#I'm not as stupid as you think I am

[breannasfluff]

Want a Drink?

Whump Rating: 0.5/5

Kara Kara Bazaar had a delightful new addition; an extension of the Noble Canteen. Most of the Chain were happy to settle in the inn or do a little shipping. Hyrule, though, pulled Wild aside. “Still have those vai clothes?”

The champion lights up. “What are you thinking?”

“Want to go check out the new bar?”

“Yes! Come on, I’ll help you get ready.”

A quick scrub and Hyrule is sliding into silks; smooth and airy against his skin. They don’t need to wear the face coverings here, so Wild dips into his store of makeup. Glitter eyeshadow highlights his eyes and he sweeps gloss across Hyrule’s lips. Then he takes over the mirror to do his own.

“Well? What do you think?” Wild spins to show off the outfit and makeup.

“Stunning!”

“You look like a catch yourself!”

Hyrule smiles at the compliment, but it’s a little tight. The feeling is forgotten as Wild loops his arm in his and pulls him to the door. They have a bar to visit.

The bar is packed with people. Wild and Hyrule squeeze up to the counter and order drinks. People bump up against them and to one side, hylians are dancing. There are a few Gerudo women as well and a couple are chatting with the men.

Drinks in hand, Hyrule and Wild find a clear space and a little table to stand by. It’s barely a minute before two people come up.

“Hi cuties! My friend and I were hoping we could buy you a drink?”

Hyrule looks at the drink in his hand, still full, then at the two hylians. A girl and a boy; both dressed for the desert heat, although not in vai clothes. The girl’s hair is braided and looped up; the boy’s pulled back in a ponytail. They look similar in age to Wild and Hyrule.

“I’m Oshi,” the girl introduces herself, “and this is my friend Koran.” The boy waves.

Wild’s grin is welcoming. “I’m Wild! This is my friend Hyrule—funny name, I know. But ah,” he glances sideways at the traveler. “I think my friend is good on drinks.”

Wait...what? Hyrule looks at his cup and then back to Wild. “I mean, I can have more than one drink.”

The champion’s smile is fading. “I can get you another drink if you want one. Or you can have mine.”

“Oshi and Koran offered?”

The two friends simply smile and wait, not minding the discussion.

Wild nods slowly. “Yes, but in this case I think it would be…rude.”

“I don’t mind buying Hyrule a drink,” Oshi offers. She bats her lashes; they sparkle in the dim light. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are gorgeous. Look at your eyes!” she leans across the table, which pulls at her loose shirt.

Hyrule smiles back. “I love your hair braids. Can you tell me how you did them?”

Before Oshi can answer, Wild flashes them a blinding smile. “Give us just a moment, would you?”

“Of course.”

Hyrule glances back at the table as Wild pulls him a few feet away. “You need to stop it,” Wild hisses. “They’re not just being nice, they are flirting.”

“I know.” The traveler stares back, brows crinkling.

“You…do?”

Unbidden, annoyance surges. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Wild. I know what flirting is. I know what sex is, relationships, and everything else that goes along with it. Everyone acts like I’m—Wind, too young to hear about it. Just because I don’t want some of those things doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are!”

Wild steps back, hands up. “Woah, okay! I’m sorry! I just…didn’t want you to agree to something you didn’t understand.”

“I know. I know. But you never asked. You just assumed. I know my era isn’t like the rest of yours and there are not a lot of people around but…I like flirting with people. It’s fun. And it’s nice to feel wanted, you know? Even if I don’t want to do anything about it. Don’t you like feeling pretty, too?”

“Of course.” His face falls and he glances at the scars on his side and arm. The vai outfit hides little. “I get it. It’s nice to feel wanted.”

The annoyance vanishes and Hyrule steps closer, laying a hand on the champion’s arm. “I’m sorry I snapped. You were just trying to watch out for me.”

“I’m sorry I assumed. You never seemed interested in any of it before and…well, I guess I fell into the same trap as everyone else.” He still looks subdued.

“Really, Wild, it’s okay. Now, come on, I think we could both use some liquid encouragement to loosen up tonight.”

“Yeah.”

The traveler pauses and ducks slightly to look up at Wild. “Hey, what’s going on? Really?”

His face twists. “I just—I feel so bad for treating you like that. I should know better.”

“Why?”

“Because I…feel the same sometimes. Not always. But I get what you mean, about not wanting all the stuff that goes with being with someone. But sometimes I do want it and—anyway, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Hyrule grabs Wild’s hand and squeezes it. Somehow, this has drawn up more feelings than he was expecting. “You can feel however you want, champ.”

When Wild looks up, tears are brimming at the edges of his eyes. “But when if something’s wrong with me? The shrine messed up and I’m—broken.”

“You are not broken.” The traveler grabs his other hand and gives him a little shake. “Listen to me, Wild, there is nothing wrong with you. I know that’s hard to accept but…everyone is different.

“It took a while for me to realize I didn’t want to settle down and get married, you know? Warriors likes boys. Time is so focused on Malon that I don’t think he realizes anyone else exists in the world. Legend and Ravio are…well, whatever they’ve got going on. We’re all different.”

“But—”

“No buts. You can want someone and change your mind. You don’t have to do anything more or less than you want to. Don’t let anything make you feel guilty for that.”

“I don’t want to lead them on.” Wild lets go to wipe at his eyes, nearly smearing his eyeshadow.

“You aren’t.” Hyrule pulls him in for a hug. “And if they don’t appreciate you as you are, then you probably don’t want anything to do with them.”

Wild squeezes and when he pulls back, his smile is a little stronger. “Thanks for the talk, Rulie.”

“Any time. Now let’s go see if those drinks are still on the table.”

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 8: Underestimated

~Also on AO3~

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.” | Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” | Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Warning: mention of injury

Central character(s): Four, Wind

Four winced as he shifted position and a twinge of pain went through his arm. He'd hidden the wound after the last battle because others were worse off and in more need of healing than him, but he was starting to think his attempts to clean and bandage it hadn't been enough; the pain had been getting worse and when he had snuck away before dinner that evening to check it he'd noticed it was swollen and an angry red color. He laid a hand carefully over the bandages that were hidden under his sleeve. He knew he should talk to someone; it had been a couple of days and while they were still out of potions and would be until they could get to the next town, Hyrule might be able to help.

"Hey, Four, are you OK?"

Four startled; Wind had crept up beside him without him even noticing, and given how little effort the young sailor made to move quietly that was a bad sign.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, quickly moving his hand.

Wind stepped into his field of view, mouth twisted in that odd squiggly frown of his. Four looked away. He had been younger than Wind when he went on his first adventure and in the couple of weeks Wind had been with them he'd proved himself a worthy addition to the group, but there was still something uncomfortable about seeing someone so young among their number.

"No you're not," said Wind, interrupting his thoughts. "You've been rubbing your arm and not letting anyone near it since that last battle and you look like you've not been sleeping even though you have. Everyone's noticed."

Four scowled at the ground, wondering if one of the others had suggested Wind come and talk to him while they were off scouting and hunting. He didn't need to be mothered. Even though he was about the same age as Hyrule, he often got the sense that the traveler was one of the adults while he himself was one of the children. He didn't mind being short - even shorter than Wind - but he did mind feeling like the others thought he was a child.

The annoyance, tiredness, and knowledge that Wind was right made him snappish. "I'm fine; just leave me alone!" Impulsively, he added, "And you can tell the same to whoever sent you to check on me."

Wind scowled. "You think I'm a dumb kid who's just here because the grown-ups said so, huh? Well, I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I can see things for myself same as anyone else."

"I don't need looking after. I'm short, not a kid."

"I'm not treating you like a kid, I'm treating you like an idiot!" snapped Wind. "You're obviously hurt and sick and you won't tell anyone."

Four took a breath for an angry response, but then caught himself.

Calm down. This is going way too far.

You're going to need to work with him in future.

You've been in his shoes.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, calming himself and ordering his thoughts more carefully.

"I'm sorry, Wind," he said. "You're right."

He opened his eyes and saw that Wind was staring at him. The direct gaze was uncomfortable and he looked at the fire.

"I'm tired, my arm hurts, and… I'm sure you understand what it's like to be mothered all the time."

Wind snorted. "Not all the time."

"Still; you don't like being treated like a helpless kid, right?"

"Right."

"Well, nor do I. So I got annoyed, and I'm sorry."

Wind was silent and Four glanced at him. He was still staring at him, but then he looked down, kicking at the ground with another squiggly frown.

Another flash of impulsiveness and Four said, "Doesn't that hurt your face?"

As soon as the words were out he winced, but to his surprise Wind laughed briefly and came to sit down next to him, on the side with his good arm, to his relief.

"Nope." After a moment, he grudgingly said, "I'm sorry I called you an idiot."

Four nodded. "My arm is hurt, but it's not too bad; other people were hurt worse."

"You mean Sky and Time, right? But we've done everything we can for them and if you keep hiding that arm it's going to get worse."

Four nodded again. "I know." He sighed. "All right. When Hyrule gets back I'll ask him to take a look. Happy?" He raised an eyebrow at Wind, who nodded, a worried look in his eyes that made him look even younger. Four thawed a bit inside and reached out to pat his shoulder, meeting his eye as the discomfort faded.

Wind smiled back, but then looked back at the fire. "Nobody told me to come and talk to you. I can think for myself."

"I know, I'm sorry. But I can manage my own injuries when I need to; I've been on my share of adventures."

"Me too." Wind tossed a twig into the fire, but then looked at Four with another small smile. "Want to hear about one?"

Four smiled back. He was tired and the conversation had been more draining than it should have been, so the opportunity to just hear a story was a tempting one. "All right."

[kalevalakryze]

The Protector

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze &Sabine Wren, Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze Characters: Sabine Wren, Bo-Katan Kryze, Din Djarin  Warnings: No Graphic Tags, Sparring, Depression Era Bo-Katan Kryze Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 19 & @sabineweek Bingo Prompt Fill "Mandalorian Protectors" & Sabine Week prompt "Sabine and Bo-Katan." Timeline is set around Mandalorian S3. Prompt: Sabine & Bo-Katan | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” | Mandalorian Protectors AU Word Count: 3,120 AO3 Link: Here!

The perimeter alarms went off in a way that brought goosebumps to Sabine’s skin. There weren’t many beings alive who knew Clan Kryze’s ancestral home still sat on Kalevala, and from the list of those alive, even fewer could be trusted to show with less than hostile intentions. 

Her helmet was pulled on in short order; Bo-Katan did not utter a word to her protector as she stalked from the desolate Throne Room. Rain fell in thick droplets, rapid in their descent to the earth and in their journey of thoroughly soaking the thick material of Sabine’s flight suit. 

The N-1 was bright, chrome plating catching the flashes of lightning as it arced from the skies from several kilometers away. The pilot was just as reflective as his starship, fresh, unpainted armor catching the ever-present gloom of the storm as he landed. There was no Death Watch signet on his armor, and no threat in the way he exited his ship, in fact, the Mandalorian hadn’t even acknowledged the Protector upon his exit, instead turning back to his ship to prepare something from inside. 

Sabine’s fingers flexed towards the Westars at her side, peering through the raindrops on her visor as he worked. She could not see what was loaded into the pram, but soon, white-painted durasteel hovered two feet from the Mandalorian’s side, and he’d finally graced her with his acknowledgment. “I’m here to see Lady Bo-Katan Kryze,” He began, the wind caught most of his voice through the vocoder, chin raising as he regarded the strange woman and stranger armor. 

“She is not here, you should leave,” Sabine called, shoulders squared and chest puffing out as she regarded the unknown man. Bo-Katan had mentioned a Mandalorian fitting the description of the man, but as her sole Protector, she couldn’t be too careful. 

The Mandalorian paused, hopelessness sagging his frame. “Could you pass along a message, from a friend?”

Walking in long strides, Din Djarin had to move fast to keep at Sabine’s heels, the pram floating behind the two Mandalorians, and raindrops falling to the old carpet where it dripped from their armor. Bo-Katan did not raise her empty stare from indents in the floor, even as their purposeful strides bounced off the cavernous walls. 

“Lady Kryze,” Sabine pulled her helmet from her head, tucking it under her arm as she approached to bow her head, purple strands of hair falling in her face as she did so. Din seemed taken aback at this, but wisely allowed the Protector to continue once she’d garnered the attention of the Princess. “Din Djarin has come for you,” 

The chrome Mandalorian stepped past Sabine, allowing her to take her place to Bo-Katan’s side once more, boots having long since worn into the stone from her weeks of silent vigil at the older woman’s side. “I have come to join you,” He called, imitating Sabine’s posture; shoulders squared, chest puffed out, chin raised. At least an uncivilized member of the coverts could show some respect to the Leader of their people…

For the first time of the day, Bo-Katan’s weight shifted in the throne. Sabine felt the warmth of relief as Bo-Katan’s shoulders rolled. “There’s nothing left to join,” Bo-Katan refused to see it in her grief, that there was something to join, yet Sabine could not step from her place, it was not her duty to make the woman see that, not yet at least. 

Sabine’s head turned away as Din turned to stare at her for an explanation. Her teeth gritted and her fingers flexed around the rim of her helmet. It took a lot to keep her mouth shut, but she’d been trained for this, and had devoted her life to this. If Bo-Katan was not ready, Sabine could not force her…

Din’s confusion showed in his tone, his weight moved from the balls of his feet to his heels. “What of your plans to retake Mandalore?”

Bo-Katan scoffed and Sabine winced. “When I returned without the dark saber… My forces melted away,” Those piercing chartreuse eyes settled on her, bringing the younger Mandalorian to attention. She was the only one who’d stayed, after all. She was sworn not to the dark saber, but to Bo-Katan, and would continue to be until her death in battle. 

Din still seemed confused by this, his head shook in disbelief. “Then where is the stolen fleet?” He hadn’t spotted the stolen imperial ships on the surface, but he’d known the lengths she’d gone through to acquire such a scale for her nite owls. 

The muscles in Sabine’s jaw flexed. She had no kind thoughts on the usurpation of Bo-Katan Kryze for the spineless brute that had rallied her own forces against her. She’d kept her tabs on each of them and had watched every moral Lady Kryze had bestowed upon them all melt away under the promise of a handful of credits. “Making their way across the galaxy..” Bo-Katan answered, beskar catching on the smooth stone of her throne as her weight dropped back again. “As mercenaries,” She added almost sourly. 

Din Djarin’s head turned to the protector then, looking at the armored warrior from the paint splatter on her greaves to the colorful mark that named her commander of the guard stamped proudly into her breastplate. “Why have you stayed, then?” 

Golden eyes flickered towards Bo-Katan, though the woman had looked away pointedly. “Where she goes… I go,” The younger woman declared pridefully. There would never be any uncertainty about where her loyalties lay, ever since she joined the Mandalorian Protectors and had found the Regent Leader working as a Rebel. Saxon didn’t need her, and Mandalore hadn’t needed another to join the cause of bleeding it dry. Bo-Katan had freed the planet, and herself, and while the Imperials reigned havoc upon their homes, she would never forget the kindness that had come in war. 

“Do you still have the saber?”

“...I do”

“Then you lead them,” There was disdain in her tone, Bo-Katan was weary of the interaction already, it seemed. Sabine released a slow breath as she slipped her helmet back over her head, preparing to escort the chrome Mandalorian from Clan Kryze’s castle. “Wave that thing around, and they’ll do whatever you say.” 

“So you… gave up your designs to retake Mandalore?” There was a sadness in his voice, one Sabine could echo. Bo-Katan and herself had argued extensively about the planet’s survivability, and if saving their home would even be worth it. Each time, it seemed to only dull the woman’s will to do much more than sit upon the throne and mope. 

Coming from Din Djarin, however, this seemed to spark anger. Bo-Katan’s lip curled, and Sabine had to calculate the time it would take her to leap between the two. For a woman who spoke of the heaps of Mandalorian blood spilled by her own, she was always so ready to attack even the slightest offense, to defend herself and her honor, oftentimes forgetting that she had Sabine to help carry that weight. 

“Your cult gave up on Mandalore.” She snarled, muscles in her jaw twitching, though neither Heiress or Child of the Watch moved for their weapon, despite stirring hostilities. Still, Sabine took a step down, closer to the apex of tension between them all. “Long before the purge,” A deep breath as the older woman’s brows furrowed, her weight shifted forward and her eyes narrowed. “Where were you then?” 

“The Children of the Watch and all the factions that came before,” Her voice dropped; Bo-Katan had never been one to shy away from her part in Mandalore’s destruction or in the part those fallen, fragmented members of her clan had in the division of their people. “Fractured and shattered our people…. Go home… There’s nothing left.” Sabine’s chin dropped at the conviction in Bo-Katan’s voice. It was the same argument, with a different, hopeful Mandalorian in her place. 

Din Djarin did not back down, however, and Sabine had to commend such an act. “I am going to Mandalore so that I may bathe in the living waters, and be forgiven for my transgressions,” 

There was something familiar in his tone, a voice that had been mimicked by Tristan when he’d run off to the Imperial Academy and returned to Krownest years later with a Jetti and a band of rebels. A promise in his voice that she knew from experience could only be put down with death. Maybe Bo-Katan needed her own Tristan, like she had… A look towards the redhead’s quiet, seething form had told her that no, Din Djarin was not the spark that would reignite the fire of Bo-Katan Kryze. 

“You are a fool.” Her weight shifted against the throne once more. The woman was finished with the conversation, that much was clear, as her tired gaze moved to Sabine before lingering back to empty walls, sinking back into the ghosts of her memories, in paintings that had been taken off the walls when the wails of their ancestors grew too loud. 

“There’s nothing magic about the mines of Mandalore,” She continued, eyes moving across the stone, as if she was watching the choppy animating of a children’s holofilm play out. “They supplied beskar ore to our ancestors, and the rest is superstition. That planet has been ravaged, plundered, and poisoned.” 

“You said that the curse was a lie. Make up your mind,” 

Sabine did not often wear her helmet outside of battle, but now she was thankful for the beskar hiding the way her lips split into a smile. He certainly had a fire in him, that was undeniable. 

“If you want to go to the mines,” Bo-Katan finally turned to look at him once again. “Be my guest. They’re beneath the civic center in the city of Sundari,” 

“Thank you… And I will find out if the planet is really poisoned.” Sabine finally moved from her post to escort the spitfire as he turned away from Bo-Katan. 

“Goodbye, Din Djarin.”

“He’s got a point, Lady Kryze,” Sabine began upon her return to the throne room, frowning at the way Bo-Katan sat back on the throne, a gauntleted arm thrown over her eyes in frustration. 

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Wren,” Bo-Katan snapped without looking at her. Sabine let out a soft sigh as she jogged up the stairs of the throne. The younger Mandalorian sighed as she removed Bo-Katan’s helmet from the side of the throne, setting it carefully on the floor under the hawk-like gaze of its owner until she’d removed her own and set it at her side as well.

Carefully, Sabine perched on the arm of the throne, hands in her lap, nervously picking at the fabric that covered her knuckles. “You’re the smartest person I know, Lady Kryze, nothing is going to change that-”

A scoff from the redhead, as she turned her body to face the back of the throne, armor scraping against each other as she curled her legs onto the chair with her. For someone who stood so tall and took up so much space, it made her chest ache to see her let the world swallow her up. 

“Would you like to spar, my lady?” 

This, at least, seemed to get some life from the woman. Sabine needed to keep active, and as much as she liked running the trails around the castle or dancing around the cavernous rooms, a good fight was what they both needed to get the blood pumping and burn off Lady Kryze’s simmering stockpile of rage. 

Bo-Katan was always a ferocious sight in battle. Being able to witness the woman’s prowess in battle was like having a front row seat to the stories passed down between clans, of warriors with the fires of the Great Forge burning under their hal’cabur, bending the battlefield to their demand as they fought for what was right.

There were no stormtroopers to be found under her fist, yet, as the woman taped her knuckles on the other side of the mats, Sabine could still feel the tangible thrum of anticipation, a thundering in her heart at the promise of being the one to pull the Mand’alor from her stupor, however brief it may be. 

Shaking the throes of anxiety from her fingertips, the Protector stretched her arms above her head, palm locking against the opposing elbow until the familiar stretch in her arms thrummed through muscle. Bo-Katan was occupied on the other side; while she did was not one to miss her morning exercises, it had been all too long since she’d allowed the armor to come off. Sabine filed the knowledge away to polish it for the woman later, if all things worked according to plan. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, little Wren.” There was humor in her voice was she spoke, yellow-green eyes unblinking as she adjusted the way the dark blue material rested across her knuckles. 

“My apologies, Lady Kryze,” The woman’s voice held no apology, but the hints of mirth that Bo-Katan had come to appreciate in her company. A smirk tugged at full lips as Sabine released her arm, swinging them out to loosen up before repeating the process on the other side. 

“Alright, Protector, let’s see if you’ve still got it,” There was a spark in her eyes, an ember of something that had been doused by so many before, but not quite put out, not yet, not while Sabine had anything to do with it, at least. 

Bo-Katan waited for Sabine to strike first, air displacing around her fist as she jabbed out, using her forward momentum to follow Bo-Katan’s sidestep up with an elbow jabbed outwards. Bo caught the elbow against her forearm, shoving Sabine back to stagger her momentum. 

“You start with that?” Bo-Katan taunted, sharp eyebrow raised as Sabine spun on her heel, fingers flexing as golden eyes reassessed. 

“Had to make sure you were going to be on your game, this time. Didn’t want to leave you in the dust like-”

Before Sabine could finish, she was put into a terse defense as Bo-Katan snapped forward. Blow after blow was caught on forearms and the meat of her thighs, muscles aching and shaking under the feeling of bruises blooming under powerful hits. 

Bo-Katan wasn’t holding back, a smile seemed to pull at her lips as she sunk into the familiar burn, a predator pushing their prey to the bring, playing with their food… It was the most Bo-Katan had seemed like herself since capturing the Imperial fleet and laying eyes upon the dark saber once more. 

Before Sabine knew it, a foot was hooking behind her ankle, her body was being pitched forward into a steady column of the older Mandalorian’s body, and, in a last-ditch attempt to regain some control of the situation, they were soon both tumbling to the mats, Sabine’s arms circled around Bo-Katan’s shoulders, pinning one arm under her own as her back hit the mats. 

With Bo-Katan’s foot wedged around her shin, the purple-haired Protector was able to koala both legs over the one, knees locking around the thick muscle of Bo-Katan’s thigh as she pitched them to the side, hands scraping, burning against the rough material of the mat as her hands rubbed flat into the floor, pushing herself off the redhead just enough to get a hand on her shoulder.

From the corners of her eyes, she could see the way purple and blue were already beginning to bloom across olive skin, could see the way the freckled skin flushed, sweat-slick and almost shining in artificial lights. Bo-Katan said nothing, breathing through parted lips, a much quieter contrast to the deep swallows Sabine was breathing. Intermingled and tangled, Sabine stared down at the older woman, shock and a sliver of fear at being the one to get the Bo-Katan Kryze on her back.

The silence dragged with Sabine frozen in spot, and Bo-Katan’s eyes raking inquisitively over the protector. 

It took a rush of… something, surely not confidence, that had words spilling past Sabine’s lips, words she had mulled over and had not considered articulating when Bo-Katan seemed desperate to stew in her misery. “Lady Kryze-” She paused as if waiting for permission to continue, however, she forged on before the woman could acknowledge her. The younger woman sat up, leaning back against the redhead’s bent knees. “If there is a way to reclaim Mandalore, don’t you think we should? Mandalorians… we’re stronger together,” Her finger twitched against the soft fabric of the woman’s tank top, anxiety brimming over the surface as the embers in her eyes simmered. 

“I’ll take one final step,” Bo breathed, voice dark and heavy, lips smoothing into a mask of dispassion as her hands settled against Sabine’s arms, fingertips dancing across bruised elbows before she was guiding the young Protector off of her. Letting herself drop to the mats beside her, Sabine reached to brush her hair out of the way, watching Bo-Katan as she rose and wiped the sweat from her brow. “All you have to do is make me.” When Bo-Katan rose next, she extended a hand down to the woman below her. “Show me…” A pause, like the woman was reconsidering this moment of vulnerability, even with the woman who had seen her through her worst times. “Show me the way, Wren.”

Something itched at the back of Sabine’s mind. The Jetti paired with Tristan’s ‘Ghost’ crew had mentioned the Force to her once, nothing but passing in an explanation of a blind man and his blue son, but from how her vod’ika had explained it, she could only consider it to the feeling of the Manda. When she reached to take Bo-Katan’s hand, there was a flash of the image, distorting in the Manda’s memory of gold and grey armor, reaching to take the blue gauntlet of the woman before her. 

Ursa Wren had once been this person for Bo-Katan Kryze, and she had met her end for it, at the hands of Moff Gideon. Bo was danger, she was carnage and blood and ruin. But Sabine always did have an affinity for volatile experiences and people. Ticking bombs were her specialty, and no matter how long the charge that was her Mand’alor lay dormant, Sabine was her mother’s daughter. She knew the risks, and the dangers that came with it, and time and time again, the Wren would follow the Owl to ruin. 

Sabine’s hand clasped in Bo-Katan’s as the image steadied, offering a stretch of her lips, a smile as she tugged Bo-Katan until their shoulders bumped. “Then let’s get to work, my lady.”

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 19 "I'm not as stupid as you think I am"

John was stopped short in his tracks.

Sherlock is afraid of me! Well, I should not be surprised. Actually, I guess I pretty much deserved this. The way I assaulted him in the mortuary. My formerly best friend, my Sherlock, who has never been afraid to face an aggressive and dangerous criminal gets scared of me when I approach him.

John retreated one step and carefully held up both hands in a pacifying gesture.

Shit. He thinks I am angry at him and will hurt him again. I should have seen this coming. What have I done?

The sight of a trembling and scared Sherlock who was obviously in pain but instinctively wanted to flee from him broke something inside of John. The huge dam he had built up over the last months, holding back the all the resentment, the guilt, the pain, the hatred of everything and everyone, exploded. Releasing a flood of feelings that had built up for far too long, forming a torrent of jumbled words.

“No, Sherlock. No! I’m not going to hurt you. I swear Sherlock, I’ve already done so much damage and I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me back there in the mortuary but seeing you like this… I hated what you’ve become… didn’t understand why… actually I did maybe but this was until later… I mean you said it was a plan and Mary made this video and you… you took this oath so…”

John interrupted himself, needing to inhale. Then he went on to pour out unfinished half-sentences and fragmented thoughts in what must have been the most incoherent and messed up apology of all times.

But Sherlock seemed to understand. The tension in his body relaxed. A small and tentative smile made his whole face lighten up in unconcealed joy.

“It’s okay, John. I…” Sherlock wanted to see John better so he propped himself up in the bed, ignoring the pain in his back and chest. But still, he winced.

“Please, let me help you, Sherlock.”

“No, thank you. It’s nothing really. I am fine.” Sherlock declined.

The lie was so obvious that John suddenly cottoned on to what Sherlock tried to hide.

Oh. OH! I am not as stupid as you think I am.

“Do you worry about the scars on your back? I’ve already seen them, you know. When I waited for you to wake up.”

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

chapter 4 "(Mis)Communication" is now up, including prompts 15-19

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

[garbria]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric, Pelna Khara & Nyx Ulric Characters: Nyx Ulric, Libertus Ostium, Pelna Khara Additional Tags: Hurt Nyx Ulric, Canon-Typical Violence, Arguing, BAMF Nyx Ulric, Nyx's self esteem issues Series: Part 2 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

He surveyed the battle below him, gauging where his help was most needed. As one of the best warpers in the glaive, and not bad at fighting if he did say so himself, Nyx and others like him roamed the battlefield as support. Let Libertus and Pelna run the infiltration, let Luche and Sonitus run the shock troops. Nyx went where he was needed, where a squad was getting overwhelmed or surrounded.

[lilimonarch]

Doctor Hanahaki - The Memories that Never Return [19]

Doctor Hanahaki Prequel: Whumptober spinoff!

Whumptober day 19: "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

~

I'll take one final step, all you have to do is make me

Akaashi felt sick.

He had a feeling this was the worst he's ever felt. His nose was plugged, his chest tight and congested, not to mention the obvious fever burning his skin but riddling his body with tremors and chills. That being said, Akaashi and his overworking, overthinking, mindset had forced himself up and onto the bus for a game.

His coach had already seen plenty of his players past and current go through games sick, pass out on the court, but Akaashi insisted he was different. Akaashi was smarter, tougher, and more responsible than his teammates. He could handle a game with a small cold.

It appeared this was more than just a small cold, it was much more than what Akaashi could handle. There was a break in between sets, and Akaashi knew the fever was killing him. Yeah, he was being sarcastic, but it was one of the worst illnesses of his life. He wanted to kneel over so bad, but the adrenaline and his own dedication where the only things keeping him going.

Being able to stay on the court kept him going.

He was thankful for the break, an opportunity to drink some water, go to the bathroom and splash the cold water on his face, get his composure in check before his teammates asked for the next plan, Akaashi's next strategy. It appeared some of his teammates were slowly catching on, the way his voice was starting to die as his calls grew quieter and quieter. So, he did what he planned. He went to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and trying to cough out whatever was in his system before exiting the bathroom, swaying on his feet.

"Now what in the world do you think you're doing?" Bokuto chuckled as Akaashi exited the bathroom.

"Shouldn't you be with the team?"

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

Akaashi sighed, a tightness in his throat forcing a cough, and a tickle in his head forcing a sneeze. "God um... yeah? Probably- but it's fine. Just some allergies, it'll be fine, Bokuto." Akaashi shook his head to get his own focus now, taking a few steps but being stopped by Bokuto.

"You'll make the both of us look stupid if you go back on that court, and if I let you," Bokuto chuckled, laying a hand on Akaashi's shoulder. "Well... I'm not the brightest brain out there, but I'm not that stupid."

"Sure, but we're almost done," Akaashi rolled his eyes, but melting into the touch. How he wanted to fall into Bokuto's arms at this moment! "Their team is... also not the greatest. I'm hardly trying, but we're still winning. I can play. I can finish the second set and then I promise, I'll go home."

"God, you're so hardworking, you know that, right?" Bokuto shook his head, just going to hug Akaashi. "You'd kill yourself if it meant success, you're pretty stupid. As your friend and your captain, I'm making you sit on that bench, for your own safety." No harm behind the words, Akaashi burying his face into Bokuto's chest and trying to keep his stubbornness alive, if not just till the end of the match.

Akaashi's adrenaline was dying, his fever was soaring, and all he could think about was melting into Bokuto's arms on the bus ride back. He hated being like this, being sick, being weak. "You'll have to make me," Akaashi coughed, Bokuto continuing to hold onto him. "As your vice-captain and main strategist, I'm saying I should play-"

"Lovebirds!" Konoha came running through the hall, Akaashi pulling away flustered but quickly holding back onto Bokuto  as his world swayed. He could not pass out, not now, not in front of his team. "Aren't we a flock of lucky owls. The other team just surrendered, we're meeting-" Konoha got eyes on Akaashi's condition, his hold on Bokuto, the way their setter appeared just about ready to give in. A surrender from the other team when their starting setter was too stubborn to quit. "It appears we are some lucky owls. Take your time guys, I'll make sure the freshies pull their weight and load the bus," with that, Konoha left, Akaashi and Bokuto sharing a small laugh.

"As your captain, I'm making you rest. There isn't a game to play," Bokuto cracked a smile, sweeping Akaashi off his feet and lowering his volume. "As your friend, I'm worried about you. You look awful."

"As your teammate, I think you suck," Akaashi joked, but turned to face Bokuto and squinting his eyes shut. Without the adrenaline on his side, everything felt so much worse and he was just about ready to sleep and never wake up. "As your friend, thanks."

Akaashi wasn't sure how to feel. The flutter in his chest as Bokuto carried him onto the bus, his logic too faint to see the judging eyes. The fever making everything feel not quite real, but so vivid. A part of him was upset the suffering was for nothing, where only a set was played, but he couldn't be upset.

Bokuto would save him. Always.

[go-to-the-mirror]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, F/M

Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)

Relationships: Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble, Donna Noble & Rose Temple-Noble, Wilfred Mott & Donna Noble

Character: Donna Noble

Additional Tags: Donna Noble Has Self Esteem Issues, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Memory Loss, Donna Noble Character Study, Donna Noble Doesn't Remember, Angst, Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, POV Third Person Omniscient

Language: English

Published: 2023-10-19

Words: 314

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Non-exhaustive list of what Donna Noble has missed. --- Written for Whumptober 2023, written for day 19. Prompt used is "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Donna Noble misses world events. It’s something of a running joke with her friends and her husband and even her kid. Gramps doesn’t find it funny.

Donna always seems to be saying something Gramps doesn’t find funny. He used to be a lot happier, a lot jollier, a lot more willing to accept a joke about her own… well quite frankly, it’s stupidity. She’s a good temp and that’s about it. Not special, not important, the only unique thing about her is that she keeps missing events of a lifetime.

Rose jokes about it, when she comes out. Says that she’s glad Donna didn’t miss the fact that she’s a girl now, and Donna laughs and ruffles her daughter’s hair and says she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Donna Noble misses world events, and when the others are talking about them she stands on the sidelines, not quite being able to fit in. Donna Noble misses world events, like that one Christmas where a giant snowflake appeared in the sky and the Thames drained.

Donna Noble misses little things. She doesn’t know what she was doing that Christmas. She has dreams that feel like memories and they make no sense. Donna Noble misses world events. Donna Noble misses parts of her life. Donna Noble misses her best friend and she doesn’t even know it.

Mum and Gramps tiptoe around her like she’s made of glass sometimes. Gramps is nervous about taking her up the hill. She snaps at him, once, says she’s not stupid and he’s so hurt, he touches her arm and he says, “I know. I’m just worried.”

Donna Noble misses world events. Donna Noble is one stray thought away from burning into ash. Donna Noble can’t remember when she was the most important woman in the universe. Donna Noble misses world events, and that is all she knows she misses.

[saccharine-salt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aoyama Yuuga & Midoriya Izuku, Aoyama Yuuga/Midoriya Izuku Characters: Aoyama Yuuga, Midoriya Izuku, Ashido Mina, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Shuuzenji Chiyo | Recovery Girl Additional Tags: Whumptober 2023, Whumptober, Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Manga Spoilers, Referenced - Freeform, Secret Admirer, but evil, Illnesses, Death Threats, Language of Flowers, Flowers, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Aoyama Yuuga-centric, Aoyama Yuuga Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: Part 6 of Whumptober Summary:

WHUMPTOBER DAY 19: Floral Bouquet | Psychological | "I'm not as stupid as you think I am"

Yuuga has a secret admirer, his friends say.

More like a secret enemy.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Introducing another OC to the team today!

Detective Akela Carpenter has worked her fair share of supernatural crime. Being gifted with what her Hawaiian grandmother called “One eye in the land of the spirits” (quite literally; she wore a brown contact for years after she moved to LA, trying to pretend she was normal and hide the single shifting sea-green iris) made her an instant recruit to the city’s fae enforcement task force. She'd hated the Codes and what they did to the city's already vulnerable fae, but she’d found a place she felt like she was actually helping them, working drug busts on Damiana smugglers and dealers.

Getting abruptly reassigned after the biggest bust of her career has been a slap in the face. She’s been fighting her way through the ranks for a decade and a half. And now, instead of receiving a commendation for her success, she’s been transferred.

It’s hard not to be bitter about it. To wonder if she’s being shunted off so she can’t point the finger at whoever on her team was skimming evidence. If she had to guess, it’s Archer. His mother is a senator’s sister in law. He has protection. And powerful friends who can make a problem like her go away. 

Her new assignment is disconcertingly vague. She’s being assigned liaison to a hunter agency strike team code named “Polaris”. She knows nothing about it other than that.

She’d sort of like to strangle someone in the personnel office. Just because she’s worked fae crime for years does not mean she’s qualified to deal with vampires. People somehow seem to assume the two are similar just because they’re supernatural beings. 

She pulls her clunky ancient Crown Vic out of the detectives’ parking line. She can’t quite bring herself to give up the car that belonged to her mentor. Carlos has been gone for eight years, but she still feels like it’s her responsibility to take care of that old beater. After all, he left it to her. Specifically. In his will. She feels like that has to mean something. 

Her radio crackles, a re-direct from her original destination, the Chimera agency itself. Apparently ‘her’ strike team was scrambled to deal with a blood harvesting ring, and she’s being asked to help coordinate the arrest since that’s a crime that falls in the grey area between human and vampire justice systems. 

When she pulls into the warehouse lot, it looks like pretty much every other arrest she’s ever worked. Minus all the flashing lights and black-and-white cars. 

There’s a matte-black van, an older model with a battered left side panel, parked next to a silver classic. She can’t ID it on sight, vehicles have never really been her thing, but it’s definitely a few decades older than the usual commuter car.

A string of cuffed people are standing in a line against the van, being watched by a petite woman with long dark hair that appears to have escaped a ponytail at some point in the scuffle. She turns around when Akela pulls into the lot, the gun in her hand coming up from against her leg to train on the car. 

Akela steps out of the car, slams the door hard enough the temperamental latch will actually catch, and holds out her badge. “Detective Akela Carpenter, LAPD.”

The woman holsters her gun and takes Akela’s hand with the slightly less bloody of her own, wincing. It looks like she fell onto shattered glass and caught herself on her hands. “Sierra Aguirre-Stoker.”

She gestures to the others. “Pete Jemison.” A blond man with wire-rimmed glasses and a bruised cheek waves shyly before turning a notebook so the woman next to him, her brown skin mottled with pale scars, her dark hair tangled, can see it. “He and Saanvi Desai are our accountants.” 

“Hi, I’m Vi,” The woman says. She waves, then turns back to the paper, pointing to something and talking animatedly to Pete.

A woman steps away from the van and walks toward them, sheathing what appears to be a collapsible bo staff at her back. “This is Wren.” The name is a dead giveaway she’s fae. So are the thorn vines curling over the staff. Her silver-blond braid is also studded with fragments of glass and plaster. There’s a deep gash on her cheek and she’s limping slightly on her left side, as if she’s turned an ankle.

Maybe this is why Akela is here. Someone wants her dealing with a team with a fae on it.

“Sierra?” Someone steps out of the building, then leans against the silver car with an air of familiarity. He’s big, skin pale, almost too pale, and his eyes don’t look human. 

“And that’s Shay.”

He’s not fae. But Sierra is being as cagey with his name as she was with Wren’s. 

All of them are wearing leather jackets, with varying patches and logos, but they all have the Chimera’s three-headed emblem on the left chest, and a patch with a white four-pointed star, like a compass rose center, with the words “Polaris” below it, on the right shoulder. Well. Almost all.

Shay only has the “Polaris” patch. Not the Chimera. 

Maybe he’s some other liaison. LAPD can’t be the only one who wants a finger in the pie of a new hunter strike team. But he doesn’t give her the sense of being FBI or DEA or any other law enforcement. Especially not with how often he’s glancing over at her with vague apprehension. 

He does look familiar. But like…wanted poster on the wall familiar. 

A second van pulls up, and a short woman steps out, flanked by two burly-looking men, all of them also wearing leather jackets with the Chimera logo. 

“Stoker. Barrett.” Sierra and Shay both snap around to look at her. “Want to tell me why you disobeyed a direct order not to engage?”

Barrett?

Shay. Shane Barrett.

Ho-ly shit.

No wonder LAPD wants someone watching out for this team. 

Akela slips her badge back into her pocket. She can see what the play is here. If this team succeeds, LAPD can claim they have partial responsibility, putting a rising star like Akela on the job. If it fails, they’re perfectly fine with sending her career down in flames.

So she’s going to make damn well sure that this succeeds.

You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!

@nade2308 @catwingsathena @whumptober

[kaesaaurelia]

sphinx of black quartz

For @whumptober day 19, using the prompts "psychological," "I'm not as stupid as you think I am," and the lyric prompt, "I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me."

Continued from Day 1, wherein Crowley definitely did not move into the bookshop, took a nap on the couch afterwards, and when he woke up his lungs hurt and he passed out, Day 2, wherein Muriel carried him into Maggie’s record shop, because they hoped a human might understand better than they do what was wrong with him, Day 10, wherein Crowley’s illness was causing strange and terrible weather, and help from Heaven was not forthcoming, Day 13, wherein Crowley got even worse, but Muriel thought they might’ve worked out what had happened, and Day 14, wherein Muriel and another angel worked out a very unpleasant cure for Crowley.

Content warning for brief discussion of emotional abuse and stalking.

Once Crowley was able to do miracles for himself, he found his way into a luxurious condo nearby, which someone had foolishly put up on Airbnb. He stayed there for a week and didn't pay, and when he got back to the bookshop he was in much better spirits. He returned to Whickber Street and pushed the door to the bookshop open, bracing himself for lingering traces of holiness. Instead he was nearly knocked back into the street by the sheer volume at which Ozzy Osbourne was trying to make the lyric "Supernatural king / Takes Earth under his wing" scan right.

Muriel looked brightly up from what they were reading and said something Crowley could not actually hear, but they turned the volume down with a sort of "calm down" gesture. "You're back!" they said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Ehh, I was fine, just fancied a bit of a holiday," said Crowley, not looking them in the eye.

"Does it feel all right in here? Less holy? Maggie lent me a whole stack of records that were supposed to be very evil," they said. "I tried playing them backwards like she said, but they sound much better going forwards. They also don't seem all that evil? This one's just about how the apocalypse was supposed to go," they said.

Crowley shrugged. "If I've learned anything about humans and their knowledge of good and evil, it's that some of them could've used a few more bites at that apple."

Confusion clouded their face briefly, probably because they were trying to square Causing the Fall of Man was bad, evil, and definitely against God's will with If only Man had Fallen a few feet further, perhaps he'd better understand both the depths of cruelty and the soaring grace which he was capable of. "Well! I'm glad you're back," they said. "And feeling better. I was thinking, actually, um. I was thinking I might try drinking tea today."

"Really," said Crowley, trying not to look as amused as he felt.

"I've -- I've been practicing with water," they admitted, as if this was a scandalous vice they had which they were letting him in on. "It's surprisingly nice. I was talking to Arariel the other day and they asked me how it was, and I had to admit I hadn't tried it at all."

"They asked you about tea?" Crowley asked.

"No, water. They worked very hard on water. They're so nice. I'm going to be certain to let the Supreme Archangel know they helped save you from Hell trying to kill you."

His whole mood soured at the mention of Aziraphale, and he was very doubtful that Hell would try to kill him with something holy, since it hadn't worked the last time and it probably took a lot of doing, getting your hands on holy things, if you were Hell and therefore said holy things burned your hands. It had to be Heaven doing this, which either meant that someone was going behind Aziraphale's back, or... no one was going behind Aziraphale's back. "Yeah, well. Sure that'll be... very exciting for Arariel," said Crowley. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna go yell at the plants."

"Have fun!" said Muriel, and turned the Black Sabbath album back up.

--

And Muriel was content in the knowledge that they had saved Crowley from Hell's machinations for about a month. It was a very exciting month, and they learned lots about Earth.

They had learned caution -- how to look both ways before crossing the street, and also to check that the Bentley wasn't in motion anywhere within a three-block radius. They'd learned how to change their plans quickly, when they'd wanted to go somewhere and their carefully-memorized knowledge of London public transit was meaningless in the face of the reality of delays. They had learned the basics of deception -- they could, in fact, stay after closing at the British Museum if they simply told the workers that they also worked there. And they'd learned the merits of not panicking when a dreadful and unexpected thing occurred, such as staring at John Dee's mirror too long and becoming trapped in it, after closing, at the British Museum. (Crowley had come and fetched them out again, and thus they also learned the merits of letting someone know where they were headed.)

And most importantly of all, they'd learned a lot about expectations and betrayal. It had started when they encountered a very nice human who told them all sorts of flattering things about their outfit and their performance at karaoke night. The human had offered to buy them a drink, and they'd explained that they didn't really drink much, although they were working on getting used to tea, which seemed to confuse the human, but then the human had asked if Muriel would give Nina a note.

Muriel had said yes, and immediately regretted it the next day when Nina's face went still and unhappy at just seeing her name written on the outside of the envelope. Then she'd scowled and told Muriel she didn't want to hear from Lindsay, at all, ever again.

Muriel had tried to explain, no, there must be some mistake, the Lindsay Muriel had heard bits and pieces about was cruel and horrible, and this human the note was from was none of those things! -- but before they could get very far, Maggie grabbed their arm and tugged them away gently, and Muriel had let them.

Once they were outside the coffeeshop, Maggie had said, quietly, "Muriel, you've got to understand, the person you met might've been really really nice, but there's a difference between nice and kind."

"But --"

"It's not your fault, you're -- you're new around here," said Maggie, "and loads of humans would've made the same mistake, I know, I knew this girl at uni whose boyfriend managed to get into -- look, that's not the point, the point is, Nina does not want to talk to Lindsay. Lindsay's done all sorts of things to try to get at her, and she isn't interested. She told me the other day she had to reset a bunch of passwords so she could sign back into a website she hasn't used in ages so she could block Lindsay there."

"Did Nina tell Lindsay that she didn't want to --"

"Yes, of course she did," said Maggie, "but that's the point, isn't it? You can be really awful in a really nice way, you know? It's like -- it's like how Crowley is really mean sometimes, but he's kind."

"But he --" Muriel considered this. "He is very grumpy."

"He's grumpy and grumbly and the most dramatic thing on two legs," said Maggie, "but when it comes down to it he's good, he just doesn't like to hear it. Lindsay isn't... I mean, I don't know Lindsay. I've known... a lot of Lindsays, a lot of people like that, I'm not saying Lindsay is evil, but someone who's politely, nicely trying to get a hold of their ex who they said the most awful things to, and who's so persistent that Nina had to sign back into LiveJournal to block them, which -- well, apparently we were on very different parts of LiveJournal, which is definitely for the best, but I feel so awful for her, I made a joke about MySpace and Nina said 'Yeah, already had to do that one,' and can you imagine -- well, actually, no, I suppose that doesn't mean much to you, but trust me, it's horrifying and also a completely ridiculous thing to have to worry about unless your ex is Tom. Anyway. Look. My point is, you can't just look at how people say things and assume nice means good. Sometimes it just means they don't want you to look too closely at what they're doing."

"Well. I suppose it's a good thing I don't really drink things," said Muriel, "because this human, this Lindsay, wanted to buy me a drink -- which I did think was odd, usually humans buy things for themselves, don't they? -- but who knows what sort of poison might've been in it."

This had prompted a brief moment of stunned silence, and then, after several more questions, Maggie had explained, awkwardly and with much apparent embarrassment, about certain human courting rituals, pronounced Lindsay "incredibly tacky," and then come up with several other descriptors Muriel didn't quite understand, but they were clearly very bad.

At any rate, Muriel had avoided Lindsay at future karaoke nights, and when Lindsay tried to confront them about the note, a small, fierce fire had burned in Muriel's soul and they had reached into Lindsay's head and switched off the ability to persist in this awful behavior, and now Lindsay would go get a nice calming glass of water and drink it instead of trying to contact Nina ever again.

(They related all this to Arariel over the summoning circle; they'd taken to calling Arariel whenever something interesting and Earth-y happened, because Arariel had seemed so bored, and been so helpful, and they understood being bored and wanting to be helpful. Arariel had appreciated the thing with the water, too. "Hydration is supposed to be good for humans!" they'd said. "So I think that counts as a good deed on two levels. What does water taste like, anyway?" And that had been a whole conversation, but they'd also admitted, uncomfortably, that sometimes they'd had supervisors act like Lindsay -- all nice on the surface but actually very unkind -- and Muriel had to admit that angelic behavior wasn't as different from human behavior as they maybe liked to think.)

And so, their time on Earth had prepared Muriel well for the unexpected challenges ahead.

The challenges ahead, as it turned out, were embodied in two angels called Pahadron and Kabniel, who showed up out of nowhere at the bookshop one day. Crowley was out doing... something -- Muriel did not know whether he was actually gluing coins to the ground or whether that was an obscure joke -- but they sensed something holy approaching, and they barely had time to turn off the record player before the doors swung open and the two other angels were there. They were familiar with Kabniel, who had been one of their supervisors in Heaven, but he'd had to introduce Pahadron, who they only knew from the company directory.

Kabniel had started off well enough, praising Muriel's excellent work, their quick adaptation to fieldwork, the way the shop looked tidier now that all the books were sorted by the first letter of every sentence. They did not get the impression he approved of the plants, but he didn't say anything about them.

And then Pahadron had said, "Yes, of course, Muriel is doing an excellent job, but what we really need back is the saint's relic."

Muriel, who was still thinking uneasily about why they'd felt they had to turn off the record player, when really there wasn't anything objectionable about the song that had been playing, except that it always made Muriel very sad, because after all Iron Man had time traveled to the future to save everyone, surely he didn't deserve such rejection from humanity! Only of course the answer was never to become the monster you had set out to defeat. But if Muriel had been there for him, things would have been different.

Anyway, something made them very sure that Kabniel wouldn't have understood that, and for all that they had just met her, Pahadron definitely wouldn't understand that. Pahadron smiled at Muriel. "I do hope you didn't throw it out. It's very valuable."

"Oh, Muriel's very conscientious, they wouldn't just throw something out like that," said Kabniel.

They had not. They had put it in a little plastic bag like detectives sometimes did on television, and labeled it clearly. The note that had come with the candle, the wax, and the little glass container were also all sealed away in separate bags. They had wanted to keep them on hand as Evidence. At first, digging through the file cabinet, they'd looked under B for bone, but then they remembered that it was actually filed under K for knucklebone, and their mind whirled. Pahadron had said it was what we really need back.

What they really needed back was something they had, presumably, already had at one time. Perhaps Hell had stolen the relic from them? It was best to keep an open mind, no matter what Crowley muttered under his breath about Heaven.

They did not panic; it hadn't helped them to escape John Dee's mirror, after all, just brought it perilously close to shattering. (Contrary to popular opinion, it was much harder to escape a shattered mirror than a whole one, because each shard was yet another mirror to escape.) They were cautious; they tried to look at all sides of the problem before proceeding. They planned their route well. And they were prepared for a betrayal. "Sorry," they said, having found the bone after all, "could you just clarify which saint's relic? I wouldn't want to give you the wrong one." Not that they had another one to give, but theoretically Kabniel and Pahadron might've come here by mistake.

"The one from the candle," said Kabniel, a smile masking what Muriel knew to be mild irritation.

"Oh! The housewarming gift?" Muriel asked. Just to be certain.

"It is a charming human tradition," Pahadron informed them. Pahadron did not seem terribly charmed.

"Did you send it on behalf of the Supreme Archangel?" Muriel asked. Because the note had been signed in his name. "That was very kind of you." Because it had, probably. They probably thought they'd been doing the right thing, going behind the Supreme Archangel's back and doing something to drive away a demon they thought Muriel couldn't handle and wouldn't get on with.

"Oh, yes," said Pahadron. "And, if you don't mind -- I'm told you have great attention to detail, Muriel -- how long do you think it took to kill the demon?"

To kill the demon.

Muriel smiled. They did not panic, they were cautious, they planned. They planned for betrayal. No, they thought, as that small fierce fire in their soul lit once more; they planned a betrayal. "It took quite a while, actually," said Muriel, in fact he still hasn't died from it, "but as you can see, he's not here anymore." They hoped Crowley had a lot of coins and a lot of glue and a lot of ground to cover. They paused. "Before you take it, though, I would like you both to sign a proof of receipt for me. Just in case."

"What proof do you need? We're here, we'll receive it, and that's the end of that," said Pahadron, frowning.

"Yes, but we must do things correctly," said Muriel. "We mustn't do them incorrectly, at least."

"They're not wrong," said Kabniel. "Got to have all your T's crossed and your I's --"

"Open?" Pahadron asked.

"Dotted," said Kabniel, perplexed.

"Ah. Of course." Pahadron also seemed perplexed.

Muriel was not perplexed. Muriel was mentally piecing the boilerplate they needed together before sending it all to Aziraphale's printer. "Just a moment, I'll get you the forms," they said. They kept the saint's relic in their pocket so Kabniel and Pahadron couldn't make off with it if either of them turned out to be cleverer than they thought Muriel was.

They came back, forms and carbon paper in hand.

"Now, I need you each to sign here, here, and here," they said, "and initial here, and then here, you have to copy this sentence down on the line below. The full sentence."

Pahadron pursed her lips. "I, Name, declare by my own hand that I personally received the saint's relic which I caused to be sent to Angelic Embassy X, also called A. Z. Fell & Co, on or about -- hang on, what does it mean, 'I, Name'?"

"You're supposed to write your name," said Kabniel. "I, Kabniel, not I, Name."

"My name's not Kabniel," said Pahadron, irritably, "that's your name."

"I know that," said Kabniel, "but -- look, just --" He took the pen and wrote out the sentence himself, then gave the pen to Pahadron and dictated the sentence to her.

"Wonderful!" said Muriel. "But you do have to do all the other signing, and the initials, and..." They waited while the two angels signed and initialed and dated things.

"Is that it?" Pahadron demanded. Her politeness was wearing thin.

"Almost!" said Muriel. "At the very bottom here, could you write Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow?"

This took both Pahadron and Kabniel by surprise, but they had a very good explanation ready, one that had worked on several angels in the past. "It's a human thing," they said. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Sounds a bit idolatrous," said Pahadron, disapprovingly.

"Oh, no, no, don't worry," said Muriel. "No, the sphinx of black quartz isn't being worshiped. It's just a very good judge of vows. Humans are weird," they reiterated. Mostly they wanted to see if either of the two angels wrote their y's the same way the person who wrote the note had. Aziraphale didn't, but somebody clearly did, and they wanted to get as many handwritten y's as possible on the form, but they felt like a sample of all the other letters would be a good idea too.

Grumbling at the weirdness of humans, Pahadron and Kabniel dutifully wrote out their pleas to the sphynx of black quartz. Muriel handed over the saint's relic, and kept the signed form. They did not offer to make copies, although they would have if Kabniel had thought to ask for them. They had what they needed.

After a quick telephone call warning Crowley to avoid the two angels, they contacted Heaven to make an appointment with the Supreme Archangel. This time around it wasn't urgent, and they could be very, very patient as they waited.

[mycroftrh]

Words: 1590 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson Additional Tags: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tim Drake, Bipolar Author, Mental Health Issues, Whumptober 2023, Blanket Permission, Podfic Welcome

“Are you on something?”

Tim froze in place for a moment, then whirled around. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know! You’re acting so off! You just cussed at me twice for no reason, you’re being sloppy - ”

“I cussed at you because you’re being an ass, and I’m not sloppy!”

(Tim has a manic/mixed episode.)

Written for Whumptober for days 15, 9, 12, and 19.

[kyanako5972]

Whumptober Day 19

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am"

Though Trudy Pratte had struggled with school all her life, she was scouted for a top music school. Now close to graduating, she stumbles upon Viola, a former friend on the streets. And by "stumbles"...

[veryrealimagination]

"I'm not as stupid as you if you didn't see us coming."

Day No: 19 + 22

Prompt: "They never saw us coming, 'til they hit the floor." + "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries.

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: allusions to SA

SFW

The group of men were chuckling at the constable and detectives they had finally captured. George was struggling against the arm around his neck while fighting to get his other arm free. It wasn’t going well. Someone was smart enough to get a hold of his gun and use it on Murdoch. Not that it would have mattered much, he was hovering over Watts. With blood coming out of a wound somewhere on his head and a stab wound that they had cruelly ripped the knife from, the younger one was in clear pain and had his attention. The man had cloth against the chest wound, pressing down, but they needed a hospital. Or at least, his wife.

“Station House Four, brought to its knees,” the one that appeared to be the leader said.

“We should have done this ages ago,” another one mentioned.

Another chuckled, “Even with the moron not in attendance, we’re still gonna managed to put a dent into their force.” He kicked Watts, thankfully missing the knife wound but still drawing a moan. “Could have had more fun with this one. He’s pissed off a lot of friends of mine.”

“Maybe they’ll use Murdoch instead?” one of them suggested.

“Well, part of their fun would have been,” he muttered, gesturing with something crude. The mere thought was vile, but darkly fun to ponder. Some had the same with women that said no.

Murdoch frowned and looked down at the younger man. Through a small slit of eyelids, he saw a small amount of fear wrapped in disgust at them. When he saw the man looking down at him, he made himself calm down. He muttered something incomprehensible at the moment. The man looked over at George, who was vaguely murderous when they started talking as such.

“So, how are we finishing them off?”

The one with their gun angled it down towards Watts, wanting the easy way. Murdoch wondered if he would be able to force it up before the trigger was pulled. Crabtree wondered if he could trip one of the men into knocking into him.

Instead, a cane came out of nowhere and bashed their so called leader in the head. Another man was twisted around before a fist crashed into his jaw. The third with the gun and the one holding Crabtree were swiftly and quickly taken down. Inspector Brackenreid picked up the revolver that they had gotten in their hands. “One of ours from the armory?” he asked, carefully checking it.

“Yes sir,” George admitted, “Managed to grab it after I was distracted.” Three more constables were cuffing and hoisting up the men that they took down.

Higgins, who had delivered two wonderful hits, glared at one of them. “You called me a moron,” he said, “Guess I wasn’t as stupid as you thought I was.” He punched the man again, getting a groan as it hit a previous bruise.

Brackenreid watched in amusement over the second punch. Then, he turned back to the other constable. “Distracted, Crabtree?” he questioned.

“They got the gun when one of them stabbed Watts and made him scream to get our attentions,” Murdoch informed. Brackenreid turned when he heard the man talking and saw his last man on the floor and held the cane tightly instead of dropping it when he reacted. “Sir, we need a cart.”

Higgins nodded, “The attendants should be arriving quickly. The lockup’s already here.” The men turned to him with slight surprised. “I had a hunch when I heard them talking.”

“Good hunch,” Brackenreid said, “Lead the others in locking them up and processing them. Crabtree, make sure they can get the gurney here safely.” The constables nodded and went about their orders. Kneeling down, he pulled out his own cloth to switch with Murdoch’s soaked one. He checked the head wound himself before staring down at the younger man, who was barely conscious. “You’re on desk duty for two weeks.” He groaned and made a face, eyes not even open anymore. “Three weeks.”

“I am lying on the floor in pain with my life slowly draining out of me, even with someone trying to keep it in, and you’re punishing me?” he complained.

“Four weeks.”

“I’m not a child,” Watts mumbled.

The attendants finally managed to make their way down, forcing the men to stand up and get out of the way as they loaded the now unconscious man to be delivered to the nearest hospital.

[pigmentedrat]

Whumptober, Day 19

slowly but surly im catching up

words: 164

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am" no.3

Whumper was droning on and on.

"There's no hope, Whumpee. No one cares enough to look for you. You're all mine,"

And yet there was an unconvincing note of desperation in whumpers voice. Whumpee was kneeling in front of Whumper with a collar on. Whumper was pulling on Whumpee's leash, forcing Whumpee to lean up. Even still, whumpee looked smugly up at Whumper. 

Whumpee smirked and interrupted whumpers overdramatic monologue.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am," Whumpee's voice was a sneer. They had noticed every time Whumper glanced nervously to the door out of the basement. How Whumper would check on every sound, how they would hesitate. 

Whumpee's that their team was coming for them. It was obivous to Whumpee. Whumpee's team wouldn't stop at anything to get Whumpee back. So Whumpee stared up at the anxious Whumper with a growing grin and too much confidence for someone on a leash.

[cyhyr]

Whumptober No. 19: “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Bakugou and Deku, dialogue only! Because I'm liking these little dialogue-drabbles and I'm writing these for me <3 Could be read as platonic bkdk or not, but I'm always leaning towards not with these two ;) Tagging for Whumptober: @atereal @oneinist

~

“When did I ever say that?”

“You were looking at me!”

“Deku. I look at you a lot. We’re literally partners.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“You had that, ‘oh look, he’s got a dumb idea messing around in his head,’ look.”

“What sort of bullshit, low self-esteem garbage—y’know what, we don’t have time for this.”

“You’ve always thought my ideas were dumb!”

“Right, because that’s why I follow your lead so often, because you have stupid ideas and I live to see you fail.”

“Exactly!”

“No, you shit—what the fuck is wrong—did you hit your head?!”

[astaldis]

Day 20 - Blanket/Found Family

@whumptober-archive

Chapter 2 of Not Yet

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Whumpee: Cahir

Caretakers: Regis, Vesemir

Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3,693

Summary: Returning from his unfortunate adventure with a certain doppler, Cahir runs into Regis on the doorsteps to Kaer Morhen just before the rain starts pouring down. Good thing there are the legendary hot springs in the cellar.