#answering the voiceless

[testtk]

well then

*Astro nudges their child again, this time, Belphegor swats at them, but doesn't wake.*

Foway

[pfhwrittes]

Okay, follow up to Gaz and Ghost razzing Soap over comms and he can’t respond:

This time, it’s Gaz’s turn. Soap determines it’s payback time and Ghost goes along with it. (Because let’s face it, he would.)

Gemma I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this prompt out. My brain went off in a million different directions before finally settling on this one. It's not my best work but it did make me laugh, hopefully it makes you smile too! 459 words of silliness (again). Also, I'm sorry for the earworm. “Ohhhhhh an’ I would walk 500 miles an’ I would walk 500 hunner mair jus’ tae be. the. man. watin’ at yer doooooooooor!” 

Kyle feels his left eye twitch in response to Soap’s godawful crooning. It’s been hours of the same fucking line sung over and over with different inflections and Kyle is seriously contemplating finding Soap’s overwatch position and beating him into a bloody pulp if he has to be subjected to the Proclaimers for even another second. Op be fucking damned. 

“Johnny.” Ghost snaps down the comms, and Kyle feels his shoulders drop in relief. 

Finally.

“Those aren’t the words.”

Kyle grimaces.

Here we fucking go.

“What’re ye on about Lt., of course those are the words!” Soap sounds delighted that he finally got a response out of the stoic Manc, which, in Kyle’s opinion, is the completely incorrect response to have. 

“No.”

“How no?” Soap shoots back, not deterred by Ghost’s blunt reply. 

“English Mactavish.” Christ, Ghost sounds downright fond of the prick. Kyle fights back the urge to make a disgusted retching noise in response. 

“Sorry, sir.” A pause, then “g’wan then. Give us a tune.” 

“Not a chance, sergeant.” 

If it wouldn’t give away his position, Kyle would beat himself into unconsciousness. Listening to Soap butcher “I’m Gonna Be” is less painful than having to witness the way he flirts like a teenager with Ghost. 

There’s another brief silence before Soap starts humming again. 

Fucking hell. __

(Bonus scene I just couldn't scrap, even though it doesn't quite fit)

“Gentlemen. I expect you know why you’re here.” Kate’s voice is smooth and controlled, not a hint of emotion bleeding through. Her body language gives away just as much as her voice, that is to say, absolutely nothing. Beside her Price is the picture of barely tempered fury. In any other circumstances Kyle would quietly marvel at the way she holds court in the small conference room, would probably shoot her a friendly grin to reassert himself as her favourite troublemaker.

As it stands (at parade rest no less, wedged between the ever fidgeting Scottish menace on his right and the breadth of his Lieutenant on his other side), Kyle doesn’t dare to even move his eyes from the point he’s chosen on the wall behind Station Chief Laswell and Captain Price. 

The silence stretches on and Kyle notices the faint tink tink tink of the ancient steel radiator as it blasts wave after wave of scorching heat into the room before his ears catch the sound of slightly off-key humming coming from his left. 

There’s a brief moment of near silence before Soap’s composure crumbles, clutching at his stomach as he bursts into only slightly hysterical sounding giggles. 

In his periphery Kyle watches a vein throb on Price’s forehead.  Oh, they are all completely and utterly fucked.

[elvenbeard]

thanks for the tag for the WIP game!! man i wanna know about vince as much as the next guy but i also wanna hear more about your fantasy novel! what's it about or could you give your favorite paragraph, (even out of context would be fun to read!)

OOOHHHHH Thanks so much for asking!!! :DDD

Okay okay okay, where do I start... I haven't rambled about this in a while, but this story has like, not let go of me for over ten years now xD I had the first idea in 2012 just after I finished school and before I went to uni, and ever since it's gone through many changes and iterations and grown and developed.

Basically, it's set on this ancient continent that is deeply divided. On the one side you have one nation (vaguely fantasy humans) that came there as settlers, their leader really not a good guy at all. That was around 500 years ago, a long-ass time even for fantasy humans that live longer than we do, and the current generations are slowly beginning to make amends and try to make up on their ancestors' mistakes.

On the other side you have the natives of the land, amongst each other also divided into subgroups (vaguely fantasy elves and such), and they live super long. A lot of them were there when that original invasion happened, remember fighting in all the wars the humans brought them, and they're rightfully distrustful in the humans' intentions of wanting to make amends.

There is two rulers, the official king (human) who is in charge of the nation with his council and controls the larger portion of the land. On an island separate from the mainland is the other leader, not really a king but something a little more of a spiritual (although not religious - it's complicated) leader, who has no true political power but a very high standing and a lot of respect (usually at least... but his situation is special, too, and getting into details would really explode this post XD).

Then there's technically also a whole third nation who also is at home on that same continent, but they grew into their own people independently alongside for worldbuilding and lore reasons and have little contact to the two factions mentioned above - at least until the human king married one of their leader's daughters (and now it's getting really complicated).

So much to the political climate and general state of the world xD I intended it to be all very full of tension and side-eyeing each other, where you never really know whose intentions you can trust, and a lot of people really fear another war for definitive power over the land coming. But man, it's gonna be so much worse :D

As for the actual story, in the first book of the series (yes, this has gotten too complex by now to put it into one book XD) everything is told mostly through the eyes of two characters and their immediate friend groups/families on either side of the main conflict. On one side is Adoven, who is the son of the native spiritual-type leader, and he is basically an angsty teenager who cannot find his place in the world and goes against everything anyone with good intentions tries to tell him. He ends up becoming involved with a group of revolutionaries that want to incite a rebellion against the human king - or so he thinks at least. On the other side is Ricnan, who is a scholar and alchemy teacher at a prestigious school that actually is very inclusive and non-political in its policies. Everyone from all backgrounds is welcome. Ricnan himself is part of a native minority, but he has no problems with the human king (but he also recognizes that he is in a position of privilige compared to many others). All is well and he's leading a very calm and nice life until one day he saves a frightened young woman from some guards and realizes she has immense magical powers - and then, much to the dismay of his parter initially, brings her home and decides to raise her as his protége and daughter really xD

Shit majorly hits the fan the moment Adoven's and Ricnan's stories meet and basically cause a huge explosion and fallout that really threatens the peace substantially 👀

Apart from that I also have a couple of subplots going on, about soulmates, rebirth, ancient mistakes catching up to the present now, illegitimate children threatening thrones, world-shattering magic, shapeshifting, dragons, and all that fun stuff you encounter in fantasy novels occasionally that add to the already existing chaos xD Also, everyone is queer because I say so xD

I can share some paragraphs, maybe from some different characters viewpoints... Here's Ricnan and his partner, Elornan, sitting at the breakfast table and musing about the strange behavior of Neryssa, the young woman they sort of adopted xD

“What on earth was that?” Ricnan asked after a brief moment of silence, but tried to keep his voice low as he slowly turned to Elornan. Elornan took a bite from his bread and smiled at him slyly. “When I got home yesterday I saw her standing by the mailbox, even more red in her face than now,” he said, “I didn’t say anything, she didn’t mention it. But, oh well…” “I… still don’t quite understand I think. It’s too early in the morning,” Ricnan sighed. Elornan laughed. “Well, let’s say it like this,” he said, leaning in a little closer to Ricnan and lowering his voice ever so slightly, “Maybe she’s not hungry because her stomach is too full of butterflies already.” That woke Ricnan up properly. He looked at the door, to where they could hear Neryssa rummaging in her bag in the next room over. Then he turned back to Elornan. “You really think so? I mean… she never mentioned anyone special, she doesn’t seem too fond of the majority of her classmates even…” “I’m fairly sure,” Elornan said, taking another bun, “You know, I had someone else sitting at my table here quite some time ago, similarly bad at hiding his thoughts and feelings. It’s funny, you and Neryssa are not even related, but still alike in a lot of ways.” Now it was Ricnan’s cheeks to flush pink. “‘Quite some time ago’, I beg your pardon…” he mumbled with played offence. “Aaages,” Elornan continued to tease, “Actual Centuries… but time very well spent I’d say. Wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with someone else, either.” Ricnan chuckled as he cut open another warm, soft piece of bread. In the hallway Neryssa scurried past the kitchen door yelling a quick “Bye!” with one foot out the front door already before slamming it shut. Both Elornan and Ricnan couldn’t help but laugh out loud now. “Oh, to be young again, indeed,” Ricnan mused but Elornan shrugged. “Sure, some things are easier when you’re young, but admittedly, most aren’t,” he said, “Not for me at least.” “So you don’t mind me turning officially old tomorrow?” “'Officially old’,” Elornan snickered, “I’m still older than you.” “On paper, in numbers, yes,” Ricnan said, somewhat more sober now, “But physically, one day I’m gonna catch up and surpass you.” “That is still far in the future,” Elornan said, putting a hand on his arm, “and I prefer living in the here and now, not worrying about what might or might not happen someday.” “I like the sound of that,” Ricnan smiled.

And a very dramatic moment for Adoven:

His heart skipped a beat or two, and he felt like he fell forever, as slowly as a feather tossed into an endless abyss. He could only just make out the shock and disbelief on the open-mouthed face of the soldier standing above him, right before he stumbled backwards and disappeared into the office. He could still feel the rope, even though he clearly saw it dangling freely against the wall of the tower, but its sensation, its fibres had burned themselves into his palms. He fell backwards into nothingness, not even the winds able to hold him up anymore, seeming weak and insignificant compared to the violence they used to tear on their clothes, the contents of the office just minutes before. His distance to the wall of the tower grew, and he gained speed, could see his teardrops sparkling in the air above him as he fell further and further, beginning to question if this is how he'll be remembered. The wannabe-revolutionary that fell to his death from the Academy of Saratheas.

If you wanna snoop around a bit more, I have an (as of right now inactive) sideblog @ivendarea for this project with some stuff, and art and writing and everything else that sort of belongs into this world in its own tag on my main blog here: elvenbeard.tumblr.com/tagged/the%20king%20of%20ivendarea ("The King of Ivendarea" was the working title for this for the longest time until some time in 2022 I decided I will split this into several novels and referring to the first one "The Voice of the Voiceless" from there on!)

Thanks again so much for asking!! :D

[yashkonu]

oops time to think about Our Closure for the rest of the night

[raubtierfuetterung]

I‘m feeling strangely anxious, and not about maths. Rather my general anxiousness is increased by my lack of fear regarding the final maths exam. It feels so pointless and unreal. I just know already that I will not feel proud of my achievement if I pass. Then what‘s the point of succeeding, of doing anything really… I feel anxious because I am fickle and arrogant and my heart feels hollowed out. My imagination is so bright and fantastic that the world looks pale and bland, always. I want to be a reclusive wizard living in a wonky cramped castle with a magical garden and only mingle with people when they come knock at my door and ask me for help nicely (Then I would even offer my assistance for free). If that‘s not possible maybe I just kill myself

[abyssalmermaiden]

88 for the Spotify meme ^^

<3

Bare Grace Misery by Nightwish

(spoilers for the DRK 60 quest)

[wholemonsternut]

i just wanna let u know that when things play out in my head, Cryce has either a transatlantic accent

or an anywhere else accent/dialect for no reason at all (& its different for each version of Cryce like Russian, Scottish, French, & now its Southern American)

pls think abt that whenever i horny post abt him because i have to in my head

[askjenetiakrole]

What time should we expect the next Black Ships to arrive? Recently it’s been very inconsistent so I would like to start making a schedule if possible

Commander Krole: *hand gestures* *questioning look*

Melpomanei: "Which system? Can't be Sol, we do regular sweeps there."

Commander Krole: *dismissive gesture* *hand gestures*

Melpomanei: "It doesn't matter, really. The League of Black Ships aims to visit each system every hundred years or so, more often where high incidence is recorded, but you try scheduling a galaxy-wide operation reliant on warp-routes. It's hardly worth looking into unless a visitation is at least a decade overdue."

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[luveline]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have to find new ways to communicate when a cold leaves you voiceless. miguel is less than happy —featuring grumpy miguel and his cheerful spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 2.3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel's hackles hike as you appear. You have an obsession with toying with him and he's in the middle of something more important than your whims and wants.

"Don't start," he warns, barely looking at you. 

You point at yourself as if to say, Who, me? Grinning, you pull your arms behind your torso tightly, your shoulders harsh slopes where they'd usually be lax with calm. Your spider suit strains against the movement, shining with a subtle shimmer as you twirl your way into his side. You blink up at him, mock-innocent. 

"What did I just say?" he asks. 

He's expecting a charming rebuttal he doesn't get. You're awfully charismatic; Miguel often thinks you've manufactured a devilish siren call that yanks him in like a fish on a line no matter how hard he tries to split his lip and flee.

You're pretty, sure, but it isn't your looks that endear you to him. You have this way of speaking that's effortlessly carefree, despite the frankly ridiculous depth of the well that is your fondness for the world. It shouldn't make sense, and it does: you're happy because you love the world. When you speak to him, annoy him, praise him and degrade him in the same breath, Miguel thinks you might love him, too. 

You're silent. Miguel takes it as a blessing and finishes analysing the footage playing in front of him. He finishes as quickly as he can, and he's not a dick, he says, "Thank you." Then, with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Where have you been?" 

You come to see him so often he kind of forgot you didn't have to. He's taken you for granted, he knows, and after three days of not seeing you he should be happier. He should've asked you about it as soon as you appeared. 

You shrug and point at his screen. He can practically see the question mark in your eyes. 

"That's nothing. What, you're not speaking to me now?" he asks. 

Paper creaks in your hand as you pull a sketchbook from your pocket. Small, lilac, you flip to the first page and show him the scrawled message there with a rueful smile. 

Miguel's expecting a cartoon version of himself, but instead you've written three words. 

I have laryngitis. 

Miguel's gaze flickers between you and your book, assessing the claim with scepticism. "Why would you have that? You're practically impervious to disease." 

You flip to the next page. 

Superbug from Earth-87222 defeated my enhanced healing.

One of your Peter Parker friends lives there. He isn't jealous (because he knows that particular Peter doesn't like girls). "And you can't talk?" he asks. 

The next page. I can't talk.

You tuck the book to your chest. Lips parted, you attempt to speak, but all that comes out is hot air and a cruel croaking scratch that makes his chest ache. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, softer than he'd been speaking beforehand. He can't decide whether to glare at you or pull you in for a hug. If he hugs you, you might attach yourself to him like that thing from Alien. He glares. "You could've told me." 

You gesture to your throat. I can't speak. 

"That you were sick, you know how to type. You bother me every day for weeks and then one day you stop showing up, and you don't answer your watch, what am I supposed to think?" 

You stare up at him dreamily. He swears you get off on being scolded half the time. 

Miguel takes your wrist into his hand and turns your wristband forward to showcase the screen. "You see this? You see when my prompt comes up? You could take ten seconds and hit me back." 

Again, you open your small sketchbook, turning to a fourth page. You've predicted him well.

I didn't want to worry you. Don't be mad, handsome, you'll get more wrinkles. 

"Tu sabes todo," he fumes. You know everything. "If you're so smart, you can help me recalibrate the pocket dimension storage." 

You flip a page. It's finally a drawing rather than a knowing line, your familiar artistry obvious in your weighted linework and rushed shading. It's Miguel, his expression one he isn't sure you would've actually seen to reference as well as you have, lovingly concerned with a speech bubble coming from beside his softly rendered hair. Get well soon, cariño. 

He scoffs. "You seem fine to me." 

In truth, you don't seem fine. Now he knows, he can see evidence of your days away. Your lips are chapped under the balm you've applied, your hair dishevelled (though it's often unruly, in line with your personality). You wince when you breathe too hard. Miguel lowers the platform and sets you up next to him on a workbench in the back of the laboratory beside him for purely professional purposes. He has to make sure you're doing the calibration correctly, that's all. 

He can't quite explain away the tea he gets for you from the cafeteria, nor the research he does on the way back to you, Lyla at his shoulder saying, "You're such a softie." 

You find you don't need the sketchbook to communicate. Miguel places your tea down and your smile alone is thanks enough. It's pure reverential delight. He doesn't really deserve it, so he pretends he doesn't see. 

When you need help with a recalibration, you take his wrist gently. You don't even need to point at the screen, the subtle uptilt of your brows enough clue.

"Here, you're almost there," he murmurs under his breath, distracted by the complicated code you've been editing in the corner of the screen. "Oh, is this what you do when I'm not looking?" 

You tug his elbow. 

"No? You're not messing around?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm stupid." 

Your fingers tighten. Miguel clicks a couple of things to finish the calibration. He looks at you from over his shoulder. Your face is near. It radiates heat. He bites the tip of his gloved finger and yanks it off clean to press the back of his naked hand to your forehead. 

"You're warm," he says, patting carefully downward. Your skin is as hot as he'd worried. 

Miguel drops his hand without rush, the side of his pinky tracing down your cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't be here." 

You shake your head vehemently. There's something in it he doesn't understand, an uncharacteristic shyness. He supposes he'd feel the same if he were sick like this, but you have no reason to be ashamed of a bad cold.

"Enough calibration, then. Take it easy." 

You do not take it easy. Your first port of call is to request to share his screen. He grants you permission and rescinds it soon after, irked when the majority of his monitor becomes wallpapered by digital post it note drawings of him looking cranky and of you in a crown, a ship's captain's hat, standing on the moon. He sets them each back to the perimeter of his window and tries to work. Trust you to find ways to bother him without teasing aloud. 

He thinks that… but then, his hands falter over the keyboard. You aren't a bother. You irritate him but he kind of likes it, most of the time. He turns his head just enough to see your face, blue and white light kissing your skin. You glow. 

Miguel thinks about how he used to do this alone. Lyla on his shoulder when she felt like it but usually tinkering in the quiet, trying to stop the end of the world, the pressure akin to how Atlas himself must have felt, knees locked and arms braced above his head to stop the Earth falling into the black abyss. Miguel doesn't always know what he's being punished for (or, he didn't). He doesn't know why this ended up on his plate, but the panic of doing it alone ebbs every day. With you by his side, unshakeable if not unfailing, it feels less like a death sentence and more like a problem that needs solving. He can't save everyone, but he can try. He can't stomach the agony of his life if he thinks about the past; you make it easy to stay present. 

Who would he rather have here than you? Out of everyone living that he knows, you're the only person he could stand to sit with for this long. 

It's not the same without your voice. Your murmurings, your kind doting, your put upon and less-so confusion. He misses it more than he can say in that moment, worse when you feel his eyes and turn to face him with a soft smile. 

Everything okay? you ask without asking. 

You don't need to speak. He can see it on your face. 

Miguel gets up from his bench to tower over you. Without giving it too much thought, he bends down, wrapping his right arm behind your shoulders, the left loose over your front, and kisses your forehead with the barest of pressures. It's hardly a kiss at all, and it makes no noise. More like he's resting his lips there, his nose at your hairline, breathing in. His hand rubs an up and down of its own accord into your upper arm, the soft fat of it melding under his touch. 

Your head dips back invitingly. You're like butter in the sun at his touch, a slow melting. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll deny it," he says quietly. 

You snort. You give his arm a pat and reach over it to grab your sketchbook. Miguel straightens but doesn't remove his arms, watching as you flick to the right page. 

I can't talk, the page says. You beam at him.

"I see," Miguel says. "You think it's funny because you couldn't tell if you wanted to." 

Your answering hum comes with the feeling of your fingers latching onto his elbow. Exactly. 

Well, fuck it. If you can't tell anyone, Miguel might as well send it. He leans down to grab you up into his hold, a squeezing hug that says everything he wanted to tell you while you were gone, his worry for you and his annoyance at your lack of communication. You don't need audible words to tell him things, and Miguel doesn't need words either. Hopefully his arms around you and his nose digging too rough into your temple says how he feels plainly. 

"I figured you got sick of taking orders," he confesses. You got sick of me. "When you didn't come back." 

You refuse to act small —Miguel doesn't want you to—, standing despite the weight he'd been resting on you, turning in the circle of his arms to look up into his eyes. It's too much, Miguel doesn't want your face this close to his, not with the rawness of his feelings aching a trail up between each of his rib bones, one by one. He clenches his jaw. 

Your hand climbs to his ear. He stays very still. As the initiator he should be forgiving, but your fingers touch his ear and he contemplates sinking his teeth into your hand. You stroke hair away from his face with a dramatised expression that says it's in the way, pesky stuff, though the final fond tuck of it behind the shell of his ear is impossible to deny.

Your thumb rubs his earlobe. 

"Are you having fun?" he asks dryly.

Your nod is sincere. Enthusiastic, you start to ease your fingertips into the thick tresses of his hair. 

Miguel grabs your wrist in an iron grip. 

"Enough." 

He guesses more than knows what your pout means —that isn't fair. 

"Life isn't fair," he says, pressing your forearm to your chest, an action fraught with apology. It's ridiculous how much can be said without words. He'd like for you to get your voice back solely to end this confusing misery. Well, not solely… Miguel misses the sound of it, distinct as your lopsided smiles and unconventional hand movements. "You can file a complaint just as soon as you get your voice back, how's that?" 

You roll your eyes and sit back down on your bench. Miguel takes a lap around the laboratory to calm down, returning to a new program blinking on computer his taskbar to be opened. 

He doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking your way as he opens it. 

"Miguel!" The program chirps, in a voice jarringly close to yours but not nearly as sophisticated as the majority of language intelligence he uses in his own coding. "I was waiting for you, handsome! Where have you been? Now you're back, I have a very special song to sing for you. Sing along if you know this one! Alright… Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer…"

Miguel realises he can't mute or close the program shortly thereafter. Vocaloid you counts down to sixty one bottles of beer by the time he resigns to turning off his computer altogether, a headache twinging angrily behind his eyes. 

Maybe he could use a break from your voice after all. 

You giggle breathlessly at him as he drops his face into his hands. 

"Drink your tea," he orders, words muffled by his palms.

He doesn't look up. There's the sound of a big sip. Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He's kidding himself —the sooner you get your voice back, the better. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[testtk]

*bap*

*Who is that ment for? You bap Belphie you still get no response, Astro glares at you as best it can if you bap them.*

[mondaymelon]

OMGGG what about the tall genshin men reacting when u suddenly distance urself from them, but they dont know its bc of something they said? feel free to edit n modify this as much as ud like :3

₊˚ෆ "𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄…" | diluc, childe, kaveh x gn!reader

art by @/kongqingkoqi on twitter! (not too sure on who you meant by tall characters, so i just chose a couple males with the tall model~ thank you for your request!)

— cw: angst + comfort ? injury (diluc), ngl reader is kinda a bitch in childe's but it was the only way i thought up of of making the situation work so. lmao. cries

[ Perhaps it was the winter cold that had bit him so, or perhaps it was merely a gloom that had briefly descended upon him. Either way, an unfortunate slip of the tongue has wounded you, yet they themselves remain unaware. ]

"Love?"

DILUC's eyes are round with worry, and his concerned gaze sweeps over you - from your crestfallen form, and then to your eyes that shy away from his. Ever since he had returned to the estate after being out of business since morning, you've been avoiding him, not wishing to speak a single word to his self and not even bothering to spare him a fleeting glance.

At first, it was bearable. Perhaps you just had had a long day and wanted some alone time, no? It was always a possibility, that is, until he saw your smiling self as you busied yourself in chatting away with the maids, and most importantly, that brother of his.

What had he done to warrant such treatment? You loved him, that he was sure of. Otherwise, you would've rejected him, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have let him take your hand and bring it to his lips ever so slowly, pressing a kiss into your knuckles?

"Love, I... I'm sorry. Please, tell me what I did wrong." His voice contains a shred of his desperation, and his crimson eyes only hold you in their gaze. You, who had broken past his carefully crafted walls and rekindled the flame that had long since been extinguished within his heart. "If it's something I did, if it's something I said-"

“Diluc, you…” Your quiet voice ebbs to silence as your eyes glance away, landing on everything except for the red-haired man before you, whose broad shoulders give the slightest tremor. The darkness in your expression, the displayed hurt… Ah.

Diluc’s weary mind raced, recollecting the hasty conversation from this morning, when dawn had yet to break and he had arrived home, coat blazing, skin littered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts. You had rushed out of your bedroom, still in your night garments, panicking over the wounds that covered his body and the red that blackened his already dark clothes. In a strained voice, eyes wide and frantic, you had called for the maids, only for Diluc to forcibly shush you, steadying himself on shaky legs.

“Love, what happened, what were you doing and how did-??”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His tone is low, tired. “Stay out of this, you won’t be able to offer any assistance anyhow.”

Begrudgingly, the man recalled his absolute exhaustion, having just returned after a bloody night of battling monsters, muscles sore and crying for relief. There was no need for your concern, his cuts would mend and his wounds would heal. Yet he hadn’t meant for his words to come out so harsh, for his tongue to pierce you in the way it had.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind when I said that- I just... I just didn't want you to be hurt also... If I'm injured, those wounds will fade with time, but I.."

His words trail off, replaced with your silence - a voiceless agreement, one that Diluc takes as an answer. Holding both your hands in his gloved ones, it's somehow easy to feel his fiery warmth despite his cold demeanor. Cold... was it really so? The male's eyes shone, and then you were in his arms, tightly intertwined.

"..I don't know what I would do if harm were to befell you, love..."₊˚ෆ

"Love!"

CHILDE's playful smile fades at its corners as you walk past him, the way you're failing to even acknowledge his presence painfully apparent. "Hah... what's with you today?" Another absence of a response. You dash your way out of his sight, and he's left alone in the dark living room, a half-smile still on his features. The fuck?

Okay, maybe it was just one of those days. There had been several since the start of the relationship, and the harbinger offered his utmost understanding. Sometimes people just felt like shit, and didn't feel like doing shit, and he could understand that to some extent.

There, mystery solved, yeah? Ah, but just one problem, how come you had been completely fine just an hour before? He had the day off, and so did you, so there was a mutual agreement to just stay home and laze about in one another's presence - yet it was only nearing lunchtime and you had already given him the cold shoulder? For what..? You hadn't even gone outside or did anything today-

Oh. Then he had to have been the problem. He raps his knuckles on your bedroom door, but it's really his bedroom too, and is bold enough to poke his head through the frame without waiting for your confirmation, a hesitant grin decorating his lips. "Love, I'm sorry- for ah... whatever you disliked...?"

You're sat at your desk, weariness evident in your darkened eyes. "Childe, do you find me someone who needs to be protected?"

He blinks. "...What?"

"Childe, do you really just want to spend the entire day lying around?" Snapping your fingers, your eyes lit up with sparkles. "We should go to a cafe or something for lunch, maybe, and then-"

"Why through go all the effort? We're staying home because I thought you wanted to, aren't we?"

"Not to that extent Childe... if you were with friends, what would you be doing? Not sitting on the couch all day, I hope?" A sheepish smile crossed your face.

"Hmm.. friends... I suppose we'd duel...?"

"Then-"

"Nope, no way am I dueling with you, you're way too weak, love, that's why I gotta protect you, hm?"

He immediately shakes his head at your words, almost frantic. "W- No, I didn't mean it in that way, love. You're capable, it's just that... Well- you don't have a vision, or a weapon, or-"

"Childe." Not your usual 'love', a bright smile on your lips, and he flinches just the slightest at the sight. "We're in a relationship. I don't want to be in a give all take all relation, you know? I.. I want to be independent, I want you to rely on me sometimes too... I just feel like sometimes I'm just such a burden to you and-"

"A burden?" His eyes widen, features instantly shadowing with disbelief at your words.

You, a burden? Such a thing couldn't possibly be. The warmth that you had granted him, the delicate arms that had held him in its hold, the lips that had whispered such affections and pressed kisses on his skin-

"No, love. You are not a burden, not when you are someone who makes life worth living." ₊˚ෆ

"Love...?"

KAVEH's in instant full blown panic mode, the dark bags under his eyes especially evident with how wide they've grown. "H-Hey, are you okay?" Of course, something wasn't okay - otherwise, why would you be ignoring him like this? But his sleepless mind has grown frantic, and he's desperate for relief. His hand latches onto yours before you can disappear into another room, holding onto your wrist loosely enough to not seem forceful. "Ah..."

He'd moved without thinking, almost as if on instinct, and now that you had glanced back with something colder in your gaze, that same urge told him not to let go. "I, I'm sorry!" For what exactly, he wouldn't even be able to tell a soul, yet the words seemed to have done the trick, as your feet pause in the middle of a step away from him, hesitance clear in your expression.

"For what, Kaveh?"

Shit, he's fucked. This was it, all the all nighters and hours of laborious planning and calculations had led to this one moment... His mind was spurred into action as his mouth sputtered useless stutters and... oh, could it be?

"Kaveh, you should go to sleep, it's already so late, and you haven't gotten a good rest in days, love..." Your concerned tone rang clearly in his ears, but he shook the words away, his disheveled form only focusing on the work before him, the endless tasks he had yet to complete.

"No, I... I can't. Love, could you brew me a cup of coffee, the extra strong kind? Thank you..." He gave his sleepy eyes a rub, completely missing the look that had flitted across your face in that moment.

Your sigh invades his flashbacks, and you look completely done with him, brows furrowed a fraction and lips drawn into a thin line. "Kaveh, please, for the love of the archons, take some better care of yourself."

"...Ah?"

Suddenly, your tone had shifted in the span of a half second, and instead of the angry gaze he had expected, it was more so... scolding. Concern. "Close that jaw of yours, Kaveh, how come you look so surprised? I've told you this time and time again, you need rest!"

An accusing finger was pointed in his direction, the bearer someone he was certainly very familiar with. "Well, it's a big project, I have to finish it by next week and there's barely any time, so I need to-"

"-And how can you possibly plan on functioning if you haven't gotten any sleep?"

Curses, a valid argument. Kaveh slowly held up his empty hands in defeat, chuckling sheepishly. So this was about him, and not you? Thank the archons, for a second he had thought he had messed up big time-

"That look of yours, you better not be thinking what I think you're thinking! And, besides..." You glanced at the ground, as if suddenly reluctant to speak another word. "I was waiting for you so we could sleep together..."

...An angel? Was that who was before him?

"I-I'm sorry... I promise I'll take better care of myself and... you won't have to wait for me, tonight. I'll turn in early, love." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) not all that proud of this one. but here. sigh

reblogs are veryyyy appreciated!! if you liked this fic, please consider following, as im super close to a follower goal id love to hit before new years! thank you.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling 

[dedalvs]

How did you come up with the Zhyler alphabet? It's my favorite of all your scripts.

And yes I realize the answer is probably related to Asimov's famous quote "I just make them up, you see" but I'm hoping for something a bit more detailed.

Of all my scripts? A lazy alphabet most of whose characters can be found in Unicode?!

It's funny, I used to defend Zhyler's script from those who said its characters were mainly remapped Unicode characters, because I did actually create it. I wanted it to look like Roman characters (kind of like with Valyrian glyphs), so I took the original design and tried to get it as close to Roman characters as I could. You can see the whole write-up here (plus the original font), but essentially this was a snippet of the original logic behind it:

So you can see the stops there all have a line and a characteristic shape that appears to the left of the line for voiceless and to the right for voiced. Glides are the associated vowel with a dot. [tʃ] and [dʒ] were also reversies of each other and I made that clearer with the second version of the font created by Claire Ng. There are other patterns in there. So I did actually design a script, but it's still a lazy alphabet.

I will say Claire's version of it is gorgeous and much better than my original. It's the best version of it. But it's essentially Dustox. Whose favorite Pokémon is Dustox?! Nobody, that's who! Who wants Dustox when you can have the legendary Ho-oh, the mighty Arceus, spritely little Oddish, or one of Eevee's many adorable incarnations? Dustox isn't even the best moth-based Pokémon! Really, Zhyler isn't a language to be remembered. No one cared about it when it was current, and if it weren't for one spiteful anon who wishes to drag me through the mud like some sort of non-Alolan Muk, no one would remember it now.

[transhawks]

Another Voice is Needed

I'm looking back at the essay I wrote years ago - You Want Ideals? He's had 'em on how Tomura developed convictions and was being groomed to essentially not have any, and was consistently spoken over, and while I don't think I can finish the essay with how much has changed, I think I want to revisit something about how Tenko is so often spoken for. I loved the framing in 427 but I think it's still missing the actual voice of Tenko, which is a big part of the issue. The civilians are both right and wrong and so is Spinner, and the lone voice that we really need IS Tenko's because he's been voiceless for so long. In the link above I kind of spell out how much of Tenko's ability to state what he believes has been ripped away and he's even een convinced he has nothing, until the crux where he did in fact speak his beliefs, but one of the issues is that Tomura Shigaraki itself is a false mask, a false identity forced on him.

So, I don't think it's "Spinner is 100% right" in the framing of the shitty things randos were saying this chapter, I think it was more used to illustrate there's more than these sides to a person and the person whose voice is missing is really obvious.

I think that's what makes me feel so sure Tenko is returning. As nice as the comic Spinner wants to write about his friend is, he saw only one side, much like the people in the street, and like Deku saw an internal life/memories, but he didn't get to see the Tomura who takes off his hands to show his face to Jin or plays videogames with Shuichi. Just like I said earlier in the day, this is all feeling unfinished, and the only person who can answer who Tomura Shigaraki was is Tenko Shimura.

[crowleys-hips]

Pietà

art by @crowleyholmes

In the final moments of the last battle to save Earth, Crowley deals the last blow and he watches triumphantly as the Metatron collapses before him. But he doesn't come out unscathed. With a holy weapon pierced into his abdomen and time slipping away from him, he makes peace with his doomed fate as he awaits death in his angel's arms. Aziraphale will -not- have it though, as he does everything in his power to save the being he loves the most, risking everything to keep him.

Crowley doesn't notice the holy weapon piercing his upper abdomen at first, too busy still holding up his own infernal weapon as he watches the body of the powerful entity before him slowly start to crumble, a triumphant, wicked smile painted across his lips, adrenaline and victorious exhilaration coursing through his veins after a long, hard-fought battle against Heaven's tyrant. Then it hits him like a freight train. Pain so poignant it makes the world seem to bend. He stumbles a few steps back, dropping his weapon as his mind catches up with the sensation. The pain throbs violently, rapidly spreading like poison from his abdomen down to his every limb. He stops breathing as a weak attempt to stop it, but it doesn't help much. He just stands there, limbs shaking until his wobbling legs collapse. He grunts at the shock of pain that shoots up his body as his knees hit the ground and he falls limply on his side, mouth gaping helplessly like a fish out of water. The pain courses through his entire body, and it’s worse than any torture he’s ever endured in hell or anywhere. He's been whipped, burned, shot, cut in half, dismembered, had his bones repetitively broken, and worst of all, been forced to write a five hundred page essay on why demons should never do good deeds. And of course, he's been stabbed before. Quite a common occurrence during his first centuries on Earth. But never has he ever come close to a holy weapon of this caliber before. Holiness so venomous it stings and burns right through his very soul, chafing at it, tearing it, corroding it bit by burning bit, slowly disintegrating the delicate fabric of his essence. He wants to scream, but finds himself voiceless, so he just lies there motionless, ichor oozing out of his wound, pooling around him, collecting in his mouth, and trickling down his cheek. 

It feels like hours -though it must've been just a couple minutes- before he is found. A familiar voice calls out to him in the distance, a voice he knows as well as his own. It sounds pained and desperate, and he wants nothing more than to run to it and soothe its owner’s woes until there's nothing left but gentleness in the world. The voice sounds way farther than it is, for in an instant, there are soft hands carefully scooping him up, cradling him close, surrounding him in warmth. His eyes try to focus on the blurry figure above him.

“...wley,” The echo of his voice reaches him. “Crowley, oh God Crowley answer me,” he pleads. 

A different kind of ache crushes his chest. It's fine, everything is fine. I took care of it, he wants to say. His mouth twitches, trying to form words, knowing they could very well be his last.

“Angel,” he manages to whisper. “My angel…”

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[askjenetiakrole]

That’s fair. Keep an eye out for necrons, especially this one that like to steal things. There was a Custodes on Cadia before it fell and a black ship might seem very tempting for it.

Commander Krole: *hand gestures*

Melpomanei: "Necrons tend to be wary of such large concentrations of psykers, but I'll bear it in mind. There is another necron who has displayed a troubling interest in pariahs."