#No. 20

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #20: "Permission to Die" Gladiator (2000)

[serickswrites]

Falling Stars

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, blood, wounds, infection, mcd

Caretaker carded their fingers through Whumpee's sweat soaked hair. They had pulled Whumpee into their lap hours ago and had tried to offer Whumpee any measure of comfort, no matter how small.

It was the least they could do.

They had sat chained in a corner for days, watching Whumper torture Whumpee. Begging Whumper to give Whumpee a break and hurt them. Hoping that rescue would come soon and they would both be spared.

But as the days wore on and the blood dried on Whumpee's skin and Whumper re-opened every wound, Caretaker began to doubt. They began to doubt help was coming. They began to doubt Whumper would hurt them. And they began to doubt that Whumpee would survive.

Some of Whumpee's wounds still bled from Whumper's last visit. Some wounds oozed and wept. And some were so deep that Caretaker was certain Whumpee was dying. And soon.

"You......you need to......get out of here, C'ta'r," Whumpee managed to rasp out. "G-G-G-Go outttttt th-th-th-the wwwwwwinnnnndow-ow-ow-ow."

"I'm not leaving you," Caretaker said as they stared down into Whumpee's fever bright eyes. "Just rest a bit longer. We'll find a way to get both of us out of here." Caretaker blinked hard, fighting against the tears that were always present in their eyes. They looked away as they tried to blink away the tears. The starry night's sky winked at them from out the window.

Whumpee smiled softly. "I.....I don't th-th-think sssso-o-o-o-o."

"Nonsense. Just rest more. Rest and then I'll take you home. You can rest more. You can heal. And maybe....maybe you will be all better by the time all those falling stars happen around your birthday. We could watch them again."

"I'd.....like th-th-that."

"Just rest, Whumpee. Close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere."

"C-C-Can'ttttt l-l-l-leave yyyyyyou-ou-ou."

Caretaker's heart twinged. "It's ok. I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. Just rest, Whumpee. I'll watch over you."

Reluctantly, Whumpee closed their eyes. Caretaker knew that no amount of rest was going to make Whumpee well enough. But they couldn't give up hope. They couldn't let Whumpee die. Not yet. There had to be a way for both of them to get out.

But as time wore on and Whumpee got weaker and weaker, Caretaker realized that Whumpee was holding on, was prolonging their suffering, to spare Caretaker the heart ache.

Whumper had dragged Whumpee from their arms countless times. Whumper had beaten and tortured Whumpee countless times. And Whumper had left Whumpee barely alive and breathing on the floor countless times.

But this time was different.

Whumpee hadn't stirred when the cell door slammed shut. They hadn't stirred when Caretaker called to them. Normally Whumpee slowly dragged themself close enough that Caretaker could pull them into Caretaker's lap. But this time they just lay there and breathed.

"Whumpee," Caretaker called softly. "Say something, Whumpee."

Whumpee groaned. "T-T-Tiredddd. H-H-Hurrrrrttts-s-s-s-s."

"I know. I know, Whumpee. Let me hold you. You've always slept better in my arms. Come on, Whumpee."

Caretaker stretched to the end of their chain, their fingertips just brushing Whumpee's arm. Whumpee moaned as they tried to roll onto their side. Blood had pooled beneath them and the ground was slick. Whumpee was too weak to pull themself along.

"Love, come on, you can do it."

Slowly, painfully, Whumpee rolled onto their side. They managed to push themself with one leg close enough to Caretaker that Caretaker could pull them close. Whumpee gasped with pain as Caretaker moved them, their eyes wide and bright with pain.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm sorry!" Caretaker repeated over and over.

Whumpee didn't respond as their chest heaved weakly. They lay in Caretaker's arms, but couldn't get enough air to speak. Their eyes were hazy with pain. Their eyelids fluttered open and closed as they struggled to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry, Whumpee. I'm sorry," Caretaker sobbed. They pressed their forehead to Whumpee's. "It's ok. It's ok. You can leave me. It's ok. I'll be ok. I promise."

Whumpee blinked up at Caretaker, their eyes suddenly clear. Caretaker nodded. "It's ok. You can rest. You can leave me. I'll be ok. I promise I'll be ok. You can," Caretaker sniffed, "you can go, Whumpee. I'm here. I won't leave you."

Whumpee's stuttering wheezing breaths echoed in Caretaker's ears. They opened their mouth, but no sound came out. "It's ok, Whumpee. It's ok. I love you. You're ok, love. I'll be ok."

Slowly, Whumpee's eyes closed. Their body slowly relaxed in Caretaker's arms. Their stuttering breaths continued as Caretaker watched Whumpee relax. A light flashed in the darkened cell. Caretaker looked up and out the window. Stars. The stars were falling out the window.

"The falling stars are here, Whumpee, look," Caretaker said as they returned their gaze to Whumpee. Their mouth went dry. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee looked peaceful, as though they were asleep, their face no longer pinched with pain. But Caretaker knew better. "Oh, Whumpee," Caretaker wailed, "I am so sorry. I'm sorry."

Whumpee flopped bonelessly in Caretaker's arms as Caretaker lifted Whumpee close. They rocked with Whumpee's body as they sobbed. Whumpee was free. Whumpee had gone. Whumpee had left Caretaker behind. Whumpee had gone where Caretaker could not follow. Whumpee was with the falling stars. And Caretaker was alone.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[katyawriteswhump]

omega found, omega lost #4

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr On AO3

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 4/5; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, nightmares.

for whumptober prompts day 19: blood trail, abandoned cabin, one way out. day 20: emotional angst, and day 22: bleeding through bandages, day 26: nightmares, and day 27: voiceless (yes, whoops, that's a lot of whump!)

Chapter 4: "I have no mouth and I must scream"

Then came the shout: “Alpha—get away from the Omega. Come out now, and if he’s unharmed, we’ll spare you.”

Eddie jumped up, insides wrenching at the small distance between he and Steve, while Steve was so sick. He glanced around, loathing even to rip his eyes from the Omega.

Was there any other way out of the cabin? Could he somehow haul Steve over one shoulder and flee? He’d never wanted to be a clod-headed beefcake kind of Alpha. Right now, it could be helpful. If they could get out. He assessed only the one door and two windows, the closest of which was now shattered and letting in a sleety gale.

An impotent growl escaped him. He grabbed for his damp pants, hoiking them on. He might make it out alone, but he couldn’t leave Steve at the mercy of a baying pack. Even Steve’s own pack. Eddie trusted them less than ever. Was this it… was he gonna die?

All this streaked through his head in a few seconds. He’d not even started to properly lose his shit, before another shout boomed from outside:

“What the heck are you morons doing throwing rocks? What you gonna do next—burn the cabin down?”

Eddie recognised that rumbling voice. Jim Hopper, chief Alpha of the Hawkins pack. Yeah, Wayne always claimed he was a reasonable guy. The idea of handing over Steve to anyone, however trustworthy, gouged like a jackknife in Eddie’s gut. He dashed to the unbroken window, squatted down, and glanced out.

 A couple of Alphas—oh, yeah, and Steve’s Beta dad—prowled the thawing snow, carrying rifles and sticks.

Nope. No sneaking out that way.

“You gonna open this door, Alpha, or do I kick it down?” Hopper hammered on the flimsy wood.

“I’m coming.” No choice. No damn choice.

Eddie dragged his shirt on, slunk to the door, pulled the bolt aside. Hopper barged in, and Eddie stood his ground between the larger Alpha and Steve—shoulders squared, fists clenched, his lips peeling back from his gums and his incisor-fangs quickening. He expected the larger Alpha to grab him or go straight for Steve. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna defend the Omega, only that he must.

Should he really make a dash for that shard of glass and slash it at Hopper’s throat?

Hopper’s attention latched straight onto Steve, and he made no sudden move. He closed the door behind, before the rest of the pack could swarm in, which was unexpected: “Christ, tell me he’s alive, Munson.”

Eddie was stunned enough to let Hopper pass.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s alive, okay?” Eddie hurried back to Steve’s side. “I found him caught in a hunter’s trap, and he was bleeding and scared and really, really cold.” Christ, in the minute since he’d unwound his body from Steve’s, the Omega’s lips had turned a worrying shade of blue. “Look, you gotta get him to a hospital. The rest of your pack can…”

Eddie trailed off, mouth hanging open. Stop thinking like a knot-head Alpha and think like Eddie Munson.

He wasn’t gonna beg to be torn to pieces, especially for so little ends. That said, Hopper appeared to have no intention of chewing his head off, at least not literally. Eddie shoulders and spine sagged, and his head drooped: “How many of your goons are out there?”

“There’s a dozen Betas and three more Alphas, all howling for your blood.” Hopper huddled Steve in the blanket and scooped him up into his arms. Eddie bristled at his own helplessness and a tinge of jealousy. “We didn’t even need the blood trail to follow! He’s letting off scent like he’s gone into heat, and we scented you too. Did you knot him?”

“No! I swear on my life.” His sudden fear for Steve proved the most painful stab yet. “You can’t let them punish him, man.”

Hopper effortlessly jostled Steve up a little, so Steve's lolling head rested against his shoulder. “The Omega is the least of your problems, Alpha. If it wasn’t for your uncle, I’d rip your throat out myself, apart from… this is as much my damn fault as yours.” Huh? Eddie hadn’t been expecting that. Nor Hopper’s guilty glance down at Steve. “I should have kept him glued to my side last night. Look, you better get outta here pronto.”

“How?” Eddie flapped his arms around wildly, reverting to the feckless teen he’d been only a couple of years before. “There’s only one way out.”

Hopper chuckled dryly. “Your old man knew different when he hid out here. There’s a panel behind the stove.  Took me ages to figure how the crafty old dog gave me the slip. Go. Hide. I’ll draw them away. Make sure nobody torches the place.”

Eddie obeyed, hating it. What choice did he have? While he sensed Hopper had Steve’s best interests at heart, he churned with anger at the whole damn world, and at himself.

Fuck, he was such a terrible Alpha. This proved how unready he was for a soulmate, let alone fatherhood and shit.

He had to let Steve go. Others could take better care of him.

As he hauled aside the stove, he dared not glance over his shoulder, in case he shed an incriminatingly un-Alpha tear.

…

Steve had been sick and hurt. Of that part, he was sure. But he’d been okay.

Eddie’s warm scent and body had enveloped him. The brush of Eddie’s soft lips had comforted him. Then he’d been ripped from that safe cocoon and hurled straight into Hell.

Barbed fangs glinted in an inky blackness, and the beast pounced, fangs piercing deep into Steve’s leg. It lifted him in its jaws and shook him violently, before smashing him into the icy ground, a hunk of dying meat.

He couldn’t hear his own scream after scream after scream. The exposed nerves and tendons in his ankle screamed louder, mocking his silence. The stench of his blood clotted in his nose and clogged up his throat, already shredded by his useless cries and thickened by terror.

Can’t breathe… can’t… can’t…dying… dying… dead? Eddie… Alpha... Please help me… It hurts… Eddieeeeee!

A wall of darkness slammed down. He floated, lost, mercifully senseless. When the dreams kicked off again, they weren’t all so bad. He was in a dingy cellar, chained to a damp brick wall, and… Okay, this was exactly how Tommy H claimed he’d wind up, some rogue Alpha’s plaything.

Steve was fiiiine with it.

Eddie was there, his body slamming Steve’s flush to the bricks. He nuzzled Steve’s throat tenderly, dragging his tongue over Steve’s mating gland. Steve’s every sinew strained toward him, trying to purr and rub into him. He couldn’t glean Eddie’s delicious scent. Violent shudders dragged him back from the cusp of getting slick.

“Eddie?” he whimpered. “Eddie, please? Where are you?”

When Steve finally opened his eyes for real, he squeezed them tight again before daring to peep.

He was in a hospital room. He’d gotten an IV drip attached to his arm, and other scary wires had been attached to his chest, poking out of his hospital gown. His heart lurched, and a green line spiked on a bedside monitor.

How did he get here? Last thing he recalled was Eddie… the cabin… Oh, Christ, what was real and what wasn’t? His head throbbed so hard he feared his skull would crack, and his stomach felt like somebody had punched it.

“Eddie,” he croaked, though nobody was around to hear. “Eddie.”

The next time he stirred, daylight stung his eyes. His mom stood at the door, talking to a doctor, “Mom?” he whispered. She didn’t turn her head. “Mommy?” Okay, that was shameful. “Please… mom? Where’s Eddie?”

His voice couldn’t compete with the penetrating hum of the strip-light.

I’m an Omega, not a pushover.

Yeah. Right.

Holy crap, he couldn’t leave the house alone without screwing up, bigtime, and his voice was little better than that of a ghost’s. Tuning into the doctor’s conversation didn’t exactly help:

“Mrs Harrington, you must understand—your son bled through bundles of fresh bandages after we brought him in, which made little sense. When he was found, he was sick, but his injuries had started to heal. He was never hyperthermic, yet he GOT WORSE. The bleeding has finally stopped, but his vitals have never stabilised.”

“Could he be pregnant, Doctor? Should I book him into an Omega Clinic?”

“It’s hard to tell with Omegas. I wouldn’t want to subject him to any invasive examination, let alone have him moved while he’s so sick.”

“But…”

With pup?

Steve’s blood simmered beneath his clammy cheeks.

And now his mother talked of the Omega clinic. Would she really dump him in that horrible place again, though they’d had to drug him to the eyeballs to survive it? And why, oh why, must he picture Tommy H, cackling in his face?

Did my soulmate fuck me and ditch me? Or was the whole soulmates BS all in my ‘air-brain little head’? Did Eddie knot me and skip town?

Okay, he’d literally been asking for it. He’d begged Eddie for dick and opened his legs to him like a ‘wanton little hussy.’

Was Tommy right about him? Tommy was right! His mom, too?

“I’m no Omega specialist,” the doctor was saying. “However, at this stage, the best remedy may be to find this rogue Alpha your son has been crying out for.”

“Yes. Hunt down that lowlife dog and destroy him for ruining my son.”

Steve’s panic ripped through him like a floodtide. His shallow breaths refused to sooth his clenching lungs, and his skin broke out into a cold sweat. By the time the doctor’s attention slid his way, he was full-on flipping out.

The next few moments passed in a terrifying blur. He fought the suffocating blankets and yanked the wires from his arm and torso, before more than one set of strong hands pinned him down. A sharp prick on his arm was echoed by the cool glide of a needle into his skin. Cool air flowed from the mask placed over his face. He drifted into dreams and that murky basement, wandering it like a spirit.

“Eddie,” he murmured, “Where are you?”

…

Three days.

Three fucking days.

That was how long Eddie had skulked in this dingy brick basement—pacing to keep warm, punching the bricks, wringing his battered hands, and all but ripping his hair out. He’d passed hours squatting in a corner, holding his drooping head.

Christ, he should get the fuck out of Dodge.

Perhaps distance could kill this agony. This crushing misery at knowing Steve was dangerously ill and being unable to see him, let alone do anything about it.

Yet Eddie wasn’t going anywhere, which was lunacy. None of his designs for life included mating a high-class Omega who’d grown up, basically, in a palace. Oh, and Steve’s mom had put a price on his head.

Ten thousand dollars. Dead or Alive. Seriously, where was he living—the Old West? Medieval Europe?

“Why me?” Eddie was muttering, over and over. The soft tap on the basement door set him snarling.

Okay, it was his and Wayne’s secret knock, based on an old Def Leppard guitar riff. Damn, Eddie was skittish as a goddamn Omega. Wayne descended the rickety wooden stairs, and Eddie leaped up, sweeping his heavy unwashed hair from his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Had a visit from Hop and Steve’s dad.”

“Shit!” Eddie buried all eight fingers in his uncombed tresses. “Did they follow you here?”

“What sorta fool do you take me for, son?” Wayne chuckled, squeezing Eddie’s super-taut bicep. Eddie teetered suddenly on the brink of throwing his arms around his uncle and bawling his eyes out. Anything to release the tension thrumming through his every vein. “Wouldn’t have mattered if they did. Hop talks the talk about ripping your throat out, nothing more. I swear to God, he begged for your help.”

Eddie met Hopper around the back of the hospital, near a delivery entrance for the kitchens. On sighting him, Eddie stopped dead, smacked his boot heel loudly onto the ice-hardened asphalt.  

The older Alpha’s lips peeled back, hostile vibes billowing from him. Then Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned:

“Okay, Munson, stand down.” He hurled some scrubs at Eddie. “Gonna smuggle you in. Apparently, your Omega pepped up no end on learning we were trying to contact you on the sly. Even the docs are bleating on about the soulmate bond—it’s the worst case of rejection sickness in living memory. So, yeah, let’s move. We’ll deal with the nuclear fallout in the morning.”

Eddie pulled on the scrubs and tied back his hair, using a scrunchie he was pretty sure Hop had swiped off his daughter. He followed the Chief through the quiet corridors, struggling to get his head together.

Soulmate bond. Rejection sickness. Some doctor had more or less prescribed Eddie as a cure? He snatched a swift, fortifying breath.

You got this, Munson. Make your Omega well again, and everything else is gonna be child’s play…

…hahaha, seriously? You gonna rob a bank or something?

Screw it. Perhaps he would.

After they’d passed through the dark kitchens, Eddie sensed something off. He’d smelled Steve over a mile off in a snowy forest, and yet… Okay, maybe that was Steve’s musk he detected, heavily interwoven with others,’ and faint beneath the tang of chemicals.

It was way too faint and soured with a bitter tang that set Eddie’s guts flipping.

He shoved past Hopper and sprinted up the corridor. He followed his nose up several flights of stairs. Along a dark corridor, he almost collided with an angry nurse, then he rounded a corner and slammed into Steve’s dad. Eddie braced the Beta and shook him, taken aback by huge, scared hazel-brown eyes, startlingly like Steve’s: “What is it? Is Steve okay?”

“I-I don’t know. He’d been on the mend since I promised to find you. I came over to break the news you were on your way… and he’s gone and discharged himself.”

...

Chapter 5.1 (it's gonna be fine, okay!?!)

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[emptybattlefield]

"just a little more" (day 12)

Dipper perseveres through some outdoor work with Grunkle Ford, and pushes himself too far. This is a combo with Heatstroke.

“What the hell does Ford have him doing out there?” asks Stan lackadaisically, sipping on a strawberry lemonade that he and Mabel just cooked up. It is the hottest week of the summer, and the two are cooped up under the shade of the veranda. 

Mabel sits on her knees in the chair beside him, tipping another packet of Stan’s sweet-n-low into her glass. “Disinfecting some kind of gadget parts. Apparently gnome saliva is very dangerous,” she answers. 

Stan grunts, and keeps an eye on Dipper, who’s wearing a hazmat suit, standing over one of Stan’s folding tables, which is laden with gadget parts of various shapes and sizes. Ford was nowhere to be seen. Stan takes a swig of his pink drink. Dipper rounds to the other side of the folding table—trips over one of the folds in his too-large hazmat suit. Stan is tight in his chair as the boy successfully catches his balance. 

But then, a second later, he faints. 

Stan is up from his chair in an instant. “Dipper!” Mabel cries while her uncle bolts across the lawn. 

Stan unzips the suit—trying his best to avoid iridescent rainbow goo—and slips Dipper out of it like a shell. The kid’s hair is plastered with sweat from nape to crown. Stan picks him up and carries him inside the kitchen.

He yells for Ford to come up. Where the hell was he? Stan places Dipper on the cool countertop. Heavy footsteps pound up the laboratory stairwell. Meanwhile, Dipper is listless, pale, and not very responsive.

The look on Ford’s face as he reaches the landing… “Dipper!” he hollers, rushing over. “Dipper, it’s your Uncle Ford. Is he alright?” 

Their nephew shifts—but does not rouse. 

Ford is already unsheathing his pocket vitals machine. “Dis you see any gnome saliva on him when you found him?” he asks. 

Stan wanted to slap him. “He’s done collapsed from heatstroke, you idiot. Dipper, it’s Stan. We’re gonna get you cooled off, kiddo.”

“Blood pressure is low. His temp is 103.4 degrees,” Ford says worriedly.

Stan glares at him. He found himself combing his thick fingers through the kid’s sweat-slicked hair. “You are not* a medical doctor.”

“I never said I was, Stan,” Ford states categorically. “I have 14 Ph.Ds, and a bachelor’s of science in nursing. You said Mabel’s running a bath, right?”

Suddenly, Dipper’s whole body stiffens and shudders on the countertop peninsula. His eyes fly open. “What did I just do?” he asks fretfully. 

“You fainted. You’re gonna be alright,” Stan answers gently. He carries him through the house to the bathtub, and lowers him in. His body twitches from the sharp cold. Mabel stands in the doorway—her worried, pink fingers at her mouth. The empty ice cube trays were discarded upon the toilet seat.

Ford quickly follows behind. Stan saddles the side of the bathtub, sitting him up—one of his dark socks underwater. Poor Dipper dry heaves, but nothing comes—false alarm. 

“Am I…contaminated?” Dipper directs his fearful look to Grunkle Ford. 

Ford replies, “No, son. Just a touch of heat exhaustion, by the looks of it. Best for you to stay in the bath a while, I’m afraid.”

Ford offers him some cool water, and Dipper sips it slowly. Ford can’t tell, but Stan can see that Dipper looks disappointed in himself. 

“Temp’s better,” says Grunkle Ford. “Pressure’s bounced back, too.”

Together, they laid Dipper back, so that all but the rounds of his shoulders and face were underneath the water. His shorts poof out to both sides. Mabel keeps him company. Ford disappears outside to retrieve the tableful of machinery pieces—apparently, they can’t be left in the sun for too long without damage.

The visceral zing! of the gnome saliva creeps into Stan’s spine. His head starts to feel a little light and airy under its influence. He ultimately ignores it. After some time, Stan grabs a bath towel from the top shelf of the closet. He shoos Mabel so that her brother can change and get into bed. 

Stan wasn’t the tucking in type, but he asks Dipper, “Kid, what were you thinking? Did you feel yourself overheating, or…?”

“I don’t know…I guess I did, but I was so focused on decontaminating,” he responds, ashamedly. 

“Just—all I ask is that next time, you listen to your body. Think you can do that for me?” says Stan.

“I will—next time,” Dipper replies sadly. 

Grunkle Stan laughs— “Y’know, way-back-when, you had to throw something at your Grunkle Ford to get him to even look up at you, if he was in the middle of a really good book.”

Dipper beams. 

“All’s I’m saying is—you didn’t get it from me,” Stan tells him.

“Where is Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper asks.

“Getting the gadgets. Something about the sun ‘degrading the finish.’ But, he agreed with me. It’s best you take it easy the rest of the day,” says Stan grimly. “You’ll be up and at it tomorrow.”

Stan leaves Dipper to himself, and descends to the basement lab. Ford looks up as soon as he hears Stan’s footsteps. “How is he?” Ford asks worriedly. 

Stan can’t help it—he sees red, and immediately shoves Ford into the concrete laboratory wall and pins him there. He has his brothers collar between his knuckles.

“You are on thin ice with me, Poindexter, you get that?!” Stan hisses, inches from his face. “How old were you when you had your first job mowing lawns? You know that he idolizes you. He wants to please you—that’s why I can’t let him turn himself inside out doing your* legwork.”

“I’m sorry, Stan, I’m terribly sorry,” Ford says helplessly.

Stan lets him go. The old man shakes his head. “Honestly, I think it’s good you let him work with you, but when are you gonna get it through your thick, plated skull—he is not your peer, Stanford,” he says all too frustratedly. 

Ford coughs. “I know that, Stanley—”

“You better,” Stan warns. “Because need I remind you—everybody else in the world thinks you died in ‘92. If anything happens to those two kids, it’s me who has to answer to their parents. You get that?”

“Understood,” answers Ford regretfully.

Stan grumbles something inaudible—and says nothing more to him before trumping back up the staircase.

McGuckett was the one who produced Ford’s industrial six-fingered gloves. Now that he had his memories back, the first thing Ford asked him for (aside from his forgiveness) was to make Dipper a pair as well. Ford had them on his desk because he was going to surprise Dipper with them once they returned. With how small they were—they looked silly now. 

When Ford emerges from the basement lab, he tenuously asks where Dipper is.

“Sleeping,” Stan retorts. He and Mabel are at the table playing cards. “Best you let him.”

“Grunkle Ford, do you want us to deal you in?” Mabel asks kindly. Stan’s stony face is in his lap.

“Sure. I can play one round,” he says. 

After several, Ford enters the twins’ bedroom, hoping to apologize to Dipper, but he’s out like a light—little threads of drool hang from his lower lip. Ford places the note on Dipper’s bedside, and the gloves on top to weigh it down. Outside, Mabel is calling a bit too loud because it’s his turn. Ford closes the door quietly.

*end*

[whump-my-dear-watson]

come give your father a hug

WHUMPTOBER 2024 NO. 20 "EMOTIONAL ANGST"

[musewrangler]

“I don’t have a lot of time and I need to ask a favor,” Cody told him, sounding more weary than Fox ever recalled hearing.

“You and everyone else,” Fox replied gruffly. “What is it?”

“We…we found Tech.”

Fox had never known Tech all that well. His brother’s particular enhancements had been the sort of thing to drive Fox nuts, however valuable Tech’s skills were. But these days he valued every vod they found alive. And he knew that the Bad Batch had taken his loss hard.

“What do you mean? His body?” he clarified.

“Ah…in a way,” Cody replied, and Fox could hear other voices in the background. Across from him, Thorne made a motion with his hand, meaning wrap it up. They usually had about four minutes before they had to cut the signal to avoid detection.

“Give me the facts, Cody,” Fox snapped. “We’re on a clock.”

He ignored his brother’s offended huff.

“He’s alive, Fox. But—-he was captured after he fell on Eriadu. They…did things to him. Damaged his mind and brainwashed him.”

Fox felt a surge of white hot fury. Was this always the fate of the clones? To have their minds messed with? To be abused and twisted?

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 20

Caesar x Reader Mermaid AU

Requested by @flossie12

"Caesar, please!" You begged, hugging octo-limbs. "The humans have changed, they're not the cruel barbarians they once were. You should see how much their colonies have advanced!"

"And risk being turned into calamari? Shorororo, yeah right!" Caesar laughed before getting out an odd hairbrush from a glass vial. "I'll keep collecting their things when they fall into the ocean."

"They wouldn't do that, at least not the man I met," you defended them, folding your arms and pouting.

"Did you even meet him?" Caesar questioned, turning to you with a quirked brow.

"Well- no-"

Yesterday you watched a male human play with his furry seal companion. You admire how much affection he expressed to the creature, you know humans finally adapted to caring about other lifeforms. On top of that, you wanted to explore the world above since it changed so much from the last few years you observed their life from the sea. You rambled about your desire to your friend Caesar when he mentioned he probably had a way you could adventure up there, but he tried to backtrack when you perked up at the idea.

"But he had a furry seal companion with him that he deeply cared about-"

"Dogs, they're called dogs," Caesar corrected while setting the odd brush next to the large flat seashell.

"Dawgs? How do you know?" You inquired, watching the purple octo-man scoop shrimp and oysters from his cauldron onto the seashell.

"I've spent my fair share of time up on the surface to conduct research for my experiments, my dear." Caesar set the cauldron down and swam back to where the seashell with the cooked creatures. "I've learned about their things and more. It is not a place for merfolk to go, especially since most of them believe my nature is cruel." With that, he used the brush to stab one of the shrimp and ate it-

"Oh, that's a mini trident!"

"The humans call it a fork."

"Oh..."

You watched him as he ate the cooked creatures, this being one of the reasons other merfolk thought Caesar was cruel, though did not understand why. To you, your friend simply wanted to eat different things in different ways. You frowned, wishing the others could accept your friend for his strange mannerisms, but alas he acted "too human". Wait-

A mischievous smile wormed it's way onto your lips. "Caesar, I find myself comfortable around your nature, and I enjoy your company."

Caesar felt his cheeks start to glow red. It didn't help that you began to twirl his hair between your fingers, an affectionate habit you had.

"Sooooo, therefore I should be fine around the humans, right?" You believed your logic made sense.

Caesar sighed and brushed your hands away from his hair. "If this is your idea of making me give in, it won't work. I've seen what they do up there, [Y/n], you'll regret going up there and walk the same surface they do. Not even I want to go back there. As tempting as it is to gather their newest items, it's not worth it for me."

Caesar huffed, grabbing the flat seashell and mini tri- fork before swimming over and dropping them into a bubbly hole. You hummed to yourself, racking your brain for another approach.

"What if you sent me up there to gather those items for you?" You suggested. "I get to explore the surface world and you get new stuff without the hassle of going up there yourself."

"Even if I were to agree, I don't know how the potion would affect you. It took me months to perfect the potion for myself, but there's no telling what it'd do to you since our anatomies are different."

"Come on C.C. it can't be that drastic of a difference, we're basically the same species."

Caesar glanced over your form, the major difference between the two of you is the fact you were female and had a fishtail, whereas he was male and had octopus limbs. He could also go on about the micro things that differed you apart, though he knew that'd bore you.

"Alright, fine, wait here." Caesar went to another room and grabbed a glass bottle. Returning, unsurprised that you beamed with glee. He almost smiled if not for his worry about what may happen to you but it seems you will only learn the hard way. "Follow me."

He led you out of his cavern and swam to the shallow waters near the human's shores. He turned to you and presented the potion you desired.

"When you take this, your tail will be replaced with human legs, you won't be able to breathe underwater either so you'll need to surface and ahead to shore," he instructed.

"Got it." You grabbed the glass bottle.

"One more thing." Caesar reached into his pocket and handed you a signal seashell. "Every week I expect you to call me and deliver human goods to me, you can also use it to ask for me to bring you home if you so desire."

"Yeah, yeah." You took the seashell and put it into your sash bag.

"Hmph." Caesar turned to leave when you hugged him from behind, catching him off guard.

"Thank you, Caesar, I mean it." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Wariness and guilt ruined Caesar's internal bliss, uncertain of what will happen to you. Though he savoured the moment nonetheless.

Four weeks had gone by since that day, and he hasn't seen you.

You kept your end of the bargain. He'd hear the seashell call but when he went to the shore, Caesar would only find a pile of human junk with a note for him. It frustrated him, why haven't you talked to him yet? Surely you wanted to ramble about the things you've seen to him, it's something you always do when you find something exciting. No matter, Caesar returned home carrying the items in a bag and proceeded to shift through them to see what held value to him. Soon it became mindless routine to him, and that's when he began to notice how quiet his life became. 

Months have passed by now, he hardly looked at what you gave him, tossing the bag in a corner full of junk. The only reason he bothered to collect them at this point is to tell you he still came. He ceased caring about these objects long ago, they will never be able to make up for your absence.

Hope had started packing up to leave Caesar. It's been ages now since he's seen your face, let alone heard your voice. He has begun thinking you loved your human life and would never want to return. Acceptance will be taking Hope's place, acceptance that his heart will be gone forever. Until he heard it.

The seashell call early in the week.

He scrambled to the surface, carrying the potion that'd turn you back. Breaking through the water, he scanned the area in search of you when he spotted you at the sandy beach smiling and waving him over.

"[Y/n], I was beginning to think I'd never see you again," he said once he neared you. "How come you never cared to see me all this time?"

Your smile faded, replaced with gloom. You point to your throat. Caesar tilts his head puzzled by what you meant to communicate with him. Why not use your words? He watched your lips move with no voice flowing out, only then did the pieces fall into place.

He said no more, opening his arms to embrace you and giving you the potion. Your tail grew back, alas your voice is still gone. He guided you to his home, a frown present on his face as he observed your gloomy self.

When you settle down, he gives you gel and some seashells for you to write with. You informed him of your time on the surface as a mute human, and while there were glimpses of your once starry demeanour, ultimately they were all washed away when you wrote about how you unveiled human's cruel nature. Just as you wrote the words "You were right", Caesar stopped you and held you close, telling you not to stress over it. 

Tears bubbled from your eyes into the ocean and you sobbed in his chest. Caesar gently stroked your hair, calming you the best he could while he tried to tame his own growing resentment toward humans. Times may change, but people never do. He'll make them regret what they did to you.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Chapter Summary: The captain falls in battle. Mask has an item for that

[yonbwekh]

whumptober day 20

Prompt: emotional angst

"Why!? Why are you doing this to me..??"

Whumpee screams hoarsely as a whip cuts deep into their back. "Why? Why!?" Whumper stops, looking down at Whumpee. "Because nobody, nobody else cares!"

Whumpee is taken aback and looks up at Whumper. They see a chance. "I.. I underst-" Before they finish they receive a quick punch straight to the teeth, sending them reeling.

"You don't understand shit!"

[psychologeek]

Whumptober #20+Alt 2: Mashber

Mashber (breaking point): A crisis, birth, a wave

20: EMOTIONAL ANGST | Shoulder to Cry On | "It's not your fault." Alt 2: Communication Barrier

~

Janet's water breaks on July 18th, but her child doesn't come out until noon of the 19th. Part of her wonders hysterically if the child did it on purpose, knowing the date.

(She spends half her time bouncing on a big plastic ball, humming "Eyni Eyni Yorda Mayim". Part of her seriously considers naming the child Efrayim.)

Janet's child is seven weeks old when they welcome the new year, and despite it all she finds herself humming "Hayom Harat Olam".

At eight weeks old, she put her child to sleep with Un'tane Tokef.

At this point, she realises that her previous plans aren't going to work. Raising a rootless child is not a real option.

(There's an infantry version, a childish part in her that longs to pay it forward. The rhythm and melodies and every tradition she once swore to leave behind.)

And besides, she remembers bitterly, it's not like denying their heritage ever helped any of them.

~

Janet's child is five years old when they have This conversation. She is putting the final touches of her warpaint: eyeliner, sharp as a fresh Lulav. Her child is sitting on the bed, biting lips and serious.

"Mummy," her child asks. "Why did Mr. Smith say that you're a cake? "

Janet puts down her eyeliner.

"What do you mean, honey? Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

"Um," her darling child hesitates. "In the Chrismas party. At Caleb's parents? I finished- I said hi to everyone and. Umm. Caleb said they have sweets and he said I can't get the grown-ups cookies and I said I can and he said nu-uh and I said I do it. And there were a bunch of people stand by the cookies table and I couldn't go 'way and then they say mean things! They said that you're a cake and you killed someone and that dad only marry you 'couse you're escotic and-and-"

Jant's child is crying, and she closes her eyes and hate' for a second. Hate everything and everyone that got her kid to feel that way. That made her child feel hurt.

Janet takes a deep breath, and looks at her child. "some people lack the proper intellect to hide their small-minded brains. Don't let them know they got to you - but never forget who they are".

"But why they say you're a cake, mummy?" her kid isn't sobbing, but there's pain on the tiny faces. "I don't understand. You don't even like cake! you prefer biscuits 'cause they're smaller and less messy!"

(There's something pure and sweet in the innocence of childhood.)

And there are many things she can say. Many different ways to talk about hate and prejudice and decades of hurt and pain. There are many ways to talk about it, but she choses the way they always did it.

(She tells her child a story)

"well. Years ago, there were people who came from a distant land. And their clothes were different and their names and the way they spoke. Most of them didn't speak English when they came. And they were asked to write their names, they couldn't do it in the letters you know. The letters that the guards on the border wanted them."

"So why didn't the guards learn to read their language?"

"Because. Because sometimes, that's how people are. and so the weary people, the poor and tired who came from across the sea, were told to use an X."

"So they all signed with X?"

"No. Because, if you turn it over - the letter X looks like a symbol of the people that weren't kind to them. It looks like a symbol that, for many many years, was easy to rise and mark pain for their parents and kin. A mark that was a sign for hundreds and hundreds of years of pain."

"So they didn't use the X?"

"No. No, they didn't. They put down their name as a circle. a round shape, with no sharp edges to hurt others. And in their langauge, that shape was called Kayk. And ever since then, when some people try to be mean, they remind to this people and their kids where they come from: from the poor, weary people who came to a strange land - looking for a better life."

Mother's earrings are long, like teardrops. As the light breaks through, it almost looks like magic.

"And that's bad?" asks the child, still sitting on the bed.

"You should find your own thoughts," mother takes a second to point her soft brush. "What do you think? Is going far, far away, looking for a better chance in life, a bad thing?”

The kid's mouth opens, but the mother shushes them.

"No. Not yet. Don't answer me now. Think about it, and tell me about your thoughts when we'll be back from the gala."

And as she finishes the final touches, she can hear the child behind her take a deep breath.

"You said they call it to those people and their kids," the words are soft. "So why they calling you?"

And this is a long awaited conversation,  one she can't have right now. So she take her child, her only-born, her loved one. 

And as the weight of innocence is warm in her arms, she says, "because knowledge is power. And you will always be judged by things you can't - and shouldn't - change about yourself. Because small minded people are always out there. But at least you'll know the truth behind the words said."

"Is it the story of our family?" asks her too-clever child.

"Yes," she says. "And no. This is a story of Our People. This is a story of Our Kind. But this isn't the only one. Not even the most common. This isn't The Story of our family, but it's one of the stories of Us.”

~

Janet's child is only fourteen years old, and there are many things she regrets she never said:

(I'm sorry)

(I love you)

(I know)

(You are my child)

Janet is dying.

She is drunken, but not with wine;

And right in front of her:  this cup of staggering; the beaker, this Kos Tre'la.

There are many things Janet wishes she told her child, and one she'll never regret:

"You are part of a long, brave dynasty. Never forget who you are. Never let anyone make you feel bad for who you are." (We shall outlive them)

(Like it? I have more mini-fics Whumptober index | And full size fics on ao3. )

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Can we have a little magical locked-up-and-left-behind whump? :0 A wee bit? Of any character you choose?

*rubs hands together gleefully* I'm glad you asked! :D How about some Orian Goldeneye backstory trauma?

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Locked Up and Left Behind

Whumptober Day 20: Emotional Angst | Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 800

Tag List: @badthingshappenbingo @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf @the-ellia-west

CW: captivity whump, chains, manhandling, minor whump, angst, crying

----------

Orian did not struggle when he was singled out from the lineup of others his age, none of whom would look him in the eye when he was led away.

Orian did not struggle when his wrists were clamped into iron chains that clinked and rattled with every movement.

Orian did not struggle when he was marched down the identical sterile hallways to an unknown destination by a quartet of armed guards.

What else could he do? He was outnumbered and bound, with no idea which direction the nearest exit was, let alone the means to get to it alive. To struggle would give the guards an excuse to handle him harshly, and he would still end up in the same place.

Wherever that was.

None of the guards would look him in the eye either, each of them focused solely on the hallways ahead. Perhaps they were trying not to get lost. Not difficult, in a place like this. Same walls, same floor, same strange glowing tiles in the ceiling. Even the doors were almost the same, with the only difference between them being the way the numbers decreased with each door they passed.

Orian suspected the hallways were intentionally designed to be confusing, in case someone like him managed to escape their guards. It wasn’t a difficult deduction to make.

Finally, after an eternity of walking, Orian’s guards reached a dead end in the current hallway. Only one door was in this hallway at the very end. Orian frowned. What is the purpose of this door? Are we entering a different wing of this place?

The moment the door was opened, however, his confusion was replaced by fear. To the average person, at first glance, the cell beyond the door would appear to be just that, a cell. A cell which, upon closer inspection, seemed to have walls constructed of a dark material reflecting the light in a way unlike stone or painted wood.

“No,” Orian said in disbelief as one of the guards yanked him forward by his chains. “No, please no.”

The guards ignored him.

“Please!” He shouted, pulled against the chains as the guard dragged him inside the cell. Tears threatened to spill down his face. “No, please! I’ll behave, I promise I’ll behave!”

The guard exhaled sharply before shoving him inside the cell, throwing Orian to the floor. Orian grunted and scrambled to his feet, but before he could act, the cell door slammed shut. He screamed and rushed to the door, slamming his shoulder into the hard material plating the inside of the door. The action painfully wrenched his shoulder, and he cried out, banging his fists against the door.

The only sounds were his shouts echoing about the cell, punctuated by the muffled thuds his hands made on the door.

Orian sank to the floor, the hot tears streaming down his cheeks. The chains rattled harshly as he drew his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as if forming a protective barrier between himself and the rest of the cell. Through some miracle, his glasses had not fallen from his face in the struggle, but he removed them now, pressing his face against his knees to block out the strange not-darkness.

He was in a dreamshaper cell.

He was in a dreamshaper cell.

How did they know? How could they have known? Was there another dreamshaper here? Someone who gave away his secret?

The black glass under his bare feet seemed to steal away his warmth, leaving only cold numbness. He’d seen dreamshaper cells before, but never one like this. Never one with this sheer amount of black glass. No chances were being taken of his wandering the halls during the night.

What else were they going to do to him, now that they knew? Question him? Torture him? Abandon him in the cell until he went mad and died of hunger? Something far, far more sinister?

Orian’s shoulders shook as he began to sob.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the tears finally dried up. Long enough that his neck ached when he raised his head, a muffled ache behind his eyes. 

Long enough to realize that he was never getting out of there. 

Long enough to know that he was there to stay.

Long enough to wonder if he would be forgotten, reduced to simply a name and description in a file marked “deceased”.

The knowledge would have been enough to start the tears flowing again, but no tears came.

He began to plan instead.

Plans of escape.

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #20

Emotional angst, giving permission to die, "It's not your fault"

TW: blood, main character death, pain, ableism CW: anti-religious sentiment, HURT NO COMFORT

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 21 - Found family

Warnings: child abandonment, grief

Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint leaves to find a person from his past, surrounded by the family he created.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2013

NEW YORK

“Can you find someone for me?” Clint asks Tony, looking around the room, and the technology it holds.

He can’t help but touch the screens and play with the holograms as he waits for Tony to reply.

“Can you pass me the copper wire?” Tony asks.

Clint hops up on the bench and throws it to him, his aim true.

“I can find anyone, if they want to be found, and even then, likely I can find them if they don’t want to be,” he answers distractedly.

“Can you hold this here?”

Clint hops down and pushes on the wire, analysing the circuitry and frowning.

“You’ve wired it wrong,” he surmises, pointing with his other hand.

Tony swears and rubs his face.

“How long have you been up for?” Clint asks, a pinch of worry for his friend and his insomniac ways.

Tony looks up and glances at the time.

Jarvis answers for him, “twenty six hours.”

Clint swears it’s sounds almost disapproving.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, knowing that until the project has reached a satisfactory conclusion, there’s no way Tony will stop.

Rubbing his forehead, Tony shows him the circuit board connected to the towers alarm system, and automatic controls for system lockdown.

Clint frowns.

“Has there been any attempts to get in here?”

He doesn’t understand why Tony was upgrading the already functioning system.

He shakes his head.

“No, but I just..” he pauses.

“Who do you want me to find?”

Clint ignores him and without words helps, correcting the circuitry then placing the upgraded board into Tony’s hand.

“You know, if you get sleep, these things become easier,” he grins.

Tony rolls his eyes, the lower limbs of the suits attaching as he flies to the control box outside and installs the board quickly.

There’s a quick glow, and a light force field covers the tower before disappearing again.

Clint didn’t realise how big the project was, and smiles as Tony returns.

“Come get some food,” he prompts, holding the door open as the legs come away and he reaches ground again.

Tony obliges.

Heading to the kitchen, Clint explains about Gus.

The ex-carney, convenience store owner that stayed close to the circus and protected Clint from future foster homes and set him on the path of this life.

There’s some hesitation in the way Tony replies, and Clint doesn’t quite know if he should have trusted him with the story.

“Why do you want to see him again?” Tony asks, handing him a Stark-Pad.

Clint hesitates, feeling judged in the moment.

“I want to tell him about Barney, maybe just check that he’s okay. Thank him I suppose?”

He doesn’t know, not in any way he can put into words.

Tony is uncharacteristically quiet, before he takes the stark-pad off of Clint and opens up a data base, taking time, he seems to hack into some sort of data base.

It takes him a minute or so, before he hands the tablet back.

“He’s still in Iowa, Cedar Rapids, last known address was near the Prairie Park Fishery,” he pauses, “we can go now if you want?”

Clint stops in his tracks.

“What?”

Tony points upwards.

“Two hours, we can go there now if you want?”

Clint nods slowly.

“Yeah okay,” he says impulsively, “let me just send a message to Natasha, and let her know.”

Tony shrugs, “sure, I’ll be up at the hanger, if you ask Steve it will be a party.”

Clint decides on calling Natasha, feeling a slight urgency on getting going.

“Hey,” she picks up, after a beat.

“Hey,” he answers.

“I asked Tony to find Gus and he found him in like five seconds. He asked if we wanted to go visit, and I’ve said yes,” he says quickly.

“Doyouwannacome?”

Natasha takes a second before responding, and then tells him she’d meet him at the hanger.

He smiles. It’s like a road trip with his friends, something they’d do at the circus.

It’s seems somewhat fitting.

Picking up the phone again, he calls Steve.

“Hey man,” he says as the phone clicks over.

“Hey,” Steve replies.

“Natasha and Tony and I are going on a bit of trip to see an old friend I have in Iowa. Do you want to come?”

“When?” Steve asks.

“Now?”

Steve takes a moment and then agrees, Clint thinks he can hear the change in his tone, a small amount of pleasure at being invited.

“Come to the hanger when you can,” Clint tells him, “we’ll be waiting.”

.

The trip to Iowa is an exchange of stories. Clint starts by telling the story of Gus and how he taught him magic, he shows the others a trick and then produces a coin from Steve’s ear.

Much to his delight, Steve replicates the trick and produces two coins.

Tony, not to be outdone, produces two coins and a card.

Natasha bursts out laughing.

“You’re all magic nerds,” she says, joyfully.

The rest of the trip they try and outdo each other, Natasha taking the lead in flying the plane as they all show off random magic tricks, and teaching each other the ones they don’t know.

She gives them a ten minute warning and looks back to see Clint smiling, a true smile that had been so rare from the events of New York to learning of his brothers death.

She hopes this is positive and that Gus is the man Clint believes him to be.

Otherwise, she might kill him herself.

.

Clint knocks on the door.

Alone now, he wishes he hadn’t been so adamant to do this himself. He’d left Natasha with the others in the plane, promising to be back soon.

The anticipation feels heavy as he hears movement in the house and he hopes Tony was right in the address.

The door opens slowly, and Clint smiles lightly.

“Hello,” he opens, “I don’t know if you—“

“Clint?”

The door opens wider, revealing Gus, now older but still the same man.

“Hi,” he says shyly.

“Clint!”

He pulls him into a hug and Clint feels himself sink into it, feeling like a kid again.

“Come in,” Gus asks, ushering him through the door.

“Can I get you anything?

Clint doesn’t get a chance to answer as Gus disappears into the kitchen and returns with beer and a bottle opener.

He takes it and opens them both, offering it to cheers which Gus does with a smile.

“Clint,” he says, almost in reverence.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” Clint replies, not sure what to say.

He came here to say that Barney was dead. To thank him for helping him when he was a child, to pointing him in the direction of the military.

“I — wanted to find you,” he starts.

Gus stands, finds an album on the bench and hands it to Clint.

“Open it,” he gestures.

The album has photos, some articles from the circus, pictures of Clint he’d never seen before, gently he turns the pages, emotion welling inside.

He can’t speak.

Gently touching the photos, he sees himself holding the bow and arrow as a young boy, stance strong and gaze focussed.

“That’s my favourite,” Gus says, watching Clint carefully, “you had such natural talent from the get go, and even if archery didn’t get you famous, I think you would have been a fantastic pickpocket.”

Clint huffs a laugh, turning the page.

“And now you’re an Avenger?”

There’s clippings from the paper from the last twelve months.

Of Tony, Steve and Thor, of him and Natasha. Articles and pictures.

Clint thinks it’s one of the kindest things someone has ever done.

He smiles.

“I’m just a human, amongst superhero’s, metal men and gods,” he laughs, starting at the start again to take the photos in.

“Maybe it’s what they need, to keep them in line,” Gus retorts.

Clint stops at a picture.

Barney stands arms crossed with a smile as Clint does a handstand.

He stares at it, and forces breath.

Barney.

“He’s dead,” he whispers, taking the photo out, he shows it Gus.

“He’s dead,” he repeats again.

Gus hobbles over to sit with Clint, taking the photo and then handing it back.

“I know,” he nods, and hugs Clint in a side hug.

“He came here, a couple of years ago, asking after you, I showed him and told him you had gone into the military.”

He turns the page and Clint finds the picture of himself in uniform.

“He was so proud of you,” Gus tells him.

“I think he wanted to tell you.”

Clint can’t help it; he cries.

For the loss of his brother, for all the words left unsaid and the time they’d never get back.

“Do you think he knew I loved him?” he asks, voice as small as a child’s.

“Of course he did,” Gus nods.

He closes the album, and motions for Clint to follow him.

“Barney stayed here, for a little while at least, and drew some pictures. I held onto them, as I hoped— I wished I would see you again.”

He opens the door and pulls out some pictures from a drawer.

The pictures are of Clint and Barney as children, their faces small and chubby.

Clint feels the tears on his face as he furiously wipes at them.

“Your brother, he was complicated and could be harsh and I think he wanted to protect you but didn’t know how… You were both so young.”

Gus looks down.

“I think I failed you both but I did the best I could,” he admits.

Clint shakes his head.

“No,” he refutes, “you saved my life, probably Barney’s too. I came to thank you.”

Gus waves him off.

“Take them,” he tells Clint, “they’re yours, the album too if you want anything from it.”

Clint nods, finding the album, knowing what pictures he wants and the ones he wants to show Natasha, maybe even the others.

He sits back down, not quite ready to leave yet.

“I’m going to get married,” he confesses.

Gus looks up, his smile wide.

“Will you come?”

The nod and laugh is infectious.

“Of course, of course I will,” he agrees.

He sits back and takes a sip of the still cold beer.

“Tell me about her,” he asks.

.

The plane home is in darkness, as Clint shares the chocolate and pictures that Gus sent with him.

He tells the stories behind the pictures, prompting Steve and Tony to tell their own.

Natasha holds onto the picture of Clint and Barney and stares at it for a long time.

“He looks like you,” she whispers later.

“Remind me,” he tells her, “remind me to tell you the story behind that one.”

Natasha hands it back to him, and nods, bringing her head to his and pushing it against his.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, so the others can’t hear.

“It’s hard facing our pasts, and I’m glad it went well.”

He regards Natasha and all the history she has with facing her past; the good and the bad.

He nods.

“Me too, Nat.”

.

[alyrewrites]

rest now in my arms (as I watch over you)

“Like he knew the sun would come up the next morning, Dick knew that Batman would always get back up, that nothing could keep him down. It didn’t matter what came at him -- loss of loved ones, false murder accusations, having his back broken, getting lost in time -- none of that had ever stopped him before. But there was no miracle coming this time, Bruce was going to die and Dick would lose another parent.” For Whumptober 2024 Day 20 - Emotional Angst/Giving Permission to Die

This is wrong. That was the thought that kept going through Dick’s mind. Bruce had always been a strong and imposing figure in Dick’s life. Even after he had grown into Nightwing and worked and led heroes with a variety of powers, Dick found that Batman had a gravitas that no other hero seemed to have. He was a rock for Dick. Like he knew the sun would come up the next morning, Dick knew that Batman would always get back up, that nothing could keep him down. It didn’t matter what came at him -- loss of loved ones, false murder accusations, having his back broken, getting lost in time -- none of that had ever stopped him before. So seeing him lying in a medical bed, barely hanging on to a fraying thread of life, was antithetical to everything Dick knew and just assaulted his senses with a sense of wrongness.

Alfred sat at Bruce’s bedside and, in a rare breach of his butler facade, was running a hand through Bruce’s hair. It was one of the few times Dick had ever seen Alfred act like the surrogate father that Bruce viewed him as and all it did was drive home the fact that Bruce was dying. There wasn’t any coming back from this. Bruce had lost a massive amount of blood by the time the Justice League were able to get him to medical, but not enough that he couldn’t recover. However, nearly every one of Bruce’s organs were either failing or on the cusp of it and were impossible to treat without putting Bruce under, an action which would almost certainly kill him. There was no miracle coming this time, Bruce was going to die and Dick would lose another parent.

Bruce kept asking about them, needing to know if they were okay, if his children were safe. Alfred and Dick kept reassuring him that they were, that he needed to focus on himself, but Bruce wouldn’t believe them until he saw his children himself. So Dick stepped out and sent out an emergency comm to all of them telling them that they needed to get to the Watchtower now. Something in Dick’s voice must have been telling because Jason only put up token protest before agreeing to come.

It was only about 15 minutes between when Dick made the call and when the Zeta tubes announced the arrival of his siblings, but, to Dick, it felt like an eternity. He just kept watching Bruce’s chest take in shallow, uneven breaths, afraid of the moment when he would see it stop, but also hating the amount of pain every breath clearly gave Bruce. Normally, someone in Bruce’s condition would have been given morphine to give them a painless passing, but Bruce was aware enough to refuse any pain relief, as he usually did, but this time, neither Dick nor Alfred had the strength to ignore his wishes this time. It was selfish, Dick knew that, but he wasn’t ready to lose his dad yet.

Clark and Diana had informed his siblings of the situation before they entered Bruce’s room, but even with the warning, Dick could see how the sight of Bruce weakly hanging onto life affected them.

“We’re all here Bruce, see? We’re all fine,” Dick said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Bruce blinked. His gaze, normally so sharp and clear, was unfocused even as he seemed to try and look at them each individually.

“It seems I can’t see very far right now, chum. Come closer so I can see your face.” His tone was completely different from earlier when he was speaking with the doctors earlier and refusing his pain medicine. It was much softer with a desperate, pleading undertone. Dick had wondered if Bruce had been aware exactly of the situation, but he should have known better. Of course Bruce did, he just refused to lower his guard around anyone. Normally, his children were included in that, but it seemed that his impending death was what was needed to take down that emotional wall.

Damian wasted no time responding to his father’s request and approaching the bed with Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass just behind. Alfred didn’t remove his hand from Bruce’s hair and step out like he often did when . Bruce raised a shaking arm to cradle his youngest’s face. He tried to remove Damian’s mask but couldn’t seem to muster the strength to manage it.

“Let me see your faces. Please.”

Each of them removed their masks.

“See, B, we’re all here and we’re all fine. So quit worrying about us,”

“I can’t. You’re my children.” The way he was looking at them made Dick want to rage. It made him want to cry. Bruce was always so emotionally stunted and held himself back so much. He hadn’t looked at Dick like that since Jason died, with so much love and pride that it was like looking straight into the sun.

Bruce took another painful, rattling breath. “I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t… I didn’t say that more often. You deserved better than me, but I’m so glad… so glad that you came into my life anyways. I was so lucky to get to be your father and your partner.”

Dick felt a hot pressure build up behind his eyes. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to have his last view of his father living to be distorted through tears.

“You are all so much better than me… so much better than Batman. Please, promise me, you’ll let Batman die with me. Let that darkness die with me. I never wanted any of you to have to…to have to carry that.”

“We won’t need to if you just pull yourself together father,” Damian said, “You just need to recover and then none of us will need to take your mantle,”

Bruce smiled weakly at Damian before turning back to Jason, Tim, and Dick. “Promise me. I don’t want… I don’t want you to fight each other again. You need to stick together, take care of each other. Promise me you won’t let Batman come in the way of that.”

“You don’t control me, asshole,” Jason snarled, “If you don’t want me taking the suit again, you’re gonna have to make sure the suit isn’t empty for me to take.”

Bruce looked at Jason sadly. “Jaylad.”

Jason scoffed wetly. “Fine.”

“I-I promise, Bruce,” Tim said, “So just stop talking like you’re going to die. I’m sure Clark will find something in his Fortress soon and you’ll be fine. So please, please don’t die, dad.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.” Bruce squeezed Tim’s hand weakly.

Dick wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage at Bruce. He wanted to tell him that he never wanted to touch the Batsuit again. He wanted to tell him that he wasn’t ready to lose him. He wanted to tell him that he still needed his dad. But he didn’t. Instead, Dick swallowed the lump in his throat and put on a small, strained smile.

“Don’t worry, dad, we’ll- we’ll be okay. We’ll take care of each other. You don’t have to worry about us. You can rest now,”

Dick could hear his siblings echo the sentiment in their own ways, but his attention was completely focused on Bruce. He watched as his dad looked to Alfred - looked to his dad - for confirmation

“It’s alright Bruce,” Alfred said, tears in his eyes, “I will watch over the family. You can rest now, son. You can let go.”

Dick watched as Bruce’s eyes closed and, for the first time, his entire body relaxed. The permanent tension that he seemed to carry finally released along with his last rattling breath. Bruce’s chest was still. The heart rate monitor showed a flat line and with the other monitors showing numbers that led to the same conclusion. Yet, Dick still couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He grabbed Bruce’s wrist and placed his fingers over the pulse point and waited.

Nothing. No warmth, no reassuring squeeze like Bruce used to do when Dick made him hold his hand as a child. Nothing at all. Bruce had lost a lot of blood already though, so maybe it was just that there wasn’t enough blood going to his extremities for Dick to find a pulse (he knew he was lying to himself, but the fact that none of his siblings stopped him was telling). He reached across Bruce’s corpse body to check the pulse point on his neck. He felt nothing, but he kept waiting, certain that he would feel something eventually. He just had put his hand in the wrong spot, just missed the artery. He adjusted his hand again and again, trying over and over again to deny the reality that was in front of him. Eventually, someone grabbed his hand to stop him. Dick found himself being gently guided into a hug by Alfred.

He sobbed.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Whumptober Day 9

I'm going to steal someone's kneecaps if this flops /lh

Okay, as per usual, we're going to start off with a little brief commentary. The fandom itself is Vincenzo and I once again wanted to highlight the dynamic between Chayoung, Vincenzo, and Hanseo; this one's a different kind of hurt, but trust me - this one is a bit rough for anyone who's ever had experiences with trauma

I'm also going to say it may become a series but I'm uncertain yet. Just bear with me in this since I haven't written for the characters in such a long time, so as usual let's begin!

Read below the cut. You know the drill

Plot/Summary

Jang Hanseo never expected to escape from his brother's clutches, but he found himself saved by Vincenzo. Though the recovery is far from over, at least he has his family in Geumga Plaza...

until an unexpected memory comes rushing back.

Prompts

No. 15: Childhood Trauma/"I did good, right?"

No. 20: Emotional Angst/[REDACTED] (will be revealed later!)

Extras/Teasers

Trauma Recovery

Protective Chayoung and Vincenzo

Autistic Hanseo

Found Family

we're like the moon and stars (you and i)

Part 9 of Whumptober