#altprompt 11

[salty-autistic-writer]

Whumptober Day 2: Survivor's Guilt

Title: Signs of a Bad Day (AO3)

Summary: Tommy has a bad day and isolates himself. A worried Buck sends Eddie to check on him.

~

Eddie has to knock three times.

When Tommy opens, his widening eyes and frown indicate he’s been expecting someone else. “What are you doing here?” He asks, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He keeps the door halfway closed. Like he doesn’t want Eddie to see what’s hidden behind it.

“Buck sent me,” Eddie says. To check on you, he doesn’t add.

“Of course he did,” Tommy mutters. He hesitates, his eyes barely meeting Eddie’s. “Listen. I’m … I don’t know what he told you. But I’m not good company right now.”

“He told me enough,” Eddie says, raising the six-pack he’s holding in his right hand. “I brought beer.”

Tommy sighs in defeat and finally opens the door fully. “Well. Come in then. Gotta warn you though. It’s a mess in here.”

He walks in, scratching the back of his head. Eddie follows cautiously. And decides that he’s seen worse. He walks around two empty pizza boxes and a dozen crumpled tissues. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches glittering shards on the kitchen floor. From a broken glass, probably. There is an unsteady heap of dirty dishes in the sink. A row of empty water bottles on the table. A blanket half on the couch and half on the floor.

Eddie recognizes the well-familiar signs of a bad day.

Tommy sits on the couch, wringing his hands. “I don't want to hurt him. Don't want him to think I don’t want to see him either. I just … I don't want to be too much, you know?”

I know. Eddie nods. He hands Tommy a beer before he sits on the chair opposite the couch. “He’s going to be alright. Buck is smart. And not easy to get rid of.”

Tommy chuckles half-heartedly. “Yeah. That’s true. He … He’s very important to me.”

“I know,” Eddie says, taking a sip of his beer. “So. Bad day, huh?”

Tommy nods and swallows. “Today is the day my friend died. My … my friend from the army. It happened many years ago. But I remember as if it was yesterday. I see it happen again and again. Right in front of my eyes.”

He pauses, taking a few deep breaths. Eddie waits patiently, realizing this is about survivor guilt and feeling a phantom echo of his own.

“He was sitting beside me in the helicopter when things went to shit,” Tommy continues hoarsely. “He got shot. I got shot too. But not as bad as him. He was bleeding out but still told me not to worry and just focus on getting the chopper down. Which I did. I landed it in the desert and backup was quick. But not quick enough to … to save him. He just sat there, with his eyes open and still looking at me.”

Tommy shudders visibly, gripping his bottle so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Eddie’s throat clenches. “I’m sorry.” Memories rise up to the surface of his mind … Shots being fired. Invisible and deathly. The helicopter shaking and tilting. Screams and curses. Night's darkness being lit up by flames. Slick blood on his hands.

“I saw him in front of me while I was recovering,” Tommy says, looking at Eddie grimly. “And I couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop wondering. Why did it have to be him? Why not me? He had a family. He had a wife who loved him. Kids who were waiting for him to come home. And I … I had no one.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t think like that, man. Your friend wouldn’t have wanted you to die. You know that.”

Tommy grits his jaw. He takes a sip of his beer. Then, he looks at Eddie and asks, “You want to know the worst thing? The reason why I couldn’t - can't - talk to Evan right now?”

“Tell me,” Eddie says. Because in some way, he already knows …

“Sometimes I still think it should have been me,” Tommy blurts. He looks both shocked and relieved. “Sometimes, I think I don’t deserve to live. And I can’t … I don’t want him to know. Because he would hate that. It would make him so sad. And I don’t want him to be sad. I … God. What’s wrong with me?!” He makes a desperate noise between a hysterical laugh and a sob, bending forward and hiding his face in his free hand.

Eddie leans forward until he can put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You love him, man. He loves you back though. So you have to accept at some point, that you have to share the good and the bad times. Let him be there for you just like you want to be there for him. You should call him.”

Tommy looks up at him with hope in his eyes. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Call him,” Eddie repeats.

“Okay,” Tommy mutters, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He sighs, glancing around, eyes getting stuck on the shards on the floor. “I should clean this up first though.”

Eddie knows that too. Displacement activity. The urge to seek distraction from a difficult emotional task. He shakes his head. “No. I will take care of that. You call him right now, okay?”

“I … alright.” Tommy looks at his phone, then back at Eddie. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure, man. That’s what friends are for.”

Tommy returns the smile, but quickly says, “I’m sorry if this triggered you. You can talk to me too. About, you know …”

“I might,” Eddie says. And he means it. Because Tommy is the first friend he has who can understand what Eddie’s been through. But not today. Today, he’s helping his friends. Today, he’s not feeling the ache and the hollowness as much. But yes. He has his own bad days. And it’s good to know he has someone who knows what they look like.

“Call him,” he tells Tommy sternly, getting up from the couch and fetching a shovel for the shards. A few seconds later, he hears Tommy say, “Hey, Evan”, and smiles.

Mission accomplished.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No.7 & No.11

Prompt 7: “It’s us or them.”

Prompt 11: Used as Bait (Alt)

Warnings: Allusions to torture; Allusions to violence; Allusions to death.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/N: War of the Worlds was responsible for a portion of this.

gif not mine - google

“They’re gonna lead them right to us, Daryl.” You rocked back and forth, exhausted and bloody, beaten down physically and emotionally by Alpha and her followers. You had been dangled in front of Daryl as bait, a means to bring him to his knees in front of the psychotic woman. Daryl—being Daryl—had refused her demands, knowing full well that he would crawl through hell to rescue you regardless.

And he did.

He was in just as rough of shape as you, giving just as good as he got in order to free you. Now, you were huddled in the corner of a small bunker, attempting to rid your mind of the memories of what Alpha had put you through. A young couple—obviously troubled, likely victims of the Whisperers’ devious plots themselves—bickered and raved over how they would destroy the entire horde with only their weapons and their meager might.

There was no hope of succeeding, but their raised voices of boisterous exclamations were doomed to bring the enemy down on your heads. Daryl had tried relentlessly to reason with them, all but begging for their cooperation and silence. He even offered them a place in Alexandria. They had laughed at him, called him a coward.

There was nowhere else to run. If Alpha discovered the bunker, you and Daryl were as good as dead.

The archer stood a few feet away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his gaze darting between you and the two idiots standing at the open hatch. After a moment, he sighed and pulled his bandana from his pocket.

“Y’trust me?” He crouched in front of you, blue eyes searching yours, seeking an answer.

“More than anyone.” You replied shakily. He nodded, covering your eyes with the fabric and tying it at the back of your head. His calloused hands then took yours and brought them up toward your ears.

Your brow furrowed behind the bandana. “Daryl?”

“Sing me somethin’.” He waited you out and when you didn’t respond, he continued. “S’us or them.” He whispered, a hint of a tremor in his tone.

You knew what he meant then, what he was going to do regardless of the cost to himself. He knew you couldn’t fight, that you were hurting and tired and broken. He was going to protect you. You swallowed hard, nodding as you allowed him to place your hands over your ears.

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You began quietly, your voice trembling. You felt his warm touch pull away, knew the moment he had stood, the second he had left you there. “Never let it fade away.”

You couldn’t hear what was happening but you could feel the vibrations against the dirty, cold concrete behind you. “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You flinched—something hitting the side of your boot—and drew your knees to your chest while your breath hitched with barely contained sobs. “Save it for a rainy day.”

You were unaware of when the silence ensued, continuing with your quiet tune until you felt the warm presence slowly position at your side. With a deep breath, your trembling hands left your ears and pulled the fabric from over your eyes. Daryl was next to you, his knees drawn up with his arms hanging over them. His head was bowed. There was blood dripping from his fingertips.

“Daryl.”

“S’gonna be okay now.” The light from the single candle in the center of the bunker cast shadows over his face, what wasn’t already hidden by his hair nearly impossible to see. The hatch was closed and there were two bodies lying motionless below it. With slow and careful movements, you pulled his arm across your shoulders, thankful when he held you tighter of his own volition. “You’re safe.” He whispered.

The snarls and shuffles and whispers above ground passed by quickly, never realizing their prize was just below their feet.

[bumblingdragon]

Whumptober day 11 - Shivering (alt prompt)

She usually keeps herself warm passively with her fire magic, but it doesn't do her any good when she gets sick with fever. If anything it makes it harder for her to tell anything is wrong until the fever has gotten really bad.

[whumpneto]

Whumptober 2023 - No. 11: Alt Prompt #1 - Betrayal

Milo Ventimiglia as Ethan Tell in Tell (2014)

[whump-me]

Whumptober 2024 Day 11: Communication Barrier (alt prompt)

The interrogator barked a question at him. Her voice was harsh and guttural, the language none he had ever heard.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

She grabbed him by the collar and shook. She spoke slowly this time, enunciating each syllable, her teeth inches from his face. Her breath was hot on his cheek. He still couldn’t understand a word.

He trembled in her grip. “I swear I’d tell you everything if only I knew what you were asking for.”

Her face darkened. She pulled out a knife. He quivered.

Her next communication needed no translation.

[whump-tr0pes]

Lux in Tenebris - epistolary interlude

This is part of the Lux in Tenebris interlude, which comes after the Whumptober 2021 recapture arc which ended with this chapter.

Lux in Tenebris masterlist

AO3

Contents: epistolary writing, grief, death, burial, demon whumpee, survivor's guilt, past abduction, pining

~

Dee,

Fall is here and I can’t stop thinking of you. I know that you’re dead - Dara told me that you’re more than dead, you’re gone - but I can’t stop myself from looking for you in everything. I know we planned to carve pumpkins this Halloween, and I keep staring at yours. I didn’t carve mine, either. They’re both starting to rot. Dara keeps telling me I need to throw them out, but… not yet. I can’t do it yet. 

We buried you. Or… the body you lived in. I go and sit by your grave but I can’t feel you there. That makes sense - you’re not there. Even if there is such a thing as ghosts, Eva and Dara keep telling me that you could never be one. You’re not in heaven or hell. You weren’t exorcized after being stabbed, you just… stopped. But… please, Dee. I’m begging you to please be alive, in some way. Even if you choose to haunt me, please, please, I don’t care. Just something that would show that you’re still with me. Even if you were angry. Even if you hated me. Even if I never got to see you again because you were sent somewhere I could never be. As long as you were still alive, it would be alright. As long as I didn’t have to live with the fact that I got you killed, I could stand to be haunted by you. 

I looked for you, Dee. We looked for you. I’m sorry it took us so long to find you, and I’m sorry we got so little time together, but I looked for you. I wish I could tell you that you never deserved any of it. I saw in your eyes that you thought you did. It was a lie. It was a lie, Dee. 

I go to the playground where you were taken every day. I try to remember how it felt in those last few happy moments we had together. I try to feel something of you that might still be there. I try to think of what I could have done to stop you from being taken. I would have done anything, Dee… I’m so, so sorry. It was my fault. I’m so sorry. 

Please still be with me, somewhere in the world or beyond it. Please find your way back to me. Please still be alive. Please come back home to me. I’ll never let you go again, if you will just let me prove it to you. I’m so, so sorry. Please come back to me, Dee. Please. 

I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes, I will wait.

Love,

Ilya.

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck ,  @whumps-the-word , @justwhumpitwhumpitgood,  @inky-whump ,  @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @laves-here, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @wolfeyedwitch , @batfacedliar , @also-finder-of-rings , @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @extrabitterbrain, @i-eat-worlds

[semicolonsandsimiles]

Whumptober day 11: survivor's guilt

The Aurelian Cycle, Griff post-canon

Becca squints at the man coming up the hill. She won't recognize him; when Da left, she was too young to remember. But it isn't hard to figure out. "Is that my Grandda?"

"Yes."

I've already started walking, and Becca has to run to keep up with my pace. "Carry me," she demands.

I bend to let her climb on my back, then we run.

Becca has already yelled "Grandda!" Several times by the time our paths intersect, so I don't have to think of what to say first. As soon as Becca slides off my back she gets scooped up by Da, and his free arm pulls me into a hug. Not before I get a good look at his face: apart from some more lines around his eyes, he looks just as he does in my memory.

We have to let go of each other eventually, and when we do Da touches the crown. I'd forgotten I was wearing it, though the coronation was mere minutes ago. "I see things have changed."

I open my mouth to answer, and am suddenly choked by the other changes I must tell him about, why it's only Becca and I here to greet him. But Da already knows; the whole family would have been at the coronation. "Not all good changes, I know," he says. "You can tell me about it later."

But I have to confess. "It was my fault. I--"

"It wasn't Griff's fault," Becca interrupts loudly. "We were on the karst, and--"

Da puts a finger against her lips and shushes her. "Later, remember? You are right about Griff, but I want to remember our dead properly. I think, after dinner, we should have a good long storytelling. The happy stories and the sad ones."

Da is looking at me, as though this plan requires my agreement, and I realize: he's wondering if my kingly duties will interfere. "Of course. Da..." I'm not sure what to say next.

Becca takes over again. "Can I stay up late for the stories?"

I swallow down my guilt, for her. I will not make this reunion any darker. "You'll have to stay up. Don't you have some stories to tell?"

[killjoyconstruct]

Whumptober Day 11: Friendly Fire

Don't even know what to caption this one. Intro to how Jericho lost his arm I guess.

[asjjohnson]

I tried joining Whumptober 2024 :D

I did 10 out of 31 official prompts (in one chapter).

A Danny Phantom fanfic, about Dan and Valerie on the run in the Ghost Zone, searching for a place somewhere beyond Clockwork's reach.

However, with ghosts like Skulker and Walker on the search for them, and Clockwork having control throughout the known Ghost Zone, they have to explore the dangerous farther realms. Places not as close to the human realm, with a looser hold on reality, time, and place.

---

The idea I'd had was to somehow incorporate all 139 possible prompts into a long fic. ...I didn't get very far on it this month, but hopefully I'll complete the fic later.

[mrmustachious]

Get Out of My Head

Summary: Virgil hurts Gordon in the worst way imaginable.

Day(s): 6, 11, 15, 18, 20, Alt 15

Prompt(s): “It should have been me.”, Captivity, “I’m fine.”, Tortured For Information, “Hit them harder.”, “You will regret touching them.”, Reluctant Whumper

Virgil paced back and forth across the dimly lit room. It was cold and damp, and there were no windows, only one small bulb that swung softly from the ceiling and created the limited light.

Virgil wasn’t concerned about any of that though. He barely paid attention to the cold he felt or where he was or how he’d gotten there. No, right now he was only concerned about where his brother, who had been at his side not long before they had gotten into this mess, was now.

Virgil rubbed a hand over his face as he spun on his heel and paced across to the other side of the room. If he could remember what had happened, he could figure out why he was there and maybe put together a way to get out.

And a way to find Gordon.

Read on AO3

[emptybattlefield]

"seeing double"

twinstuck orphanstuck. A PLEA TO THE MOD FAIRIES: i beg of thee please reblog me!! It is my deepest desire! I appreciate you guys!! <3

“There. That boxcar.”

Tavros led his sister down a hill to where they would settle to sleep for the night. Soft Christmas snow was underfoot. 

“I can smell it from here. Are you sure?” Vriska asked. 

“Positive,” Tavros tells her, out of breath. “This is definitely the A95 train. Which means it won’t leave again till Thursday—Friday, if it’s delayed.” He gingerly held the train schedule pamphlet that he nicked from the station. “We can camp out for at least the next few days.”

The two climbed inside the traincar. Tavros started kicking a pile of hay together for them to sleep on. 

“I was right about being able to smell it,” Vriska said with revulsion. 

“I can’t smell anything. But, I read that hay is a natural insulator. So, should keep us warm in here, too,” Tavros said wearily. 

“I don’t feel feel like it’s working yet,” said Vriska, helping to shape the horse’s hay into a bed.

After just a little bit of exertion, Tavros was thrown into a coughing fit. It echoed badly throughout the traincar. 

“Are you sure you’re better than yesterday?” she asked him as they chose the least dirty corner to settle into. 

“Much,” her brother said, “and definitely over the worst of it.”

They knew nothing else but sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder. And so that was how Mr. Vantas encountered them. 

“Dave…”

Vriska swam into awareness. Somehow, the boxcar was colder than they’d found it. The street lamps were off—it was the dead of night. There was a face looming in the mouth of the boxcar. 

“Dave—it looks like you’ve got some friends in here.”

Tavros was awake, but bleary eyed—Vriska was still shaking him when a second face loomed before them. This time, a human one. 

“Urchins! Scram, you!” yelled the human, named Dave. 

“The boy looks like he’s poorly,” said the troll uneasily. 

Vriska’s heart pounded. How was her oaf brother still asleep?

It’s because he’s a furnace, she thinks dreadfully. He’s sweating and feverish, and there’s little straws of hay stuck to his face and neck.

“I know a doctor. Let me take him to him,” the adult troll said to Vriska, now climbing into to boxcar. 

“He’s sick! Leave us alone, you creeps,” she shouted at them. 

“Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, wench, these are my train cars,” said Dave lackadaisically. 

“Come now, girl. Is this your brother?” asked the troll. 

“I won’t let you take him. He just needs time. We know your train doesn’t go out till Thursday evening. We’ll be out of your hair long before then,” she said to the both of them. 

“Your brother needs a doctor—or I’ll be surprised if he survives tonight. Don’t be stupid, girl,” the troll said. 

Tavros still wouldn’t rouse. His breathing sounded heavy and ragged. Vriska’s armpits were suddenly growing intensely itchy.

The troll man swiftly bent down, and cradled Tavros in his burly arms. He hopped down from the train car.

Then they came into the light, and Vriska’s breath began to come short. Her eyes grew wide. Not only was the troll a mutant, but a mutant wearing an apron, covered and dripping with bronze, cerulean…rainbow blood!

“Oh, quit looking at me like I kill children. I’m a butcher. The name’s Karkat. What about yours?

Dave climbed into the coachman’s seat of a carriage parked up the hill. 

“You’re…you’re a mutant,” said Vriska. 

Karkat blinked, still holding out his hand for her to step up into the back of the carriage. “Uh. Indeed I am. And what did you say your name was?”

“Vriska,” she answered as she climbed into the back.

Dave fed the horses a quick snack. Next to her, Karkat looked sorely down at the limp Tavros. “And who’s this young bloke?”

“His name is Tavros.”

“And he’s your brother?”

“We’re twins,” she said. 

While they careened away from the trainyard, Karkat tried one-handedly to bundle the shivering Tavros into an empty burlap sack from the floor of the carriage.

“Are you and the human…flushed?” Vriska asked with surprise and disgust. 

“Yes.”

“That’s…forbidden.”

Karkat turned to her bitterly. “You and your brother are of completely different blood colors. You do know what kind of love twins like that are made from, don’t you? That’s forbidden as well, isn’t it?”

Vriska said nothing more, and resorted to staring out the carriage window.

***

“Found him inside one of Dave’s boxcars. He’s wrought with fever…”

Perhaps Vriska shouldn’t have been so surprised—Karkat’s brother was also a mutant. 

Vriska was now fully observant, and on her guard. She didn’t believe yet that the societal untouchables could be fully harmless. She noted that the one mutant called the other, “Kankri.” 

Kankri had answered the door in his pajamas and nightcap. He looked kind of pathetic, really—not like a doctor at all. He swung his head both ways down the street, and then ushered them all inside. 

In Kankri’s house, there was a small room with a cot that seemed to be fit for the very purpose of housing a single sick person. From a tiny dresser drawer, Kankri withdrew a trumpet stethoscope and a thermometer. Tavros looked paler in the candlelight.

When Vriska tried to enter the room, Karkat put his hand in front of the door to prevent her from entering. “You are not to bother him while he’s doing your brother a favor,” he said. 

“Feed the girl, if you must keep her occupied,” said Dr. Vantas lazily. “She’s no doubt starving.”

Karkat led Vriska into the most lavish and beautiful kitchen she’d ever seen in her life. Karkat slapped a loaf of bread and a block of cheese onto the counter. 

He threw his whole weight into them while he was cutting, as you would for meat. He served it to her on a blue and gold decorated plate that for a moment, overwhelmed even her sense of hunger. She simply stared at the carefully gilded animals—ram, bull, cat, horse, goat, fish… rather than eating her first meal in almost a day. 

“Do not try to clean up after you’re done,” he warned. “The Mrs. is very attached to her bone china.”

Vriska inhaled the bread and cheese, and Karkat gave her another one, and she wolfed that down, too. 

Karkat shook his head, smiling. “Come with me, I’ll have you try some of my stuff from the shop.” 

He fetched some sausage from the icebox for her to try. He laughed when her eyes grew wide with delight—it was clear to her that it was delicious. 

“Tav needs to try some of this,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it so much. It’s nothing special.” And it wasn’t—just his cheapest meat that he was never able to completely sell. 

“Kan—what are you doing out of…”

A pair of slippers padded softly down the stairs. Kankri’s wife was a small, cerulean lady with a ink-black bob, wearing a shimmering, sapphire evening robe. Vriska couldn’t help but stare at her night slippers, which were made of red satin, with small, delicate rubies sewn in. 

Kankri’s wife raised her thin eyebrows, yet smiled when she saw Vriska. “—Oh, my. It’s like a proper soirée in here, isn’t it? Duty calls, I take it, dear?” she called genially to the doctor. 

“Yes, honey,” Kankri answered from the other room.

This wild place held two mutants—one of them flushed with a human, the other with a highblood… What kind of mad house was this? Vriska thought to herself. 

Despite this—the more Vriska stared at her, the more she thought that Aranea was the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen. 

Aranea immediately got to work on the hearth, and then fixed tea for the entire group. She brought one in for her husband, which went cold on the counter in the tiny workroom. She conversed with the two men Dave and Karkat at the kitchen table. Eventually her attention turned to Vriska. 

“Heterosanguineous twins,” Aranea marveled. “Remarkable. How rare…”

“Did you two run off from an orphanage?” Dave asked in a harsh voice. 

“No. We’re truly urchins,” Vriska replied timidly. 

“True urchins,” repeated Dave. “You know, if you aren’t telling the truth, we’ll be able to phone every orphan home in this side of England—it won’t be hard to ask if a pair of heterosanguineous twins went missing.”

“I am being honest,” said Vriska. “Our mother fell ill with fever, and died six months ago.”

“David, you may question her in the morning. I’ll set her up in the downstairs room,” Aranea said gently. 

Wordlessly, Vriska followed her. She was bathed, her hair brushed and woven into braids, and clothed in a pale blue girls’ nightgown with lace trim that was slightly too large for her. 

“Who’s clothes are these?” Vriska asked tentatively. “Are they—do you have children?”

“Kankri and I wanted our own; but alas, it was not in the cards,” Aranea replied with a sad smile. “These are the hospital’s. They aren’t new—but at the very least, they are clean. Come here, so I can get you some socks.”

Vriska’s brain ran wild—she imagined how many kids had died in what she was now wearing. 

Aranea led her to the second guest bedroom, and left the candle on the nightstand. “You may snuff it now, or when you’re ready. Good night, Vriska.”

Vriska could not sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept by herself…it was not long before she got up from bed and tried to sneak into the tiny side room. But, she couldn’t do so without crossing the foyer, where the adults were still sitting and talking. Vriska hid behind the wall out of sight. 

She allowed herself only one peek. Kankri looked worn down—Aranea sat with her legs crossed, with Karkat and Dave also on the sofa. 

“You two really have your work cut out for you, this time,” said Karkat uneasily. “Do you have any interspecies couples on your wait list that will take two children?”

Aranea’s lips shifted into a disconcerted look. “Perhaps there are some out there who believe in our same principles—that siblings like them should not be separated…”

“Would you consider splitting them? If the alternative is to return them to an orphanage, perhaps that would be preferable, for both their sakes…” said Karkat.

“We still have to see how the boy fares,” answered Kankri. His head was in his hands. “If he succumbs to his fever, then we may not have a choice in the matter, at all.”

“Don’t say that,” said Dave sharply.

“He’s right, dear. You two should go to bed,” said Aranea, “and we’ll all reconvene in the morning, as to what we should do with the children.”

She and her husband ascended the stairs—as it turned out, Karkat and Dave did not live far. Once the foyer was clear, Vriska snuck into the tiny room. 

When she shook his shoulder, he coughed—and turned to her, bleary-eyed. “Vriska?”

“They’re like those people on the news. We’re in a madhouse, full of Sufferer-gettes,” Vriska blurted out in a whisper. “They’re planning to send us to a troll and human flushcouple. That’s because the law bans them from adopting.”

“I don’t care if we go to troll-human parents. Those two men didn’t seem mad.” Tavros mused, “And the mutant doctor is kind. Anyways--beats you and me getting split up. Do you care?”

“I guess not,” said Vriska. “That’s why you can’t die on me. No matter what happens. Okay?”

“Stop talking hysterical…”

<to be continued! Probably!! thanks for reading!!!>

[distant-screaming]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: แฟนผมเป็นประธานนักเรียน | My School President (TV 2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sound Saran/Win (My School President TV) Characters: Sound Saran (My School President TV), Win (My School President TV) Additional Tags: Angst, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Fights, Unrequited Crush, Confessions, Ambiguous/Open Ending Series: Part 11 of Whumptober 2024 Summary:

Sound has spent all day doing her best to not make eye contact with Win. They argue about it.

(wlw soundwin, perceived one sided crushes and arguments)

[loopielupie]

Whumptober Day 18 - Alt prompt: Panic

Missing scene, post Taklamakan Desert Fight - Season 1 , Episodes 14 & 15

Xxxxx

“You’re dismissed. Go get some rest, full debrief will be at 12:00 tomorrow.”

Setsuna doesn’t wait to see what his fellow pilots do, turning and walking out of the briefing room. His skin is on fire, itching and writhing under his tight flight suit. As soon as he makes it into his designated room, he scrambles for the zip, making a choked off noise when it gets stuck in his uncoordinated attempt. He manages to pull it free and pushes it down to his waist. But it’s not enough. He grips his rash guard and yanks it over his head, stumbling when he’s momentarily blinded and suffocated by tight, sweat-soaked fabric clinging to his face. Disoriented, he smacks his hip into the corner of the desk and bites back a pained grunt before tossing his rash guard behind him and scrambling for the balcony door. It slams loudly on its runners but Setsuna doesn’t care as he slides down the glass and gulps lungfuls of crisp sea air, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting.

Goosebumps spread across his arms and torso and he shivers at the sudden temperature change, his skin is still singing with anxious overstimulation. He tucks his knees to his chest to block some of the wind and ground himself and stares out at the sparkling sea below as he tries to settle himself.

He’s not aware of anyone else on the balcony until a green-clad leg enters his peripheral vision and he looks up to find Lockon there, his own flight suit similarly pulled down to his waist. Setsuna loosens his grip on his legs a little, an old reflex in case he needs to run. There’s this urge to do so, to escape the island entirely, go back to his apartment where he can be alone, even though he knows Lockon, trusts Lockon. Because he doesn’t want anyone to see him lose it like this. But Lockon doesn’t mention anything about it, just offers him one of his usual smiles and a casual wave like they didn’t just spend close to 24 hours under continuous assault:

“Mind if I sit here?”

Setsuna pulls his attention back to the sea rather than say anything; he’s not sure he can actually speak right now. Thankfully, Lockon seems to understand and settles against the second panel of glass. He doesn’t crowd him and Setsuna feels his shoulders climb down another inch at the realisation. Lockon doesn’t say anything else and a quick glance to the side to see him leaning back against the glass, eyes closed and quiet, suggests he won’t.

For all the world, he looks like he's just taking a late-morning nap.

Setsuna, though, can see the dark shadows under his eyes and the minute tremors that run down his arms and into his hands, even where they’re pressed together between his legs. Setsuna can feel his own hands shaking, too. Lockon is not fine, no matter how much he pretends to be.

Setsuna’s just about to maybe try and ask a question, not “are you ok” because that’s stupid: none of them are, but something when Lockon opens his eyes. Setsuna feels himself flinch at being caught watching but Lockon doesn’t seem to notice and just heaves himself to his feet with a tired groan.

“C’mon, Setsuna,” he says, inclining his head towards the door. “We need to eat and drink something before we turn in and I dunno about you but I need a shower.”

His voice is light but the exhaustion is clear. Setsuna can feel the old sweat stinging his skin and the way his hair sticks to the back of his neck and shudders. So he nods in agreement and follows Lockon back inside, turning towards the shower room to try and scrape the previous 24 hours off his skin.

It doesn’t really work; the steam of the hot water is stifling, too reminiscent of his suffocating cockpit. Setsuna fumbles to turn it to cold, bracing against the shock but welcoming the different kind of sting.

[catwings-writes-things]

Chapter Three of my Dracula/The Magnus Archives fusion AU where Mike Crew’s story happens to Mina and Lucy is up! Mina has entered into the feelings of the hunter. She’s also accidentally summoned some dogs. Unlike when Arthur did it in Dracula, this is not helpful.

[whumpneto]

Whumptober 2023 - No. 11: Alt Prompt #1 - Betrayal

Milo Ventimiglia as Peter Petrelli in Heroes (S03E06)

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober - Day 8

Chapter 7

altprompt 11 (replacing prompt no. 24) - Panic

Vah’nya had been right. Ba’kif had allowed both ships to go on the mission. Even the slightest possibility of finding a way to defeat the Grysk was too good an opportunity to pass up.

And so here they were, the Steadfast and the Springhawk, sitting in a remote part of the Chiss Redoubt near one of the as-yet unexplored planetoids, waiting for…something.

Borika had stayed aboard the Steadfast, acting as a sort of caregiver for Vah’nya as she recovered, while Thalias and Che’ri had transferred to the Springhawk once it had arrived in orbit over Ool. It made sense to split their forces like this, having two people on each ship who’d experienced the same thing, more or less. And for her part, Thalias was glad to be on the familiar ship, and she could tell Che’ri felt the same. However, there was another reason why Thalias was glad to be back, and that reason currently sat in the command chair, looking over the sensor data on his display board.

Senior Captain Ufsa’Mak’ro and Thalias hadn’t always been friends, but much had changed over the past twenty years. Nothing official had ever happened, though. It was a time of upheaval and chaos and their circumstances didn’t let them spend too much time together. But maybe, just maybe, if whatever this plan was ended up working…that might change.

A rapid beeping drew Thalias out of her musings and she looked at the source of the alarm.

“Sir, the sensor officer said. “There are multiple objects coming out of hyperspace directly–”

But he wasn’t able to finish before those multiple objects appeared in the viewscreen. Directly in front of them.

“Shields up!” Samakro ordered, but it was too late.

Whatever those things were, they were on them in a second, ramming into them and pulling the ship along with them. Thalias caught a quick glance at them before she fell to the deck and slid back towards the command chair. They were some sort of…creatures. Creatures the size of starships and with…tentacles?

One of the tentacles smashed against the viewport and a spider web of cracks appeared and instantly started growing across the window before the blast shield slammed into place, clocking their view of the entities and keeping the vacuum of space from killing them. All around her, Thalias heard shouting and alarms.

“Shields at 60%!”

“Engine One is offline!”

“Stabilizers are damaged!”

“Hull breach on deck–”

“The Steadfast is hailing!”

“We’re being pulled towards the–”

Thalias’ head swam with all the noise, hardly making sense of it all. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her heart pounding, her eyes wide with fear as she looked up and saw Samakro gripping his display board and barking orders. Thalias saw his mouth moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying over the sudden ringing in her ears.

The ship bucked again and Thalias, just getting to her feet, stumbled back towards the navigation station. 

“Che’ri!” she yelled, her own voice sounding hollow in her ears. “Che’ri, are you–?”

“Alright.” The response was clear and calm, cutting through the chaos and panic. Che’ri sat there, hardly seeming fazed by what was happening. She looked at Thalias and smiled. “It’s alright. He’s here, and everything’s going to be okay.”

Only, Thalias didn’t feel that at all! Alarms rang out, people were shouting, and she could feel the Springhawk shudder and pitch under her feet.

“Sir, we’re being pulled into the planetoid’s gravity well!”

“Engage forward thrusters!” Samakro ordered

“They’re not responding!”

“Keep trying!”

Another voice called out. “Shields at 40%!”

The shuddering got worse and Thalias felt like the ship was going to shake apart.

“Starboard forward thruster engaged!”

“We’re approaching the surface!”

“Brace for impact!”

All crewers were already strapped in their harnesses, but Thalias didn’t have a chair to strap into! So she wrapped her arms more tightly around the navigation board, sparing one more glance at the serene young woman beside her before squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for the inevitable…