hand found his. A second warm body curled around him. He missed your heartbeats’ song in his ears, but Damian’s pounding steadily under his ear and yours fluttering underneath his fingertips was good enough for right then. “Are you alright?” Damian continued. “It’s late.” His voice was echoey underneath Jon’s ear and Jon flinched instinctively. The two of you reacted immediately, pulling back. 

“Jon?” you asked, voice laced with concern. 

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m mostly good. About as expected, you know?” Jon offered up a smile. By the looks on your faces, it didn’t do as much reassurance as he’d hoped. “I’m sorry I slept so late.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Damian argued. “There is no reason to.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon sighed. 

“How are you feeling about breakfast, mi sol?” You asked, tangling your fingers with his. 

“Sounds good,” Jon agreed. 

~

“Oh yeah I should definitely send Dick a text to thank him. And also say Merry Christmas,” Jon said, flopping down on the couch after breakfast. With his partners looking happy, Christmas music in the background, and a breakfast of vegan pancakes in his stomach, Jon could almost forget about the buzzing under his skin. 

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “He would have swapped with me anyway. Gordon and Father are both working tonight so it was pointless for him to have the evening off.”

Jon shrugged. “Still, doesn’t hurt to say thanks.” 

“Say hi from me too,” you yelled over the running kitchen sink. After a moment more, the water shut off and Jon released a silent sigh at the absence of an irritating bit of noise. He was lucky the x-ray vision hadn’t started acting up. Not only was that like the antithesis of Christmas presents (his mom kept presents out of the house or in a lead box until morning for that very reason), but it was also a huge pain and the hardest to hide. Screwy touch and hearing was more than enough. Dishware clanked around in the kitchen as Damian sat beside Jon on the couch. 

“No change?” He asked, reaching for a Nightwing mug of cider on the coffee table. 

Jon shrugged. “Nope, nothing yet.” Damian narrowed his eyes and Jon attempted to start coming up with excuses. At the very least, he could probably get Damian to leave it alone until after gifts. Less so if you noticed too and started teaming up on him. 

“Ready for presents?” You asked, sitting down on the other side of Damian. You raised the untouched Superman mug to your lips, eyes scanning over Jon. 

“Yes!” Jon butt in before you could say anything. “Let’s do it.” 

You and Damian exchanged a look. On the floor below, the elevator dinged, releasing a family with a horde of kids. “Okay,” you conceded, standing to grab the first load of presents.

In the apartment directly underneath, the front door squealed open. A load of presents was slammed down on the floor beside him. Three kids squealed “gramma!” in unison. Jon’s hoodie was all of the sudden suffocating him. 

Jon jumped up and yanked the sweatshirt over his head, pawing the sleeves off before yanking his socks off too. He didn’t care where they ended up. His hands went up to press against his ears. Stumbling over his own feet, Jon meandered backwards until his back slammed into a wall and then slid down, knees up and head with ears still covered in between them. Sounds zoomed in and out. All of the sudden, he could hear Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing eight floors down, then A Christmas Carol on someone’s TV across the street. Focus! Jon yelled at himself through all the noise. One steady beat came into focus, then another. 

Until there was a soft item brushing his feet, Jon didn’t realize he had company. A steady beat pulsed in his ears, too loud even for its familiarity. He pulled the blanket close. Something plastic nudged his shoulder and Jon grabbed it instinctively, slamming special-made headphones over his ears. The sounds faded down into something manageable. Jon took a deep breath. And then another. He didn’t need to hear to know that the two of you were there. When he reached out tentatively with his sense of smell, the usual wave of cinnamon-vanilla-brown sugar-clove and somethings just the two of you tempered by pine and peppermint was comforting rather than overwhelming. Jon let it wash over him, clutching the soft weighted blanket to his chest. 

When he cracked his eyes open, two blurs blinked into focus as his partners, leaning against the back of the couch and hands linked. Damian’s head rested on your shoulder, one of your hands tangled in his hair. Jon noticed as soon as Damian saw he was up. He almost slammed his head into your chin as he shot up and Jon huffed a laugh.  

“Ameli?” Damian asked. Your eyes locked onto Jon’s. 

“You guys shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Jon responded. “It’s bad for your backs.”

You offered Jon a hand, ignoring his remark completely. Jon’s chest ached. If you weren’t willing to banter, he’d scared you. “How are you feeling?”   

Jon took the hand and stood, adjusting the headphones so they stayed on his head. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and reached his other hand out towards Damian before tugging the both of you up and towards the couch. 

“I’m okay,” Jon reassured you, sitting down on the couch. “I promise.” When neither of you moved, he tugged you both down on top of him, interrupting the bat-assessment written all over Damian’s face.  

“Promise like this morning?” Damian argued. Jon winced. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Been a self-sacrificial dumbass as if we don’t a) know you and b) want you to talk to us?” You cut in. Jon could read the hurt underneath the anger clear as day. His fingers brushed over two sets of knuckles, one scarred from years of fighting without protective gear, the other dry from the winter air. 

“I know. I just wanted today to be a good day, you know? We never get uninterrupted holidays.” Jon resisted the urge to pull his hands away from yours and curl into himself. The two burning gazes on him were ones of love and concern, though, not judgment. 

“And for some reason you think accommodating you makes the day worse, why?” Damian asked. Jon didn’t have an answer. 

“We love you, Jon. Eres nuestro pareja. We picked ‘partners’ for a reason, yeah?”  You squeezed his hand in yours. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, head dropping to your shoulder. Silence was heavy in the room for a moment. 

“You choose what we do next,” Damian stated, tugging the blacket from its bundled blob to instead cover you and Jon. 

Jon moved from your shoulder to halfway on top of Damian, tugging you on top of him. “You guys are going to squish me in between you while we watch a movie and then we can do presents?” 

You shot him a wicked smile. Jon shrieked as Damian pulled him bodily half on top of him along the couch, cut off when you landed nearly on top of Jon. 

“Good?” You asked. Jon let himself sink into Damian, arms coming up to wrap around your waist. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

Damian grabbed the remote. “We’re not watching Elf.”

Jon stuck his tongue out at him.  

[3-2-whump]

Adjusting Well: A Parallel

<prev next>

By all accounts we weren't going to even have this chapter, but my beta readers convinced me to make this drabble canon. So, here it is. Everyone say thank you to @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for letting Tom live one more chapter and prolonging Khaled's misery

A parallel to Adjusting Well

TW/CW: noncon nudity, multiple whumpers, degradation, emotional manipulation, degrading speech, threat of castration (not followed through), humiliation, noncon oral, self-harming behaviors

“How’s he adjusting?”

Thomas sighed. “Fine, I guess?” He threw a backward glance at a shirtless Khaled from where he sat on the sofa. The slave was engrossed with buffing out the scratches on the granite countertop. “He doesn’t talk much anymore-”

“When did he ever talk much?” Luca shrugged.

“Well, it’s worse now,” Thomas explained. “He just sulks all the time, shambling like a zombie from one room to the next!” He leaned in close to his oldest and most trusted friend. “When I took his cock cage off yesterday, he barely even reacted! Barely remembered to thank me, too,” he grumbled.

“I don’t understand,” Luca said as he furrowed his brow. “This is what you wanted, right? A living fuck doll to keep you warm at night?”

“No, that’s more of what you want, man!” Thomas shook his head, then leaned back onto the couch with a sigh. “I wanted at least a little bit of liveliness, maybe even some enthusiasm, if that wasn’t too much to ask for! I don’t know how to break him out of this slump, or if I even can!” he groaned.

Luca pursed his lips, looked over the side of the couch back at Khaled, and then back at Tom. “Bring him over here, I want to talk to him,” he said.

His friend obviously had an idea, though what exactly this idea was remained to be seen. Thomas craned his head over his shoulder once again to look back at the slave behind them. “Khaled, come here,” he ordered.

The boy looked up from the countertop as his hand holding the cleaning rag stopped buffing. He looked back down at the counter, then sighed, putting the rag down and stepping out from behind the counter. Without the granite and hardwood in the way, it was plain to see Khaled was completely naked. Luca gave an appreciative whistle. Thomas shot him an exasperated look. It was nothing the man hadn’t already seen at this point, but he always leered at Khaled’s nakedness as if it were the first time Tom got the idea to pass him around.

Khaled finally stood before the two men, waiting silently until he was commanded to kneel in the presence of his master.

“So, I heard you’re feeling kind of down,” Luca said as the boy settled onto his knees.

Khaled glanced toward his master, then back at Luca, and nodded somberly.

“Not sure why you’re so upset, though. I mean, really –did you not think your actions would have consequences?” Luca asked rhetorically. Thomas recognized this speech from those few times he’d interacted with Luca and his family before. This was the speech Luca used to use on his sons, with some obvious modifications to fit this specific situation. Never had he ever thought the man would rehash the ‘own up to your mistakes’ monologue onto his slave.

“Here my buddy is, just trying to protect you from your baser instincts –the same instincts that got you infected –and you think you have the right to be upset about it?” He tutted and shook his head in disapproval. “You stupid little slut! You still don’t know how good you have it, do you?” Luca admonished.

Khaled hesitantly shook his head, a flicker of uncertainty crossing those dark, lifeless eyes.

“If you were mine, I never would’ve tolerated this shit! I would’ve had you fixed like the horny little bitch you are the moment I suspected you spreading your legs for someone else!”

Khaled flinched, bringing his hands to his front to shield himself the moment the word ‘fixed’ was uttered. “Khaled,” Thomas warned. The boy nodded his head and reluctantly placed his hands at his sides, exposing himself again.

“You would never have left my sight for even a moment,” Luca continued, “but noooo, Tom felt bad for you and allowed you to ‘make friends’ or some shit! At least it was with Nico, at first –did you screw him to be your friend, too?”

Khaled’s face burned bright red at the invasive question. “What? No, I-”

“Quiet!”

On the other end of the couch, Thomas rolled his eyes. “See, of course now he talks, to defend what little honor he thinks he has left!” he scoffed.

“Honor?” Luca let out a snide laugh. “These slaves don’t have honor!” He leaned back onto the couch and gestured to Khaled as he explained. “No, no, what you think of as honor, I see as favor. Slaves are granted favor at the discretion of their owners, and that favor can be lost just as easily as it can be given. And this one lost favor due to his own actions alone.” He cast a smug look back at Khaled and asked, “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Um, I’m sorry?” Khaled murmured.

“Tom, do you accept that apology?”

The boss shook his head as his lips quirked into a wry smile. “No, I don’t think I do. It didn’t feel…genuine enough.”

“Yeah, come on, Khaled,” Luca jeered. “Let’s try that again! What do you have to say to the man who raised you, who waited for you to become legal all those years before laying his hands on you, who gave you everything?”

Khaled gave a shuddering sigh before lowering his eyes respectfully. “I’m sorry,” he answered, voice full of conviction. He effortlessly folded himself over into a bow, planting his forehead onto the carpet in front of their feet. “Forgive me, Master,” he said loud and clear.

“Forgive you for what?” Thomas asked, fully leaning into this game now.

“Forgive me for sleeping around, for taking you for granted, for-for not loving you like you want me to!” Khaled answered.

“How sorry are you?”

“So sorry!”

“Would you like to show us? Go on, boy, show us how sorry you are!”

This reminded Tom of when he and his friends were younger, when they would bully the freshmen at St. Drogo’s and rob them blind of pocket change. Khaled begged and screamed repeated apologies over and over, bashing his face into the carpet repeatedly each time as Luca goaded him on. “Okay, okay, stop, stop, stop!” Thomas commanded, intervening before Khaled could truly hurt himself. “Goddamn, Luca, you’re gonna give him brain damage!” He softened his tone as he redirected his tone to Khaled. “Get up here, sweetheart.”

Khaled raised his head slowly, sporting a deep red, carpet-patterned imprint on his forehead and tears falling from his inky dark eyes. He crawled on all fours until his body was between his master’s legs, his cheek leaning against his master’s thigh. Thomas stroked his face gently, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Show me how sorry you are,” he ordered softly. His hand left Khaled’s face to tug down the fly of his pants. Without a word, his slave pulled his hardening member out of his pants and popped it into the warm, velvety cavern of his mouth, lightly sucking on it and brushing it along his tongue to stiffen it to full mast.

“See? That’s better,” Thomas cooed.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Luca chimed in. “He’s out of his slump and onto your cock where he belongs.”

“God, how do you not have one of your own to boss around already?” Thomas asked, completely ignoring Khaled’s efforts to please him.

“Not all of us have $30k to throw away; some of us gotta put our sons through college,” Luca griped.

Thomas rubbed the back of Khaled’s head, brushing the boy’s shaved undercut against the grain as he hummed contemplatively. “Well, I know it’s kind of gross for me to be offering my used sex toy like this, but you’ve always seemed to take an interest in him.” His hand traveled up to the longer hair on top of Khaled’s head, fisting into it as he pulled the boy’s face further into his lap. “What if I left him to you, if something should happen to me?”

Khaled made a small choking sound, which Thomas shushed away as he continued face-fucking him.

Luca smirked. “If it was anyone else’s used sex toy, I would say they were crazy. But him, I like him. He’s still young, and handsome too. And god forbid anything should happen to you, of course-”

“It’s already happened, Estrada shot me-”

“-I would be happy to take him,” Luca said.

Thomas sighed in relief. That was one less thing to worry about if Julio or anyone else ever succeeded in killing him. They shook on it, with Tom promising to contact his executor on the next business day as he came down his slave’s throat.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

I am the broken, I am the wound

@asraindarkness said whump, and I was, yeah! The story, however, said uh-uh. There you go, 3,925 words BuckTommy, including PTSD and a love confession. Below the cut and on AO3.

(1: Buck’s POV)

It was the small things.

Trifles, inconspicuous at first, accumulating until they no longer appeared to be random. And still it took Buck weeks, months even to connect the dots. It might have been politeness, or rather some kind of consideration, why Tommy wasn’t staying the nights. Some old fashioned way to keep the pace low, to let Buck acclimate to the fact that he was with a man now. Which was, of course, cute, but since Buck basically jumped on said man after a couple of weeks, not exactly necessary.

He never stayed over night, but even if that gave Buck a headache sometimes, it might just have been an endearing quirk. But there were other signs, only he didn't understand them until later. That wary look on Tommy's face at some loud noises. The fact that he never talked about his time in the army. How he always got up to get a drink or go for a pee when a movie turned all too violent. Later, of course, Buck wondered how he had not noticed all this. It was just that Tommy didn't quite realize it himself.

A few weeks after their first kiss and a few much more fruitful dates, the wedding to which Buck had invited Tommy finally happened – albeit in a completely different way than planned. After it, they went to the loft, took a shower together, made out in Buck's bed, talked and laughed; and then, Tommy fell asleep. 

It was mesmerizing. Of course, he had been on a shift when Buck texted him about the unplanned hospital wedding, and he’d arrived as soon as he could, covered in soot from a fire that would be on the evening news. He was exhausted, basically only kept up by Buck's text that there would be cake. So it was no wonder that his eyes eventually closed, and Buck was enraptured by the sight. He lay there for a long time, looking at Tommy until darkness fell over the city, until he decided to end the day and lie down next to him. Tommy didn't wake up when he carefully wrapped an arm around him, and that’s how he fell asleep, blissfully thinking of the morning when he would wake up to this sight. 

He woke up to a scream.

Buck, a first responder with instincts hard to suppress, immediately sat upright in bed. He squinted into the darkness, confused and tired, unable to find his bearings for a moment. Had he been dreaming, or had he actually heard something? Buck’s gaze fell to the other side of his bed, and he remembered; yet the warm, fuzzy feeling of last night wouldn’t return. 

Tommy sat there, the comforter tangled between his legs, his naked torso wet with sweat. The dim surroundings revealed little, but he was bent forward, head in his hands, breathing heavily. 

“T... Tommy?”

He didn't even know why the sight unsettled him so much. Tommy was one of those strong guys with a soft core, one to shed a tear during a movie’s love scene, claiming there’s a speck of dust in his eye. With Buck, he was soft and gentle all the time, just … not like this. He carefully reached out a hand, touching a very tense shoulder. The touch seemed to electrify Tommy, he looked up, startled. Buck couldn't quite make out his eyes, but if he'd had to guess... he looked haunted.

“What happened? Nightmare?”

Buck gave his voice a reassuring edge, because underneath the distractedness, the obvious sadness of Tommy's whole frame, something else was lurking. Buck had seen this kind of tenseness, this hardened jawline, the hurried look before. It was a mood that could quickly turn aggressive. That seemed hard to imagine with Tommy, but it had been a long road to be at ease with himself, and his physical assets were impressive. And whatever was wrong with him, calming him down seemed the best option. 

“Yeah,” Tommy drawled. “Must have been a dream. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, I need to leave.”

“Tommy, you really don't need to…” Buck said, but Tommy rose, gathering his belongings, one foot in his jeans already. A wistful smile played around his lips as he kissed Buck goodbye.

Buck was jittery for a few days afterwards, without knowing exactly why. Tommy was back to his old charming self a day later, he even apologized by saying that he was not used to fall asleep next to somebody. It was a strange statement, and Buck had the oddest feeling that something was wrong, something deep down in Tommy, and for some reason, that frightened him. It was inevitable: his thoughts revolved around possible mistakes, turning every conversation around in his head. He even wondered whether Tommy could have lost interest so quickly. However, there was nothing to suggest that he had. Maybe it was all in Buck's head, but he was still convinced it was in Tommy's head, too, and he needed to find a quiet moment to talk to him. 

A peaceful dinner after a non-stressful, quiet day, on which they fortunately both finished work at the same time, seemed the best opportunity. Buck had ordered cake – he wasn't so presumptuous as to think he could bake just because he liked to cook. He didn't eat any of it, but watched Tommy with pleasure as he shoveled in the second piece. The only thing distracting him was that he thought about how to bring on the topic. How to start a conversation about something you weren’t sure about? Maybe Buck was just overthinking it, maybe Tommy was fine, maybe there was nothing. His guts, however, told him otherwise. He just needed to find a way to make this not about himself. That should be easy, because he really, really cared for this man. 

Tommy finished the cake, and Buck opened a bottle of wine.

“Wine? Did you run out of beer?” Tommy teased him. 

Buck's former self would have run to the fridge, but by now, he knew better. He knew Tommy better, his somewhat odd jokes, his sarcasm. Maybe that was the key, he thought while handing Tommy a glass. Perhaps he should have realized sooner that all this could be a coping mechanism – after all, that was an experience he shared. 

“Hey, uh, I... I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, sitting down at he table again, shoving the empty plates aside and clutching his glass. 

“Fine. I figured something was bothering you, Evan.”

Tommy's nose folded into an adorable scrunch as he cracked a broad smile. Strangely enough, Buck now felt guilty. As if he was about to say something that would wipe this smile away, and he didn’t want that. 

 “It's about…” he began, but his voice trailed off as the ceiling light above them suddenly flickered.

“Do you often have problems with power cuts?” Tommy asked, frowning. 

“Nah, never,” Buck returned.

He looked up as if he could make the lamp work with his thoughts, and sure enough, the flickering stopped. 

“Maybe it's a solar storm,” Tommy said and took a sip. “I've read about them, they’re...”

The light went out altogether, and he fell silent. Now the loft was pitch black, covered by a blanket made out of darkness.

“That's odd,” Buck remarked. “Well, let me check the fuses, wait, I’ll use my phone as a torch.”

It shouldn’t be that dark, he thought, and it took him a second to realize it was missing the usual glimpse of this suburbia’s light pollution. This wasn’t just about his apartment. Fumbling with his back pocket, he got up. That was the second when a gigantic blast was heard from outside, a violent noise that rattled the windows. Buck dropped his phone and cursed, at the same time a second noise sounded directly in front of him, and he sensed movement. 

“Tommy?”

Buck's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness yet, but he realized that the second bang had been a chair falling to the floor. What the hell was going on here? Diving under the table, he groped the floor for his phone. 

The flashlight on his cell phone cast strange shadows on the walls. The chair Tommy had been sitting on had indeed been knocked over, but where was he? Why hadn't he answered? The silence after the bang was eerie. Maybe a substation had exploded, ensuring the district lay in darkness now. It had startled him, admittedly, but now his instincts kicked in, they calmed his heartbeat and kept him thinking clearly. Assess the situation. Help those in need.

“Tommy, you okay? Wait, I'm coming for you.”

Despite the pale light from his phone, Buck banged his knee on the table, cursing for the second time. There was no response, and he was starting to get really worried. He flicked the light across the kitchen, into the living room, but there was no one there. Had Tommy gone up the stairs? But why would he? 

He kept scanning around, searching every nook and cranny, his own footsteps the only sound. All of this was eery, not only because of the sudden darkness. This was still his apartment, he knew every corner by heart, light or not. And still, it felt like something was missing, some of the security his home offered, but it wasn’t him who was missing it. 

Buck found Tommy in the bathroom, a dark shade crouching next to the shower, clasping his knees. He dropped down, put the phone aside and let its light illuminate parts of the ceiling. It was enough to see Tommy’s face, absolutely frightened, eyes wide open, staring into the void. He was panting way too fast, close to hyperventilating. Buck knew these signs.

“Tommy. Hey. Look at me, okay? I’m here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse for some reason.  “What... what's going on?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said, almost sobbing, “I don't know, I just don't know.”

_."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._.".__."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._.

(2: Tommy’s POV)

“Okay,” Buck returned softly, “all right. Breathe. Slowly.”

Tommy knew that voice, he’d used it himself before, maybe the exact words, and he knew Evan was right. It was just so hard to breathe. With every inhale, he seemed to take in the darkness even more, and with every exhale, he felt like screaming. He had never been afraid of the dark, but for some reason, now he was terrified. The flashlight did little to reassure him; the shadows on the tiled walls seemed to taunt Tommy. 

He didn't look at Evan, he could imagine him thinking feverishly, probably wondering why Tommy had chosen to hide in the bathroom. But Evan wasn't stupid, he would draw the right conclusions. It was a closed space, no windows, somehow a safe space. Some people believed it was one of the safest places in case of an earthquake, and Tommy knew that Evan lived in L.A. long enough to have witnessed at least one. Whatever had shook Evan’s windows, it most certainly hadn’t been an earthquake. But whatever it had been…

“… it triggered something,” Evan said, as if he was able to read his mind. “The… the noise, maybe even the darkness?” 

It was a question that didn’t really call for an answer, not now. Evan reached out and grasped his slightly shaking hands. They were cold against Evan’s warm skin, but he didn’t withdraw. To his own surprise, he started talking. 

“Been having nightmares for a while,” he said, only to fall silent again immediately after these words.

Evan frowned, “T…that’s why you never wanted to spend the night here? Tommy... you could have just told me?”

Tommy shrugged, not looking at him.

“It felt strange. Annoying. Like a me-problem, you know?”

He still didn’t dare to look at the man, but Tommy could imagine how that must feel to him. Evan, who had so much, too much experience in trying to not be a burden to anyone. He’d come a long way, Tommy knew that. It hadn’t felt right at the time when he asked his former coworkers about his crush, and without them even knowing why he asked, in the first place. He could imagine what he felt and thought right now, and he was right: Evan briefly let go of his hands to lift Tommy’s chin, searching his gaze. 

“You’re not a problem, Tommy,” he assured him. “We’re in this together now, remember? If anything, the world’s in double trouble.”

That man… Evan didn’t know half the things he invoked in Tommy. He could feel his shoulders lose some of their tenseness, and his jaw relaxed enough he finally sensed  the coppery taste of biting the insides of his cheeks.

“Tell me about the dreams,” Buck said. 

“That's the thing,” Tommy returned, shaking his head, ”I don't remember much. But it's... kind of gruesome, creepy. Everything's blurry, but it feels dangerous. Silly.”

“It's not. It’s how dreams work, right? Tell me why the bang outside startled you this much.”

The flashlight on Buck's cell phone went out without warning, and he hastily turned it back on. Tommy was grateful for the moment of darkness. If he would only be able to sort his thoughts. But there was nothing he could hold on to, nothing to put a finger on. The dreams, well… they had been gloomy and strange, nothing else.  

“I don’t think it’s the darkness,” Evan cautiously continued, “or if it is, it’s along with the bang we heard. You know, it… it took me a while to stop flinching at every flash of lightning. M…maybe it’s something you experienced in the army?”

Finally, Tommy turned his head to look at him. Of course he would eventually get there. Tommy didn’t like to see these beautiful blue eyes filled with so much concern, but this time, he was helpless.

“But what? I hardly remember my time in the army.” 

“Come on,” Buck went, searching his gaze, “I’m sure that’s not true. I mean, certainly, you must have experienced things you’d rather forget…”

“No,” Tommy cut him off, “it’s not that that I want to forget them. I actually can’t remember.”

Buck furrowed his brow, “That's textbook PTSD,” he said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not. I think,” Tommy muttered, ruffling his hair. 

“You hid this from me, you know.”

Tommy heard the insecurity, even if Evan tried hard to mask it. He was trying so hard to sound confident, not at all hurt, because this wasn’t about him. That was exactly what made it so hard. Tommy didn’t know why he himself hurt, but he did, and he didn’t want to drag anyone down that road. Especially not Evan. 

“I didn’t do this on purpose, Evan,” he said, surprised at how tired he sounded. Exhausted, even.

“I know,” Evan soothed him. “We don’t need to find a solution right now. You need some sleep.”

“No,” Tommy said with a strange kind of urgency creeping up his spine. “I can’t sleep. It keeps coming back. I need to know why.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s think about it, then we’ll lay down together, and first thing in the morning is calling the shrink. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do this, Evan. I can just…”

“Look, I don’t want you to go home, Tommy,” he was cut off intently. “We’ll get through this together.”

Suddenly, Tommy sighed, as if he had held his breath for a very long time, and though it sounded a bit like a sob, he felt way more content now. I needed to hear this, he thought surprised.

“When did this start?” asked Buck. 

Tommy wrinkled his brow. Thoughtfully, he stared upwards into the flashlight’s pale glow, which chose this moment to go out again. Buck suppressed another curse and switched his phone back on.

“Ten weeks,” he replied, “maybe twelve.”

“Well, what happened back then? I know this much about PTSD to believe that whatever happened to the power supply tonight was not the trigger. It must have started somewhere. Something at work? You didn’t crash with the helicopter, right?”

“I think you’d have heard about a helicopter crash around the time we rescued Bobby and Athena,” Tommy answered dryly. 

“Right,” Buck sheepishly returned. They exchanged a weary smile. “So that’s when the nightmares started? Do you think it’s that? It was a risk. Dangerous. We could have died. Or lost our jobs.”

“Interesting priorities that you have there,” Tommy said, sounding more like his old self now. “Nobody died and we even got medals for it. Don’t think that’s it. Moreover, I think it started a bit later. Like… after…”

His voice trailed off, and he could see on Evan’s face that his eyes must have taken on a haunted look again. But he did feel haunted. It wasn't that he really remembered, rather as if lots of little pieces suddenly fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Or, he thought gloomily, like a game of dominoes triggering a chain reaction.

“After what?” Evan softly asked.

There was no way he would evade this now. Not after all this, not after Evan seeing him in such a rattled state, hiding in his bathroom. “After the basketball game.”

“You mean the one with Eddie?”

“I was injured,” Tommy said, definitely not an answer to Buck’s question, “in the military, you know? That’s what the files said.”

“T…the files? So that’s what you don’t remember?” 

“I do remember that I was hurt, something hit my head. Two weeks in hospital, a honorable discharge right after, all of that is still there. It’s just … I don’t know what happened before that. What hit my head? Who was with me? What happened? It’s a blur. Nobody told me anything, you know? They said it’s amnesia, it would all come back, and they were told not to upset me. That was a lie. The files were mostly confidential. I wasn’t allowed to read what hit me or why.” 

Tommy didn’t dare to look at Evan after he got rid of all that. He stared straight ahead, or maybe into the void. 

“That's tough,” Evan said softly.

“That’s the army,” Tommy shrugged. “It’s just… the nightmares are so vivid, yet I can’t see anything. It’s more like feelings, sensations, thoughts. Everything is dark, and there are strange sounds. It feels dangerous, but also like I’m leaving somebody behind. I’m afraid, Evan. I’m afraid that I did something bad, something horrible back then, and I don’t even remember it.”

“You could never,” Evan blurted out, reaching for Tommy’s cold hands again. 

A wistful smile crossed Tommy’s lips. “But what if I have?”

“We’ll deal with it as soon as we know more,” Evan decided. “Why do you think it was triggered by the basketball game?”

The torchlight went out again as another expression flickered across Tommy's face,  but he was sure Evan didn’t catch it. He reached for his phone, but Tommy grabbed his hand and held it tight. Several heartbeats long, they sat in the darkness, silent; he didn’t want this to end, didn't want reality to return. But it was inevitable. Finally, he sighed. 

“What if it was you, Evan?”

“Me? I...”

“Let me finish. This time, I need you to listen.”

There was concern in Evan’s eyes, maybe even fear, and he hated to be the cause of it. But it was better to rip off the band-aid fast.

“It started there,” Tommy said. “But it got worse. The closer the two of us got, the more nightmares I had. I liked you from the beginning, Evan, and the game was when I realized it. As soon as you arrived, I only wanted to impress you. Wanted it then and every day after that. That’s why it’s so hard.”

“I don’t get it,” Evan returned, utterly confused.

“I love you, Evan,” he said into the darkness. 

There. He said it. Either stupid jokes or hard facts at the wrong time, that was what he was, right? Tommy heaved another sigh as he added, “I’m not saying I knew this from the beginning. What I knew, though, was that I liked you so much that it almost hurt. Hadn’t experienced that, well, in quite a while.”

“But,” Evan dared to say, “t…that’s a good thing, right?”

His voice sounded so small, so full of hope. Tommy could barely make out his frame in the darkness, but he surely looked very soft, very lovely right now. Tommy had not forgotten what Evan had told him, one night: How his ex-girlfriend had called him needy, and how he had found that to be rude, but also true. Tommy had tried to tell him, to show him that it wasn’t true. That he was worth it, and that it was adorable how he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

“I don’t know. And that’s why I’m afraid. Because… what if I really did something bad back then? What if I hurt people, killed innocent ones, what if I’m a traitor, a cheater, whatever, and it’s buried deep inside me and…”

“… and you’re afraid the dreams might show you what you did, at some point. And I wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes,” Tommy breathed. 

He had avoided this moment for as long as possible. No one liked facing their own demons, but admitting it was worse. He didn't even know what his demons looked like. All that was long in the past, it was blurred and distant – but not distant enough, obviously. Whatever he had done then, whatever had happened, maybe he would never know, and maybe it would break him sooner or later if he didn't share it. But that was exactly what Evan had offered: to share the burden. 

His tongue felt numb, everything suddenly hurt, as if that bang out there had shaken his body. It had only shaken his soul, and yet it hurt. But that was somehow a good pain, one that drove him on. He reached for Evan's hands, about to say something; there was a crackle of electricity and all the lights came back on. They stared into the light, squinting for a moment, then Tommy turned to Evan, determination in his gaze.

 “Let's go to sleep,” he said. “We can deal with this tomorrow.”

Evan looked at him insistently, as if he could see behind his forehead to read his mind, and he asked, “You gonna be able to sleep?”

“I'm more afraid of losing you than I am of the nightmares, Evan.”

The words just tumbled out of his mouth, and Evan's eyes widened.

"Why would you lose me? Tommy. Tommy!" he stammered, as if he couldn't believe this was actually true. Evan grabbed his upper arms as if to shake him, and maybe Tommy deserved it, because now he suddenly said, “You idiot!”

“I... what?” Tommy asked, dumbfounded.

“That was the strangest declaration of love ever. I wish I could have answered I know.” 

Star Wars jokes, Tommy thought. Maybe all was not lost. He still felt vulnerable, a bit like he was a huge open wound. But one that would heal. 

“Yeah, you kinda didn’t answer at all, Evan,” he said.

Now that the light was back, he could finally see him again, and it was his favorite thing to see: that radiant smile, as if the sun was rising. 

“I thought I wouldn't have to,” Evan replied. “But you know what? I want to. I love you too.”

[variousqueerthings]

[ @syrupmap said: variousqueerthings I thought "he's going to be SO surprised!" You have a gift. Please predict the ending. Ooh! How is everyone going to end up? That might be fun to reread after your first watch]

okokok i wanna try this, i think it'd be so fun!

im gonna repeat a bit some of the private messaging to you, with some new Stuff:

learning that this is the Halfway Point got everything together in my head in terms of season three/season three part 1 (is there an official way of talking about the structure?) so definitely this idea of halfway-through is informing how I'm coming at season four/season three part 2, but it's also making it harder to predict because should i think of this as the second half of one season or as two seasons? we won't know until we watch! but certainly that makes a difference in terms of structure

SO. ive watched episode one, which was a relatively light-hearted return to the story. im awaiting some slightly heavier episodes, which idk. finale will be i assume Plot Heavy (safe bets). which leaves 10 episodes in the middle. of those, i'll give PG at least two zanier more surreal plots perhaps. one (slightly spoiled) physical!whump for fraser plot. i'll guess that one may be in the latter half, but it's hard to say, because it depends on whether im looking this as 13 episodes (self-contained) or 26 episodes (in which case we're in the latter half already). it all comes down to how the show is broken up, which i can't predict. also at least two, maybe more like three more light-hearted episodes. and something heavier for ray kowalski as well. which leaves us with three open spots that could go in any direction. i WANT them to be heavier/more emotionally damaging for me, because im that sort of person, but this show goes in many directions, so we shall see 🤪

also... stella and meg coming back into play in some way. i wonder whether stella is going to be more of a background-ish character as she has been outside of her Big Episode or if there will be another focus on her before the pilot. meg, im assuming they're going to continue with the adoption plot, but it'd be cool to involve her more in the way they did in seeing is believing and mountie on the bounty

also, will these women continue to be love interests in some capacity? im assuming yes, but i think not in the most uncomplicated/obvious way (see my finale predictions below), because that's been the structure of the show thus far

things I know are: - fraser and rayk have made a commitment (as of mountie on the bounty) and i presume this will be more and more evidenced throughout these next 10 episodes -- the main focus will be following these two (although, i was surprised that episode 1 didn't do that so much, it was more about fraser and welsh, which, listen, definitely not complaining about!!!) - welsh being dad!vibes continues, but he's had his big focus episode now, so assuming he's mostly back to being police chief (commissioner? i never know what police roles are) - ray vecchio returns in the finale in some capacity

so early days prediction for the finale with the caveat that currently things are wide open:

meg will adopt a kid. idk if this will happen before the finale or during. my gut feeling is before, because then the kid is already there and the plot doesn't need to spend too much time on that part of it. will the kid be massively important to the finale, plotwise? mmmmmmmi don't think so, other than i wonder if it'll readjust meg's priorities

meg and fraser.......... will be ambiguous. i feel like it may veer towards fraser and her not getting together, but with an acknowledgement of feelings of some kind

fraser will hm. not stay in chicago. fraser has been offered the chance to leave chicago twice now and both times he's decided to stay after a great deal of deliberation for someone else's sake (either to protect, as with rayv, or to help grow, as with rayk). there's been elements of doing it for himself too, that he wants to help this community, that he has some roots now, and that he could grow himself if he commits, but ultimately i don't know if chicago is the place where he Belongs. to naysay myself, maybe it ultimately does become that place.... maybe he stays for himself at the end (wow, well done with predicting the two most opposite possibilities). it depends, i think, on how that settling into himself happens here in the tailend of the story. does he find a new place to live? does he get another community? does he feel connected? currently he's still very much fighting against real-boy-ification/domestication, and the question is whther the story leans more towards some of the warnings of s2 (like mask or the edge) or if something will change. so i lean the first, but the second if these stipulations are in place

diefenbaker. i Do Not Know. i hope that wherever fraser is, diefenbaker remains. but it depends on where the story goes vis a vis diefenbaker as a manifestation of fraser's soul + fraser's brother + manifestation of the wild being domesticated... (the wild bunch really lives rentfree with me forever)

ray vecchio and/or ray kowalski get love interests. i don't want'em to. but it's the 90s. i just realised with the current women on the show this would be rayv with stella and rayk with frannie. hm. i don't want it. but it wouldn't be the worst comphet in the world. but i don't want it generally

rayv and rayk will not like each other at first. but i hope they become friends. maybe, if fraser leaves, even partners. dunno. there's something about both of them and partners in their respective stories...

mmmmmmm i want rayv and rayk to work together to save fraser's life in some way. don't care what way. but i want it. work through your differences and help The Boy! and maybe have a good natter about how difficult it can be to keep him alive sometimes

oh sooome kind of full-circle with the pilot. possibly returning to canada for a bit? some kind of catharsis with his ghost!dad? some sense that this story began at that point and now it has ended in a similar place (emotionally, geographically, stakes-wise, narrative callbacks, etc) -- maybe ghost!bob finally finds peace and leaves... that would do it for sure.....

this is maybe not useful, but i doooo think it will be a very good finale that won't give me everything i would want to see. i think it'll probably have some frustrating 90s stuff (like love interests) but it'll have a lot of really good stuff, and it'll be open enough to imagine a "and what comes next is for you to decide, dear viewer..." post-narrative. i want it to not be too neatly wrapped up

things i don't predict but youknow. in my heart and soul:

fraser leaves the mounties (because man has he been screwed over by law-enforcement a lot, but it won't happen and also that would be a whole Other story of having to become a whole new person, his essence is wrapped up in Being A Mountie. it's everything he's got. but. youknow)

rayk and rayv leave the police department. im making everyone leave law enforcement. i want them to be private detectives!!!!!!

elaine returns (she won't, but she does to me) (she also becomes a private detective with them)

we get to explore what happened to rayv in las vegas (cue my brutal noir spinoff show)

stella gets a girlfriend

(lol the girlfriend is frannie, IVE SOLVED IT!!!!)

meg and fraser start a casual D/s thing, super chill, good for them both (im getting silly now) (technically they had that in s2) (but in my version meg also puts fraser in a corset) (ok done now)

I THINK that's about it, pieces-wise. we're at a crossroads about to embark on the final part of the story. both very exciting and ngl preemptively sad about that

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chptr 15

⚠️ Trigger Warning for angst/whump

❤️💚💜🩷 🚒🧑‍🚒

There was something unnerving about seeing the strongest person she knew, crumpled unconscious on the floor.

Tam found him cocooned around his Grandmother - sleeping soundly like a child who had sought out the comfort of a parent during a storm.

It all seemed so peaceful, but for the obvious devastation peppered over, and around them. And, of course, the glaring fact that Virgil was, indeed, unconscious, and not asleep.

Her heart panged hard, as she finally remembered to breathe, her chest shuddering with the deep inhalation.

The family didn't deserve this - well, most people didn't; but, it went double for the Tracys. It wasn't so much that they put their lives on the line on a daily basis; that debt of gratitude went without saying. It was perhaps the fact that she'd had the privilege of spending time with the family during her training; breaking bread with them in the evenings, sharing new stories she hadn't heard at the firehouse a gazillion-plus times. Somewhere during their training, Phoenix had shed their associate titles and had emerged as friends; which made this rescue so much harder than her average John or Jane Doe.

"Mrs. Tracy?"

"Told yer a thousand times kid; Sally suits me just fine. Mrs.Tracy is reserved for our shareholders, and Brains - who I've given up trying to change.

"Sally," she corrected herself, feeling a sudden warmth fill her face.

"How are you holding up?" Tam scrambled to unpack her medkit.

"I'll be a lot better once this brave idiot is off me. Can't breathe."

Tam paused a moment, and frowned. Virgil's weight was only partially resting on Sally; his body angled in such a manner as not to crush her. She wondered briefly if that had been at all planned on Virgil's part.

"Level with me kid, what are you thinking?"

Tam had a lot of time for Sally; she was brave, kind-hearted and wonderfully feisty - especially given her age, which she guessed was a taboo topic, here on Tracy Island. The woman was also far too sharp-witted to have the wool pulled over her eyes.

She sighed, continuing to work, as she analyzed the scene before her.

"I think the initial impact of your fall may be the real reason behind the pain you have breathing. Virgil's been careful to lie in a way that would not crush you."

"Sure sounds like him. So?"

"So...we need to check for injuries."

There was a confidence in her voice that she did not feel - or rather, she was confident about things; procedures, protocol, her job. But, inwardly, having not one, but numerous people she cared about (more than she perhaps should, given the amount of time she'd actually spent in their company) she'd admit it; this rescue had her shook. Tam buried the feeling deep, and ran the scan.

"How're they doing?"

Tam looked up from the scan to see the youngest Tracy approaching.

"Alan?" Sally's voice rasped out.

"Sally, you have three broken ribs; but as far as I can see, they've not caused any significant injuries to the surrounding area,"

She passed the med-scanner to Alan, who concurred.

"Well, Grandma; I'd say that's earned you a VIP stay in Tracy Island's very own infirmary. Don't worry, I've heard the doctors there are very good-looking!"

"I wasn't aware that Kip was a doctor too!"

"What? Eww! No!"

Grandma's chuckle was instantly switched for a grimace of pain.

Alan gently rescued a hand on her shoulder.

"Hel-p Vir-gil," she breathed.

"Tam's doing just that, Grandma. Penny and myself will look after you. It'll give Tam the space she needs to properly help Virg."

A hover stretcher, followed by a well-spoken lady appeared. And, before-long, Sally, Alan, and the woman - Penny vanished. Tam couldn't exactly say when. Her attention now firmly on the one member of International Rescue who had yet to regain consciousness.

[kenphobia]

A LOVING FEELING！

summary. when you're dating portgas d. ace, dreaming costs more than just money.

characters. portgas d. ace/reader (gn)

contents. haha fuck around and find out. established romantic relationship. comfort/hurt??? not exactly whump but the comfort is nearly not existent. really short. just a drabble. guess what artist is this based off haha

It wasn't exactly out of the blue, but it wasn't a planned confession either. When the two of you are always together, arms locked around each other's neck, and how every little actiom both of you seem to be always for the other.

It felt like a little nudge, like the breeze tugging you by the sleeves and showing you a path you've seen before but never had the chance to delve into. It's obvious that both you and Ace don't have a lot of experience (which earned a couple teases from the more older and experienced people of the whitebeard pirates), but you guys just fit each other like a glove. As if you and him were destined to be together in every other universe.

Even when your relationship felt so casual, like nothing changed at all, there's a certain tugging like strings attached to your pinkies. From the night you tucked yourself tired in bed, limbs clambering over Ace's and vice versa, to drunken conversations and laughs during parties held on the ship— You're in love with him, and he's so so in love with you.

When the two of you somehow couldn't sleep and would spend hours talking, planning about the future. It didn't necessarily have to be 30 years from now on, no, it could be simply tomorrow or next week. Each and every second spent dreaming about what life could be when you wake up, the sun greeting the decks as soon as the night vanishes into the depths.

And when the incident happened, Ace promised he'd come back for you, that he'd write to you whenever he gets the chance. And he did. He kept his promise and every 2-3 weeks, there would be another letter tucked in a small box you keep in your shared quarters and there would be another— this time, from you —being sent to wherever he was.

He'd call you more often though, his voice still making your insides warm and fuzzy whenever you hear it. And when nights have become too cold for you to bare, you have resigned yourself to cuddling a pillow with his clothes draped on it, reading his previous letters with a love left to squirm and itch like a bug in your heart.

He kept his word, until he couldn't anymore.

And all that was left was a cold bed that felt too big for you to keep sleeping on.

notes. ahahaha... ignore the fact that my previous writings domt follow this format, i got lazy. (reqs r open plsplsplsplspls or just talk to me)

[cuddlepilefics]

Put your head on my shoulder

Fandom: Ateez

Sickie: Yunho

Caregivers: mainly Mingi

Prompts: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

TW: emeto

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

Yunho knew he wouldn’t have a good day when stay started their dance practice that day. Facing the mirror, weird flashes of light hit his eyes and made him wince. He knew those funny spots in his vision, had seen them many times before. They were a telltale sign of an impending migraine, so he forced down a protein bar before swallowing some medicine. If he took it early enough, it might ward off the worst of it. Yunho knew he wouldn’t get anything done once it hit, so he was determined to give it his all now to allow himself rest later. There was no point in telling his friends yet, he could still speak up once the pain started to interfere with his work.

Mingi knew Yunho better than anyone else and picked up on his hyung being quieter than usual. When he bumped the older with his shoulder and asked if anything was up, the dancer winced, shaking his head. “I’m tired”, he chuckled, hoping the younger would accept his lie. The worst was, that he was supposed to lead this dance practice, so it’d be hard to hide his struggle from the members. They’d need him to teach them well or else they wouldn’t be able to keep up with their schedule. Luckily, most of the members were still sleepy too, so they didn’t notice… for now.

It went pretty well at first, though the aura lingered the pain didn’t come and Yunho functioned pretty well. Sure, his balance was a little off and he tripped a couple of times but they were able to laugh it off as plain clumsiness. Slowly the loud music blasting from the speakers got to him though and finally triggered bursts of pain pulsing with the beat of the music. A pained crease was etched onto his forehead and didn’t fade when Hongjoong decided they should take a break. Seonghwa handed Yunho his water bottle and whispered: “Are you feeling okay, Yunho-yah?” The younger nodded but grimaced when the movement sent a jab of pain through his skull and made his head spin.

Yunho was nothing but determined, so if he had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. Not even Mingi, who worriedly watched him stumble over and over again. The rapper was under no illusion, being sadly far too familiar with his friend’s headache-face to miss the signs. He was only a little surprised when he offered Yunho some painkillers. “Thanks but I already took something when we got here”, the older admitted quietly, “Is it really that obvious? I thought I was dancing well.” – “Hyung, you’re always dancing well”, Mingi sighed, “It’s more that you seem unwell in general, quiet and withdrawn with a tense look on your face. Your eye bags are quite impressive and you having a headache was a lucky, or rather unlucky, guess.” Drawing a shaky breath, Yunho bit his lip and whispered: “Not a headache, Mingi-yah. Had an aura earlier and now the pain is setting in.” – “Well, fuck”, his dongsaeng cursed, “The music isn’t helping, huh?” A look into Yunho’s eyes told him that his guess was spot-on.

“You know that you should tell Hongjoong-hyung, right? It’s risky to practice when you have a migraine. You could hurt yourself when you get dizzy and uncoordinated”, Mingi frowned, knowing that it wouldn’t be the first time, “Why don’t you take a sick day and go back to your dorm, sleep it off?” Rubbing his face, Yunho mumbled: “Someone’s gotta teach you guys and I can still function.” He noticed the look his dongsaeng gave him and added: “I know you don’t like it, Mingi-yah, but we’d fall behind schedule if I took a break right now. I’ll try to hold out for a few more hours, so we can go over everything together and by the time I’m completely out of commission, the rest of you will be able to practice on your own.” – “Please speak up before you end up hurting yourself, even if we haven’t gone over everything by then”, Mingi warned, shooting Hongjoong a look.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t catch the short conversation between their dongsaengs but Mingi’s worried and the fact that they were disagreeing about something, was enough to confirm their suspicions that something wasn’t right at all. They didn’t have to wait all that long to finally learn what it was. Yunho was supposed to do a spin while changing positions but immediately crouched to the floor, hit with a wave of vertigo. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his bearings while his stomach turned. Seonghwa’s hands were already on his shoulders, ready to catch him when the dancer clamped his hands over his paling lips. Suddenly, everything was quiet except for Yunho’s ragged breaths. Someone must’ve stopped the music. The sound of the trash can being set down in front of him sharply cut through the silence, the oh so glorious silence Yunho had been yearning for most of the day.

“It’s okay, Yunho-yah, we got you”, Seonghwa whispered, gently pressing down on his dongsaeng’s shoulders to make him sit. Not daring to open his eyes to the bright ceiling lights, Yunho shook his head and lowered his hands. He wouldn’t throw up. He just needed to take a few deep breaths to calm his twisting stomach because throwing up was out of question as his head felt like it’d explode from the strain if he didn’t manage to fight it down. Sluggishly pushing away the trash can, Yunho drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, partly to shield his eyes and partly to relieve some tension in his neck. He could hear his friends whispering but was too focused on not letting the nausea overwhelm him to focus on what they were saying.

Seonghwa still rubbed his back, despite his shirt being soaked with sweat, well, he assumed it was Seonghwa but couldn’t say for certain. The lights were eventually turned off and it grew quiet once again. Hongjoong had stepped out to arrange a ride back to the dorm, while San, Wooyoung and Jongho tried to call disperse to give Yunho space. Only Seonghwa, Mingi and Yeosang remained close by in case Yunho needed anything. Drawing a shaky breath, the dancer blindly started to feel around for the trash can and straightened up when someone nudged it into his hand. He tried to focus on Seonghwa’s hand on his back to distract himself from the pounding on his head but it could only work for so long. Someone took his free hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Yunho would recognize this hand anywhere, having known it for years. He returned Mingi’s gentle squeeze as he swallowed. He didn’t want to be sick.

Mingi was impressed that Yunho had managed to battle wave after wave of almost unbearable nausea and despite two hard gags, hadn’t thrown up. The older had used to get violently ill every time he had a migraine, so this was a first but Mingi decided not to question it. He was mainly glad that Yunho was hanging in there. Hongjoong had been able to clear not only Yunho’s schedule but also Yeosang’ and Mingi’s. Mingi was a given, being Yunho’s closest friend and the most experienced when it came to the dancer’s migraines, and Yeosang being his dorm mate arguably knew best where they kept their medical supplies. Considering the time when Yunho had thrown up on their manager’s shoes before passing out, Hongjoong probably shouldn’t have been so surprised about how easy it was to clear two members to take care of him.

It most definitely took both, Mingi and Yeosang, to drag Yunho to the car, the older suddenly unable to coordinate his long legs. Seonghwa’s foresight had resulted in both of them having a plastic bag and a travel pack of tissues stuffed into their pockets. Sure, the ride to their dorm wouldn’t be long and Yunho had been more in control of his body than any of them had expected but the eldest didn’t want to be lured by a false sense of security. Good thing he wasn’t because Yunho broke into a sweat as soon as Yeosang had buckled his hyung’s seatbelt and Mingi eased the dancer’s pounding head down, lowly whispering: “Put your head on my shoulder.” Though hesitant, Yunho swallowed and rested his head on his best friend’s shoulder, weakly patting his pocket. Mingi got the hint and retrieved the plastic bag. Clutching the bag in his clammy hands, Yunho felt a little safer, though barely.

Right as they pulled into the building’s garage, Yunho lost the battle he had fought for so long, lifting the plastic bag to his ashy lips in a panic. The first gag was immediately productive, a large wave rushing up his throat. Some even came out of his nose and he groaned in pain, grateful for the strong hand on his arm steadying him. Yeosang’s gentle hand drew slow, soothing circles on his back, at least somewhat distracting him from the pain when his stomach seized again. “Almost over. You’re doing so well”, Mingi whispered, holding his best friend steady while the older threw up repeatedly. Yunho barely caught a break in between, the plastic bag in his hands growing heavier so quickly. It seemed his stomach could only calm down once he was empty.

Gasping for air, Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He coughed harshly, black spots clouding his vision. Yeosang carefully took the bag from him, afraid the dancer was going to pass out. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mingi’s grip on Yunho’s shoulders was tight and secure, though it loosened a bit once he had helped the older lean back into the seat. Yunho panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the vertigo. He was slowly catching his breath but the spell had taken a lot out of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he winced when he heard the crinkle of Yeosang tying up the plastic bag. Pulling out a tissue, Mingi gently dabbed across his best friend’s forehead before drying his tears. With another tissue, he wiped Yunho’s lips and breathed: “You tell us once you’re ready to go up to your dorm.” It was only then that Yunho noticed that the car had stopped moving. “I think I’ll go ahead and throw this out already. Might be able to set up some stuff and… I can close the curtains?”, Yeosang mumbled, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Mingi gave him a small nod, mouthing: “I got him, hyung.”

Mingi sat with Yunho, the dancer’s head resting on his shoulder, while Yeosang already hurried up to their shared dorm. Yeosang had disposed of the bag on his way upstairs and quickly washed his hands before turning on the kettle. He prepared a pot of ginger tea in hopes of quelling his hyung’s nausea and while letting it steep, he closed the curtains. Wanting to get as much prepared while Yunho was still resting in the car, he quickly spread a towel over the other’s pillow and set a bucket next to his bed. Anything that he didn’t have on the ready would mean them moving around later, which would inevitably aggravate Yunho’s headache no matter how carefully they moved, so Yeosang already placed an icepack on his hyung’s nightstand before checking on the tea.

Swaying softly on his feet, Yunho hung onto Mingi’s arm, partly for balance and partly because he couldn’t stand to keep his eyes open. Though Mingi promised him that they were quick, it felt like it took them an eternity to get to the right floor, the elevator ride making his stomach flutter. The younger must’ve noticed the blood draining from his face because as soon as he had unlocked the door, he dragged him to the kitchen sink. It was their closest option and a truly lucky one at that because no sooner than he gripped the counter, Yunho was retching again. Yeosang, though a little startled by the way the two had barged in, was by their side in an instant, helping Mingi steady their friend. There was barely anything left for Yunho to bring up but he couldn’t stop his stomach from trying to turn itself inside out. Spotting the cutting board he had left on the counter while preparing the tea, Yeosang hurriedly cut off a thin slice of ginger and tapped the back of Yunho’s hand. “Here, try to chew this”, he whispered worriedly, “Might lessen the nausea.”

Yunho had wanted to argue that he could not possibly chew anything right now, already gagging every couple of seconds, but he was also desperate for it to stop, so he popped the slice into his mouth and bit down on it, trying to breathe slow and steady through his nose. Though he pitched forward with a closed mouth gag, he slowly regained control of his body and weakly leant against the counter. Yeosang handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth with and whispered: “Your room is all set up, so as soon as you feel ready to move, you can go and lay down, hyung.” Taking a couple of moments to calm down and even sip some water, Yunho waited till Mingi had taken off his shoes and returned to help him with his. He doubted he’d be able to bend down right now.

Once Yunho’s shoes were removed too, Mingi helped him to his room and gently tucked him into bed. The rapper carefully draped the icepack over his friend’s forehead and whispered: “Do you want me to sit with you?” – “For a bit?”, Yunho rasped, linking his fingers with Mingi’s. Yeosang popped in for a short moment, bringing Yunho’s tea and requesting: “Get me if either of you needs anything, kay? I’ll give you two some space but I’ll just be in my room.” Mingi nodded and mouthed a ‘thanks’ before turning his attention back on Yunho. The dancer was already knocked out though.

[lord-squiggletits]

Been working a lot on The Wicked and it's insane how horribly I can torture Pharma without even being canon divergent at all. Not even going out of my way to make horrible over the top whump to happen to him because his life is canonically just that miserable and painful.

Yes it is in fact canon Tyrest used Pharma as a test subject for the killswitch and then constantly degraded him/acted as if Pharma should be grateful to him since he would be dead in the snow if Tyrest hadn't saved him.

Yes it is in fact canon that Pharma knew he couldn't get through the forcefield which meant Tyrest fully was just gonna leave him there in the wreckage of Luna-1 with his angry ex-comrades. Even though the killswitch was built directly based on testing/torturing Pharma over and over

Yes it is in fact canon that no one bothered looking for Pharma's fallen body on Messatine, not even to confirm he was dead or to kill him personally.

Yes it is in fact canon that Pharma behaves with obvious signs of mental illness and gets ableist comments casually directed at him.

Yes it is in fact canon that after 4 million years of loyal, exceptional service to the Autobots absolutely no one questioned why Pharma would "harvest organs for the DJD" and then work with Tyrest to genocide half of the Cybertronian race. He was just evil now they guess.

Literally I don't even have to try to make Pharma's life hell. Me writing in stuff like "Pharma gave his t-cog to Tarn at one point" is just embellishment upon the horror that is his life, canonically, stated/shown explicitly in the comics via either character dialogue or visuals. Pharma just suffers that fucking much

[scienceoftheidiot]

It's WIP Wednesday!

And today is insane because yesterday I blacked out and when I woke up I'd written 6K in two different fics /o/

... Yeah no don't do this at home I am a professional

(I definitely shouldn't have stayed so long in front of a screen with my fucked up eye buuuut eeeehh)

Anyway sharing small parts of them then 😌

First from the ultimate chapter of All the Hope. Only a handful of parts are still missing, and I CAN'T WAIT to share this very fluffy last chapter (but you guys know me. Beware still).

The song had ended, and Riza wasn’t so sure she wanted to go back to her seat. A new tune succeeded to the first, a slower one. It was from a brass band this time, and it had this warm quality that Riza associated with late evenings at the office, when they’d just sit in the yellow glow of the desk lamps and drank coffee over paperwork, or the planning of an operation. It wasn’t necessarily just the two of them, and she remembered the occasional game of cards with Breda and Havoc, and of course Fuery tinkering with his radio and offering them such music on the regular. Havoc had been missing first. Then they were separated. Then reunited, except for them both. And now the team was only a team in their memories — fond or not. They’d have to be careful not to paint the past in a rosy light. But they would miss it, surely. “So you’re staying, after all?” Roy asked, a faint smile on his lips, his eyes closed, the warm light from behind him caressing his face just like Riza felt like doing now. He seemed to have even timed his words with the music, just like he did with his feet.

The other one is from my WW1 AU 1923, which will need a real title sooner or later, and honestly I am very excited to start sharing this fic too once I'm done with All the hope. You guys know me there'll be angst or whump if you prefer I guess AND historical references. And languages. And war. And science. Anyway, I am eager, lol.

“These people are here for a science conference. They aren’t thieves or anything, and I’m sure Mr Mustang was going to pay for his rose,” Ed adds, sending a dark stare at Mustang. “Of course I was, little brat!” Mustang mumbles, fishing in his pocket. He skirts around Hawkeye, Al and Ed, his limp more obvious than ever, and goes to hand money to Gracia, when Hughes steps in. The following action is seamless, as Hughes begins to shove him backwards again, but is stopped in his tracks by Hawkeye, swift as a bullet. “No,” she says, low and calm, standing straight between the two men. Ed hates that he notices a flash of pride and something else on Mustang’s face. “Indeed, no,” Gracia nods, and pulls a stunned Hughes back. Mustang is here standing like an idiot with his spare change, so Ed turns to him, holding his hand out. The man seems to shake himself, and puts the money in Ed’s hand, which he then hands to Gracia. “Keep the change,” Mustang says with a blank voice. “And you,” his eyes shoot to Ed, and they’re back being as sharp as his tone. “I want a word.”

[paingoes]

for the ask gaammee 1. What kind of whump is your favorite to write? 19. How long have you been writing whump?

hi !!!!! ❤️‍🩹❤️❤️‍🩹❤️❤️‍🩹❤️

dehumanization whump is my favorite like basically every single flavor of it…. i also guess this is obvious from my writing but i like it when whumpee is invaluable. and they are whumped either in spite of or because of this! its about the lionizing….

since forever i think??? the earliest drafts of destroyer go back several years and that evolved out of other, similar stories. i would not have described it as “whump” at the time, my stories are just angst heavy and i like it when people have a hard time. i dont know if ive ever written anything that did not have some element of whump lol do NOT look at my middle school portfolio….

thank youuuuu :)

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love part 7 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

(also on AO3 here)

Chapter Seven

Eddie POV

Steve insists on being pathfinder lead for the next hour. 

Eddie’s gotta admit—following Steve, as he thrashes his way through the undergrowth, is the best entertainment that banishment has provided yet. Steve’s tight-fitting pants don't do any harm. Goddammit, the perspiration patches on Steve’s shirt make Eddie sweat even harder than Steve is.

“You need the fedora hat,” calls Robin, “and you’ve totally nailed the junior Indiana Jones look.”

Steve smirks over his shoulder. “I was channelling that guy out of Romancing the Stone.” 

“Michael Douglas? No way as hot.” Eddie flashes his best flirtatious grin with ever greater confidence. This afternoon, Steve has begun returning them. “Stick to Indy, man.”

By the time they reach the logging camp, however, they’re all beyond exhausted.

Eddie’s feet are raw with blisters, and Robin’s been complaining of the same for the past hour. She limps through the door of the first cabin they come to, which fortunately turns out to be a bunkhouse. She throws down her pack then throws herself onto the bottom of one of two sets of bunks. Steve collapses onto the other lower bunk and appears to fall instantly asleep.

Eddie considers crawling up onto one of the top bunks and seeing if sleep takes pity on him.

He doubts it would. The choppers were a stark reminder of the nightmare reality snapping at his heels, and he’s wired as hell. He begins to unpack their supplies. Robin, having taken a moment, sits back up.

“We should check this place out,” she whispers. “There must be a clean water supply somewhere, maybe a generator. Definitely canned food and that kinda stuff, for when the loggers come back in the autumn.” 

“I guess it’ll make a change from cardboard-flavoured cereal.”

“God, I know, right! I’d literally murder for some Count Chocular right now.”

They split up to search the various cabins. Eddie hits the jackpot first, in the guise of a crate of bottled beer. 

“Seriously?” says Robin, when she meets him outside the bunkhouse. Eddie sits on the beer crate he’s dragged out, taking a well-earned rest. “You’re gonna get buzzed?”

“You got it in one, sister.”

He doesn’t feel the need to justify this—I saw Chrissy butchered in front of my eyes. I’ve spent a week on the run from the cops. I BASICALLY DIED IN A WHIRLWIND OF EVIL KILLER DEMOBATS. And now I’m on the run again, with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and I’ve fallen stupid hard for him. Oh, and there’s a small but real possibility he’s been flayed. Or something else freaky along those lines.

Robin hasn’t quit scowling at him. His smile is the first overtly false one he’s bothered with for a while:

“Forgive me, Robin. I’ve reached the point where, to quote my sweet old Granny—there ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ like it for me nerves. ’Course, she favoured hard liquor.” He offers one of two bottles he’s gotten out to Robin. “Want one?”

“I’ll stick to the cardboard cereal.” Her scowl lessens, though she remains deadly serious. “Look, promise me you won’t give too much to Steve.”

“Why?”

“What kinda pea-brain question is that? Despite the super-commando act, he’s still struggling, it’s totally obvious. Getting trashed is not gonna help.”

“Yeah, but… he’s improving, right?” Her slight wince betrays that, once again, they’re thinking the same thing. Perhaps Steve’s getting stronger, because he’s getting closer again to Lover’s Lake, Hawkins, Vecna, the Hive-Mind, and yet… “You know our little worst-case scenario, Rob? I’m still not buying it.”

The wind rustles the nearby trees. In sync, Robin’s hunched shoulders soften a little. “Me neither. Hand on heart, if Steve had a link to that evil shit, any at all, I’d sense it by now. Although… Was it just me who thought it was weird when the choppers came over, and then it suddenly clouded up?”

“Yeeeeaah, that really was just you. I was too busy eating dirt and shitting myself.” Now he thinks about it, mind, it was darn convenient.

She shrugs. “I guess I’m super-paranoid that way. I literally spent my Middle School years spotting aliens everywhere.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Then I realised they weren’t aliens. It was the Fae all along.”

“You sure it wasn’t dragons?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Her laugh sounds as manic as his latest crazy smile. On the other hand:

“Maybe Steve really is getting better naturally,” he ventures, “and the set-backs are because he’s been overdoing it. I mean, yeah, we keep an eye out for anything cuckoo, watch for connections, make sure he takes rests, but… Time heals, huh?”

“Not always.” She purses her lips, veering straight back into scary mode. “Steve doesn’t like people to know, but since his second major concussion, he’s not supposed to drink. Of course, he does sometimes, but—”

“Message received. I’ll just have the one—for medicinal purposes, ’kay?” 

“Please yourself. Then wake Steve long enough to put our own bedding on those disgusting bunks. I don’t wanna be bitten to death by bed bugs.”

Robin stomps off toward the camp generator. Eddie is executing the important business of prying the top off his beer, when Steve appears, leaning in the cabin doorway. “Why did you both let me… Hey, is that beer?”

The top pops off with a treacherous fizz. “Uh, no?”

“You’re a useless liar.” Steve closes in. His messy, sleep-mussed hair renders him totally edible. 

“You got me.” Eddie darts his tongue nervously across his lips. “This indeed is the amber nectar of the Gods. You want some?” 

There’s a skewed logic behind Eddie’s offer. If he told Steve he couldn’t drink, like he was his mom or something, Steve would probably get mad. He opts to play a good cop, bad cop routine with Robin, who… 

Eddie glances toward the generator.

She’s not there. If bad cop isn’t gonna show, then he needs a Plan B.

“I guess I’ll have one.” Steve stretches to take the bottle. 

“Just gonna test it. Been here a while.” 

Eddie takes a glug, splutters it out across dusty ground. “Oh man, it’s worse than cat-piss.” He’s only slightly exaggerating. “There’s a reason those lumberjacks left this garbage behind.”

Steve yawns into the back of his hand. “Gonna be honest. I’m not supposed to drink anyhow. Long story.” Ooookay. That went easier than predicted. “Got any water left?”

“Yeah. By my pack.” Eddie hurries into the bunkhouse, and Steve follows. It’s the last bottle, so he hopes Robin’s busy locating fresh supplies. Though that proves the least of his worries.

Half a minute later, he’s sitting on the edge of a bunk, thigh-to-thigh with Steve. They pass the bottle of water and a bottle of beer between them.

And being this close to Steve, now Steve seems so much better? Exchanging chitchat about how long they can hideout here, and if any of them have the skills to hunt a deer or something?

It sends tingles up and down Eddie’s spine.

The way Steve looks at him underlines exactly why Steve was angry last night, when Eddie “assumed” he was straight. Eddie suddenly can’t look Steve in the eye. Trouble is, he then can’t stop staring at Steve’s mouth—those shapely, slightly chapped lips, moist and glistening with water and bad beer.

Then Steve blindsides him with: “Do you honestly think you died, Eddie? Before I did the CPR?”

“I dunno, Harrington.” Eddie squirms on his butt, all kinds of defences flying up. “It was like a dream. Apart from that, it wasn't a dream. It was a place, and Dustin was there, and Robin was there, and you were there, too.”

“Wow. Seriously?”

Eddie cackles out a mocking laugh. “I’m misquoting ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ dude.”

“Oh.” Eddie glances sidelong. Steve appears… oddly crestfallen. “It’s just… You know, I said when I get hurt, I feel like I come back different each time. I mean, I don't know if it's true or not, but... I never knew you before... and I know you now and... and…” Steve fluffs his hair. “Jesus, I’m blabbering.”

“Nah,” says Eddie. “You sound like you’re getting somewhere.” 

Compared to the meltdown my brain is having.

“Okay, well, here it is. I like you, Eddie. I really like you.” 

Eddie half wants to flee for the hills. He fixes on a beetle scuttling across the dirty floorboards. “Dude, you sure you’re not in love with Wheeler?”

“I… I… No!”  Steve doesn’t sound angry, only bewildered. “Yeah, I believed that once, and maybe I was. I guess she fitted in so many dreams I’ve had of my future, and I owe her a lot. But now I’m with you, and…” Their eyes finally meet. Steve’s earnest warmth sends a brutal shockwave through Eddie. “I know this seems fickle, but…” His gentle laugh is too much. “Who knows? Perhaps it’s because Nance has never been dead. Or, near dead. You know, we’ve gotten that in common, right?”

“Riiiiight,” Eddie says, stupidly, then, “Screw it, I like you too, Stevie. I really like you.” 

They fling their arms around each other, and tumble into the kiss.

For Eddie, the sensations are like no make-out session before, such is the hunger that zings between them. Eddie’s so blown away, that the brush of Steve’s lips seems to kindle an actual crackling, electric friction..  Damn, the boy can kiss! 

Eddie’s gotten a semi already, fingers threading up through Steve’s hair, toying at the nape of his neck. Steve does amazing twisty things with his tongue. Gnng! You wanna kill me again, Baby? Even the scrape of Steve’s shallow stubble totally unhinges him.

They work the kiss with their whole bodies, striving to get beyond close, as if they could slide beneath each other’s skin. Eddie can’t help wondering—can they get each other off, before Robin gets back?

Then something changes.

He senses Steve gasp, then moan into Eddie's mouth with something other than dumb teen passion. His arms, clinging around Eddie, falter and slip away.

“Stevie?”

Too late. Steve crumples against Eddie, totally senseless. 

“Steve?” squeaks Eddie, struggling to stop Steve slipping to the floorboards. “Robin! ROBIN!”

Part 8

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)