#and i said you mean fanfic whump right

[aruanimess]

Hi Myrtle! For the fic ask game!

If you were to write an Aruani sick fic, how would that go??

Fanfic Author Never Have I Ever

Hello, Moon!

Hmm, that's a tough one because I don't really write whump (at least I don't think I do?). I think I'd use my unfamiliarity with the format to do something slightly unconventional. So here goes!

Annie is sick. She won't admit that she is, but it's fairly obvious. Her cheeks are red, her eyes are dull, her movements slow, and there's a steady flow of snot dripping from her nose. She's the epitome of sick.

Now, Armin - sweet, well-meaning Armin - wants to do what every good boyfriend would do in his place. He fluffs up her pillows, soaks washcloths in cold water to put on her forehead for the fever, buys flu medicine and a pack of tissues for her to go through; he even makes her soup. But here's the catch: Annie wants none of it.

It's not out of some latent notion that she's unworthy of care either. No, she got over that years ago. She simply wants to be left alone to wallow in her misery, to continue about her day with her ailments and suffer in silence. Chicken soup tastes like ass. Cold compresses make her skin feel clammy and oversensitive. The flu medicine makes her woosy. The tissues and the pillow thing are fine she supposes... Those she will accept.

But when Armin attempts to spoon-feed her? She snaps.

"I'm not a baby, it's just a cold."

Armin, who mistakenly thinks Annie is being uncooperative out of some misplaced martyr syndrome, tuts. "I never said you were a baby, but you're ill and you need care."

Annie huffs, "What I need is some peace and quiet."

And maybe Annie says this with a bit more heat than she intended, because Armin's face completely shatters. He's absolutely devastated. He lowers his eyes, murmurs an apology and scurries out of the room.

Annie curses herself for her rough manner, but she just can't deal with this right now, so she swallows down the remnants of her soup - one disgusting gulp at a time with pauses for breathing between mouthfuls since her nose is clogged - and falls back to her fluffed up pillows for a much needed shut-eye.

When she wakes up, Armin is already sitting on the side of the bed, looking sheepish. 

"I overreacted," he says. 

Annie sighs, her head is still aching and she’s really not ready for a conversation. "Yes, you did."

"I'm sorry. I'm worried about you. I know it doesn't make it right, but if I'm overbearing, I do it out of love."

She takes his hand and squeezes. "I know."

Armin smiles. "But you still need space?"

"But I still need space," she confirms.

He nods. "All right, I'm going to give you space. So much space you won't know what to do with it! You won't even notice I'm in the house."

Annie frowns. "That sounds… excessive."

But Armin only giggles and waves his hands at her. "I'm overstating it," he reassures, planting a kiss between her furrowed brows. "I'll get out of your hair now." As promised, he leaves and quietly shuts the door behind him.

And that''s how AruAni learned to respect each other's boundaries while also providing care and support to each other!

So yeah, that's how I'd do it!

[courtneygacha]

Who

Tw: Stabbing, blood loss, unconsciousness, unclear character status

Whumpee fell onto the couch, holding a jacket to their side. Underneath was a stab wound that wasn’t fatal (yet), but was bleeding freely. Whumpee could feel the warmth of their blood behind the cloth and it was making them nauseous. They were took weak to put enough pressure on it… surely they would faint sometime soon.

They took shaky breaths through their teeth, trying to focus on anything but their injury. The room was dark and humid. They couldn’t see but they were sure some of their blood was dripping onto the floor.

Just then, the light flicked on and Caretaker stood down the hallway.

“Whumpee? I didn’t know you were home.” They said, walking closer.

Whumpee didn’t say anything; they couldn’t speak through their pain. Caretaker’s smile faded once they saw the jacket. They froze, trying to register what they were looking at.

“Whumpee…?” They said uncertainly. Caretaker rushed to their side when Whumpee let out a groan in response and their head flopped backwards.

“Whumpee?! What happened?? What…”

Caretaker’s horror was immeasurable once they moved the jacket and saw the blood-stained clothes underneath. They looked back at Whumpee’s face, who was very much in pain and wincing with every movement. Caretaker put the jacket back and forced pressure onto Whumpee’s side. They let out a yelp of pain.

“I know that hurts but it’s keeping you alive right now… Whumpee, what happened?!” Caretaker asked frantically and they fumbled with their free hand, trying to call for help.

“I-I got s-stabbed…” Whumpee said, letting their head fall back again before Caretaker lifted it back up to keep them from falling unconscious.

“No kidding, I mean by who? Did you see who?” Caretaker asked again, finally getting hold of the emergency number.

As Caretaker told the operators their location and situation, Whumpee’s vision grew darker and darker slowly. Their breathing became irregular. They were going to die of blood loss, they were sure of it.

“C-C-Caretaker… I don’t f-feel so g-good…” They stuttered.

Caretaker’s focus snapped back to them as they made Whumpee hold their head up again. “No, don’t start with that.” They said, putting more pressure onto Whumpee’s side. The jacket was soaking up some blood and leaving marks on Caretaker’s hand like they were being dry brushed. “You’re not dying, you’re fine.” They tried to assure them.

But no matter what Caretaker said, it wasn’t helping clear Whumpee’s vision and give them the strength to stay awake. The more pressure Caretaker put on their wound, the more Whumpee winced in agony.

“The authorities are almost here Whumpee, can you stay awake a few moments longer?” Caretaker pleaded, seeing the color drain from their friend’s face.

“S-S-Sure…”

“Do you remember who stabbed you?”

“…”

“Did you get chance to look at them?”

“…”

“Whumpee, answer me!”

But Whumpee was dazed as their breathing slowed dangerously and their eyelids began to fall.

“Whumpee! Stay awake!” Caretaker fought with them, “Who did this to you?!”

There was a banging on the door, alerting them that the paramedics have arrived. They looked back at Whumpee: Eyes closed and pale.

Caretaker had to leave their side to open the door for the doctors, who swarmed Whumpee once they saw their state.

Caretaker watched blankly at the scene played out, with the doctors announcing Whumpee wasn’t alive and trying to resurrect them.

Caretaker looked at their stained clothes and hands, moist with the blood of their friend. Their mind became fuzzy as they only thought of one thing: “Who did this to you…?”

Taglist: @whumpy-whump-fanfics @bookbutterfly9 @whumpdreamz @diamond-flavored-whump @whatwhumpcomments

[winterabrams]

writing 01: hellooo! i want to post my writings on here! this one is not a fanfic or based on any characters, other than the ones in my head. my default character names are christian + jane, for future reference!

there aren't any trigger warnings for this scene. it's based on a prompt by @whump-galaxy where jane cleans up christian's injuries. i'm always open to suggestions or recs that you want to see me write.

side note: i haven't exactly proofread this scene, since i just wanted to get it done and publish it here! in the future, i will obviously go over it and read/proofread to make it better. happy reading + please don't steal my work.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“Hold still.”

Christian’s response comes out as a grumble. I’m not entirely sure that he’s even said anything, to be quite honest. It sounds like more of a grunt than a grumble, really. I focus my attention back on him, wiping his bloodied lip with a moist cloth. I, then, proceed to wipe his right cheek, which has been slashed somehow. The blood here is dried up, but he still winces when I swipe the red liquid away.

My guess is a bar fight, but I don’t think he’s in the particular mood to talk about it. Or talk about anything at all. Not that he ever talks about anything with me in general. So, really, what’s the difference? If he doesn’t want to answer the question, no one’s forcing him.

“What happened?” My voice comes out a bit more timid and shaky than I’d like.

He doesn’t respond, of course. Just stares at me like he’s plotting my murder. AKA, the usual.

I grab a gel ice pack from the freezer and press it to his bruised eye. It’s already turning black. Wonderful; just wonderful. Why couldn’t I have married someone who’s a stranger to violence? I’m not a nurse. I shouldn’t be cleaning up his face because he let someone else have their way with it.

I tilt his chin up, assessing the damage. Black eye, bruised face, blood seeping down his lips, and… is that dirt? How the hell did he get dirt on his face? Did he wrestle someone in a barn? Really, Christian? Really?

Just then I notice something. As I’m tilting his head to get a better look at it, his eyes flutter closed—no really, they flutter closed—like a butterfly. I can see the exhaustion seeping through his features in a way that I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to notice. I didn’t want to see that he’s human, just like I am. If you cut him, he’ll bleed. He’s not untouchable; no matter how much he claims to be.

His head relaxes in my hand and his breathing starts to even out. I place the ice pack on the counter beside his legs and continue wiping the blood off his beautifully bruised face. I enjoy the fact that he’s letting me do this without complaining. Without pushing me away. I kind of wish he did push me away. I don’t want to see him weak; it makes me feel things I shouldn’t.

“Bar fight,” he mutters underneath his breath.

I nod once. “I see. And what, pray tell, brought on this fight? I mean, I get it. You’re a naturally frustrating person. Who wouldn’t want to fight you? But, like, did you go to the bar specifically for a fight or did it happen randomly? God, please tell me you didn’t walk up to the biggest guy there and pick a fight with him. You’re smarter than that. Usually. Wait, is this about the argument we had yesterday? I told you—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he interrupts. “No, I didn’t go for a fight. It happened on its own.”

I press the ice pack back to his bruised eye, using my free hand to wipe some dirt off his forehead with my thumb. I feel like a mother bird, cleaning her child. And whoa, that’s not where I want my brain to be headed. Because I’m not a mother bird. I’m his wife. Sure, it was an arranged marriage and we’ve never really had a real conversation before, but still.

“Why is there dirt on you? Did you fight in the desert or something?”

“No,” he sighs. “It was a cowboy bar.”

I try to hold in my laugh; I really do, but it bubbles out nonetheless. “You, tough guy of the century, went to a cowboy bar? Did you wear a hat? Oh my God, did you buy some boots? Maybe wear a buttoned-up flannel? Did you—”

“Jane. Stop talking. Please.”

“Right. Yeah, okay. My bad. But did you?”

“No, I didn’t wear a Goddamn hat, or boots, or flannel. Can we drop this now?”

I nod profusely, probably too much. I definitely look like one of those bobbleheads. I’ll shut up. But there’s no way I’m not bringing up the fact that Christian went to a cowboy bar, like, every single time we have company for the foreseeable future.

Embarrassing him will be my new job. That’s what wifes are for, isn’t it?

I get distracted and start carding my fingers through his hair. It feels very tangled. I don’t even notice that I’ve dropped the ice pack until my brain connects the fact that both my hands are now in his hair, combing through the strands. Why is it so tangled? Doesn’t he own a brush?

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through my thoughts. More specifically, the sound of it does. Deep, raspy, hoarse. AKA, the hottest way a man can speak. Granted, the hottest way Christian can speak is to not speak at all, but this is a close second.

“Hm?”

But he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head back, making no move to stop me. His breathing sounds ragged at this point and I can’t tell if that has anything to do with me or if I’m imagining the entire thing. Maybe this entire encounter isn’t even happening. Maybe I’m daydreaming again. Or worse, I’m asleep. Dreaming about him would be catastrophic for my brain. My thoughts are chaotic enough. I don’t need to confuse them even more.

“Jane,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

I’m scratching his scalp at this point. A rather intimate gesture, but I can’t stop myself from enjoying the quiet tenderness of the moment we’re sharing. He doesn’t seem so scary when he’s relaxed like this.

“Take the pack off?”

It takes me a second to figure out what he means. What pack? You expect me to think of anything but the way you’re relaxing under my fingers, Christian? You expect me to think clearly right now?

Then, I look down and notice that the ice pack I had dropped at some point in the last five minutes is resting on his lap. On top of his dick, to be more precise. And it’s cold. Which can feel nice there, I guess. It’s not like I haven’t experimented with that. But maybe that’s not what he needs right now.

I pull the pack off his lap and step away to put it back in the freezer. When I turn around, Christian’s standing directly in front of me. Of course, I slam right into his chest. Why wouldn’t I? Firstly, there’s my luck with, oh, I don’t know, anything ever. But then there’s the fact that he moved right in my way. What did he expect? I’m not a psychic. I can’t tell when he moves. He’s a ninja. My husband is a ninja.

“Thanks,” he grunts, like it physically pains him to say that one word to me.

“Yeah. No worries. I mean, you were hurt. What was I gonna do? Let you bleed out? I suppose I could’ve done that. Really, I would have no problem doing that. You’re very capable of taking care of yourself. I’m also very capable. I’m sure you’ve figured that out. Yep. So, I’m gonna shut up now. Goodnight.”

He grabs my wrist before I can make any move to walk away.

“I hate sleeping alone.”

I’m so shocked by the words, I have to pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope. Not dreaming. And that hurt.

“Oh. That sucks. Really, that’s… unfortunate.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded. “Now is the time where you minimize your word count?”

My eyes widen. “Oh, was that an invitation? Do you want me to sleep with you? In your bed? I can do that, I guess. It’s just that the whole time we’ve lived together, you’ve never once asked me to, so I just… um, didn’t. Obviously, I have no problem sleeping with you. In your bed. Under your sheets. That smell like you. Not that you have a distinct smell. I definitely didn’t notice anything like that. Well, since we’re bringing it up, I might as well—”

His hand claps over my mouth.

“Stop talking,” he sighs. “It was more of a statement than an invitation, but you’re more than welcome to sleep in my bed. Especially after you… took care of me tonight.” He pauses. “Would you like to?”

I open my mouth to respond, but he interrupts me. Again.

“Nod or shake your head.”

I nod in response.

“Great. Just don’t kick me in your sleep.”

I push his hand away. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my ways.”

He then leads me to his bedroom, our hands intertwined together, which feels even more intimate than me taking care of his face in the kitchen.

[jeyuwuso]

I do not share GoFundMe/donation links for anyone I don't know. Requests in my inbox will be blocked. You can help the people of Palestine by donating to Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières, The Palestinian Children's Relief Fund, and UNICEF.

... My Dawg

Punk

She/her/they cis lesbian

I have a beautiful wife who means the absolute world to me and two cats. I might post about them a lot because I love them just a stupid amount

Into wrasslin, Always Sunny, whump, and fanfic (be warned, I write NSFT whump a good amount, but I'll always tag it)

I'll probably post music I like. It's mostly upsetting mashups and ska. I'm sorry.

Professional ghostwriter/Professional editor; I write and edit romance novels

I write about people getting sad and fucking about it

I have OCs from my own independently published work that I might post about

Jey Uso stan. He's my ride or die. Babby child. He's always right and I got beef with anyone who goes up against him

Jey/Sami and Jey/Roman are my OTPs. I also ship Punk/Cena, Jimmy/Kevin, Hunter/Shawn, Hunter/Seth, any arrangement of the Shield, and early Sami/Kevin

My mom once said I treat boys like kittens and no one has ever called me out so brutally before or since

A fan of the whole Bloodline, Sami Zayn, Judgment Day, Carmella, Charlotte, the entire women's division, Bray Wyatt, Sheamus, Imperium, Seth Rollins, and any super gimmicky or OTT characters (aka the ones that get cut from the Hulu Raws)

I don't have access to live episodes, and my work schedule ebbs and flows. I'm pretty much always late watching stuff

The only people I truly loathe at WWE are Cody and Riddle (WWE stop hiring rapists 2k23 challenge). I'm also not a fan of most wrestling until the mid-'00s (mid-'10s for women's wrestling). I try really hard not to tag anything negative without tagging it! I'll always tag hate with wwe wank

I don't like AEW's more '90s-inspired approach to wrestling, though I do really like a lot of the people over there (former WWE talent and homegrown talent alike! I love Orange Cassidy and Danhausen). If I complain about it, I'll tag it with aew wank

My feelings about CM Punk are complicated. I love CM Punk, but Phil Brookes is a hypocritical, performative bitch who talks a big game while refusing to actually do anything meaningful

I don't really care about wins and losses in wrestling beyond story implications. As long as I find a potential storyline interesting, I'm into it. I'm also very good at reading too much into things

[fairyniceyeah]

asks 3,6,17

Hey Anon^^

Thanks for the ask! I do love those games and introspective XD

3. Who is your favorite character to read? To write? 

Like I said in my Sicktember post: I tend to hyperfixate on fandoms and characters a lot, so much that it’s making being a multi-stan hard. Of course, right now I’d say Woozi (SVT) and before that maybe Hajoon (The Rose), Hongjoong (ATZ) and maybe Lee Know (Stray Kids) – basically my K-Pop biases.

In fiction I tend to fixate on male supporting characters – Derek Hale (Teen Wolf), Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars), Legolas (Lord of the Rings), Enjolras and Combeferre (Les Misérables), Alec Lightwood (Shadowhunters).

In writing I do tend to really need to write about my fav, in reading if the story and writing is good, I don't care that much.

I guess that doesn’t really answer the question but it truly switches a lot and I can only tell you the pattern.

6. When did you start reading and writing fic?

I started writing as early as I could hold a pen and actually spell. When I transferred to a higher level education school (the German school system is kinda hard to explain) I started doing the extracurricular called “Creative Writing”. Back then some of the older girls told me of fanfiction but I didn’t even have a phone for reading and I didn’t even really care for it back then. I started writing what one would call fanfics around that time though and then at some point started posting on a German fanfic website. I actually checked out my account just now and I am so embarrassed by the fics omg. Guess twelve/thirteen years old was too young to write good stuff...

But yeah, the first fic I ever posted was in October 2014. I’d say that I started “writing” fanfics in my head when I was much younger though.

17. What are your top 3 favorite tropes of all time? 

I gotta be honest, I first had to google what "trope" actually means, since I wasn’t sure if it’s more like the general style of the fic (Sickfic e.g.) or like a plot point (Sharing a bed e.g.). Since apparently everything is a trope, I guess:

-Sickfic

-(Emotional) Hurt/Comfort

-Whump

What a surprise, right? If that is not what you meant with tropes please let me know!

Lots of love,

🧚🏻‍♀️

[fanficrocks]

Cardinal Points - fanfic finally completed!

@chrumblr-whumblr May whump challenge day 29.

Chapter 4: Epilogue - The said and the unsaid.

Robbie settled down at the table overlooking the river and watched James get in the pints. Unusually for him, the lad had a light lager rather than the dark ale they both typically favoured. Seating himself, James raised his glass in a toast.

“To your travels.”

“Haven’t gone yet.”

“It’s alright. You can admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you are going to miss me very, very, very much.”

“As if!.......... You made up with your sister yet?”

“The peace process has begun. We are spending the weekend at a retreat in Ilchester Abbey.”

“A retreat? To get in her good books? What if she doesn’t like it? She’ll do her nut.”

“No, she won’t. It is a silent one.”

Shaking his head at the facetious sod, Robbie took a sip of his ale and let his eyes rest on the gently lapping water as the peace of the long summer afternoon sank in. They had just cleared their latest case, and Moody seemed to have gotten off James’ back - at least to the extent of accepting that the younger man would do just fine in Robbie’s absence. Smiling at the thought, Robbie let his gaze wander back, only to see the subject of his mental soliloquy frowning intently in a way that presaged some loaded revelation.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Forgive me no matter what I throw at you? And accept me regardless. Don’t pretend like you don’t understand… I ran away without a word, then did my best to freeze you out upon my return. And I was an absolute beast on and off when Innocent brought you back as consultant. To add insult to injury, I had told you nothing about my family; yet ever since you learnt of their existence, you have done your best to help me connect with them, to make peace and to understand. Why?”

Robbie listened to the sudden rush of words and realised just how hard it must have been for James to come to the sticking point and say all this out loud. And while he knew the answer in his heart, it would not do to respond too quickly, lest James assume his answer was glib rather than heartfelt. As with everything else, he had to let James find his own way to the right conclusion.

“How long have we known each-other, James? Going on 9 years now, I reckon?”

“Yeah…”

“And in all that time, I can count my true intimates on the fingers of one hand - Lyn, Mark, Laura, yourself. My family, some by birth and some I found. My four cardinal points…. Why would I not care and do my best to smooth your way when I can?”

“Well, Laura is the second great love of your life. And Lyn and Mark are your children. So all that makes sense. But where do I fit?”

“Best mate, much younger brother, surrogate son or nephew. Take your pick. And whatever you choose, I hope you realise that you have a right to my attention and care, and to tell me off when needed, just as much as the rest of my family do. And that you will at some point find yourself able to ask me for whatever you need… or want from me.”

They both fell silent then for a little while, before James shook his head, as though faced with something he could not really believe. Robbie looked across at him, wondering just what it would take to convince that doubting bugger.

“We don’t need to label the relationship, daft lad. It just is. As you seemed to realise in the hospital last year.”

“I realised it? In the hospital? But I…”

“Oh, I am not talking about the afternoon just before I was discharged when you stopped in for what - 3 minutes - before you rushed away citing work. And spent most of that time hiding behind the unlikely spectacle of Innocent rocking Andy. No, I mean what you said that night when you stole in on your own… that I love you in my own way.”

“I said that, yes. But, but you…”

“But I was unconscious and barely alive? Yeah. Could still see and hear though, even if I don’t know with what senses exactly.”

“You mean you had an out-of-body experience when you were so near death?”

“I don’t have your way with words or your book-learning, lad. All I know is that something - call it my mind or my spirit or whatever you wish - was hovering in that hospital room, watching and listening to all of you. 

And when the summons came for me to decide whether to stay and fight back to life, or to just let go… well, the first time, I couldn’t make a decision - for there was a void where my fourth cardinal point should have been. Later, after you had spoken to me, it just reiterated everything I had gathered from the kids and from Laura. Even from Jean. That it was not my time yet, that too many people cared, and that I should not give up.”

“That is… remarkable. That you remember so vividly. And there was no way any of the medical staff could have told you I had been there - I chose my moment carefully when the only one around was a nurse on her last day of duty at the JR before she moved overseas.”

“Hmmm. Trust you to always take the hard way. And I am sorry, lad. I tried so very hard to respond to you in some way, particularly when I felt your tears and the tremble of your lips against my wrist. But I just couldn’t… the will was there but the flesh would not cooperate.”

James went scarlet at this, and for a moment, Robbie was afraid that he had gone too far and embarrassed his awkward sod past reclaim - perhaps driven him away for all time. 

But after a long draught of his lager, James looked up and met his eyes, all screens gone for once. He did not speak, but then Robbie did not expect him to… after all, their most weighty and poignant exchanges were often unspoken. And James’ brimming eyes and shy smile, so different from the wry and sarcastic grin he usually affected, said more than the finest speech could as he raised his glass to Robbie once more.

—Fin—

[fatelesschild]

DW Fanfic: Oblivion (Update)

Find on AO3

Chapter 19: Last one out, get the lights

Risking everything, the Doctor and Jack embark on one last attempt to find the cure for Rose.

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Original Doctor/Rose Tyler Children, Millennia (Doctor Who), The Ravenous (Doctor Who: Ravenous), The Menti Celesti (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler, Minor Characters, Eternal(s) (Doctor Who) Tags: Tenth Doctor Whump, Whump, Tenth Doctor Angst, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure, Gallifreyan Culture (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan Language (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan Biology (Doctor Who), Gallifreyan History (Doctor Who), Vampires, Clowns, Horror, Psychological Horror, Fluff, Major Illness, Blindness, Parents Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Married The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Dark Rose Tyler, Time Vortex (Doctor Who), Love, Humor, Family, Friendship, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Series, Novel, Surreal, Kid Fic, Background Relationships, Injury, Blood, Violence, Death

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

The Doctor suddenly lunged forward, grasping Jack's shoulder just as he was about to open the door. 'Wait!’ he yelped, his voice almost coming out in a squeak.

'Doc?' Jack asked, looking at him with concern. 'You've gone really white.'

'Something's wrong,' the Doctor croaked, his face twisting.

'What is it?' 

The Doctor's hands were shaking. 'Every single instinct I have … is telling me to run.'

'What d'you mean?' Jack asked.

'I can't explain it,' the Doctor croaked and then had to brace himself against the wall as his eyes glazed over slightly. 'Jack, I think I'm going to faint.'

'Sit down,' Jack said quickly, pushing the Time Lord down to sit on the ground.

'Please … Jack … we can't go in there,' the Doctor emitted in a whine. His dual hearts were hammering so violently he thought they might burst through his ribs as his whole body shook uncontrollably.

Jack looked incredibly confused and concerned. 'It's okay. Just breathe.'

The Doctor took a few measured deep breaths. It did very little to calm him down. 

'Look at me,' Jack demanded.

The Doctor did, focusing on Jack's gaze. 'Help,' he gasped out. 

'Doctor, you're having a panic attack.'

'You think I don't know that!?' the Doctor yelped. 

'Ground yourself. Tell me three things you can see.'

'You, the door, the steps,' the Doctor panted. 

'Three things you can hear.'

'Your voice, my voice … The … the screaming.'

'What screaming?'

'I can't tell it to stop; it won't stop,' the Doctor managed to get out, sobbing now. 

'Doctor, tell me. What screaming?'

'Mo'loyi'ei,' the Doctor gasped.

'Doctor, I can't understand you when you talk Gallifreyan …!'

The Doctor swallowed, trying to get a grip on himself as he forced his hearts rates to reduce and placed telepathic shields to try and block out the screaming. 'S-sorry,' he said, tears running down his face.

'It's okay. Look, if you wanna quit, we'll quit.'

'... I d-don't think I've ever felt this sc-scared, Jack.'

'Is it the same kind of feeling you used to get with me? When you used to feel I was wrong?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes … but ab-bout a thousand times w-worse.'

Jack hesitated, glancing at the door. Due to the severity of the Doctor's reaction, it suddenly looked incredibly ominous. 'I could go in by myself,' he offered, the confidence of his tone betraying his feelings.

'N-no,' the Doctor said, shaking his head and standing up with Jack's support. 'We've c-come this far. Open it.'

'You sure?'

The Doctor nodded, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. Apprehensive, Jack rested a hand on the handle and pulled. 

Nothing jumped out like they'd both been subconsciously expecting. It was just another room, looking like some sort of messy laboratory. Machines lined the walls, their cables tangled. Paperwork was strewn about the place, and to the left was a sealed chamber with an observation window blacked out.

'All right?' Jack checked with the Time Lord.

The Doctor nodded. 'What's that noise?' 

'I can't hear anything.'

'That whirring,' the Doctor muttered, following the noise he could hear. It led him to the sealed chamber. The Doctor unlocked the door and, with his exotronic arm, managed to haul its heavy frame open.

'Oh my god,' Jack croaked.

[jamiesfootball]

Tagged by @jamietarttsnorthernattitude and @asteria-argo

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

8

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

191,977

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso is the main one right now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar (The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015))

oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love) (Ted Lasso (TV))

The Garrison Reserve (The Musketeers (2014))

The Dick String Incident (Ted Lasso (TV))

somebody's hands who felt like mine (Ted Lasso (TV))

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, though I am woefully behind

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's a toss up between right next to the heart of me and somebody's hands who felt like mine. I think the first one is technically the sharper angst, but it at least has a sequel in the works to make things a little better. The second one is a softer whump, but open-ended and with no follow up planned.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In terms of fics that have actually ended, A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar wins by a mile

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet???

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Whatever kind. If I am feeling inspired by a thought, I'm gonna write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written AUs but no straight-up crossovers yet, though I've lazily batted a few around in a sort of 'what if x met y' sort of way

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar and The Garrison Reserve were both co-written

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Right now it's Jamie/Whump

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

It's not that I won't finish The Garrison Reserve (literally the last chapter is half written), but finishing it is going to mean a rewatch because I have straight up forgotten half the side characters' names

16. What are your writing strengths?

Maybe descriptions? Also my willingness to try to tell a joke

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

This is one I try very very hard to edit out, but I am literally the worst at writing my thoughts down out-of-order or forgetting to finish a thought entirely. Oh, and dialogue. It either comes naturally or I am forging that garbage with a hammer.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think there is a time for using another language in-text and a time when simply implying the other language or leaning on the perspective of a character who doesn't speak the other language is the correct decision.

That said I am currently writing a story about Dani and Jamie which involves some Spanish dialogue, but I feel fairly good about it because 1) when in doubt, I can (and do) just quote my mom, 2) if it sounds too simplified / non-colloquial I can always make the excuse that Dani, like my mom, doesn't want to confuse Jamie while he's learning, 3) any mistake I make could easily be a mistake that Jamie would make anyways. Wins all around!

Somewhat related, there was an absolutely fantastic Sherlock (BBC) fic back in the day (which was sadly removed from AO3) told from John's point of view where Sherlock decided he would go about his day in Italian. It included Italian dialogue that you could hover over for the translation, but the thrust of the fic was John playing along with his best guess of what was being said. The result was a fic that concurrently told two entwined stories by emphasizing two different povs by giving the audience the choice to ignore one in favor of experiences the other one first with no subtitles. It was very cool.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

a two-page handwritten DBZ fanfic when I was 11.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)

tagging: @sighonaraa and @altschmerzes because I've not seen either of you yet

[ninhaoma-ya]

For the fic writer meme: 4, 16, 32, 39,54. 56

Thank you very much for the asks!

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

All over the place. Reading something else, cycling home, listening to a podcast… mainly I blame the cosmic inspiration rays, streaming through the universe, combined with my lack of protective gear to stop the pesky buggers.

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

Eeeeh… 94? <sweating>

And I’ll one-up the ask and share two! “How to win friends and influence people” for DoVio and “Chess game” for LawNa. And, of course, the rest of the prompts for this years Heart Pirates week which I will get to, eventually…

(And my latest reread of Discworld which had the unfortunate side-effect of inspiring me to start plotting a Moist von Lipwig-story…)

32. Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

The list is too long for tumblr, but since I am in thesis hell, I lean towards hurt(/comfort) at the moment.

@chromatic-lamina for the Hearts (AO3 here)

@senlinyu for the angst (AO3 here)

@purplehairedwonder for that sweet, sweet whump (AO3 here)

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

Law grunted as he sliced through an enormous alligator, rearranging its parts with those of a nearby tree. Their path so far had been quite uneventful, but they were probably nearing the shade and good hiding spots of a ruined temple, if the increasing amount of beasts and just plain weird creatures were something to judge by.

“I’d say we’re nearing the main area,” Nico Robin said, echoing his thoughts, as she used her extra limbs to brush away greenery and peer through the undergrowth.

“What makes you say that,” Bepo asked, panting and surreptitiously clawing at the opening of his boiler suit. Law furrowed his brows – the mink sounded like he was suffering from the heat. He really should have left Bepo on the cool ship with Ikkaku and Franky, but Bepo had insisted… but what kind of captain was he if he didn’t put his crew’s needs before their wants? A quick Scan ensured him that Bepo was fine, even if he was running a bit of a temperature.

“If not for the increasing amount of things that try to kill us, which implies the presence of good hiding spots, such as could be created by a ruined temple," she said, pointing at a cracked stone tablet, “I’d say the sign that says ‘this way to main plaza and temple entrance’ in one of the ancient tongues of the island is a good indicator.”

54. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Writing. Also, my least favourite part is writing. It’s good you get to write, but then you have to write, y’know? But I really enjoy getting lost in the story and finding the right way to express something, preferably with at least two layers of meaning to it.

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

My multi-layered jokes and easter eggs and call-backs and puns and wordplay. It’s fun to just go off on a pun-tangent and drop weird-ass almost-acronyms and still somehow make it make sense (for me at least). I’m still inordinately proud of my “plastered enough to start their own construction company” as a way to describe really, really drunk people in StatSig, for example.

I'm still accepting (and hoping for) more asks as I try to procrastinate working on my thesis, so anyone reading this; feel very free to ask away! List to be found here.

Answered: 1, 2, 4, 9, 11, 12, 16, 25, 26, 32, 39, 54, 56

[kenobster]

Hey - just wanted to send a note after your last post bc I didn't interact with your Vader mpreg posts and wanted to explain why ,- it's not at all because I find you grotesque or any of those other terrible things!! I love your writing, I'm just in an Obi-Wan whump hyperfixation rn and scroll past anything that doesn't mention him 😭 I'm so sorry, it was never my intention to dig up any bad thoughts!! Sending you hugs ❤️

Hey friendo ❤️ Thanks for the ask and for sharing your feelings with me! I'm super grateful for your reassurance, you are very kind. I also really want you and everyone else to understand that y'all did absolutely nothing wrong. (Radiates huge hug energy for everyone!)

Like, I have scrolled past many a post without interacting with it. Sometimes I've even scrolled past posts that I want to interact with but am simply having a bout of executive dysfunction for whatever reason. There've also been many, many, many times (practically every time honestly) in which I do not reach the end of my dash by the end of the day and countless posts are lost to the whims of time because of it. And yeah, people will try to make us feel guilty for that. People who are hurting will especially try to make us feel guilty for that. There is post after post after post after post on this website demonizing people who don't comment or reblog for "ruining fandom." But those posts aren't being fair. Those posts are just coming from people who are hurting.

The truth is that life just be like this sometimes.

Regarding the other thing you said, I am well aware people follow me for a variety of interests! I know that not everyone shares my interest in horrifying atrocities against trainwreck villains, and that's fabulously okay with me. :) I like having differing dimensions and moods and places to exist. It's good for rainy days like today! And I'm very grateful that my broad spectrum of interests doesn't stop you from enjoying the things I post that you are interested in; that makes me incredibly relieved to hear!!

But yeah, so an interaction with a post about, say, Every Shadow isn't an interaction stolen from Vader's uterus. At least, not in my mind. It's true that I may be having feelings right now that are first affecting my ability to work on tamer/more popular interests -- but that doesn't mean I've forgotten every single wonderful person who has conveyed enjoyment of those interests! To the contrary, those people (you included!) make very happy and will continue to make me happy and have no bearing on my sad feelings in any way whatsoever. I enjoy asks about shadow AU and reblogs of Every Shadow chapters and likes of my dumb hot takes just as much today as I will next week and as I did last year. Yo, yesterday, someone even commented on one of the first Loki fanfics I ever wrote (back in 2014!), and even that gave me pure and utter joy. Believe it or not, there's no possible interaction any single one of you could have with me that could dig up bad thoughts or otherwise hurt me. So please don't ever feel like my sad feelings are reflective of anything anyone did or didn't do. <3

My sad feelings are a Me Problem, not a fandom problem. And sometimes Me Problems are nobody's fault. Sometimes people feel bad or need to take steps to preserve their mental health, and it's only the fault of some stupid brain chemicals trained to cause certain illogical reactions. But I'm gonna be fine, anon, so you keep being you. :)

[morganaspendragonss]

I tried replying to your post but Tumblr rejected me…

Maybe Carlos was there when it (symptoms) started and that was why they fell out? But he wasn’t there for some of it and what we saw as the worst for sure. And also, TK and the sponsor is about TK needing support. We know nothing about how Iris supported Carlos—just that they were both “lost.” The amount of disbelief that I have to suspend right now is more than my brain is capable of, so this just isn’t working for me. And then the personal trigger for me with Carlos seemingly getting mad at TK for talking to Iris (I get why he would be and understand all thing things, it is a trigger for me and if it was tagged in a fanfic I would avoid it, okay?)

I am struggling to get into this storyline and I was okay after episode 1! Ugh. If Carlos does get mad then I am so writing a fic where TK goes to try and fix it and he gets whumped and Carlos has all the feels for being like that.

yeah, carlos was probably around when her symptoms started but no one - including michelle, the literal paramedic - knew it was schizophrenia until she got diagnosed years later. and they clearly haven't seen each other between iris being found and now, carlos openly admits that he hasn't checked on them and the detective in that sneak peek says that they haven't seen each other for five years.

like you said, i get that carlos might get a little annoyed by tk talking to iris but it's not like he specifically told tk not to speak to her. and tk was hardly pressuring her - he calmly asked if she'd read through the papers (not if she'd signed them) and then asked why when she said she thought it was a mistake.

i hate when this situation is compared to tk and cooper. they're completely different and it's frustrating that the actors are writers are saying they're the same because that means we'll probably get some in-show comparisons too

[whump-tr0pes]

Human Heart (Terminator Salvation fanfic) Chapter 6

Masterlist

AO3

Marcus Wright sacrifices himself and donates his heart to the leader of the human resistance against the machines. What he didn't take into account was how hard his friends would fight to get him back - and how he would be accepted in his second life.

Contents: medical whump, coughing up blood, medical restraints, heart transplant, blood transfusion

~

system rebooting

Marcus’s lungs shuddered once, then inflated. They were thick with fluid. He lurched forward, mouth gaping open, desperately coughing the fluid up so he could breathe. A strap across his chest kept him tied down to the cot. He twisted, terrified, drowning in his own blood and serum. He went rigid when a hand grasped his jaw and forced it open – allowing a tube to dig into his throat.

He tried to scream. The tube made a noise like it was sucking the fluid right out of his lungs. Horror erupted in his chest as the air was sucked out of him, too. He coughed weakly. He couldn’t see anything; the world was a jagged streak of red and black. He writhed against the straps holding him down.

Then, miraculously, the tube retreated. He could breathe. He hacked up a mouthful of blood, but he could breathe. He sobbed and let his head drop back against the cot. Tears streamed from his eyes. Slowly, slowly, the light above him came into view. Behind it was the black sky.

Or the ceiling. He was inside.

He jolted and tried to look around. Agony shot through his chest. He froze, sweat beading on his brow, as his eyes darted around the room. It was small, looking more like a rusted-out closet than anything else. Straps held his chest and hips down to the cot he was lying on. Handcuffs chained his wrists to the cot as well.

He blinked, desperately trying to clear his vision. Someone stood over him – someone with red hair. Kate, that was her name. The military guy’s wife. She held a tube in her hand that was stained with blood. She stared down at him like she was staring at a ghost.

There were two other people in the room. One was the kid, slumped in the corner, looking like he was passed out sleeping. The other—

“Blair,” he croaked.

She shot to her feet and crossed the small room in two strides. “Marcus,” she said, and dropped to her knees beside the cot.

“Careful,” Kate said, still holding the bloody suction tube in her hand like she was trying to ward him off with it. “He’s—”

“He’s tied down,” Blair said as she took Marcus’s hand in hers. “He’s fine.”

“Why…” Marcus swallowed hard. His throat fucking hurt. His chest felt like it had been carved open. “Why am I tied down?”

“In case you, um… didn’t come back… yourself,” Kate said uncomfortably.

Marcus looked from Blair to Kate. “Why am I back? Is Connor—”

“He’s fine,” Blair said, gently cupping Marcus’s cheek. “They did the surgery. He’s fine. Let’s… just worry about you, right now.”

Marcus’s breaths quickened. He knew he should feel his heartrate increase with the news – but he couldn’t feel his heartbeat at all. He couldn’t feel it in his chest, couldn’t hear in it his ears. Still, his chest ached like they really had cut him open and taken it out. He… he remembered…

“What do you mean?” he rasped. “What do you mean, you did the surgery? How am I still here? How am I… still me, if I was… dead?”

“John made a… well, it’s like a tiny pump,” Kate said, finally putting the suction tubing down. “He made it after he felt well enough to sit up. Then I installed it. Then you needed a transfusion. Well, a few.” She chewed her lip. “You lost… pretty much all your blood.”

“Who…?” Marcus’s eyes went straight to Blair’s.

“Not me,” Blair said, staring at the blanket. “We’re not compatible. It was the kid.” She lifted her chin to Kyle where he lay curled up in the corner. “Took a while for him to get his reserves back. And… he was the only one willing to donate, for now.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “How long have I been out?” he croaked.

Blair met his eyes again. “Two weeks,” she said quietly. “It’s been… you’ve been dead for two weeks.”

[courtneygacha]

Swapped pt.2

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

“Okay, Friend, we’ve been looking for them for 30 minutes, we need to go to security.” Other Friend said. “They haven’t answered their phone and we can’t find them anywhere in the store. We have to get someone.”

“Maybe they’re in the bathroom. We haven’t looked in the bathroom, have we?” Friend said.

“If Civilian was in the bathroom, they would’ve answered us by now!” Other Friend said. “We’ve been in the store for over an hour, and half of it was spent looking for your soup! If you can’t find a simple can of tomato soup, what makes you think you’ll be able to find them?”

“I don’t want to get security!” Friend argued. “Because if we get them and they can’t find them, they’ll call the police. And if they can’t find them, Civilian will be on a missing person’s list. And if all else fails, they’ll be presumed dead and we’ll never forgive ourselves for losing them in a grocery store because we sent them to look for mushrooms!”

Friend then gasped, having said all of that in one breath. Other Friend sighed. “You’re the worst with denial. I’m going to costumer service.”

“No, don’t!” Friend begged, grabbing their arm.

Other Friend shook them off. “We’re going to have to get help eventually. And maybe it’ll help the poor 13 year old we’ve been dragging around all this time find their parents!”

“For the last time, I’m 16!” Smallest Teammate said. “And I’m not looking for my parents, I’m looking for my teammates!”

“Shut up, kid. You’re irrelevant right now.” Friend said, and in response was elbowed by Other Friend who hissed a “Be nice!”

“The only reason I haven’t left you guys is because I don’t have a phone so I can’t call my team, and I don’t wanna get…” Smallest Teammate’s voice got really quiet, they looked timid.

“You don’t wanna get what?” Other Friend asked.

Smallest Teammate mumbled something to themselves that they looked embarrassed to admit. It was intelligible to the two friends.

“What was that?” Friend asked.

“…Kidnapped.” Smallest Teammate whispered.

“Repeat that again? Something about kidnapping-“

“I don’t wanna get kidnapped again.” They finally said, loud enough for the friends to hear. They were both flabbergasted.

“Kidnapped… again?!” They exclaimed, confused and honestly a little concerned.

“It’s happened before??” Friend said.

“It’s happened quite a few times now… it actually happened pretty recently. I have some marks on my arm from some beatings I took…” Smallest Teammate said, trying to roll up their sleeve a little to show the two as proof. Friend forced it down.

“No no no… it’s okay. We uh… we believe you.” Friend said, looking a little worried.

“Oh god… are you actually being serious about the whole… teammate thing?” Other Friend asked. “Are we allowed to know this?”

Smallest Teammate scoffed. “I mean, yeah, probably. The next time it happens I’m probably gonna get killed so it’s not like you’ll see me again after this.” They shrugged. “This’ll be okay unless… THEY catch you and try to get information from you. But you guys look like nobodies so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

The two friends stared at Smallest Teammate with shocked expressions for a while. Finally, Friend said “Number one: Ow. Number two: Are you okay?”

They shrugged again. “No, not really. But it doesn’t matter because I’m gonna die anyways.”

Other Friend slowly put their hand to their chest. “Oh dear… you poor thing.”

Friend swallowed and said “Come on, let’s go to security or… whatever we find.”

Other Friend snapped out of their empathy for a moment. “That sob story convinced you?”

“Yeah. I mean, this kid needs help.” Friend said and began to walk.

“Oh, the police won’t be able to help since no matter how hard we search, the guy who keeps doing this gets away, but thanks for trying!” Smallest Teammate said, following them.

As they walked away, Other Friend slowed down and had Smallest Teammate walk in front of them. Just in case.

Taglist: @whumpy-whump-fanfics @bookbutterfly9 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpdreamz @diamond-flavored-whump @zoethehead @annoyinghairdoranchhumanoid-blog @astr0-mj

[elizabeethan]

I posted 2,099 times in 2022

164 posts created (8%)

1,935 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@elizabeethan

@pirateherokillian

@onceratheart18

@initiala

@caught-in-the-filter

I tagged 861 of my posts in 2022

#ask - 102 posts

#anon - 67 posts

#captain swan - 33 posts

#cs fic rec - 31 posts

#captain swan fanfic - 29 posts

#cs ff - 28 posts

#my dreams lie with you - 25 posts

#for my wip - 21 posts

#icymi - 18 posts

#fic writer ask - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#throw back to when i started secretly dating my bf and we went to the pool with our friends and one of them said he had a hickey and he said

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Between the Morning and the Night

A Captain Swan Tale

After a workout one night, Killian’s close friend and colleague pokes fun as he points out the scratches along his back, sarcastically wondering who could have put them there and why. Killian refuses to answer for two reasons: 1) he will do everything in his power to ensure that no one ever finds out that he’s sleeping (read: in love) with his boss’s younger sister, and 2) while he happens not to mind the marks she gives him, he really isn’t sure why Emma Swan does that.

A/N: affectionately known as "scratchy emma fic" and "do swans have talons?" this fic features mild mentions of scratching during sex, plus some mild whump. My thanks, as always, to @the-darkdragonfly​ and @donteattheappleshook​ for just generally everything, but also specifically for their help on this fic and everything I write.

Rated E 

~11,800 words

Read on Ao3

Read my other stuff

Get added to my tag list

~~~~

She likes him. 

 She likes it when he takes her from behind, when he lets her take control on top, when he drives into her with her knees cradling his hips. She likes it when they’re on their sides with him tucked behind her, she likes it when he’s standing at the foot of the bed with her at his mercy beneath him, flat on her back. She likes it when he takes her against the wall, quick and hasty and desperate with his need for her. She liked that last night, anyway. 

 In all that he’s learned about her, the one thing that sticks out the most is that she likes him. She likes the way he touches her, the way he talks to her, the way he treats her. At least, he assumes she does. Not because she tells him so, but because of the way she clings to him, digs the tips of her fingers into his skin and scratches him because she can’t come up with another way to ground herself through the pleasure he brings her. And even though it hurts, he doesn’t care. He encourages it, in fact, biting her earlobe and telling her what the feeling of her nails in his skin does to him before he marks her collarbone and thrusts harder. 

 She leaves his place later and later each time, delaying the inevitable need to return to her own for fear of the backlash she’ll receive if she spends the night out. She may be an adult, free to make her own choices, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’ll be on the receiving end of some questioning glances she’d rather avoid. But despite that fact, she’s stopped sneaking away when he dozes off. She’s even started to bid him farewell with a soft smile as she buttons her jeans. 

 He loves her. 

 He’s certain of it, although perhaps she would tell him that it’s too soon to be. And perhaps she’d be right. But he doesn’t care. And he’ll keep this fact to himself until the point at which he’s certain she can handle hearing the words passing his lips and pressing themselves against her tattered heart. 

~~~~

 “Good god, mate.” 

 He turns, surprise in his eyes when he faces his friend and colleague and is met with his shocked, horrified expression. 

 “What?” 

 He knows he’s red and sweaty after a workout, but it can’t be anything different from how he always looks when they return to the locker room. 

 “I mean, were you attacked?” 

 Bloody hell. The blush is unstoppable as it creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, burning him from the inside out as he realizes he’s removed his shirt and exposed himself as the apparent freak he’s become since he started fucking Emma Swan. 

 Perhaps fucking isn’t the right word. But that’s what she’d prefer to call it– for now. 

 “Sergeant, did you realize there were mountain lions in Boston?” 

 “What are you talking about now, Scarlet?” the sergeant asks, his head pointed down at his phone as he makes his way through the gym’s locker room towards his belongings. 

 “Jones’ got himself involved with a right nympho, that’s all,” he says with a smirk, and Killian's eyes widen almost painfully as he tugs his undershirt on as quickly as he can. 

 “What Jones does on his own time is his business,” David responds without lifting his head and without knowing that it’s not always on his own time. “Thanks for the workout, boys, but I’m late for dinner with my sister.” 

 Will hums happily, a smirk toying at his mouth. “And no man should keep her waiting. Although I’m quite sure she’d never allow a man to–” 

 He’s silenced immediately when Killian’s button down hits him square in the face. “Shut up,” he commands, rolling his eyes. “That’s… the sergeant’s sister. Bloody hell.” 

See the full post

75 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

#4

The Promises We Keep

At twelve-years-old (she thinks), a young, homeless Emma Swan meets a slightly older, homeless Killian Jones. From there, they continue to help each other until they can't any longer. All she can hope for is that they'll eventually find their way back to one another.

For @the-darkdragonfly and @donteattheappleshook who always let me yell at them about my ideas and then yell at me back when I finally write them down. I’d be lost without them

Rated M (mildly)

Read on Ao3

Read my other stuff

~~~~

By the age of twelve, Emma Swan felt like she had lived countless lifetimes. 

 At least, she assumes she was twelve. She kind of has to guess on her birthday so she also has to guess on her age. 

 At the ripe age of twelve, she had grown used to fending for herself, foraging for food whenever she could, learning the best spots to find the leftovers that closing restaurants throw away, avoiding the dangerous shelters. She had learned where it’s safest to sleep, avoiding the unsavory characters about the city and keeping herself as protected as she could. 

 And at the ripe age of twelve, she learned never to trust anyone. 

 Well, anyone but Killian Jones. 

It started with her sharing with him, helping him, as if she had anything to spare. She saw the way he shivered violently on the ground near her that night and wondered for a long time if he was just like everyone else she had come across since she had found herself there, under a bridge with a gloating view of the Space Needle. But the more she looked at him, the longer she spent taking in the way he shook and whimpered and tried to steady his breathing, she just knew. That boy wasn’t high, he was sick. He was very sick. 

 She had walked over to him and noticed the way the paper covering his body rustled as his body quivered with fever. He was curled in the fetal position, and she could only assume that his back must have been hurting from how tense his body was. He was suffering so much more than anyone she’d ever met beneath that bridge. She had never seen anyone here curled so desperately close to the fire in the trashcan and still so obviously cold. Once, before she ran away, a foster mother had given her ibuprofen for a fever and she remembers wishing that she had some to give him in that moment. 

 All that she had that night was a ratty blanket and a stale chunk of bread. When she walked over to him and crouched by his side, she saw the way his blue eyes stared into hers, bloodshot and puffy, though his face was sallow. She noticed the way that his skin was pale white, his lips drained of any color. She noticed the way his cheekbones poked out dramatically and wondered when the last time he ate could have been. 

 “If I’m i-in your sp-spot, I’m sorry,” he started. “I-I ca-can move.” 

 “Stay,” she said. “You’re not in my spot.” 

 All she remembers is thinking about how that boy cowering too close to the fire with nothing to keep him warm as he wasted away with a fever would probably die that night. For a second, she had wondered if it was worth it to help him if he wouldn’t make it through the night anyway. But then she unfolded her tattered blanket and placed it over him, over the newspapers because she had heard that it makes for good insulation. She tucked the blanket around him tightly, and when she touched him, she swore she felt nothing but bone and heat. And then she took out the stale chunk of bread and ripped off a tiny piece, offering it directly to his pallor lips. 

 She won’t ever forget the look in his eyes when he parted his lips. He never once stopped staring at her, not for the first bite, not when he let out a sigh of relief as he started to feel a semblance of satisfaction, not when she took a few bites for herself. 

 “How long have you been sick?” 

 “A while,” he breathed, although he wasn’t stuttering as much now that the shivering had started to subside. “K-keeps getting worse.”

 “You need medicine.” 

 “Yeah,” he scoffed, although perhaps the sound was more like another shiver. “You t-try getting so-some.” 

 It’s true, it wasn’t easy to come by. But he needed it if he planned on surviving the night with the way his fever seemed to be climbing and climbing. So she left, left him with her blanket and her bread and brought her crappy old backpack with her. She snuck through the streets and found a pharmacy that was open late. She found a bottle of water that cost a dollar and snuck the ibuprofen into her sleeve, paying for the water with the last of the loose change she had in her pocket. When she returned, he was still, dead asleep, and she wasn’t sure that was a good sign. 

 It was always a bad idea to fall asleep, or at least to do so as soundly as the boy was when she returned. It looked at first like he may have died while she was gone, but when she got close to him, she could see the way he was still breathing shortly, still shivering, although the blanket and food seemed to have helped. 

 “Wake up,” she had insisted, and while her words were short, the way she shook his shoulder was gentle. “Take this.” 

 “H-how– why are y-you doing-ng this?” 

 She didn’t know. She couldn’t answer. She handed him the pills and the water, but she took it back when he was done and finished it herself. Then she lied beside him, not too close because she had suddenly realized that she didn’t want to catch whatever he had. She watched him until he fell asleep again, the shivering finally stopping altogether, and then she fell asleep herself. 

 While she thought she was being safe, sleeping lightly so that she would wake with any movement near her, she woke the next morning with the blanket spread over her and the boy and the ibuprofen nowhere to be seen. 

 ~~~~

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77 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

#3

deeper than we ever knew

Emma realizes that she's lead the man she loves, Graham, to believe that she's well experienced despite her being a virgin. In a panic, she recruits her best friend, Killian, to teach her a thing or two.

Beta’ed by my bestie @donteattheappleshook

Rated E

~15k words 

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Emma Swan has never been the type of girl to have an incurable crush on a boy. She survived middle and high school with only one memorable infatuation, Neal Cassidy eventually proving himself to be a giant asshole. She lived through her first year of college dating only one human man. At least, Walsh seemed human enough before they got together. By the time she got anywhere near ready to take the next step and sleep with him, he had proven himself to be yet another giant asshole. And now, as a junior in college, who has real friends and a somewhat real job, she’s realizing that the territory also comes with something she’s feared her whole life: she’s fallen in love. 

 Graham Humbert is a perfect man, she’s learned. He’s handsome, he’s kind, he respects her… his only flaw is that he doesn’t seem to be able to get it through his beautiful, curly head that she loves him. They work together in the campus security office, usually spending the Thursday through Saturday night shifts together since no one else is willing to work at such god awful times. Her unwillingness to tell him how she feels is likely impacting the fact that he stubbornly refuses to recognize it, but unwilling she is. She’s already decided that she needs to get him to fall for her, and everything will fall into place naturally after that without her having to lift a finger.

 And, of course, there's the other dilemma that has plagued her throughout her life-- well, her teenage-through-adult life. Painfully and against her will, Emma Swan is a virgin. 

She has needs and desires and thoughts and curiosities, but she also has fear and anxiety and a stark sensitivity to rejection, and for this, she’s decided that no man that she’s ever met has been worth her time or her body. Of course, she almost thought that Neal would be, but he proved himself otherwise when he left her to find her own ride home from the carnival after she refused to sleep with him in the port-a-potty. And then there was Walsh, who flirted with her for weeks and then became violently angry when she turned him down after their first date. So yes, Emma Swan is a virgin, but it’s because she has standards. 

 Of course, all was well and good until that fateful night in the office with Graham. It was well after midnight, the phones hadn’t rung in over an hour, and all they could do to entertain themselves was play truth or dare. She’ll admit to flirting with him, giggling at everything he said and blushing and biting her bottom lip, but part of her thinks that she led him on. When he leaned in and kissed her, she kissed him back enthusiastically and knew in that moment that she was leading him on. When his hands laced through her hair at the back of her head and pulled her closer to him, and when his tongue poked out and stroked against her own, and when he let out a groan from the back of his throat, she knew what she had done. 

 He told her that she was good at that-- at kissing him, at turning him on, if the bulge was anything to go by-- and she felt guilty. Because she isn’t very good at that. She’s kissed boys before, she’s had makeout sessions before, but she has no idea what she’s doing at any given moment. And when he broke away from her, panting and licking his lips and laughing breathily, he told her, I don’t want to rush things-- I feel like what we have is special-- but I can’t wait to see what else you have in store.

 And he’s right, of course; it could be special. It could be good, if she knew what she was doing. Part of her was able to trick him into thinking that she’s remotely experienced in how to make things between them… work. But in reality, she knows nothing. She knows what to do for herself, by herself, but she has no idea what to do with another person. 

 So here she is, panicked and desperate. 

 Please. Please, Killian, pleeease? Please, i need you.

 This is insane. I can’t even tell if you’re serious or not.

 I’m completely serious! I need help!

 No. I’m not going to lose my best friend over something this crazy.

 Well i’m not going to have a good time with any other guys if i don't know what i’m doing!

 …

 So you’re really going to pass up this amazing opportunity to not only get laid but also make your best friend extremely happy? 

 Yes

 Guess i’ll just have to recruit someone else then. Maybe a biker.

 Jesus christ Swan. what the bloody hell is wrong with you?

 A big one. Full of sperm.

 Are you not going to let this go?

 All you have to do is me. Just one time.

 …

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84 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#2

You Make Loving Fun: Part I

A collection of little Chrissy and Eddie moments that might turn a little smutty

Part I: Pomp and Circumstance. Eddie finally graduates and Chrissy is really proud

Yeah I know, my self control still hasn't returned. We'll be fine!

This will probably have several parts, but my plan is to have them basically unrelated or at the very least make it so that they can be read as a stand alone.

This is my 50th work posted to Ao3. That seems like a pretty awesome milestone. Whether you're from the Eddissy fandom or the Captain Swan one, thank you for stopping by and thank you for supporting my writing ❤️

Rated E- It’s smut my friends

~1900 words

Read on Ao3

Get added to my eddissy tag list 

~~~~

  He never liked the whole Pomp and Circumstance thing, mostly because he never really got it. Sure, graduating is a big deal, especially for someone who stayed back not once, but twice, but is the whole excessive grandeur thing really necessary? He’s never thought so. 

 That is, until it was almost graduation day, and Chrissy fucking Cunningham started playing the song, all excited for him to walk across the stage. All four movements, baby, she had said. And ever since then, it’s been stuck in his head. 

 He didn’t even know what a movement was until he met Chrissy Cunningham. Scratch that– until he started to get to know Chrissy Cunningham. More specificallly, until he started to fuck Chrissy Cunningham. 

 And of course, they were never just fucking. They’ve always been making love to one another, the passion between them almost nauseating each time they come together, each time they so much as see one another. Honestly, it’s miraculous no one’s figured it out by now, although that’s probably more related to the fact that not a single person in this god forsaken town could imagine a girl like Chrissy Cunningham sleeping with a guy like Eddie Munson. 

 Never mind actually, maybe, in a way, falling for him.

 Either way, though, here they are. 

 Chrissy, with shimmery green pigment on her eyelids, and Eddie, finally knowing what the hell a movement is. 

Her lesson did help, of course. She was so excited to find out that he was actually, officially graduating, that she found her mother’s cassette of the damn song and brought it over, playing it on a loop as she rode him until she screamed in time with the fourth movement. Now, the fourth movement happens to be his favorite. 

 Plus, she helped him get here, anyway. She told him, If you don’t blow Ms. O’Donnell’s final, I'll blow you. 

 She was high at the time, which was why she was being so goofy, but she did end up keeping her promise when he squeaked by with a C+. 

 Her name is called first, C coming before M, which he knows because he’s technically a high school graduate at this point. When she walks across the stage and accepts the diploma from Mr. Higgins, he screams so loudly that he can see her round cheeks blushing from his seat, her eyes rolling and her smile beaming while everyone else in his row gives him a look of horror and confusion. 

 And when he walks across stage, he can hear the shouts from his uncle Wayne, the whistles from the Hellfire Club, and the soft, familiar tune of Pomp and Circumstance playing from her Walkman, volume turned all the way up and still barely audible over the chorus of cheers and boos, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She was so proud of him that he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was all worth it. 

 It’s worth it again as he finds himself in the back of his van, Chrissy Cunningham fumbling with the buttons of his stupid shirt beneath the stupid robe, her breathing quick and panting and desperate as she presses her hips against his fingers. “Fuck,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.” 

 “Chrissy,” he scolds playfully. “You’re not one to curse. What’s gotten into you?” 

 “Hopefully you, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying up.” 

 “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind, of course, but I’d want to ensure that that’s exactly what my sweet, innocent girlfriend truly wants.” 

 “Is sweet and innocent really what you want?” she asks, moving her hand from his last few buttons down to his crotch over the stupid dress pants she begged him to wear. They’ll look so nice, Eddie, she pleaded, and he couldn’t possibly say no to those big doe eyes. “Or would you prefer your desperate, needy, very proud girlfriend?” 

 He lets out a groan as she slides down the zipper of his slacks, her soft hand finding its way into his boxer briefs, the ones she got for him because she told him it would be best if whatever he was wearing under his slacks wasn’t baggy. Of course, the sensation of the tighter fabric is entirely new against the part of him that needs her the most, and she seems to know it, grasping onto him just right and smirking against his neck. 

 “Well?” she asks, and he realizes he never did answer her. 

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90 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Witness

After the worst night of his life, Killian goes into the Witness Protection program and moves to Maine until he can testify against the man who took everything from him. He had resigned himself to living a life of misery, pain, and heartbreak, but that all changed when he met Lily Quinn.

A/N: I finally finished this one!! It's not perfect by any means, but I'm honestly just patting myself on the back for completing it, at this point. It's not beta'ed and I probably haven't proofread it enough, so if you see any typos or notice any continuity errors, no you didn't. 

Also, this is the 50th, yes FIFTIETH, Captain Swan fic that I've posted on Ao3. There isn't much I can say about that other than thank you to everyone in this incredible fandom who has encouraged me to explore writing and discover how much I love it. Thank you especially to @the-darkdragonfly and @donteattheappleshook for always being there for me in every capacity and for supporting me through thick and thin.

Rated E

15,630 words (oops)

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

Get added to my Captain Swan taglist

~~~~

The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt before and is likely to ever feel again, lest he lose another appendage. It burns and stings and throbs and stabs all at once, and it drives him mad as he looks down and remembers that there’s nothing there. There’s no hand to be hurting him as he bites into his bottom lip and doubles over, holding his empty wrist in his one remaining hand. There's no reason for him to be feeling this way, and yet he feels as though he’s lost the hand all over again. 

 He doesn’t remember what it felt like to lose it in the first place, but it must have been something like this. Leaning over his ledgers upon his pathetically small desk, he tries to remind himself that there’s nothing there anymore. He shouldn’t be hurting like this, not now that it’s gone. He tells himself to get over it, snap out of it, he’s being foolish. He lets out a pained gasp as he puts his stubbed arm on the surface of the desk and picks up a pen, staring down at the empty space where his hand should be before taking a breath and sending the pen forcefully through the air, into the grainy wood, missing the hand that he lost months ago. 

 The burning subsides when he does this, as if him telling his mind that it isn’t there, that it doesn’t matter anymore, isn’t enough; as if he has to see it for himself to believe his own thoughts. It happens frequently– frequently enough for him to consider himself crazy on a several-times-weekly basis. He’s just lucky that he doesn’t share this cramped office with anyone, that he’s usually left alone to do his work in peace, just the way he likes it. He’s lucky that he lives alone, that he has no one to watch him go through the lunacy of feeling pain in a hand that doesn’t exist. He’s lucky that he’s always alone. He’s lucky to have lost everything and everyone, because at least he doesn’t have to force someone he loves to live through this with him. 

 At least, that’s what he tells himself as he pulls the pen from the shallow hole he punched into the wood and returns it to the cup where it belongs. 

~~~~

 He’s making an effort not to become the town drunk. 

 His father was the town drunk, and he’s always hated his father. 

 So when he goes to the Rabbit Hole, he likes to keep it to once a week, maybe less. He likes to keep it to two drinks, maybe three. He likes to keep control over himself so that no one in this tiny place starts to see him as the town drunk. They already see him as the strange, handless recluse, and he doesn’t feel the need to move into town drunk-territory. 

 But when he walks into the Rabbit Hole that night, just a few months after his arrival, he considers changing his ways if only in response to seeing the stunning, glowing blonde behind the bar for the first time. 

 She truly is glowing. She emanates beauty and exudes perfection as she stands behind the bar, somehow catching the perfect lighting, her bare arms toned as she pours a beer flawlessly, her hair gleaming under the dim light fixture, her smile shimmering despite the darkness in the bar. She laughs at her patron, Leroy telling her a joke that Killian can almost certainly bet was not funny. She throws her head back and he nearly salivates at the sight of her bare neck. She turns from the grumpy old man and adds the pour to his tab and then she turns again, locking eyes directly with Killian before giving him the most beautiful, sexy, friendly smile he’s ever received. 

 “Welcome in,” she says, her voice like bells as it rings through the bar, cutting against the loud music and the even louder laughter from the party at the pool table. “What can I get you?” 

 He’s almost stunned silent, stupidly standing there with his mouth hung open like a trout until he gets his bearings, tugging on the sleeves of his gray knit sweater and shuffling towards the bar. Get it together, you old fool, he tells himself, cursing as he trips over his own feet but praising himself as the sight draws a soft giggle from the angel of a woman. 

 “Rum,” he says idiotically, and she raises a brow. 

 “Just rum, neat? On the rocks? Or a shot?”

 He clears his throat. What will she think of him ordering just rum, neat? Or a shot? “Might as well throw in some Coke and ice, I suppose,” he chokes out, fighting through the awkwardness that he hasn’t felt since high school. 

 She laughs. It seems genuine, but she must treat all of her customers like this, right? “A rum and Coke then, coming right up. Do you like lime?”

 “Yes,” he says, although he can’t really remember if he does or not. He pulls on his left sleeve as he sits down, far from Leroy. His elbow rests on the bartop, and if he had a hand, it would drop between himself and the surface he leans against. “Sure. Please.”

 She works quickly, and he tries and tries not to look at the way her black tank top hugs her waist. He tries not to notice the way that there aren’t any lines along her back and he tries not to wonder whether she’s wearing a bra beneath it. He tries not to notice the way her jeans hug her hips and flare out just slightly, elongating her legs impossibly. Really, he really tries not to stare. Seriously. 

 “There you go,” she says with a bright smile. “Want to open a tab?”

 He says nothing, dropping his bum arm and using the other to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out the credit card David gave him and handing it to her without a second thought. Normally, he wouldn’t open a tab. Opening a tab is something the town drunk would do– or at least running up the tab is. But how can he say no to the siren standing before him? 

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150 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fishy-xp]

Whats your angstiest chan headcannon?

in an alternate universe where big dies (because he's very much alive thank you), the belongings on his person were given to chan.

the head bodyguard sits alone in his study. the harsh lighting of the table lamp casts his weary face in half shadows as his hand tightens around a glass of whiskey. it was one of those expensive ones, a top shelf bottle that khun korn won at an auction from the italians and kept in the cellar like a hidden treasure. he'd given it to chan when he was promoted to head of the bodyguards. chan, not being a fan of whiskey, or a big drinker, accepted it graciously and then kept it in his dresser cupboard never to see the light again. that was, until tonight. tonight, the gold foil seal was broken and the alcohol met with air from the twenty-first century for the first time.

on his table was a black wallet, a packet of cheap drugstore cigarettes, a few hairties and an extra magazine. big was never one for luxury or excess. he was a simple man who accepted long ago he was but a pawn in the unfair game of life. chan still remembers telling a younger big he needed to cut his hair as it would only get in the way. he stands by the boy who stares at himself in the mirror, hairtie hanging between his front teeth and hands busy pulling back the strands of his hair. he ties his hair back, hands moving with practiced ease until all his front hair was secured in a ponytail. a single strand escapes from its confines and falls back over big's sharp features. he blows it away from his face before standing back to face chan.

"with all due respect sir, no."

chan picks up the wallet, the worn leather breaking away under his fingers. he opens it and looks over its contents. there's a few crumpled bills and loose change. in the front window there's a note written on a piece of torn scrap paper.

happy 20th birthday big

- kinn.

that explains the state of the wallet then. chan held what was the culmination of eight years of endless pining and unrequited love in his hands. he ignored the small pinprick of pain that began to flourish in his chest. something catches chan's attention. a small corner of white poking out from one of the inner pockets of the wallet. his fingers gently pull out a polaroid. the picture was of big, back turned to the camera as he knelt down by the pool next to a wet ken in the water. they both had their faces half-turned to the camera as if someone called for them at the last minute before taking the picture. both bodyguards wore grins on their faces that only ever seemed to appear when they were around the other.

chan remembers this, the party the new recruits threw after the completion of their training. chan remembers pinning the signia of the main family to the lapels of their blazers and congratulating them a few hours earlier. he remembers it was pol who was going around with a pastel blue polaroid and taking pictures of his fellow colleagues. he also remembers pol approaching big and handing over the polaroid.

"i thought i should give this to you. it's up to you if you want to keep it or throw it away."

big only nodded as he took the polaroid into his hands and stared at it. it seemed big decided to keep it after all.

chan wonders how it all went so wrong. how the two promising young men in the polaroid he held in his hand were now dead. one, a traitor, and the other, loyal to only the bounds of his mortality. if there was a god, he had no mercy because in the end they both met the same fate. chan doesn't know why big's death affected him as much as it did. he had seen and know many colleagues who died in the line of duty. this was what they were made to do, to either kill or be killed. each and everyone of them knew this. it was merely a game of chance and luck. they were never meant to know who life would bring back and who death's kiss would claim.

and yet, chan was never met to outlive big.

the head bodyguard sighs, putting the wallet and polaroid back before downing the whiskey. he pours himself another glass. the bottle is empty by the time the sun comes up the next morning.

[rosesradio]

I absolutely love your work! I have to ask, I apparently have been gifted with the talent to write major character death and whump (so far with LawRusso)-- my question is, are you fan of that at all? I know a lot of readers don't dare to touch stories with such sad/tragic endings (especially with their favorites characters), but I am curious on your take on it. With all of my stories, I try to give semi happy endings, but sometimes it hard to find a decent happy ending that feels natural.

hey cat! thanks, i love getting your comments on ctp :-) to answer your question, I am...not a fan of whump/major character death. this is because i use fanfic and mainstream media as an escape, and usually life can be stressful/depressing enough and i don't like putting myself through more of that :')

that being said, i reblogged your fic excerpt and i was like "i'm gonna read this!" and then i went to ao3 and the tags were like "graphic violence, r*pe" and i was like "oh. am i gonna read this?" lmao. i don't mean to come across as rude or anything at all though! everyone has a talent for writing different things, and my only bread and butter is fluff and smut, so consider me green with envy that you can write such heartfelt angst well.

also, don't feel the need to make a happy ending just because others will like it! if you want to do that, go for it, but you may find a darker ending to be more satisfying and realistic. one of the only really dark shows i like is sweeny todd (i'm listening to the soundtrack right now lol). In that, (spoilers even though the movie is 15 years old) literally almost everyone dies, except sweeny's daughter and the boy who originally helped sweeny get to london at the beginning, and they had a happily ever after (besides all the trauma from seeing all the dead people, i mean). that being said, you may find that ending with major character death in which some people are alive and have a happy ending to be a good way to end the story as well.

i don't mean for this to come across as writing advice, i don't know anything, just talking about different narrative endings. also ugh i love sweeny todd so much i could talk about it for ages. i may still read your fic, i'll take things slow and keep my mental health in check, but i do wanna see what's going on in it 👀 thanks for the ask, cat!