#but he's just prime whump material

[pain-is-too-tired]

He didn't want to annoy Minos. The human had a short temper. Chris didn't want to test it, even if his shaking was more of a subconscious action he couldn't always control,that didn't matter to Minos.

The scene in the excerpt isn't exactly match to the drawing,but it's same au and a wip I'm working on so thought it was fitting ✨️

[harukamitsuki]

Ur soooo right abt Lance I think he just became the fandom’s darling because people saw inklings of insecurity and home sickness and zeroed in. He’s whump bait, but like without the more complicated issues tied into Shiro, Allura, and Keith’s problems. Prime projection material.

He has potential and I appreciate fandom’s ability to see that in him, but you’re so right that people have completely forgotten who he is in canon. He *could* have been better, but he wasn’t and it’s frustrating that people have lost sight of that because I think it would genuinely produce more interesting takes on his character and role in the story. As someone who genuinely wants him to be a better character it makes me want to eat dry wall.

Lance, first and foremost, is the everyday man. That's why he's so popular. He is far from a piloting prodigy, flirts with every pretty girl, funny and exaggerative, has a generic weapon like a rifle, is the first paladin to find his Lion, and has the most basic interal conflict there can be. Which is why everyone loves him.

Shiro? Shiro is confirmed gay, was hailed as the most promising pilot pre-canon, was officially the youngest man sent into space, but also had an illness for canon forgot about it, had major PTSD that left him unable to move in most cases, considered himself broken if his hallucinations said anything, and literally died. He's good leader matieral, able to handle a group of four wildly differing teenagers and only really let his emotions plan his course of action once (when Allura was kidnapped). This man is insanely skilled but also insanely traumatised.

Keith? Keith beat all of the records Shiro set and was known as a genius in the field, only held back by his defense mechanisms and rushing on ahead. He was abandoned by his mother when he was a toddle, then his father died implicitly before his eyes, he was then an orphan where he was probably passed around from family to family, ot feeding into his adandonment issues. He gained a friend in Shiro, the first person to reach out to him, and then lost him a few years later. He finally gets Shiro back, only for more shit to happen. He finds out his mom was Galra, and becomes sorry that he even existed because of this. Nobody on Voltron actually felt like his friend with Pidge constantly calling him a loner right after he lost Shiro, Hunk poking fun at his Galra genes, and Lance playing up this one-sidedly rivalry and taking everything he does as an attack on his person. He loses Shiro again and has to constantly give him up for the sake of Voltron and the universe. The only time he can focus on himself is when Shiro is back and he distants himself for the team's sake and they just let him go. He's so affected by grief before the story starts and it doesn't give him a break. Even so, he's so kind and genuine about everything. He becomes the Black Paladin, not because he had no choice. Maybe at first, but he grows into that role and becomes a great leader.

Pidge? Pidge is a prodigy and a genius, able to hack firm and software from alien planets. She can fly a jet just from reading instruction manuels and have little to no trouble. At the same time, lost her brother and father all at once. When she finally got some clue as to what happened to them, she was kicked out and banned from the Garrison. She disguised as a boy and snuck in, abandoning her dream of becoming a fighter pilot because navigation would teach her more about scanning space for extraterrestrial communication and lifeforms. When she finally has the chance to find her family, she has to constantly give them and clues she may find up because Volton and the universe come first.

Hunk? Hunk is just as much of a genius as Pidge, even if the writers forget, with him able to spot foul play on an alien ship easily. He's so kind and loving yet fierce with his protection and so strong when defending his friends. He keeps spirits high with his warming attitude, even if he's the most home sick of them all. He acts the most realistically to become a child soldier. Still, even when he's terrified, he pushes on so that people like Shay can find out what freedom is. Feel it for themselves. When they go back to Earth, Hunk is the only one who has to fight to get his parents back and earn his happy ending. He suffers throughout the series, but he's always looking at the greener side.

Allura and Coran? They lost their families and thejr entire species before canon ever began. They lost so much and have nothing but revenge fueling them. They have to deal with the fact that they slept through the massacre of the Altean species and woke up far too late. They have to deal with inexperienced humans who have no real attachment to the war. They have to deal with the fact that they are the last of the Alteans. And when it's finally revealed that there are more survivors, they have to deal with the fact that they're being farmed by Lotor/Honerva for their quintessence. Allura was so depressed in season eight after falling for Lotor then being used so thoroughly by him. Coran never got to say goodbye to Allura before she died. Despite this, they still fight with all they have, making sure nobody has to face the loss they've felt.

Lance? Um. He's insecure about his place in the team? I guess Veronica nearly died but she didn't so whatever... He did spend a lot of his time in the Garrison being compared to Keith... But he also spent time he could've used to better his skills to sneak out and flirt with girls or hit the arcade. Um... I guess...

Um. Yeah.

See, I always wonder how people see such angst potential in Lance, or even see him as an angsty character in general. They act as though he's suffered the most in canon when, in reality, he hasn't. He has the most generic troubles and, I guess, it's more relatable that way? People don't have to struggle to relate to PTSD or abandonment issues or identity issues or child soldiers or losing your entire species.

Insecurity? That's easy because everyone feels insecure.

Which is why Lance is so popular.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this isn't valid. It sucks to feel insecure and doubt your every move. The only difference is how common Lance's issues are compared to everyone else. Because Lance is generic as hell, people love to vent through him.

Lance has a stable friendship group, is constantly given everything he wants, and even manages to destroy what has been the canon ship over decades (Kallura). He invented a rivalry with Keith, who didn't even know who he was when they met. Because of that, people either ship them for the 'rivals to lovers' trope or hate Keith and act as though Keith was bullying him. Shiro doesn't take Lance's side often because Lance's ideas are dangerous or reckless. He still tries to let him down gently, making logical arguments (see: Shiro explaining that Red is fire-resistant so Keith has to go to the BOM HQ). Oh, but he's not on Lance's side so the fandom decides he's an awful leader. As if they know what a good leader is. They think a good leader is someone who gets distracted by a pretty girl and blames everyone but himself.

The only thing not given to Lance on a silver platter is Black. Thank God. But because he wasn't given Black when he was given everything else, fandom decides that DreamWorks hates Lance and decides to argue that Lance was always destined to be the Black Paladin. Ignoring how Black's colour scheme was LITERALLY ON KEITH'S CLOTHES.

So. Yeah. He definitely has potential before DreamWorks just started rewarding him for breathing. The insecurity he has could have been a good way to develop his character. He could have become someone outside of Keith or Shiro's shadow. He didn't need a love interest to prosper, as proven by the fact that he never prospered in canon.

His potential was there, just ignored because the writers were allergic to complex characters, even to the smallest degree.

(They should have gotten the writers for Race to the Edge to do Voltron ugh)

[thesandsofelsweyr]

thinking about ak!jay's sleep habits is prime angst material. how do you think he slept when he was the arkham knight? did he curl up in the corner of a room, as far away from the door as possible, just like he did in joker's cell?

during the months where the arkham knight is planning to kill bruce, i like to imagine him having vivid nightmares every single night about joker's torture. ak!jay waking up to know that his mind has been so utterly ruined, broken and remolded by the joker that he will never have a single night of comfort again.

Maybe, on his worst nights, he even dreams about the joker embracing him (like at the end of your "Hollowed Out"). Holding and comforting a touchstarved jay, protecting him from bruce. Softly reminding jay that all he has to do to be safe is kill batman. and all dream!jason does is sob and agree, promising to end batman, so grateful to the joker for being kind to him...

(re: my previous asks, you 100% have blanket permission to use anything i write as inspiration for a fic. your whump fics are amazing.)

how do you think he slept when he was the arkham knight? did he curl up in the corner of a room, as far away from the door as possible, just like he did in joker's cell?

He tries to sleep in a bed. Occasionally he'll make it through the night, but most of the time he ends up in that corner, drenched in sweat, shaking like a puppy on the fourth of July, tearful eyes blown wide as he gasps for breath while he hides under his weighted blanket 😞

during the months where the arkham knight is planning to kill bruce, i like to imagine him having vivid nightmares every single night about joker's torture. ak!jay waking up to know that his mind has been so utterly ruined, broken and remolded by the joker that he will never have a single night of comfort again.

The night terrors are definitely more terrifying in the months leading up to his confrontation with Batman. It's like Joker's always there to remind him that he's still the Clown's "Plan J"

Maybe, on his worst nights, he even dreams about the joker embracing him (like at the end of your "Hollowed Out"). Holding and comforting a touchstarved jay, protecting him from bruce. Softly reminding jay that all he has to do to be safe is kill batman. and all dream!jason does is sob and agree, promising to end batman, so grateful to the joker for being kind to him...

OMG I love this idea 🤩 Dream!Joker cradling a sobbing Jason in his arms, tenderly stroking his hair, gently hushing him like a caring father might do for a crying child. While Jason clutches at his suit and sobs against his chest, his wicked red grin stretches from ear to ear in triumph 🤡

(Also I get so giddy when someone mentions Hollowed Out (ao3) because I'm still so proud of it. TYSM for reading 🥰)

(re: my previous asks, you 100% have blanket permission to use anything i write as inspiration for a fic. your whump fics are amazing.)

🥰🥰🥰

[vampire-bite]

the Redacted vampires and werewolves + their listeners, ranked on how whumpable they are on a scale of one to ten (+ a bonus of what type of whump fits them most)

This is based on my taste, and ill do more boys maybe

Sam: 5/10, maybe 6.  there’s a lot of caretaker energy, which sort of comes with the territory of being a healer, but there’s also a lot of emotional turmoil, so I’d say it’s about 50/50 on which way you want to go. Prime candidate for the whump of healing others at the cost of your own physical wellbeing. Someone make a fic where once you’re turned into a vampire you can’t heal without it being like empathetic or something.

Darlin: 9/10: i mean, naturally. I don’t feel the need to explain this, it seems self explanatory. I’d say they’re best for hiding injuries. They’re the type of character who suddenly collapses when everyone thinks they’re all in the clear. 

Vincent: 7/10: You already have immense survivors guilt to work with, plus the situation of him being invoked, and just generally his complicated feelings about his turning. I only put him so low because he’s not really a character I can see physical whump with and i am trying to rate them based on how whumpee-able they are, in both physical and mental ways. Obviously, survivor’s guilt whump is your go-to here.

Lovely: 10/10: Constantly being whumped in canon. Again, don’t feel the need to explain this. Their whump type I think depends on what era Lovely we’re talking about. Because of course, nightmares are spectacular, but I feel like the idea of them overexerting themselves trying to use magic like they used to is highly underrated for after they’re turned.

Porter: 10/10: I’ve already said Porter is basically tailor-made to my tastes, but this also applies to whump. Any character who sees themselves as a weapon is obviously prime whumpee material imo. Hear me out: Porter needs to be kidnapped and tortured. That’s a defiant whumpee with clear motivations for your kidnapper and the opportunity to break him is just too good.

Treasure: 6/10: See, if we knew a bit more, I’d be able to rank them more accurately. As it is, I think their whumpability comes down to Porter’s reactions being a spectacular opportunity. I think they’re good for a being used as bait type of thing

David: 8/10: I want that tsundere obliterated. Basically has the appeal of a “team leader” whumpee, where the unusuality (is that a word) of him being vulnerable just makes the pain when he’s hurt in front of the others that much better.  I don’t know if there’s a term for it, but yeah, basically. Injured and/or humiliated in front of the pack

Angel: 7/10: I’m not always a fan of the type of whumpee whos likely to crack jokes and stuff, but it sometimes is chefs kiss. That’s sort of angel’s thing. Something about them gives me buried under rubble vibes.

Asher: 8/10: See above about whumpees who are sort of joking around to distract from their pain. I can’t exactly explain why I like Asher more, but just. Trust me. Probably something to do with the inversion.  Just one fic where he thinks he’s been abandoned and left for dead just one please im begging

Babe: 4/10: They don’t compel me as a whumpee too much. But. I want them to be attacked and kill the person and have emotional whump over that

Milo: 8/10: His descriptor is “feisty”, I feel like I’ve made it very clear that defiant whumpees are chefs kiss. And there’s canon whump. Muzzle that man. 

Sweetheart: 10/10: They’re WONDERFUL for whumping, guys. I NEED more sweetheart whump in this fandom. Overworking themselves is naturally perfect.

[shinysoroka]

For the choose violence ask, #'s 9, 17 & 22 plz if you haven't done those already :-)

9. Worst part of canon

Endgame. Oh my GOD, Endgame. I cannot even begin to describe how that movie completely flubbed the ending of an arc 10 years in the making. I remember being aghast because the reviews were so good but holy hell, that movie is atrocious. Even if I disregard how they treated Thor, everything else fails on every level, every character is the worst version of themselves, nothing makes sense, it is criminally boring to watch and every movie and show that came after had to work around the asinine decisions it made. Whoever gave the Russo's the keys to the kingdom should be ashamed. Never have I wanted Whedon back more than when EG released. Say whatever you want about the guy, but he knows how to write ensemble casts where everyone is flawed but likeable and compelling. The Russos care about two characters, Cap and Tony (kinda). Everyone else is action figures to be smashed into one another.

17. There should be more of this type of fic/art

I remain amazed at how few Hurt/Comfort fics there are for Thor. The guy is custom made for them and yet, it's usually crickets in that regard. I remember being convinced that this type of fic would be huge when the first Avengers movie came out. Then I sprinted to ao3 and was sorely disappointed. My instincts are usually good for this kind of thing but either fandom changed while I wasn't looking or I was just spoiled by this trope in LOTR fics. Either way, someone go make my poor God of Thunder's day miserable. It's okay, I know you're going to fix it later. Please fix it later! 🥺

22. Your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

The Water of Sight in Age of Ulton and the Nidavellir forge from Infinity War. Prime whump material, the self-sacrifice, the drama, the pain!! Thor literally risked his life to help the universe TWICE, once in water, once in fire. Nobody ever found out it happened (except Rocket and Groot), nobody ever discusses it, it just disappeared into the ether in canon and in fics. Justice for my Thunder Martyr Child! I saw your agony and I respect it! (cries)

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

Mystake divorced the Fsm au

inspired by a quote from fgo that seems to fit the au to a tee. Specifically between the characters Morgan Le fay and Baobhan Sith.

Also Whumptober is near and Garmadon is prime whump material so please take this

[As Garmadon becomes possessed by the Overlord. He remembers some advice his mother gave him as he recovered from another venom induced fit. Leaving him bedbound and tended to by her.]

Past Mystake: You must be evil. You must be cruel. It is the only way you will survive. If it would let you live a happy life, even just once... I would give up my dream —my Ninjago.

[The flashback ends and we’re left with Garmadon’s thoughts.]

Garmadon: I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mother. Even that didn't work. I do hate ninjagans. They were always so mean to me. But...then I met two ninjagans I could have a normal conversation with. How strange. I hate all of Ninjago’s peoples, but it was so easy to talk to them. What was their name again...? And what was that city called...? What happened afterwards...?

[The possession is complete and Garmadon can only fall far far deep into sleep. As the overlord begins his charge and the prophecy.]

The “Them” being referenced is Lloyd and Misako

The irony of Lloyd not being human either.

The entire Garmadon family is tragedy bait tbh. I love them.

-Ivy

[alicepao13]

S06E16

Blame Orthodox Easter for delaying this post. I wanted to watch again before I wrote this.

It’s amazing how much this season is paralleling S3 in certain aspects. The whump, for example. Or the fact that both finales were flipped, and while I can’t remember now if I liked S03E15 better than the finale (they were possibly equally forgettable cases aside from the storyline about Sarah getting the offer for London), I can say with certainty that S06E15 was a better season finale than S06E16. Honestly, I don’t think that there’s a lot to say about this episode. It’s a solid filler with few character moments.

Director Kevin Hanchard. I think he did a good job. I don’t have anything against the episode, it just wasn’t season finale material and it’s pretty clear it wasn’t shot as such. I enjoyed the BTS stuff about directing, at least they remembered to mention that.

Jesse in this episode:

Jesse’s first solo case as a detective! Or rather, Jesse’s first solo case until they realize the two cases are connected. But still.

I am a hundred percent sure I’ve seen the husband elsewhere but I’m too lazy to look it up.

There is the kind of mentoring that pretty much most crime shows do, which is something between bullying and tough love on the rookie law enforcement officers (totally unintentional pun, I was thinking of NCIS), and then there’s Charlie’s support and encouragement to Jesse. I know the lack of friction doesn’t do much for tv but it’s nice to see sometimes.

Making fun of the detective who has taken up the case of your fellow band member is totally the right thing to do. Especially if you want to become the prime suspect. Even more so if you are the actual killer.

It made sense in my head at the time but midway through the episode I was sure the drummer had done it. Even though I didn’t pay attention enough to remember who the drummer was.

I liked the takedown scene with Rex throwing the guy on the glass table and breaking it. 

That lady was stone cold. Damn. That’s good casting.

Were there even drugs? Or rock’n’roll?

Hopefully CityTV doesn’t think 100 is a good round number for cancellation. Oh, what am I saying, they don’t even remember we reached a hundred episodes.

[eriyu]

i beat xvi so here are my reactions from along the way

for posterity (my future self is posterity)

i did not do this in any kind of organized way like i think i skipped writing anything down for big portions of the game;;;

spoilers obviously. and also after this i'm going to start reblogging xvi things including spoilers tagged #ffxvi so. be warned.

i guess i'll link my demo impressions because this is basically a continuation of that.

a mite predictable so far....... though i did think cid was gonna crystallize instead of regular dying.

GODDDDDD i wish there were a chatlog. or at least that dialogue were progressed manually. i don't have the focus for this shit when i can't even rewind it.

i love the combat a lot. which is weird to think seeing as i'm very much a turn-based fan and really. don't play action games ever. but it feels very kingdom hearts to me? there's even shotlock.

THE BIG MOMENTS ARE SO SO GOOD. A+ ON THE MELODRAMA.

clive is prime whump material and i love it.

some of the worldbuilding is a little baffling... mostly ORCS? REALLY? WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY CLASSIC FF OPTIONS TO CHOOSE FROM.

personal preference i guess but i feel like they could chill with the "mature content" a bit....... how many sidequests do we need to drive home how shit Bearers are treated. how many random sex workers does one game need.

i was going to complain about linearity, but things opened up nicely soon after i thought it, so props there LOL

i know it's supposed to be "dark" but like.... i want to fall in love with a game world. i want to wish i lived there. i want unique local flavors and COLOR. most of this so far is just generic medieval squalor. even places like the treno slums had beautiful waterways and plucky npcs and... COLOR...

jill feels like......... an afterthought. sometimes she's there; sometimes she's not, and it doesn't seem to matter either way. she barely talks. we haven't seen shiva in game since we first met back up with her. there's a vague implication that jill's doing important things but that's kind of it???

jill update: okay Things Happening but like. now she's out of commission? i'm getting sacrificed-for-man-pain vibes. i don't know; it's too soon to say that, but it just doesn't feel great.

the state of the realm UI is SOOOOO good. it's a bit of an overload in the way xiii's datalog was, but it's fine if i remind myself i can read things Later.

oh my god i love shotlocking a zillion enemies in a tornado.

i really love mid but "midadol" sounds like a pharmaceutical.

CANON GAYS?????

ultima looks like a tumblr lumpy-faced reptilian oatmeal man.

the voice acting is so good. like clive's screaming and crying reminds me of dub gaara's "MY BLOOOOOOD" which is the highest compliment i can possibly give.

oh my godddddddd the fighting at twinside is giving alexandria. again, in the best possible way.

okay seriously where the fuck is leviathan though. i keep wondering when leviathan is going to show up and i'm starting to think he's... not.

jesus christ i couldn't stop thinking about clive and joshua and dion today. i want to eat them.

look i KNOW clive and josh had a really good reunion moment in twinside but consider this: i want another one. i think they should have had another one at the hideaway. i want more tenderness. i deserve more tenderness.

they pronounce "chocobo" AND "popoto" with a short o in the middle like "chock" and "pot" and i'm so uncomfortable.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME. WE LIKE JUST PROMISED JOTE WE'D KEEP JOSHUA SAFE AND NOW WE'RE SPLITTING UP. i'm so afraid everybody will die.

all the xiv references ;w; for some reason it's the quest names that keep getting me??? "through the maelstrom" this time.

i REALLY really wish jill's character didn't just revolve around clive.............. is my impression but i don't know if that's entirely fair of me. like if i made a list of bullet points i don't know that she's any worse than say, tifa with cloud. but it Feels worse. i WANT to love her, but i'm just not feelin' it.

god i want to be able to switch between two eikon/ability sets. i want a single-target setup and a trash mob setup. not even to switch mid-battle; i know that could be OP, just switchable in the menu.

i legit panic every time joshua leaves the party. like NO we're supposed to be WATCHING HIM??????? EVERYBODY IS GOING TO DIE IF I LET MY GUARD DOWN. also i love him. i can't stop thinking about him. continuing the proud tradition of square enix joshuas (being loved by me).

"EVEN LEVIATHAN THE LOST IS HERE" OH THANK FUCK.

uhhhhhhhhhh active time lore is absolutely giving me spoilers? MAJOR spoilers??? what the hell????????

reverie givin' me legend of dragoon vibes. like wingly stuff. i love it.

daaAAAAAMN zantetsuken OP????? but as it should be tbh. i love it.

hey

hey

HEY

i'm sad.

for real i. i feel like i'm not as upset as i COULD be because i was really emotionally preparing for Everyone to Die through the whole game. but wow. this still hurts.

i actually got maliciously spoiled with "clive dies" before i even got the game in my hands and partly succeeded at not letting that ruin the experience for me, but. damn i had a little bit of hope that it was a fake spoiler until i saw his hand.....

jesus christ though. ow.

i mean it was a largely satisfying ending. the fights were good. the Moral of the Story felt a lil heavyhanded but i do love the Power of Friendship. it could have been a lot sadder. but i'm such a sucker for a real happy ending o|--<

i think trying to brute force myself into liking jill more has made me like her less;;;;;;;;; i will try a different approach. her getting left behind for the end didn't help though. for the record i'm talking about liking her as a character. she's a perfectly lovely person.

holy fuck i'm emotional about joshua though.

oh no the post-credit scene made me sadder. it feels like a character flaw of mine but anything about losing magic, ever, makes me SO SO SAD. even when i KNOW it's supposed to make for a happy ending. like in kiki's delivery service when she can't hear jiji anymore??? fucking destroys me and not in the good way.

and joshua........... o|--<

i've really been looking forward to finishing so i could go look up shippy things but i just feel like. oof. now. i need to marinate for a while first. this isn't the time for shipping.

[atlantis-scribe]

Okay I really do love Atlantis, but the amount that some people woobify Rodney actually drives me crazy. And I actually love Rodney as a character but like my boy's an asshole sometimes!! like he's not a perpetual victim, let him be wrong about stuff and grow and improve as a person!! (also the recurring theme of having random women in his life be abusive for... no textual reason?? is a little sus) like I'm getting to the point where I can hardly (1/2)

(2/2) enjoy hurt/comfort with Rodney bc I'm so wary of this... which just makes me sad 😭 Really sorry for ranting in your inbox you are my fave Atlantis blog and I like your take on Rondey

hello there!

please don’t apologize for ranting. my inbox is always open to rants. they’re encouraged, even! (long as I get to rant back lol)

and my oh my is this one of the topics that also get me going, particularly because 1) Rodney is also my favorite character, 2) I, too, see this woobification tendency, and 3) it’s complicated af & touches on several running themes not just in Stargate but in almost all fandoms.

• the Rodney Woobification is ancient practice. the SGA (specifically McShep) fan community has been around for a while now, and the Stargate fandom as a whole is even the birthplace of many established tropes that people still use to this day (Daniel Whump, anyone?). I understand the appeal. hell, I love angst and hurt & comfort for reasons almost exactly the same as other people who woobify characters love to do their thing. I don’t always comment on it (I don’t wanna be That Dick raining on other people’s parades) because it’s a slippery slope that so often leads to outright gatekeeping. there’s really just a fine line between being critical of fic characterization — being ‘true’ to the source material — and having fun with fannish works (specifically, using art as an outlet to do the most bizarre things polite society would ostracize you for)

• that being said, I am also not a big fan of woobie!Rodney. there’s a reason why I had such a visceral reaction to the Post-Trinity Phenomenon & the Lemon Chicken trope.

you have to understand, I came into the fandom a little over two years ago. about a decade too late, really. all the stories have been written, the takes taken, and the discourse over & done with. it’s pretty lonely, but the fun is in trying to sift thru what the OG fans left behind. so to stumble upon such a treasure trove of fics with the same running theme and have such a fierce ‘Nope!’ reaction was pretty memorable. I love Trinity because the Rodney in that episode was allowed to be his most obnoxious, his most arrogant, his most unlikable, but still remain layered & nuanced & complex, and that’s pretty damn good writing there. I saw the ‘asshole’ label when I bought it, after all. I certainly don’t want it erased or buried under a rug. I want it explored.

• canon writing is a-whole-nother problem altogether. it’s hard to justify exactly what makes Rodney (& Sheppard & Weir & everyone else) genuine or true to form, because —  let’s be honest — SGA is not a prime example of stellar TV writing and/or storytelling. it’s addictive as all hell, but it’s severely flawed, and that includes how it handled consistency in characterization. this brings us back to the dangers of gatekeeping and yelling at other people for how they write (however beloved) ‘public domain’ fictional characters.

• what I want to advocate now in terms of woobie!Rodney is for other fans to maybe examine why they like Rodney. is it because we are all just weak for white, asshole geniuses who are shippable with other white (often same gender, often male) assholes? if that’s the case, and you want to continue making your content, go ahead. it’s frankly a pretty boring reason, but we’re all boring nerds here. some more than others. just, you know, tag properly & don’t be rude to other fans who may have different reasons.

me? I love Rodney because yes, he’s a white asshole genius (that archetype is like crack for real) but portrayed so wonderfully by a very talented actor that it left me with a nuanced character whose gaps I can fill with attributes I want to analyze as a lifelong fan of the human condition who occasionally writes fics for popular media. woobifying him would be a disservice to how I see him & the things I love about him, which would then render me unable to enjoy the Rodney I ‘stan’. that would defeat the entire purpose of why I engage with the fandom, because at the end of the day, I’m here to have fun.

• so no matter how much I (and you as well, I suspect, my dear anon) would want to police this practice, it just isn’t our place. the best (and the right) thing for us to do is curate our fandom experience and create the content we actually want to consume. who knows, we may just convince / inspire enough people so there’d be more of the same kind of things we enjoy out there :)

- kit

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey so I've recently been craving sport themed Johnlock (Excluding Rugby because it's kinda overused though 100% understandable). Either one could be doing the sport I just wanted something sporty. Preferably long and kinda angsty but just sporty will do-

Hi Nonny!

Sure! You’re in luck because I haven’t really read any Rugby John, LOL. You’re getting all the sports AUs I have :) I thought I did this list already but apparently not hahah :P Here you are!

SPORTS

See also: 

Alexx’s Sports AU List

YorkiePug’s Sports AU List

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Eyes Up, Heels Down by CodenameMeretricious (E, 107,845 w., 43 Ch. || Sports Equestrian AU || Fluff, Angst, Humour, Rider!Sherlock, Groomer!John, Show Jumping, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) – Sherlock is a top eventing rider currently training at Baker Farms. John is the new groom who's been told to steer clear of the surly rider and his horses. Part 1 of Baker Farms

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

MARKED FOR LATER

Emblaze Our Hearts by antietamfalls (T, 7,970 w., 1 Ch. || Olympics AU || Skeleton Luger Sherlock, Biathlete John, Drunkenness, Texting, Memory Loss) – A night of celebratory drinking leads to a mystery in the Olympic village. Who is this "SH" person with whom John apparently spent the night, and why did they disappear with John's most prized possession?

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence? (sorry, not an AU, but since this is a new story, I want to promote it, LOL.)

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || Rugby AU || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Forces of Nature by Ewebie (E, 18,369 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock || Rugby Captain John, Hammock Sex, Bad Jokes) – Sherlock watched as the man pushed himself out of the water and onto the floating dock constantly anchored in the middle of the lake. Oh. He was… He was quite tanned. Broad shoulders sloped into a narrow, muscular waist and tapered hips that disappeared into the navy swim trunks. Somehow the breadth of the shoulders made the thighs and legs that appeared out of the bottom of the trunks look delicate. Tanned in their own right and powerful, but oddly proportionate to the shorter stature the man seemed to possess. Sherlock watched the water run off of him, down his back, tracing a path along his spine and through the pleasing fossae lumbales laterales and lumbar lordosis into the waistband of the trunks. Sherlock swallowed. Shit.

Sticking the Landing by SweetMandolins (M, 44,826 w. 17 Ch. || Olympics AU || Gymnast John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Rhythmic Gymnastics, Falling in Love, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Bisexual John, Muscular John, Humour, Jealous John, Side Mystrade) – John Watson, Captain of Team GB’s gymnastics squad is confident and primed for his third and final Olympics. Disappointed in London with a shoulder injury putting paid to his Olympic dream, can he secure an Olympic gold finish before retirement? Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes has other problems. Men’s Rhythmic Gymnastics is the newest Olympic sport, but a series of peculiar accidents both on and off the floor have taken out some of the competitors. Does something more sinister lurk under the spangles and spandex? Can Sherlock solve the mystery in time to deliver a flawless ball routine? And does something more valuable than medals await the boys in Rio?

Fly Very High by yalublyutebya (E, 46,533 w., 31 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Rivalry, Permanent Injury, Hate Sex, Angry Sex) – John Watson was born to be a racing driver, and even a crash isn't enough to keep him out of a car for long. But coming back is not that easy, especially when he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes. Part 2 of the Formula One AU series

Working on the Edges by earlgreytea68 (M, 56,089 w., 16 Ch. || Olympics AU || Hockey Player John, Ice Skater Sherlock) – No matter where you put Sherlock and John, they click. Including the Winter Olympics.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Boyfriend Material by PoppyAlexander (E, 151,282 w., 58 Ch. || American Hockey AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Closeted John, POV John, Pining, Casual Sex / Hook Ups, Rom-Com) – Boston Brawlers' team captain John Watson longs for two things: a championship before he retires, and a boyfriend. Assigned to room with goaltender Sherlock Holmes--known around the league as both a genius and a "weird dude"– on Brawlers' roadtrips, John discovers the things they have in common that lead to an easy friendship and a convenient arrangement.

Slipstream by khorazir (M, 173,186+ w., 14/25 Ch. || WIP || Tour de France / Sports Cycling AU || Room Sharing, Cycling Injuries, Discussions of Drugs/Doping, Awkward Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Bickering, Case Fic, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing, Jealousy) –It’s going to be the last Tour de France for professional cyclist John Watson. Despite the hardships of cycling more than 3000 kilometres in three weeks, in blistering heat and torrential rain, over dangerous cobblestones in northern France and the mountains of the Alps and the Pyrenees, battling thirst, hunger, injury and exhaustion, not to mention bitchy rivals, doping allegations, and the ever scoop-hungry press, he is going to enjoy the ride, damn it. That’s what John keeps telling himself – until he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes, who adds a whole new list of problems as well as an extra dose of excitement to John’s life.

Red Lights Out by days_of_storm (E, 333,458 w., 103 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Mechanic John, Driver Sherlock, UST, Friendship, Pre-Slash, Romance, Perfect Cooperation, Accidents, Manipulation, Slow Burn) – John Watson is an overqualified mechanic and former rally driver who works for McLaren. Silverstone GP is impending when he meets Sherlock Holmes, a prodigy driver whom nobody takes seriously, except for McLaren boss Greg Lestrade.

[luckgods]

so i just watched The Sting (good movie, HIGHLY recommend, especially if you like cons and/or capers), and the main character gets knocked around a good bit throughout the film, but the thing that really struck me was that he pretty much dropped after the first good hit, every time

so this is me, gently requesting that movies STOP showing us Gritty Combat Scenes where everyone involved just Keeps Going No Matter What in order to pad their running time, and that they START giving us more of “realistically, getting kicked into a wall is going to put our hero down for a minimum of two minutes while they catch their breath”

which is Prime Whump Material bc it means we spend less time on the Fighting and more on the aftermath, and also really drives home the fact that Fighting Is Serious Business, and if one hit can knock the protagonist down, what would happen if the antagonists KEEP hitting them? bad things? very bad things :)

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Eurydice

Summary: An alternate scenario for the Halloween episode, loosely based on the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Mr. Itch strikes a different deal with Brain. If Brain can make it to the surface world without looking at Pinky, the contract will be voided and Pinky’s soul will be returned. And failure is not an option.

Beginning AN: I posted this idea on Discord a month ago and I’ve wanted to write this scenario ever since. I love the Halloween ep so much…so how about some whump? I am not kind to our favorite mice at all, just a heads up. Also there is a serious lack of fics over the Halloween ep. It's prime material for angst.

Big shout out to @plutonis who listened to me cry over torturing these poor mice over DM. 

FFN Link 

                                                      Contract

I, the Brain, hereby agree to a challenge against Mr. Itch, Proprietor of Wayward Souls and Master of Hell, in which the winner shall receive Pinky’s soul. Should Brain win this challenge against all impossible odds, Pinky’s previous contract in which he agreed to submit himself to hell’s eternal torments in exchange for Brain’s dominion over the surface world shall be voided and destroyed, and he may return to the surface world with Brain. Additionally, Brain agrees to forfeit his royal claim on the world and is prohibited from future attempts at global conquest for the remainder of his days.

Challenger Signature: The Brain

Drafter Signature: Mr. Itch

*Mr. Itch reserves the right to set the terms of the challenge at his leisure.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d been too hasty in signing the contract. The combination of brimstone and heat had to be affecting his decision-making process.

It’s not about Pin– the food pellets, he told himself. Absolutely not.

But it was too late. His signature was burned into the page. Five blood-red letters would determine Pinky’s fate.

And even if…no, he couldn’t afford an if…when he succeeded in rescuing Pinky, he’d have to give up the world. He wouldn’t even be able to try and earn his crown, scepter, and throne through his own merits.

Without the nightly ambitions, Pinky might…wish to find a different associate.

Brain’s entire purpose would be gone. Forever.  

He didn’t listen to the convoluted, nonsensical legalese that Mr. Itch’s lawyers provided. There was no need to provide metaphors or explain the situation further.

Brain understood the gist.

No matter the outcome, he would fail. And this time, the consequences were permanent.

“Think of it, Brain,” Mr. Itch sneered, and Brain hated that cocky, self-assured expression that put even the best car salesman in the world to shame. Mr. Itch waved his hand, and a sick, twisted parody of a game show appeared behind him. “You can walk away now and rule the world…or you can risk it all and try to get Pinky back.”

Brain’s vision blurred as he was forcibly thrust onto a tall podium. A spotlight illuminated him, and the demons clamored for his choice.

A tall demoness cheerfully indicated two panels to the studio audience of hell’s denizens. One depicted Brain on top of the world in royal regalia. He could have power to change the world. Admiration from the populace. Endless wealth so they could have the finest things life had to offer.

But the other panel was a portrait of Pinky. Just a misleading, goofy portrait of a smiling Pinky that belied the high stakes of Brain’s contract.

He was chafing under the spotlight. But why? He was king, he was emperor, with everyone at his beck and call! He shouldn’t be afraid of a little spotlight!

Except he wasn’t any of those things here. Just a mouse who’d failed to notice his associate signing his own soul away.

The demons clamored. Brain gripped the podium, vulnerable and ripe for humiliation, for several…seconds? Minutes? Hours?

His voice wasn’t working. He needed his voice, didn’t he? But he could only stammer like a fool. Perspiration built on his fur, and he nearly slipped off the podium, his palms damp and clammy. He didn’t know if it was the heat or the anxiety, but everyone was waiting for his choice.

“Save Pinky!”

“No, the world!”

“Go for cash!”

The demons jeered in a harsh, guttural cacophony. Brain was sure he would’ve been covered in fresh produce and popcorn if they’d had any available. Anything to amplify his current indignity.

He wanted Pinky. He wanted the world. He couldn’t have both.

But in the end, there was hardly a choice at all.  

Ruling the world without Pinky by his side wasn’t worth the castle, the riches, the statues. Institutes of higher learning named in his honor, policies with his seal of approval, ethical practices in scientific fields to enforce…but what good were they to him?

His castle would just be a gilded cage. Sparkling and clean and mighty for all his subjects to behold from afar, but its interior would only contain a gloomy king without an associate, a confidant…

And a kindred spirit.

All or nothing. He had to try. Who knows? Pinky might’ve done the same for him.  

“I’ll try to save Pinky!” Brain shouted, forcing the words past his throat and into the unforgiving outside world.

He wasn’t prepared for Pinky to spring onto the podium. That mindless simpleton was grinning from ear to ear like he was just being called to the stage in The Price is Right! Didn’t Pinky realize his soul was in peril?  

“Oh, Brain! My hero!” Pinky snatched Brain up in an enthusiastic hug. Brain stiffened and tried not to think about the hand currently rubbing his head, and how he would never feel it again if he failed his quest.

They were also surrounded by an unfriendly sort. They would believe this saccharine display was a weakness if Brain allowed Pinky to indulge these childish needs.

He shoved Pinky off, holding him at arm’s length for a moment so Pinky would take the hint.

“…so he can show me where the food pellets are,” Brain added hastily.

That was all Pinky was needed for.

To show him where the necessities laid.

A hellish fanfare played, saving Brain pondering those terrifying thoughts.    

An enormous fiery plume burst onto the stage, then dissipated to reveal Mr. Itch. He conjured a microphone and bowed heartily at the thunderous applause.

“Ladies and demons, we have something very special for your entertainment on this fantastic Halloween night. I trust you’re aware of our newest resident and his…well, can I even call him a friend? He didn’t lift a finger to stop me when I claimed Pinky.”

Brain stared down at his hands to avoid the harsh, mocking glares. This was just the opening act. Mr. Itch was hyping up the crowd for Brain’s ultimate failure.

Mr. Itch strolled around the stage, each movement radiating confidence of a self-assured victory. “Yes, he enjoys having that ultimate power. A glorious statue, his rival in the race for world domination now a lowly jester in court, his name praised on every street corner! Isn’t that a dream come true? And yet...he chose to come into my realm and make demands. Like the world wasn’t enough for him.”

Because Pinky wasn’t there to make the world enough.

A hiss of smoke sprung up by Brain’s foot. He bit his tongue, wondering if part of the challenge was running on hot coals or avoiding random ember spurts. At this point, it seemed very likely. His feet probably wouldn’t survive the night.

In the unlikely scenario that the rest of his body survived of course.

And something wet landed on his toe. Wet? There wasn’t anything wet about hell, unless one counted the boiling lakes. But it evaporated into steam before he could fully process the cool reprieve.

Then he heard it.

A whimper.

From Pinky.

A tear trailed down Pinky’s cheek.

“Pinky?” Brain asked quietly, trying to keep his eyes trained on Mr. Itch, who was currently recapping the tale of Brain’s disastrous attempt at Broadway to the raucous audience. Not one of Brain’s finest moments, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Better for them to laugh over what was past and done, rather than drawing their attention here.

Pinky clutched his tail in a death grip. Steam leaked under his eyes and around his cheeks, his entire face damp with tears.

“He’s saying awful things.”

Even with their proximity, Brain had to strain his ears to hear Pinky’s voice.

“Don’t bawl, Pinky,” Brain whispered, hoping by some off-chance that the verbal comfort would be enough. “Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Don’t…don’t be foolish.”

He didn’t know if the reassurance was meant for Pinky or himself. With a trembling hand, Brain reached for Pinky’s back, shuffling closer to make the motion less conspicuous.

But Pinky moved away before Brain could touch him.

“They have to know, Brain,” Pinky said. His voice was far too calm. “I can’t let him tell those awful lies about you.”  

Pinky tried to balance on the edge of the podium, but Brain grabbed him by the tail and hauled him off. But Pinky was stubborn, and he tried again.

“Let him talk, you idiot!” Brain yelled, grabbing Pinky’s tail to knock him off-balance and buy some much needed time before Pinky foolishly tried again, oddly glad that Mr. Itch was enough of a showman to keep the attention away from them.

But Pinky’s huge pain threshold allowed him to recover far quicker than Brain would’ve liked. “Brain, let go of my tail!” Pinky shouted, trying to sweep his tail into a huge arc to dislodge Brain.

“Not until you do as you’re told, for once in your life!” Brain retorted, grasping the wriggling tail. He wouldn’t relinquish it.

Pinky was slippery though, and in one swift motion, he freed himself from Brain’s grip. Realizing he needed a more secure hold, Brain threw himself at Pinky’s right arm. Suddenly, the arm blurred, and Brain couldn’t stop his forward momentum in time. A sharp pain erupted on the side of his head and knocked him against a corner, his face throbbing painfully.

Through his daze, Brain pressed a hand against his cheek and winced at the tenderness. Hopefully it didn’t swell. Ice packs weren’t exactly a common item in this hostile environment.

Then he saw Pinky.

And Pinky was absolutely distraught. Smoke poured out his eyes at a more alarming rate than before. His blue eyes were tinged red. Pinky clutched his elbow with his other arm, squeezing as hard as he could to admonish it.

But it wasn’t necessary.

A microphone was thrust into Pinky’s face before Brain could tell him so.

“How could I forget our little stars of the show?” Mr. Itch asked, a sadistic grin stretching from ear to ear. “That was quite a scuffle there, Pinky. Can’t say I blame you. Revenge for all the times Brain’s bopped you on the head and insulted you?”

Pinky wiped his eyes in a pitiful attempt to get some semblance of dignity back as the demonic crew trained all their lights and cameras on him.

“N-no...” Pinky said weakly. “I mean, he can say mean things sometimes, but the bops-“

Mr. Itch shook his head in a show of mock sympathy. “Your friend-“ he curled his lip as if the word itself was cyanide “-called you a speckless nougat just before you signed my contract. He’ll take everything and give nothing. He’ll send you away only to ask for your services again because he can’t do the manual labor on his own. You’re a talented little guy, aren’t you? You’ve showed the moxie and the know-how to become a Broadway star or president of the good old USA. And instead of putting those gifts to use, you’ve been rotting inside a cage with a failure who leeches on your success.”    

Failure.

One of the cameras trained its unforgiving lens on Brain. He shook away the remaining dizziness and stood up to get some semblance of dignity back. The demons booed and heckled him, but he tried to lift his head in defiance.

He wasn’t a failure. He ruled the world! His word was law, his brilliance unparalleled!

He had it all-

-only because Pinky sacrificed his soul for him. Pinky had taken drastic measures to prove himself when there had been nothing to prove, because Brain made Pinky believe he had to prove his usefulness.

He’d gained the world yet lost Pinky. It was failure.

Which meant he-  

“Stop it,” Pinky begged. Brain’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he stepped away from Pinky before reminding himself that he was being illogical. Pinky didn’t have telepathy. He couldn’t have heard all that. But Pinky was glaring up at Mr. Itch with a ferocity Brain had never seen before.  

In the span of a single night, Brain’s entire world had been shaken to its roots.

Mr. Itch raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?” he asked, placing his free hand on his chest like he’d been genuinely offended.

“Stop it! STOP CALLING BRAIN ALL THOSE NASTY MEAN HORRIBLE THINGS RIGHT NOW!” Pinky’s voice rose into a fevered pitch, his fur bristling along his spine.

This was wrong. This was so very wrong. Pinky wasn’t supposed to be the angry one.

Before Brain could stop him, Pinky leapt off the podium and landed on the microphone to the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the lesser demons, and even Mr. Itch seemed too stunned by the maneuver to shake Pinky off.

“Pinky, cease immediately!” Brain yelled once he managed to find his voice. “You’re being reckless!”

“I HAVE PLENTY OF RECKS, BRAIN!” Pinky screamed, tightly clinging to the microphone even though Mr. Itch was attempting to pry him off. “CAUSE YOU’RE NOT A FAILURE OR A LEECH! YOU’RE A MOUSE!”

A comforting warmth spread through Brain’s chest at the affirmation, but he pushed those feelings aside. Pinky’s words meant nothing if Brain didn’t succeed with this rescue.

The audience was deathly quiet.

“Yes, Pinky,” Mr. Itch growled, trying to slip a finger under Pinky to dislodge him. But Pinky held on. “Let your friend talk. Let the cameras capture his selfishness. After all, his presence here just means he wasn’t grateful for your gift. That he wasn’t happy with your gift. As I said before, all he does is take, take, and take some more. What’s he ever done for you in return?”

But Brain had been grateful. For a short time anyway.

Until he realized his gratitude came from Pinky’s sacrifice. All of Pinky’s sacrifices that involved no benefit to himself.

Pinky mumbled something that had much of the audience leaning in eagerly, trying to hang onto every word.

Mr. Itch shrugged. “Well, if you have nothing else to say, then-“

But Pinky hauled himself on top of the microphone, clinging to it like a lifeline.  

“Brain gave me my name! He gave me a chance to see the world! He gave me a chance to do things I never dreamed of doing before! I wouldn’t have met Pharfignewton otherwise! Or Winnie or Mr. Sultana or any of the other lovely people we met while trying to take over the world! Maybe Brain can be big-headed and a grump but he works super hard and he’s going to make the world a better place to live! And most importantly, he’s my best friend and nothing you say will ever change that!”

“Pinky…” Brain’s throat closed uncomfortably. It had to be the oppressive, stagnant air. What could he possibly say to Pinky’s emphatic speech?

Even the demons were moved. Some embraced their neighbors, others made sympathetic noises. There were a few who sat with their heads pressed against their knees in a futile attempt to staunch their tears.

He’d never been more grateful for Pinky’s charisma.  

Mr. Itch took notice of his followers’ reactions. A vein seemed to pop in his head, his once casual, lazy posture now stiff and alert.

“Brain only kept you around because you were useful.” A dangerous edge crept into Mr. Itch’s tone. “That’s all there was to your so-called friendship.”

“NARF!” Pinky screeched in defiance.

It sounded all wrong. Fury and fear laced that familiar, irritating monosyllable. Brain didn’t know what narf meant, and he probably never would, but he was certain that narf wasn’t meant to be uttered in such a fashion.

“Narf!” a demon called.

Another demon stood up and pumped his fist. “Poit!”

“Troz! Egad! Narf! Zort!” The demons chanted Pinky’s favorite syllables like the world’s most demented cheering squad.

An inferno burned in Mr. Itch’s eyes.    

“SILENCE!”  

Mr. Itch’s snarl deepened into a guttural and unearthly roar, the entire netherworld quaking in outrage. The lesser demons hastily vacated their seats and cowered behind each other, large boulders, or whatever makeshift shields they could find.

The microphone and a tiny white body were hurled into the empty audience box, crashing into the metallic structure with enough force to leave an enormous dent.

There was no tic-filled laughter to accompany the harsh clang of his body impacting metal.

“PINKY!” Brain screamed, not caring that he tumbled more than climbed down the podium. He landed right on his throbbing cheek and got a mouthful of hot crimson dust for his trouble, but he couldn’t care less.

The physical tortures were just going to build up until Pinky’s body couldn’t handle it anymore. It didn’t matter that Pinky had a near-immunity to pain. Pinky’s body would break and he would never notice.

Brain spat out the dust and hurried over to Pinky, who feebly stirred next to the microphone.  

Mr. Itch loomed above them, an ember casually lit on his finger. “You know what? That’s perfect,” he chuckled, and it was utterly devoid of good humor. “Absolute silence.”  

Brain knelt on the hard ground next to Pinky, who only blinked up at him with those too-trusting blue eyes. Pinky raised a shaking hand, cupping it against the cheek he’d accidentally hurt.

“I’ve sustained worse injuries,” Brain said quietly. Despite the heat, he shivered at the touch. He wished Pinky wouldn’t comfort him. He didn’t deserve it. “You know that.”      

Pinky opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Speak up, Pinky.” Brain tried to sound commanding, but his voice hitched instead. He couldn’t even keep up a thin illusion of normalcy.

Pinky tried again, but Brain still couldn’t hear him. Not even a cough or a wheeze from smoke inhalation. He wasn’t choking or flailing. There couldn’t be something lodged in his throat.  

“He can’t speak, Brain,” Mr. Itch said. “He’s been silenced per our little agreement.”

Silenced?

Brain snatched the wrist gently cradling his cheek and felt for a pulse, and he couldn’t disguise his relieved sigh once he found it.

“C’mon, just what do you take me for? It’s not a euphemism. Takes all the fun outta the contract.”

“Just say narf, Pinky,” Brain pleaded as he shook Pinky’s shoulder, as if pleading in hell would accomplish anything useful. “Please say narf. Can’t you do that much?”

Pinky mouthed the syllable to no avail. He became teary all over again, his free hand feeling his throat as if trying to coax the narf out. His foot kicked out, yet it made no thump against the crimson rocks.

The demons murmured among themselves, and though they appeared sympathetic to Pinky’s plight, they were too frightened of their master to come any closer.

It was just as well. Brain didn’t want anyone to touch Pinky.

Brain tried to glare at Mr. Itch, but a mouse could never hope to be intimidating against a sadistic supernatural being.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Itch scoffed. “The fine print of our contract lets me set the condition of the challenge. Pinky’s silence is my first condition. If anything, I’m doing you a favor. Awful noisy thing, isn’t he? No wonder you weren’t inclined to get back him back right away.”

Had this been a different situation entirely, Brain might’ve found it relieving that Pinky would have to be quiet for a while.

Cruel irony at its finest.

Pinky touched his nose against Brain’s own, and Brain tried not to think of how Pinky could comfort as easily with a touch as with words. Surely Pinky was just using tactile stimulation for his own peace of mind rather than Brain’s.

“And now for my second condition,” Mr. Itch smirked. He snapped his fingers, the sharp echo promising cruelty yet to come.

The gentle pressure of Pinky’s nose vanished, the feel of his wrist and shoulder gone. The whites, pinks, and reds of his body were now colorless, lifeless. His bright blue eyes faded into a pale, ghostly void. No pupils, no irises…just empty.    

Brain tried to put a hand over Pinky’s heart, desperately wishing for the steady thrum he was so accustomed to. Yet his hand passed through Pinky’s chest like mist. It was neither cold nor hot, simply that there was nothing to feel.

Pinky reached for Brain’s face, looking at him with that strange, milky gaze. But his hand passed through the cheek he’d accidentally hurt, and Pinky’s chest heaved rapidly. He tried to grab his tail, as he always did when he was truly upset, but couldn’t.

No tears came out. Just several silent sobs.

Pinky was just a silent, sorrowful ghost of his former self. The loudest and happiest mouse Brain had ever known was reduced to this shadow, trapped within his mind, unable to engage with the world around him.

It was a horrible, undeserved fate for such a kindhearted mouse. There would be no release, not even from death, if Brain failed his challenge.

He had no choice but to win.

And even that was practically impossible.

“Pinky, I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out of Brain’s mouth before he could think of anything else to say.

Why wouldn’t his mind just work? I’m sorry? Like he’d done nothing more than eat the last food pellet? Sorry didn’t even begin to cut it!

Pinky floated instead of standing, feet skimming just above the ground. He gave Brain a tiny, reassuring smile. Of course he’d find something to smile about in his non-existent state. It probably should’ve annoyed Brain, but it was rather comforting to know that Pinky would always be Pinky.

Even so, the smile faded just as quickly as it came. Pinky couldn’t properly express his joy with narfs and poits and enormous embraces.

Then a fingersnap above his head reminded him of Mr. Itch’s presence.

“We’ve got business to discuss, Brain,” Mr. Itch said as he straightened his lapels. “You should know what your challenge consists of.”

In other words, Brain’s humiliation had hardly begun. But he’d do it. For Pinky’s sake.

Brain tried to hold his head high and show hell that he wasn’t afraid to defy their evil laws, but he couldn’t even find the strength to bring his ears up.  

Another snap, and the microphone soared back to Mr. Itch. He twirled it with a showman’s flair and gestured for the audience to take their seats. The lesser demons obeyed, murmuring among themselves and pointing at the spectral Pinky. They didn’t seem pleased by Pinky’s complete silence.

“Ladies and demons, think of Brain’s challenge as an adaptation of an old Greek story,” Mr. Itch announced. “And I ain’t just talking about a watered-down Heracles here. No, this story isn’t about heroes slaying monsters. Rather, it’s a tragedy. The Greeks were masters of that particular craft, you see. A man goes on a quest, yet his fatal flaw always strikes him down in the end. I trust you’re quite familiar with the concept, Brain?”  

Brain said nothing. No need to give them ammunition.

His temper and pride were the source of many failures. But there was nothing he could do except commit the same errors over and over again.

He should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before the ones he…tolerated suffered the consequences.

As if sensing his thoughts, Pinky wrapped his spectral arms around Brain’s shoulders. He couldn’t feel the saccharine display, and that fact pained him more than he cared to admit.

“Ever heard of cooperation?” Mr. Itch sighed. “You have the starring role in the show tonight. Give us something to work with, at least.”

Brain gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of this delay. “I’m through with this prolonged torture! Just get it over with already!” he shouted. “I refuse to be paraded around like a sideshow attraction!”

“Touchy,” Mr. Itch huffed in disdain. He turned back to the audience. “But I digress. Now, this tragedy involves a man who ventured into the depths of the underworld to retrieve his closest companion. He placated everyone with his music, including Hades himself. And because Hades was a total sap, he allowed the man to lead his companion back to the surface world.”

His arm swept out and a large stone staircase appeared. It spiraled and arched far above their heads, and Brain caught a glimpse of a starry sky hidden among the crimson stone.

Pinky belonged in the surface world, where the grass and horses and inanimate objects he had yet to befriend waited. And he was relying on Brain to bring him there.

Perhaps it was silly to reach for arms he couldn’t feel, but Brain placed his hands atop where Pinky’s fur should’ve been. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d voluntarily touched Pinky without hurting him.

Something to rectify if they made it through this trial.  

“And that brings me to the final condition.” Before Brain could react, darkness engulfed his vision as he was plucked up into the air, his head squeezed by an unforgiving, burning hand. Brain bit the skin like it was just another day of rough handling by some careless scientist, but a fiery pain flooded his throat and he released the hand immediately. It felt like magma had crammed its way into his esophagus, and there was no lifegiving water to relieve him.

Then he was roughly deposited at the base of the stairs.

Brain tried to turn around, but Mr. Itch forced him to stare at the first brimstone step instead. The steps were several inches taller than him, though he could still reach the next step if he jumped high enough.  

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mr. Itch scolded. “I wouldn’t do that if I were a pathetic mortal like you. In this little tale, Hades told the man he couldn’t look at his companion until they were both in the land of the living, lest she be lost to the underworld forever. For your challenge, I’ll be invoking that same clause.”

Brain resisted the urge to bite that supernatural conman’s fingers off. He would only wind up damaging his throat.

“I can hardly expect Pinky to follow me in the presence of distractors!” Brain protested. “He’s liable to find a stalactite interesting, or collect rocks, or do anything else other than-“

Mr. Itch only cackled, pillars of lava erupting alongside his cruelty.

And Brain remembered why the story was known as a tragedy.

The man looked at his companion just as they reached the surface world. Her soul was forever lost among the dead. Though he tried to reclaim her, the underworld wouldn’t release her again. And he spent the rest of his life mourning her loss.

Hell expected a faithful adaptation. They knew Brain would inevitably lose his temper and forget that he couldn’t look. They knew they’d be able to keep Pinky forever.

They knew.

Yet they put on this charade anyway.

Because false hope was the cruelest lie of all.

“Your challenge begins, Brain,” Mr. Itch declared, and the wicked fingers slowly released Brain’s head. “And remember, no looking at Pinky until you’re both in the surface world. But that’s a moot point, ain’t it? You’re bound to forget soon enough. At least try to go for most of the length before your undeniable failure, okay? We wouldn’t want the show to end too soon.”

Mr. Itch vanished in a puff of smoke.

Undeniable failure.

“I am not a failure,” Brain snarled to himself, more out of habit than belief. But his petulance at the phrase enabled him to climb five steps without pausing for breath.

And he didn’t require Pinky to boost him up! He climbed five steps by himself!

But that thought was banished as he climbed the sixth step. Pinky couldn’t physically boost him, nor provide mental fortitude. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, and Brain’s feet dangled in the air as he tried to find a grip on the rocky outcropping. But he managed, albeit with difficulty. On the count of three, Brain heaved himself over the ledge.

He laid on the hot stone to catch his breath, face tucked under his hands so he wouldn’t see Pinky.

No words of encouragement. No strange tics. Nothing except the roar of lava, mockery, and his darkening thoughts.

Funny how one didn’t appreciate what they had until it disappeared. Pinky always lifted Brain, boosting him to higher places he couldn’t reach alone. It was something he’d always done, and Brain had let it slide out of practicality. Just treat the action like a living, portable stepstool. It was far better than expending more energy than required during plans.

In hindsight, would it have killed him to say thank you? Or at least nod in gratitude?

There was no time limit, but Brain stood up and dusted himself off, though the crimson dust would just attach itself to his fur all over again within seconds. It was impossible to shake off, and Brain wondered if he would ever be able to fully cleanse himself of it.

Taking a deep breath, Brain reached for a handhold above his head and hauled himself up.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot again. One more repetition. Start all over for the next stairstep.

It was a rhythm. Rhythms weren’t full of what-ifs or what could’ve beens. Concentrate on the rhythm. Nothing else mattered.

He had to keep moving. Keep climbing. It was better than sitting there and doing nothing. He couldn’t rest. He wouldn’t.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

Brain’s throat burned. His fur was slick with perspiration, though it only served as a method to lose precious water instead of cooling him off. His limbs trembled, and it was difficult to keep hold of the unforgiving stone.  

But he’d only completed the first two spirals! There were still several more tiers left, and the starry sky seemed much further away than before.  

“Pinky, if…if we make it out of here-”

Brain shuddered as he laid down to rest. His voice was raspy from the fumes and thirst, but he had to keep talking. Had to say something. Maybe Pinky would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t even in earshot.

“-if you want to leave…”

He trailed off, rubbing away teardrops that quickly evaporated into smoke. His chest ached, but he couldn’t say for certain that it caused by physical labor.

Brain couldn’t make an attempt at global conquest even if he succeeded. Pinky’s help would no longer be necessary.

Between the two of them, Pinky knew how to live. He knew how to talk to people, how to have fun, how to narf through his pathetic lot in life with a smile on his face.

Brain only knew survival. Maybe it was his former field mouse instincts that somehow bled into intellect. Maybe his primitive instincts weren’t as gone as he’d like to believe.

He would never be anything else but a lowly test subject. If someone decided to euthanize or feed him to a snake one day…well, it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Another mouse would take his place. And when that mouse died, it would be replaced again. And the progress would continue in the name of scientific progress.

Dying for science.

Yes, that’s how he’d meet his end.

But Pinky’s kindred spirit would touch others. Whether it was through an executive office, the lead role on Broadway, or even just helping a stranger on the street, he could do so many good things for the world around him.

The world would love Pinky back.

And if a solitary mouse in a lonely lab happened to turn on the TV and see his former associate surrounded by an adoring crowd, he would be happy to see the world has changed for the better.

So he had to keep going.

He had to try. Try to bring Pinky back to the surface world…and let him go. He shouldn’t keep anything he didn’t earn.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The halfway point now.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He miscalculated the distance to the top of the next step and reached too far. He lost his footing and plummeted several inches. Growling under his breath, Brain punched the unfeeling stone, though it only bruised his knuckles instead of making him feel better. Then he tried again.

And again. And again.

He couldn’t grasp these handholds! There was no logical reason why. They were approximately the same size and shape as all the other outcroppings! It shouldn’t be this difficult!  

“Pinky, where are you when I need you? Cease your nonsense at once and help me!” Brain screamed, clutching the stone and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see Pinky. Eight tries. Nine tries and counting. Why couldn’t he do something as simple as this?

But Pinky couldn’t help. It was useless to ask.

What’s the matter? Can’t manage a simple task on your own?

“Of course I can!” Brain snarled, and he gripped an outcropping so tightly that it broke off in his hand. He hurled the useless pebble into the abyss below, then found a different handhold and successfully hauled him to the next step out of sheer spite towards that nagging, insistent voice.

How do you know Pinky’s following you? How do you know he’s not enjoying his newfound flight capabilities?

He didn’t know. Pinky smiled when he discovered he could float as nothing more than a ghost, it was true, but the smile hadn’t reached his eyes. Pinky was incapable of deception. Even without speaking, the intention had been clear. Pinky only wanted to comfort Brain.

That Pinky could learn to live a life of nonexistence. That somehow Pinky would adapt to no touch, no words, no rest in hell.

If only those blank eyes had been more accusatory. It would’ve been far easier to deal with.

Pinky shouldn’t adapt to this. He couldn’t.

But he might-

No. Brain had to try. He had to try and not fail.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The ground quaked beneath his feet, and Brain clung to the crimson ledge he rested on. He wouldn’t put it past hell to throw him to the bottom and negate all his efforts.

Still, he pressed on.

The sky was closer now. Several autumn leaves were blown along the wind.

Are you sure Pinky’s behind you?

Three spirals left. Almost there. They were almost there.  

Failure would come soon. He was sure of it.  

He didn’t know much time had passed in the world beyond. Was it November already? Was it time for the world to replace the witches and skulls with turkeys and wreaths?

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The navy sky was filled with countless twinkling stars. Lights from a faraway airplane blinked steadily as it flew into the horizon. Ever closer, ever brighter.

“Do you see that, Pinky?” Brain whispered. For once, the stars gave him no existentialist dread. A feeling he dared describe as hope filled his chest and strengthened his limbs. All fears were banished to the recesses of his mind. He climbed with renewed purpose, not pausing for breath. “Just a little farther. We’re almost there. Stay behind me, Pinky. Just stay behind me.”

He’s not behind you.

“Yes, he is,” Brain retorted.

This was important. Pinky always came through in matters of importance.

Always is so absolute. You know those statements are usually false, right?

The ground rumbled, accompanied by a distant outraged roar, but Brain paid no heed to it. He ignored his doubts, he ignored the roars, he ignored everything but the starry expanse above and the rocks beneath his hand.  

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He could do this. One more ledge. One more handhold. One more foothold.  

The sky was so inviting, so beautiful…

Brain gripped the last ledge. He was filthy with dust and sweat, but he couldn’t care less. He was almost there.

Pinky was almost home. Pinky would be able to feel again.

And he would leave. But that was alright. Pinky wouldn’t suffer in hell on Brain’s account. That’s all that really mattered.

He hauled himself onto the last ledge…

…but he didn’t see the pitchfork’s hilt in time.

An agonizing pain shot through his body as he lost his grip and plummeted to the previous step. His back slammed against the hot stone. A searing pressure in the center of his forehead kept him pinned. He gasped for air, his dry throat throbbing.

An enormous crimson devil blotted out the night sky, and Brain’s fragile hope ripped away from his heart. The Devil’s eyes burned like lava as he glared hatefully at Brain, digging the pitchfork ever so slightly into his head.

It wouldn’t take much force to crush or melt his skull, whatever the Devil fancied.  

“I OFFERED YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO WALK AWAY WITH THE WORLD. BUT YOU STOLE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO ME. YOUR PUNISHMENT SHALL BE DEATH.”

The silky, snake-oil voice was gone, replaced by the full power of a supernatural entity. What was a mortal, pathetic rodent compared to the Master of Hell himself?

He was going to die. He’d failed to save his friend. His only friend.

If his soul was trapped in hell forever…if he had to suffer for all eternity, he deserved it. For his selfishness. For his callousness. For his failure.  

“Please don’t hate me, Pinky…please don’t…” Brain choked out. He didn’t know where Pinky was. But if Pinky was watching, or listening, he could only ask that Pinky wouldn’t hate him.

He lay there, his determination gone, his lonely demise imminent.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

And the pressure vanished.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

A cacophony of Pinky’s favorite syllables sounded again and again and again. Though Pinky’s voice wasn’t among them, Brain still heard that oddly wonderful Cockney accent loud and clear.  

“NO! PINKY IS MY PROPERTY!”

The Devil roared as dozens of lesser demons swarmed him, the pitchfork swinging wildly at anyone who dared to oppose his reign. Something screamed at Brain to find cover before he was caught in the power struggle too, but his body refused to obey any rational thoughts.

Several demons ripped the enormous pitchfork away from their master, and the weapon crashed into a wall and spiraled into the depths below. Other demons screeched and clawed at every part of the Devil they could reach. The Devil swatted one pig-snouted demon slashing away at a shoulder, and he flew over Brain and tumbled down the stairs, grunts of pain echoing off the walls.

Immediately, his nearest allies howled in fury and attacked with more vigor than before. They chomped on cloven hooves, they fended off every swipe, and shouted warnings to their comrades before the Devil’s wrath could reach them.

No longer was self-preservation their only concern. They were a united force now, one the Devil himself had underestimated severely.

With one final shove, the Devil toppled over the edge. The ground rumbled at his furious roar, which quickly decreased in volume as he fell into the abyss.

Brain’s heart pounded, but the Devil didn’t resurface. A resounding cheer went up from the demons, then two of them rushed past Brain, presumably to check on their downed ally.  

The remaining demons watched Brain closely. He flinched under attention he didn’t want. He just wanted to leave this horrible place. Then he realized they weren’t exactly looking at him, but rather somewhere just above his head.

“Narf!” the demons shouted, hands raised to their foreheads in a salute.

There was only one explanation behind the sudden camaraderie.

Pinky.

Pinky had been helping him all this time. Somehow, he’d influenced selfish demons to unite against their cruel master and protect each other from serious injury. Somehow, he’d found a way to say narf despite his voiceless state.

Somehow, Pinky still wanted to save Brain, even after all he’d done.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said softly.

He didn’t need to question Pinky’s presence any longer.

A cool, fresh breeze blew over Brain’s fur as he climbed the last step. The starry sky was clear once again. It was a nice view.

The demons stood aside to allow them safe passage. He kept an eye out for any hostility, but other than their natural weapons, there was none to be found. Whether it was out of respect for the trial he and Pinky had endured, or if they were just an unpredictable force and Pinky’s presence somehow warded them off, he didn’t know.

Brain stepped onto the cool asphalt of the DMV parking lot, and had this been a different circumstance entirely, he might’ve found it rather ironic that one would be glad to set their sights on a DMV. He shivered from the temperature difference, the chilly autumn air contrasting heavily from the sweltering inferno.

Pinky’s contract shimmered into existence , and Brain’s own agreement followed within seconds. Someone had stamped ‘VOID’ in red capital letters across the top page of both contracts, and fire blazed across the crimson ink and engulfed the papers entirely. The ash and smoke left behind were swiftly carried off by the night wind.

Just like that, their contracts were gone.

In his relief, Brain turned to face Pinky to properly share their victory.

IDIOT! If you turn around, Pinky will be claimed by the Devil. Your entire challenge would be for nothing!

And Brain’s foot stopped mid-turn.

The realization struck harshly.

He didn’t truly know if the Devil had a claim over Pinky’s soul. The lesser demons only bought them time to escape hell. Brain doubted they’d be able to hold their master back forever, even as a united front. But if the Devil came back, what then? Two lab mice couldn’t hope for a permanent victory against a powerful, malicious entity.

There was only one solution.

Brain could never look at Pinky again.

He didn’t trust himself to not slip up. Sooner or later, he’d forget that he couldn’t look. And Pinky would be gone again. Brain’s efforts would be in vain.

Hell wouldn’t be so accommodating the second time.

“Narf! Brain, I can say narf again!” a familiar voice exclaimed behind him.

Brain’s ears perked without any conscious input, but it was a minor loss of control in comparison to everything else he’d endured tonight.  

He heard the clatter of pebbles and a swish of fallen leaves alongside a gentle tap of dancing feet against the asphalt. Pinky could interact with the environment again. He could dance and speak and produce all the noises he wanted. It was a small consolation, at least. The contract never said anything about never being able to hear Pinky again.

“Brain?” Pinky asked again. “Are you alright?”

Brain forced himself to stare at a white line that marked a parking space instead.

Don’t look, he chanted. You mustn’t look.

A featherlight touch landed on his shoulder, a gentle warmth not quite touching his back, but just close enough for him to feel its presence.

Brain hastily pulled away. He hated this feeling of helplessness, of being unable to function without physical reassurance. But he couldn’t accept Pinky’s touch either. It would just lead to further loss of control over his emotions, and he’d forget that he couldn’t look.

Pinky would have to leave ACME Labs and Brain forever. He would probably find it difficult at first, but he’d adapt. That’s just what he did.

Brain’s entire body ached. He just wanted to wash away the fire and brimstone, tend to his injuries, and sleep. It didn’t matter what he wanted to do after that. Even if he ignored the contract’s terms and tried to conquer the world again, it would never be the same.

He set off for the lab. Pinky followed, as always.

Maybe it was a selfish risk to not send Pinky away at this very moment, but he was grateful that Pinky would accompany him for one last after-failure trek.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d completely forgotten about his very brief stint as emperor. The only reminder from that timeframe was Snowball, who’d exchanged his jester cap and bells for the royal crown as soon as Brain abandoned his post to rescue Pinky.

ACME was no longer a mighty castle, but just another underfunded lab. Nobody chanted his name, called for their problems to be solved, or held signs that proclaimed Brain as their ruler. His statue had long vanished.  

He didn’t want to see loyal subjects, enormous wealth, and undisputed power tonight. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want them again.

Right now, he was just Brain, an exhausted, downtrodden lab mouse who would have to try to live without his only friend.

On the way back, Pinky had chattered about anything and everything, prattling on about cheese flavors, then about an inflatable reindeer someone had put up a month early, and finally to paint swatches so their section of the lab would be, according to him, ‘happy and go-lucky and livelier than a herd of hippopotamuses!’.  

Brain said nothing. He just let Pinky talk. This might be the last time he’d ever hear that silly voice again.

“Maybe we could get some feng shui going, just like on HGTV! Zort!” Pinky said, and Brain could just imagine him scratching his head in a vain attempt to get any thoughts going. “Wait, no…we should paint radish roses on the walls! And make them with our radish rose whatchamawhozits! Twice the garnishes for our dinner parties! What color swatch should they be though? Raspberry rose? Rosemary? Oh, we should get one with a funny name! What do you think, Brai-oh, hey Snowball! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Snowball scowled, stalking over to Brain and casting a contemptuous glare at Pinky. The loss of the hamster’s usurped power was still fresh in his twisted mind.  

“My statue is gone thanks to whatever you did!” Snowball jabbed a finger into Brain’s chest. But Brain barely felt it. He didn’t feel anything towards Snowball at the moment. Not betrayal, not hatred, not even bittersweet nostalgia.

Brain only wanted rest.

“You should’ve stayed in hell,” Snowball growled. “He promised he’d keep you there.”

Brain placed his hand over Snowball’s finger, but he didn’t have the strength to push it away. The hamster raised an eyebrow at the lack of resistance.

“And he kept that promise, Snowball,” Brain said quietly. “Perhaps not in the way you expected, but he kept it.”  

Snowball scoffed. He wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

The laboratory doors were wide open. It was a small consolation that he wouldn’t have to go through the mail slot.

“But…our contracts went up in smoke, Brain. Literally.” Pinky’s voice quivered. “And we’re on the lab’s doorstep too.”

It was time to break the news. Maybe he shouldn’t prolong the goodbye, but Pinky needed time to clean himself and pack his belongings.

“I wish to speak with Pinky. Leave, Snowball.”

“Fine,” Snowball spat, shoving past Brain. “I’ll talk to that blasted devil myself. Even his lawyers will have a difficult time against an entire corporation’s legal team.”

Once he was gone, Brain gestured for Pinky to follow him inside. The interior no longer held a throne, red carpet, or a golden wheel. Just their cage, several counters, and standard laboratory equipment.

Pinky made a valiant effort to hold his tears back, though he couldn’t completely stop all the whimpers from escaping. “P-poit. Nothing good ever comes out of wanting to talk,” he chuckled weakly.

“No, I suppose not,” Brain said. He gripped the side of a bottom drawer to give his hands something to do. His hands were scraped raw from climbing, though he relished the sting. Stings were only a small pain. He could handle small pain. More importantly, he couldn’t turn around, not even to see Pinky off for a proper goodbye.

You have to leave now. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Pinky, his mind supplied.

It wasn’t enough. Whether it was one word or a million, they would never properly express everything he never said. What was he supposed to say to Pinky, who gave his soul away for Brain and never asked for anything in return?  

“Brain, are you mad cause I didn’t help you?” Pinky asked. “Is that what this is about? Cause…I wanted to. I tried to push you up the steps, but I couldn’t feel you…and I tried shouting and cheering and yelling too! I…I don’t think you heard me. I’m sorry for being useless, Brain. You struggled so hard for me, and I was just useless!”

When Mr. Itch imposed his horrible terms, Pinky tried to cheer up Brain. Even when Brain had doubted, Pinky had been by his side. And he’d somehow inspired the demons to come to their aid.

That wasn’t useless. Not at all.    

Even if Pinky hadn’t done all those things, Brain wouldn’t have held it against him. His anger was directed entirely towards the Devil himself.  

“You’re not useless, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “I never should’ve implied it before this entire mess started. I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a while, only broken by the tap of Pinky’s feet on the tiles.

“Okay, I forgive you,” Pinky said. There were no strings attached. It always took Brain by surprise, how there were no additional requirements for Pinky’s forgiveness. “How come you won’t face me, Brain? I wanna see you.”

Brain took a deep breath. Best to get it out of the way. Get it done.

He couldn’t say done and over with. There was no over. He would never be the same without Pinky.

“I can’t see you, Pinky. I can’t look at you. Ever again. ” Brain pressed his head to the drawer, fighting the urge to turn around. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll just…it’ll make it harder on both of us.”

But Pinky’s footsteps drew closer. Of course they would.

“Make what harder?” Pinky echoed.

A warm hand fell on Brain’s shoulder, so different from blazing fire and cold wind, and something inside him broke.

“This goodbye, you idiot! He’ll come and he’ll take you again if I look at you! So leave at once for your own safety!” he yelled. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, parched from thirst and raw from fumes.  

“Then what was the point?” Pinky’s hand tightened around Brain’s shoulder. “Why would you rescue me only so you could tell me to leave? Why would you come after me and get hurt so much? At least you’d have the world if I’d just stayed there!”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE THE WORLD IF YOU REMAINED IN HELL, PINKY!” Brain screamed back. “I WOULDN’T HAVE ANYTHING!”    

Not the one that truly mattered, anyway.

Pinky’s long tail drooped, ears falling back. Tears spilled out of his blue eyes.

And Brain’s anger melted away, replaced by all-consuming fear. His temper struck again, and he’d forgotten.

He’d turned around.

And he was looking straight at Pinky, right into the sorrowful expression he wore.  

“No,” Brain whispered, shaking his head as he put as much distance between himself and Pinky as he could. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He only managed a few shaky steps backwards. The lab was always so big. Why did it feel so tiny now?

Pinky was close. Far too close.

He’d looked.

The Devil was coming.

Lurking in any shadow, ready to snatch Pinky.

“He’s coming, Pinky!” Brain cried. “You have to get out of here now!”

“Who’s coming?” Pinky asked, reaching for Brain again. “Brain, are you alright? Your ears are floppy.”

He wasn’t even trying to run.

“No, I can’t let him take you. Not again!” Brain quickly glanced around the room. Surely there had to be plenty of places for a mouse to hide!

But the drawers were far too obvious, desk items could be moved easily, and his mind wouldn’t work just like every plan he ever came up with didn’t work and his attempts to protect Pinky would end in failure and he failed even when he wasn’t after the world and he just wanted to do something good for once without failing miserably-

White filled his vision as he was pressed against a warm chest by a gentle arm. A strong heartbeat thumped against his ear. A hand gently slipped under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into reassuring, sky blue eyes.

Despite the tears, Pinky’s gaze promised only hope and light and companionship.

Then Pinky carefully touched the area Snowball had jabbed, the center of Brain’s forehead where the pitchfork almost crushed him, until his hand lingered on the cheek he’d elbowed during their fight on the podium.

Gentle. Kind. Worried.

And Brain cried. Pinky held him close, not complaining when Brain’s tears dampened his fur or when the leftover crimson dust smudged against him. Tears splashed against Brain’s head, and he wrapped his own arms around Pinky, just to let him know it was alright if he needed to release his tears too. He didn’t know if he was hugging too tightly or holding too loosely, nor did he know if his arms were in the correct position at all.

Brain stroked the fur along Pinky’s spine, hoping the gesture conveyed that he forgave Pinky for accidentally hurting him. He took Pinky’s tiny hum as a good sign.  

Pinky had been deprived of all sensation. This was comfort for him, just the reassurance of touching Brain. Of being close to him.

They stayed that way until nothing was left but exhaustion and damp fur along their cheeks. Brain’s legs buckled, unable to hold him up any longer.

Pinky caught him. “It’s okay, Brain. I’ll carry you,” he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

Never once did Brain feel like he was going to fall during Pinky’s climb up the counter. He only relished the close contact.

But he had to let go all too soon.

Pinky set Brain on the counter, then brought him a thimble of water from their bottle. The cool water flowed down his throat, bringing him much needed relief. He sipped slowly, giving Pinky time to dampen several fluffy towels in the sink.

“Pinky, aren’t you tired?” Brain asked as he exchanged the thimble for three small towels. One was damp, another held strawberry-scented soap, and the last one was dry.

But Pinky shook his head, yawning loudly as he skipped away to clean himself as well. He made lots of noise as he freshened up, just to let Brain know he was there.

And with his mouth wide open too. It was rather uncouth, and despite his exhaustion, Brain rolled his eyes at just how Pinky-like that action was.

Brain made sure to use all three towels the way Pinky intended, scrubbing out the dust with the damp towel, and to his surprise, it came out rather easily, then rubbed the strawberry scented soap and clean water into his fur, and finally dried himself off with the last towel.

As he patted down his fur to try and get it into some order, Pinky came back. The messy tuft on his head stuck out in every possible direction, and so did the rest of his fur.

“You’re a mess,” Brain sighed as Pinky picked him up and carried him back to the cage. Pinky laughed softly as Brain flattened a particularly egregious tuft on Pinky’s shoulder. The acrid fire and brimstone scent was gone, and now they smelled of fresh strawberries.  

They settled into their shared bed. Pinky set Brain down on his preferred side, then pulled away. Pinky frowned for the barest second, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile.

Yet he knew Pinky still needed physical contact.

And so did he.

“Pinky?” Brain whispered.

Pinky took that as an invitation to pull Brain into a secure hold. “Yes, Brain?”

“Don’t go…” Brain nuzzled into Pinky’s chest, into the odd yet comforting warmth he freely gave. One last stray tear slipped from his eye. “Please don’t go.”

Instead of replying with words, Pinky rested his jaw on top of Brain’s and hummed softly, the vibration soothing to his worried mind. His tail draped over Brain’s waist to anchor him.

“Just say narf, just say narf.

We’re alright, we’re okay, so let’s say narf.

You and I will have tomorrow nights again.

No matter what happens, I’m always your friend…”

The melody was soft, the rhythm reassuring. Brain closed his eyes and believed in Pinky’s familiar song.

They were together. Tomorrow night would come. He was sure of it.  

End AN: So...I’ll be real, some parts of these were really hard for me to write cause I feel so bad for torturing them like this. Give them love guys. They need it. 

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 12

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 32959 (total) Chapter: 12/16 Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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The weeks went by, but Jaskier hardly noticed them.

There was a monotony to it all. A familiar pattern. They would come to a town, Geralt would take a contract, they would argue about whether or not Jaskier could come on the contract, and then Jaskier would usually follow Geralt on the contract, no matter the answer. Kill the beast, get the money, find another town. Jaskier would compose his songs, Geralt would roll his eyes, and sometimes they’d fall into bed together.

Now, Geralt noticed things. He sat closer as Jaskier performed, primed to call off any hecklers. He had never bossed Jaskier around when they were intimate, but now he was more wary of it at other times as well. Every time he started to say something to Jaskier, only to pause and restart, Jaskier’s entire chest felt warm with affection. The first few times, Jaskier kissed Geralt breathless, drinking in the way Geralt grew embarrassed and bashful under Jaskier’s attention and adoration. It made Geralt sheepish, though, and soon Jaskier learned to back off. Now, whenever Geralt caught himself, Jaskier reached out to touch him, either with a hand on the witcher’s shoulder, a press of their knees together, or a nudge with his hip.

It took Jaskier a while to notice that something was going on. What Jaskier had thought was just idle traveling, he soon realized wasn’t the case at all. Geralt had brought them to every single township they could reach after they left Lettenhove. He had done so with more painstaking detail than Jaskier had seen him put into any other venture.

Once Jaskier realized this, he then began to notice Geralt slipping away for about an hour, every time they first came to a town. Jaskier hadn’t thought anything of this before, as sometimes Geralt went off to inquire about contracts without Jaskier, but he had never done it intentionally or secretively like he was now.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked him in Mayena. Geralt’s face was as stoic as ever, but Jaskier saw something flash in his eyes, just for a moment, before it was gone again and Geralt shrugged.

“Going to talk to the alderman. See if there are any monsters here.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “I’ll go with you.”

Geralt shook his head immediately. “No, you should go secure us a room at the inn. This won’t take long.”

“If it won’t take long, then surely I’ll make it go quicker, and then we both can get the room,” Jaskier argued. “Besides, I negotiate price better than you do, and with how often we’ve been staying in inns, we could use the extra coin.”

They had never stayed in inns as often as they had since leaving Lettenhove. At first, Jaskier had enjoyed it, had loved the hints of luxury they had been able to indulge in unlike ever before. This was what had tipped him off that they were stopping in every town, though. It wasn’t practical to stay in towns as frequently as they had, and the monster contracts were lacking. Jaskier had made far more money than he ever had before, but Geralt was growing restless and Jaskier was wanting for new material.

“No, this town looks busy,” Geralt lied. Geralt had so few tells for when he was lying, but Jaskier knew this was a lie. He knew Geralt. And, he could see for himself that the town did not look particularly busy. “If we wait too long, there won’t be any rooms left. And I want a bath.”

He had wanted a bath in the last three towns, as well, and used that for an excuse for Jaskier to go on ahead. Jaskier huffed, but he knew better than to argue with Geralt now. If he was so insistent on this lie, Jaskier would have to tackle it from a different angle. Jaskier watched Geralt walk away. If Geralt were anyone else, Jaskier would take matters into his own hands and follow Geralt. As it was, though, following a witcher would be impossible.

Geralt slipped into a building--probably to see the alderman--and Jaskier huffed, finally turning toward the inn and stepping inside.

When Geralt returned, an hour later, Jaskier was sitting on the bed in their room. He had left instructions for the innkeeper to direct Geralt this way, and Geralt opened the door to their shared room with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning why Jaskier was here , rather than down in the tavern making coin. Jaskier ignored it.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hummed at him, then set about putting his things away. Jaskier watched him, watched the easy, comfortable way Geralt mixed his own belongings with Jaskier. It was almost domestic. Jaskier wasn’t sure when they had become so comfortable with each other, when they had developed such deeply rooted routines. It was the first time being with someone, reaching comfort with someone, put Jaskier’s mind at ease. And, yet, still it was tinged with something . Their clothes and weapons and mundanity of their lives belonged together, but not their secrets.

“Are you looking for something?”

Geralt turned to Jaskier, his eyebrows furrowed and confusion in his eyes. “A place to keep my scabbard?” he answered, with just a hint of amusement.

“We’ve been in every town since the court. Every single one we’ve passed. Not a single night of camping in weeks, and I know you’re not getting good contracts,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms and leveling Geralt’s amusement with a glare. “You’re sneaking off for at least an hour every time and you’re lying to me. Why? What have you been doing?”

Geralt was silent for a moment, just staring at Jaskier, then he turned and continued unpacking. Jaskier watched his back, which Geralt resolutely kept turned to him, and waited. He would speak. He would explain.

“I’m not lying to you--”

“He says, lying ,” Jaskier bit back.

“You lie to me all the time.”

“I can’t lie to you, remember? Obedience curse!”

“Obedience curse, not honesty curse. You lie all the time, Jaskier, even Lazuli said so--”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking--”

“We’re talking about both,” Geralt said, turning around. “You’ve been listless. Since Lettenhove. It’s like traveling with a ghost.”

Jaskier gaped at him. “I have not been listless . I’ve been acting just the same--we argue, I perform, we fuck, all of which takes enthusiasm , thank you--are you saying traveling with me has been boring ?”

Geralt shook his head. “The only time you argue now is when you want to go on dangerous contracts. When you’re on those contracts, you are underfoot and in the way, as if you want to get hurt. You’ve so narrowly missed so many--” he cut himself off with a frustrated groan, and swiped his hand roughly across his stubble. “Your performances have been less . I don’t know how to explain it. You get this far-off look on your face and you’re… dreamy, in a way. You go somewhere else.” He shook his head again, and leaned against the wall. “And when we fuck, you do the same thing. It’s a process, nothing more. You aren’t there with me.”

Jaskier listened to all this, growing more and more agitated. He turned away from Geralt abruptly, his face pinching in his frustration. The worst part was that he couldn’t even argue against it. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with what you’re doing,” Jaskier grumbled.

“I’m looking for Yennefer.”

Jaskier’s mouth went dry. Of course. Of course Geralt was looking for Yennefer. Jaskier had made the mistake of thinking his witcher had moved on from all that, that the years they had spent together accounted for more than whatever pull Geralt and Yennefer had developed in the few days they knew each other. Jaskier stood up from the bed, abruptly, and flitted about the room, gathering his things. He was in such a frenzy he didn’t even notice Geralt moving toward him until Geralt had grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing ?” Geralt asked, his voice breathy in his exasperation as he pulled Jaskier to a stop.

“I’m leaving . Clearly if you want other company so badly--”

“That’s not what I--”

“Far be it for me to stop you--”

“Jaskier, would you just--”

“I just thought maybe I was important enough that you wouldn’t have dragged me along as consolation--”

“Jaskier, shut up .”

Jaskier’s mouth closed with an audible click that was more Jaskier’s doing than the curse. The look he gave Geralt was so murderous, it must have made Jaskier’s very skin boil with how quickly Geralt let go of him. His hands went up, as if he was trying to convince Jaskier he meant no harm.

“Shit, Jask, I’m sorry, I didn’t-- Talk freely,” Geralt said.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “What do you want to say, then, Geralt?” he asked. He stepped out of Geralt’s reach, just to show he could. Jaskier had some control here.

“I’m looking for Yennefer to help you,” Geralt started, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “She might know something about how to break this. Give us somewhere to start. You’re not… yourself. I wanted her to help us find a direction to break this for you.”

There was so much earnestness in Geralt’s face. The corner of his eyes pinched, his mouth made a thin line, and his hands were held out in front of him, palms up. He was struggling, Jaskier realized, and trying hard to find the right words. Whatever had been wrong with Jaskier these past few weeks, Geralt had noticed. Geralt had noticed that Jaskier felt a little dimmer, a little more hopeless, a little more resigned to this being the rest of his life, and miserable because of it. He had noticed more than Jaskier did, and for that Jaskier found himself conflicted.

“So we’ve been going to every town so you can find her?” Jaskier finally asked.

He turned away from the weight of Geralt’s stare. He didn’t want this earnestness. He didn’t want to know that his curse mattered to someone else, to Geralt. It made the feelings he had been trying so hard to keep at arm’s length come closer, overtake him. Geralt wasn’t his. Even if Geralt had sought out Yennefer to help Jaskier, he still thought of Yennefer for help first . Jaskier returned to perch on the bed, feeling empty, just barely held together by the thought, He’s doing it for you .

“I’ve been asking around. No one had heard of her, until tonight. There’s a rumor of a sorceress that sounds like her in Yspaden, so we’ll head there.”

Jaskier gaped at him. He stared long enough that Geralt grew visibly uncomfortable, and took a step forward. Then another. Geralt lowered himself onto the bed and still Jaskier stared at him, until Geralt reached out a hand and tried to touch him.

“No,” Jaskier finally said, jerking away. Geralt’s hand froze, an eyebrow raised. “No, I’m not going to Yspaden.”

“Jaskier, be--”

“Be what, Geralt? Reasonable? No, I won’t. You heard Lazuli as well as I did. Her magic isn’t going to fix this, there’s no other direction. I have to find a way to break it, which if the past entirety of my life isn’t evidence enough that it cannot be broken, I don’t know what would be. But I would really rather not go on a quest to find your sexy sorceress. If you want to go, fine, I won’t stop you. But you will not tell me where I am going next.”

Geralt sighed, and tried to touch Jaskier again. Though Jaskier stayed rigid, he did not pull away this time. Geralt’s hand started on his shoulder, then slid down to his forearm, then tugged Jaskier’s hand out. He held Jaskier’s hand between both of his own, tracing his thumbs over the veins and lines. They were silent for a long time, and when Geralt finally spoke again his voice was soft.

“I’m not abandoning you,” he said. Already, it was too much, and Jaskier’s eyes slipped down to their hands, rather than Geralt’s face. “I don’t want to go without you, but I think seeing Yennefer is a good idea. You said you didn’t know what Lazuli meant. Maybe she does. Or she can point us in the direction of someone who can.” He cupped Jaskier’s cheek, then tilted his face back up, forcing Jaskier to meet his eye again. “Please, Jaskier. I want you to come to Yspaden with me. If she’s no help, I’ll leave off.”

Jaskier pursed his lips, his jaw going rigid as he considered Geralt for a long moment. Then he nodded, just barely, a small enough gesture that had Geralt not been holding his face, he might have missed it.

“Thank you,” Geralt murmured, and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Jaskier’s lips.

It was too much, the way Geralt peppered Jaskier with soft, slow kisses. Jaskier felt like a raw, exposed nerve, and every gentle caress of his witcher against Jaskier’s body sent Jaskier ablaze with want, desire, and a blooming of affection Jaskier wanted so badly to dispel. How could Geralt hold him this way, as if Jaskier was precious to him? As if he didn’t know that Jaskier’s sun rose and set with Geralt?

Jaskier would follow Geralt off the edge of a cliff, if only Geralt promised he would take him there. And so, they journeyed to Yspaden. They camped and traversed and went at a breakneck pace. The closer they got, the more haggard Jaskier became, and he knew it wasn’t entirely because walking through the continent was grueling.

Geralt grew more hopeful, the closer they drew to the township. Jaskier tried to pretend it was out of hope for Jaskier. He knew it was because he felt himself drawing nearer and nearer to his sorceress. They would reunite, and Jaskier would be forgotten again.

read chapter 13

[thelastspeecher]

agent-jaselin replied to your post “de-aging serum is a thing in the spy au, so odds are an evil version...”

YES. Especially with Ford falling unconscious at the door that's excellent just, PRIME hurt comfort whump material my dude I love it. I sort of imagine when the time limit is discovered they sort of, take him to the agencey and keep him in med bay. But cause he's three year old maturity it's just, way too stressful for him so they have to set up a day care situation and have a family member be a handler for him, because they still need to keep him under proetective

custody, both to keep an eye on his condition and to keep him from being attacked again in his weakened state.

(aw, thanks)

OOOOH I like it!!

Ford gets taken to HQ to stay there until the antidote is made, but he gets scared at night bc he’s stuck at the maturity of a three-year-old now, and it’s dark and he’s in what amounts to a cold hospital room (he’s in the med bay, but gets his own room bc of his situation), and he’s all alone.  Sally gets called when the person posted outside Ford’s room hears him crying.  she stays with him for the rest of the night, and has Stan come first thing in the morning to comfort him.  

Stan takes Ford to the ice cream shop across the street from HQ while Sally has people make Ford’s room more kid-friendly.  and when they get back to HQ, Stan agrees to be Ford’s handler and stay with him until he goes to bed each night, around 7:30.  then Stan goes home to be with Angie and his kids.  Fiddleford keeps an eye on Angie during the day, bc she’s still recovering from the botched de-aging, and goes to HQ at night to be there if Ford wakes up and needs comforting.  so Stan and Fiddleford basically take shifts taking care of their vulnerable family members.

[melongumi]

kitsungari replied to your post: dear writers: you are allowed no more than one (1)...

What’s your definition of damseljng?

disclaimer: I’m not being prescriptive here, and no one should read this and think they’re doing storytelling wrong if it sounds familiar. It’s just... not to my taste, for a start, and in my opinion something you have to be careful about as a writer to make sure it comes out right.

Like, a romance between friends who always treat each other with respect doesn’t need to be written carefully. It’ll come out the way you planned it even if you do a terrible job executing it. A tender and redemptive romance between former enemies with lots of bad blood and old hurts and toxic behavior between them -- that you have to pay close attention to, and take care with delicate balances, to keep it feeling like a romance rather than more toxicity. If that makes sense?

So you CAN damsel, I’m not gonna judge -- but I’m not gonna enjoy it unless it’s written with great care.

Now as to what I consider ‘damseling’ to BE--

mmmm, like, when a character is captured by some form of Baddies, and 

it can be blamed at least in part on said character letting their guard down when they shouldn’t have

their captivity causes a Problem for the other characters (i.e. they’re used as a hostage, or the Baddies can use them for something they want, like a ritual or to get information the protags were trying to keep secret or something like that)

and they suffer -- emotionally is enough, poisoning or injury is worse

also, they don’t escape on their own but need to be rescued

upon rescue, they collapse immediately into tears without doing anything materially useful, and need to be comforted

this isn’t like, me thinking characters aren’t allowed to be weak -- this is setting up a pattern in the narrative that because a character is weak they’re also useless and a burden. It might not be what the writer intended, but personally it’s the feeling I take away. And it’s a terrible feeling. Not uplifting at all.

Lalasa more or less gets damseled at the end of Page, but it doesn’t have that Prime Damseling feel to it -- because there was no expectation that Lalasa could possibly have done anything different (her not being a fighter, and the kidnapping being exceedingly well-planned), and because after Kel reaches her, they have to work together to get out. At a point during that process, it’s Kel who needs Lalasa’s emotional support. Also Kel ends up injured and Lalasa’s fine aside from cramping and pins and needles. So that’s a factor.

ANYWAY, first of all whump exists as a trope, and even people who aren’t familiar with whump as a trope, and who don’t like that kind of thing in large doses... do still like a dose of it now and then. That’s fair. But not every kidnapping/captivity/hostage situation has to go full damsel. 

And properties that DO have people kidnapped a lot can at least make sure it’s nice and spread around. [Character A] can’t be kidnapped again until everyone else has had a turn, you hear me???

Then too there are situations where I’m more sensitive as a reader to anything that resembles a damseling. If I’m reading some Stargate fic, I’m not gonna blink no matter how many times Jack or Daniel is captured: because Jack’s a big tough special forces military guy, and because Daniel is... also big and tough in later seasons, but also he’s basically whump-bait? Making bad things happen to Daniel is a storied tradition.

ON THE OTHER HAND, it if happens to a lady, especially a noncombatant lady, especially especially an in-training combatant lady, I’m gonna be, ehhh, reading on the defensive? So to speak?

... i’ve wasted a lot of time on this post

I’m not much of a fan of whump in the first place, anyway, and all captivity scenarios are fundamentally whump, even if only mildly or unintentionally.

[acelightwoods]

god i gotta find some dave franco whump