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gremlin-girly · 25 days ago

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Flufftober Day 27

Alt 8: Written But Never Sent

Pairing: Steve Rogers x gn!Agent!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, ANGST (idk why I'm putting Steve through the ringer this week lol), mutual pining (this is apparently my bread and butter as well as my jam), mentions of death, crying/grieving, alcohol consumption/drunk (mentioned), confessions, first kisses, second chances, not beta'd I try to cover everything in my warnings but they are non-exhaustive - please read at your own risk! I will say that this fic is Angst heavy for the majority of it

Summary: You've been missing on a mission for longer than expected; all of your friends and teammates believe the worst to have happened. When packing up your apartment, Steve finds a series of letters addressed to the team in a box in your closet, and decides to read the one addressed to him. Word count: 2.6k

A/N: This one took me longer because I was really struggling with coming up with something for the afternoon stroll prompt. But hey! I think I kinda made this fluffy? We'll ignore the parts that are really sad though. I wanted a little mix of angst and fluff to switch it up. - Love, Grem x

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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You had went to Hungary over a month ago on a long mission; excited to be flying solo for the first time. Everyone was excited for you too. Natasha had given you a charm bracelet for good luck (that just so happened to be a mini taser), Bucky had shown you had to gut a man three ways, Sam had kindly offered you a lollipop since he had nothing as interesting to gift you last minute and Steve.... Well, Steve had offered some very leaderly advice and urged you to call if anything went wrong and you needed help. You'd assured him, and the others, that you'd be fine but promised to keep it in mind. You waved them goodbye from one of the quinjets and headed for your mission, already daydreaming about returning with grand tales of espionage and action to share with your friends.

But a week and a half ago you went radio silent.

All agents are given 72hours to reach a pre-determined checkpoint, usually a safe house 15 miles from your allocated location for the mission. Usually, when a cover is blown, an agent makes it to a safe house in an average time of 17hours, accounting for hiding out and ensuring they aren't followed.

No one was phased for the first seventeen hours. Not even for the first twenty-four. This was your first mission after all. But the hours dragged longer and longer, and by the 48th hour Steve and the team were desperate to make contact with you and head to Hungary themselves. However, as Nat had pointed out, any other agents in the field could be casualties and putting them at risk was not an option either. So, they had to wait.

Everyone knew what it meant when an agent hadn't checked in for a week.

There were two options; you were either dead or, by the grace of God, you were alive somewhere, somehow, and hadn't managed to make contact.

It was unlikely to be option two.

Although he didn't outwardly show it, Steve was the most affected by your assumed death. He'd planned a welcome home party for you before you left as a congratulations on your first mission, and had been fretting over what flowers to get you (or if he should get any at all). He'd been so proud you were flying solo - you'd been ready - even if he was a little anxious that he couldn't be beside you.

He'd held it together when Sam announced it to the team but barely. He was glad Sam had offered to speak instead of him - Steve wasn't sure he'd be able to make it through just speaking your name. Steve had made sure, as he usually did, to check in on everyone. He nodded along when Tony ranted about getting tracking software in everyone's suits to stop this from happening again and held Wanda when she cried about losing yet another person dear to her.

Hours and hours of endless grief and yet Steve stood tall being everyone else's rock. Being Captain.

Bucky had checked in on him once, and so had Sam, but Steve had only nodded with an "I'm okay. Don't worry about me." They clearly didn't believe him but knew better than to push it just yet. He was grateful for that.

It was when he was at home that night, in the dark of his apartment watching the lights of the city flicker from the window that he finally cried. He couldn't remember the last time he cried so hard but once he started he couldn't stop. Curled in a ball on the floor against the sofa, Steve sobbed until he somehow managed to drag himself to his bedroom in the early hours of the morning.

Steve had only managed to get a few hours sleep before he was up again. He was pouring himself a second coffee and rubbing his tired red eyes when his phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Steve." It was Fury. "I'm sorry to hear about Y/N."

Steve hums in vague acknowledgement, stirring creamer into his coffee. "What is it?"

Fury sighs into the phone and there's an audible creak as he slumps back into his chair. "There's no easy way to put this but we have to collect Y/N's things from their apartment."

Steve sucks in a breath. Army training makes him bite back vicious comments about how no one knew if you were dead and, even if that were the case, it hadn't even been a month since you'd disappeared. Angry bile burned in his throat and he breathed slowly through his nose, trying not to give away that he was furious. Fury was his friend too - and he was just doing his job.

"We're keeping the lease in their name, don't worry." Fury adds, seemingly noticing Steve's icy demeanour through the phone. "But the belongings and possible traces back to covert operations and the Avengers need to be held in secure storage until... a future time."

There's a heavy beat of silence before Fury continues. "I just thought you may want to be there when the agents pack things up is all."

"I'll be there." Steve says without a second thought. "Just tell me what time."

Steve walked to your apartment that afternoon. He knew it wouldn't be smart to take the motorcycle; the ability to speed and cause more harm to himself than necessary because of his grief was tempting but ultimately pointless.

It was a sunny day. A light breeze softly tousling his hair as he wandered the streets to your apartment. He'd been there a few times - in a totally leader/co-worker/friend manner of course - but the memories that flitted through his brain had him pausing more than once to stop himself from running back home.

One of the first times he'd been to your apartment was your housewarming. You'd finally moved from Natasha's couch into your own place and invited everyone around for drinks and food. You'd thanked him for the flowers he'd brought you when he'd arrived a lot earlier than everyone else and gave him a quick tour of the small apartment, showing off your paintings and trinkets with an infectious glee that had you both giggling and teasing one another. Unlike his apartment, yours had warmth. He'd never felt so at home in a new place before but then again, with you, he always felt like that. Safe.

Another time, you had been drunk. He only remembered when he pushed through the door and saw that you still hadn't fixed the gouge in the doorframe where you'd shoved your key into trying to open your door. Steve chuckled wryly and closed the door behind him. You and the girls had gone out drinking and Steve had offered to be your chaperone home; insisting that as team leader, your safety was priority.

"I don't see you walking Nat home," You had slurred, walking into him multiple times until he took your arm. "Or Wanda."

"Wanda can control people with her powers and Natasha can break four bones in twelve seconds." Steve chuckled, looking down at you. "Come on, you need to get home."

You swayed outside your apartment door, keys poised in hand, eyes narrowing on the key hole. You jabbed viciously, missing the lock entirely, spearing the door frame.

"Whoopsie." You giggled, setting Steve off too.

Steve wandered past your kitchen counter, remembering how he had to unlock the door for you, help you out of your shoes and usher you to bed with a glass of water. You'd looked beautiful that night and he should have told you so.

Tears threatened to spill and Steve was thankful he made it early before any of the agents sent to pack your things. He glanced around your living room, wiping at his eyes. He didn't know where to start. Only that he had to.

A few hours later, Steve finally managed to set foot into your bedroom.

Everything smelled like you in there. It was overwhelming. Steve had to sit on the floor for a few moments to regain his composure. Clothes that you hadn't managed to pack were left strewn across your bed and floor, your jewellery at your dresser, nothing of note to be found. Except, from where Steve had sat in a hurry, he could see a brightly coloured box peeking from your closet.

His face flushed as he wondered what could be in there; something he shouldn't see? More trinkets? However, curiosity got the better of him and he inched closer, tugging the box towards him and ripping off the lid.

Envelopes.

It was full of envelopes.

The very top one had his name on it written in neat, block writing. Steve pulled his envelope from the top and set it aside and returned to the box. The next envelop read N a t a s h a. Steve flicked through the next few and sure enough, there were envelopes addressed to the whole team as well as some family members and other friends. Steve's blue eyes flickered to his envelope beside him. He touched it tentatively like it would burst into flames before him. There was something inside of it - a letter most likely - and it made Steve's stomach lurch.

You'd written him a letter?

Morbid curiosity had him opening the letter carefully and tugging out the contents. Steve smiled through tears seeing your handwriting and scrawled mistakes through the paper and unfolded it, reading it slowly and meticulously, trying to imagine you sat at your kitchen counter writing it.

Dear Steve,

Who starts a letter with "dear" anymore? "To" didn't seem right and "Hi" was just... bad. Anyway, if you're reading this I guess that means that I've taken a short walk off a long pier. Which sucks but I knew if I didn't write these letters, I'd probably come back as a ghost and be miserable for all eternity or something.

Steve snorts at the first paragraph, chuckling thickly through the stream of tears.

Firstly, I want to say thank you. For being a friend and my captain a great team leader. It was an honour and privilege fighting beside you. That being said, I know that you're going to be there for everyone but yourself - so I have taken it upon myself to request that the team help take care of you in my letters to them.

Now Steve fights back a choked sob, cursing quietly and wiping tears away furiously. How did you always manage to read him like a book? You knew when he lied in truth or dare, when he lied to Tony about stupid shit, when he lied about being fine. He loved and hated that you could do it. Loved and hated you could see Steve Rogers beneath Captain America.

Secondly, I have something I want to confess. Maybe I'm I was reading into things to much but I have had, what the kids call these days, a "crush" on you. My only two regrets about this are not telling you sooner and not asking you out for coffee - even if you'd complain it was over-priced and that "back in your day you only had one type of coffee."

And finally, I want to say thank you for everything and I wish you nothing but the best - it's no less than you deserve. Love, Y/N

All of the air in Steve's lungs has evaporated. His heart has halted and he stares at the piece of paper in his hand like it's some sort of cosmic horror mangled with a joke. You'd been "crushing" on him? Steve reads the final half of your letter another few times, his heart aching in his chest.

Getting coffee with you. He'd have liked that. He vaguely remembered Nat mentioning to him that he should ask you out for a coffee and his lip quivered. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry.

"You could always ask Y/N out for a coffee, Steve." Nat had smirked at him. "You know, if you want to get to know them a little more."

Steve had frowned at her, confused. "We have coffee here," He said, pointing at Tony's old percolator that he'd just refilled. "Why would I need to go out with them to get to know them?"

Nat shook her head and sighed at him. "Nevermind, Rogers."

Your bedroom was quiet as Steve sifted through all of his memories of you. How many opportunities had he missed? He hadn't realised you had felt the same way and he'd pushed his feelings aside because he was your leader. He didn't know how long he sat for, still clutching the letter in his lap, but when there was a commotion in the main area of your apartment he frowned and clambered to his feet.

Yelling echoed throughout the apartment but before Steve could open your bedroom door it was flung open. Steve inched back and stared wide-eyed, still holding the letter.

You stared back at him.

"Hi Steve," You say quietly. Your gaze searches his face, seeing the tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes of your Captain boring into you. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Your eyes trail down and see he's holding a bit of paper, chest tightening when you realise what the paper is. However, before you can even open your mouth again, Steve's lips are on yours and his arms are hugging you so tightly you think you might burst.

His lips are salty from his tears but you don't mind, considering you haven't had a proper shower in days and he clearly didn't seem to care. Your own arms wrap around his waist, leaning into the soft, tender kiss without so much as a second thought.

The moment you break for breath, Steve's face is buried in your neck. You can feel the wet of his tears staining your shirt and it makes your own eyes well too. You squeeze him back tighter than before.

"'M sorry it took me so long to get back," You murmur into his shoulder. Steve barely moves a muscle and his voice is so quiet, you have to strain you're ears to hear him.

"You're back, that's all that matters."

Your heart hammers in your chest and you bravely rest your head onto his shoulder, slumping in his arms wearily.

"It was a nightmare getting back," You confess. "But I'm glad to be back. Especially if that's my welcome home present from now on."

That earns you a chuckle from Steve, who briefly moves back to look down at you, his eyes glistening with happy tears of relief and something a little more. "It can be. How about you tell me everything over coffee?"

Your eyebrow quirks and for the first time in week, you both smile at each other. "You're not talking about coffee from the percolator, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

You snort and shake your head in disbelief. "I'm AWOL for two weeks and everyone's panicking that I'm dead." You tease, giving him a playful sideways glance. "Oh, ye of little faith. Found the letter, huh?"

Steve's arms squeeze your sides again, the smell of his aftershave engulfing you in the familiar scent that made you feel warm and fuzzy whenever you were around him. "Was it that obvious?"

You pretend to ponder for a moment before answering yes. Your eyes gleam playfully up at Steve, looking the same as you did that night he walked you home from the bar, making him want to kiss you all over again. And he does. The flushed, shy look you give him after he pulls away again makes his heart soar.

"Come on," He urges, not wanting to waste a moment longer now that you were back.

Alive.

With him.

"I owe you a coffee date. Or ten."

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skeefee-sky · 18 days ago

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*Thundertober2024 Masterpost*

looks like I'll be posting my last catch-up prompt after the convention this weekend but! Here's everything else I've written! so I can find everything later >w< (i took out the days i didn't do a prompt for btw!) and! you can find things too if you'd like to read/view something again c:

Days: ~ One / Two = Trouble/Protection (TB2) ~ Four = Damage (TB4) ~ Five = Sunshine (sims) ~ Six = Strike (sims) ~ Seven = Ship (TB1) ~ Eight = alt prompt: Silence (TB2) ~ Nine = Game (sims) ~ Ten = Speed (TB3) ~ Eleven = Rain (TB4) ~ Twelve = Energy (TB1) ~ Thirteen = Whiplash (TB2) ~ Fourteen = Cliffside (TB1) ~ Sixteen = Survival (TB4) (still looking for it, i promise! ;w; cannot for the life of me find it in my folders weh. might rewrite from scratch at this point-) ~ Seventeen = Home (TB3) ~ Eighteen = alt prompt: Curse (TB4) ~ Nineteen = Sand (sims) ~ Twenty = Thrusters (TB4) ~ Twenty-Three = Song (TB2) ~ Twenty-Five = Party (TB4) (will post after i return from convention c:) ~ Twenty-Six = Dinner (sims) ~ Twenty-Seven = Flames (TB2 & TB4) ~ Twenty-Eight = Nightmare (TB1) ~ Thirty-One = Pumpkin *both parts!!* (sims / TB2)

Thundertober was a lot of fun this year, and I'm really proud of myself for participating c: I definitely want to try and be more organised if I ever join again in future >w< I felt like I was rushing a bit eheheh

#sky's writing #thundertober2024 #october writing prompts #masterpost #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #.... can you tell which thunderbird i really like writing for yet? x'D #literally was not kidding when i said Four was my favourite haha

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darl-ingfics · 2 months ago

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Sicktember Day 19: ALT - First Aid Kit

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Wonwoo (cold)

Caregiver(s): Mingyu

Word Count: 1,026

Note: A sequel of sorts to Day 15.

To his credit, Mingyu had tried extremely hard to be quiet when he entered their room that night. It wasn’t his fault that he was absolutely plastered and thought it was a smart idea not to turn on any lights. Okay, maybe it was entirely his fault, but Mingyu didn’t want to admit that when he tripped on his own desk, fell against the adjacent (wheeled) desk chair, and crashed to the floor, bringing the chair down with him. Not exactly the smooth entrance he’d been imagining.

Mingyu sucked in a sharp breath of pain, cradling his left calf as he heard movement on the bed to his left. “Mmmm…” Wonwoo groaned. “Gyu?” He cleared his throat, prompting a deep cough that made Mingyu wince again.

It was also entirely Mingyu’s fault that the reason he wanted to enter the room with the stealth of a thief was that Wonwoo had, of course, caught the cold he’d had two weeks ago but somehow worse and really, really needed to be sleeping right now.

“Heeyyy,” the younger man trilled awkwardly.

“Is everything okay? What happened?”

“I uh… I fell.”

“Out of bed?”

“Um, no?”

The lamp beside Wonwoo’s bed flicked on, and Mingyu hissed, turning away from the light. Or at least that’s what he would say in the morning; there was a good chance he’d turned to avoid seeing Wonwoo’s reaction to his current state. (But there was no way his drunk brain could process such subconscious guilt right now.) Curse that last beer! Curse Jeon Jungkook for peer pressuring him! (That was, also, an exaggeration: Jungkook had not pressured him in the slightest.)

“Gyu, what the fuck?” Wonwoo didn’t sound mad. Just terribly confused and sleepy.

Mingyu’s head rolled back to face him. Wonwoo also LOOKED confused and sleepy. “Gravity was not on my side.”

Wonwoo blinked at him. “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah!” Mingyu cheered. “I met up with Kookie!” Wonwoo nodded solemnly, pushing the covers away from his legs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing, mister?”

“Getting the first aid kit. You’re bleeding.” Wonwoo inclined his head towards Mingyu’s leg, and used his roommate’s distraction to slip out into the dark hallway. Mingyu was, in fact, bleeding; the leg that had hit the desk and chair had a decent slice down the calf. Interesting… it had barely hurt until now…

Mingyu snapped back to attention at the sound of the plastic first aid kit opening next to him. He blinked up at Wonwoo, all droopy eyes and pale cheeks. Mingyu reached up and pushed Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear, earning a small smile from the older man.

“How did you hit the desk?” Wonwoo asked, taking a warm wash cloth to Mingyu’s calf. It hurt a bit, but it was just water.

“The lights were off.”

“Why?”

“You were asleep.”

Wonwoo shook his head, sitting back on his heels to look his roommate in the eye. “Gyu, you’ve seen me sleep in broad daylight. Turning on the overheads for a few minutes wouldn’t have woken me.”

“What if they did this time, though?” Mingyu’s voice was so sincere, Wonwoo wasn’t sure how to even respond to that.

“Your cut’s not super deep,” he said instead, nodding towards Mingyu’s calf. “Pretty surface level. I think it’s bleeding more than anything.”

“Oh good. I was nervous it was broken for a second.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah, the lights were off. I couldn’t see it.” Wonwoo chuckled, coughed once, turned away to catch a few more coughs in his sleeve. Mingyu frowned. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo rasped, swallowing thickly as he turned back to the first aid kit. He pulled out the disinfectant spray, holding it up so Mingyu could process what was about to happen. “This is gonna sting.”

Mingyu took a deep breath, his mouth set in a thin line. “Do what you must.” He squeezed his eyes closed, missing the adoring grin on Wonwoo’s face before the older man disinfected his cut. It did sting, and Mingyu’s leg tensed automatically, but the cut was so shallow, and still so new, it didn’t hurt too badly.

When Mingyu opened his eyes again, Wonwoo was preparing to wrap his leg with gauze. The cut was a little too long for a traditional bandaid, at least tonight. Mingyu watched his roommates careful fingers measuring the material, gently wrapping it around his skin without putting too much pressure on the wound, securing it tightly.

Mingyu had no idea just how intently he was staring at Wonwoo, totally unaware that his undivided attention made the older man want to crawl out of his skin. “What?” Wonwoo asked finally.

Mingyu’s next words surprised him: “I’m sorry I’m such a pain...”

Wonwoo sighed. “You’re not a pain, Gyu…”

“No, I am. I got you sick and now I’m making you stay up and take care of my sorry ass.”

“Who said you were making me do this?” The puppy eyes Mingyu gave him at that moment nearly made Wonwoo melt to the floor. “And when have I ever complained about caring for your sorry ass?”

“Well… I just feel bad.”

“I know, sweetie…”

“My ass is legitimately sorry.”

Wonwoo snorted into a fit of laughter that, again, led to another fit of coughing. That kept going. And going. So terribly painful sounding. Mingyu, injury sufficiently tended, jumped up to grab his water bottle. He returned and held onto his roommate, rubbing at his back until the fit finally subsided, then practically forcing the water into his mouth. Wonwoo’s breathing was ragged, his whole body sagging forward, all his energy drained.

“Okay, my turn to take care of your ass.” Mingyu pulled Wonwoo to his feet, nearly dragging him back to bed, and tucking him in tight with a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you…” Wonwoo slurred, eyes already closed as he cuddled further into his blankets.

“No, thank you.” Mingyu kissed his forehead again. “Sleep tight, Woo.”

“You too.” Mingyu smiled as he moved to turn off the lamp before getting himself ready for bed. “And Gyu?” Mingyu paused. “Please just leave the light on.”

#sicktember 2024 #sicktember #seventeen sickfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen sick #svt sickfic #svt sick #svt fanfic #sickie wonwoo #caretaker mingyu #darlingfics #kpop sickfic #kpop sick

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autobot2001 · 4 months ago

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A Good Time

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warnings: None Pairing: None Description: Jazz and friends have a fun night at a karaoke bar.

@autobotjazzweek day 1; morror & forgotten. Day 2; singing and dancing Unfortunately, this is all I could write for the week. I plan on finishing the prompts next week.

Jazz’s holoform stares in the mirror in the bathroom. Jazz thinks about the Autobots’ time on Earth. Seventeen years on a planet he and many Autobots call home. Every Autobot knows Cybertron is being rebuilt, and they’ll have to decide if they’re going home or staying on Earth. “Jazz?” Blaster’s voice gets him out of his thoughts. “Huh?” “Have you forgotten about the plan for tonight? Several of the mechs are going to join us in karaoke.” Jazz realizes it’s about time to leave, and he’s not ready. “Yeah, how did we convince our friends to join us?” “You know many of them hang out at Swerve’s bar here.” “I mean karaoke. I can only picture Sideswipe doing karaoke.” “This should be fun.”

Blaster and Jazz meet their friends in a karaoke room at the bar. More friends than Blaster and Jazz thought wait for them. The room is full with eight holoforms and their human friend, Jamie. Lightning and Jamie’s presence here is not an issue since this wasn’t a mech night. The friends go to the bar. Drift, Lightning, and Sunstreaker decide to get one drink to ensure there are enough designated drivers. Unless Blaster and Jazz drink excessively, Ironhide may have to retrieve them and tow their alt modes to the base.

“Jamie is drinking?” Sideswipe asks. “If you count milk with a little Kahlúa.” “Kahlúa contains twenty percent alcohol, ma’am,” the bartender says. “So she is drinking,” Sideswipe smiles. The friends return to the karaoke room.

Dancing occurs whenever someone sings in the spacious karaoke room. No one can blame the alcohol yet. It’s a fun half-hour. While everyone is having fun, they agree it’s time to return to the N.E.S.T. base after one last song. “Crazy, Crazy Nights,” Jazz says While everyone doesn’t like rock and roll, thanks to Jamie, everyone knows the song by KISS. Jazz and Blaster knew they’d sing together, but everyone joined in. A few humans couldn’t resist checking out the party going on. Which the friends didn’t expect. They stick to the plan and go home. Already talking about returning next weekend.

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #transformers autobots #transformers crosshairs #bayverse crosshairs #transformers drift #bayverse drift #Jamie (OC)#transformers bumblebee #transformers terror twins #transformers sideswipe #transformers sunstreaker #transformers blaster #autobotjazzweek #autobotjazzweek 2024

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cloveroctobers · 1 year ago

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OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 8. Hector

A/N: the way I always had something in the drafts to write for my beloved man like back during the summer time. The universe had other plans and what better time than to revisit this episode on Halloween! I think this is my first time ever writing on the day of this superior season?! Happy Halloween people 🧡 🪄

WARNINGS: language + hints of sexual tension 😅

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: “I love you, I swear I do but we’re not wearing matching costumes.”

₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚

[~October. 2000’s~]

Oh the wonders of being a big time celebrity during the month of Halloween. That’s right, a whole entire month! Which felt like so because you were constantly in the limelight with people not only dissecting your love life but also your roles which consisted of either being the lead scream queen in a thriller series, supporting actress in horror movies, and also being the star drummer (on some Sheila E shit!) and backup singer of a Alt-Pop girl band on the side.

So yes, you stayed busy and were worth talking about.

“Whatever you decide to be this year has to be big. I mean Destiny’s child, Britney Spears, Zac and Vanessa, and Halle Berry are all gonna be here at your party this year.” Your manager/publicist ranted as she paced the floor in your open concept closet.

You’re lounging on your studded chaise lounge chair, texting away on your blackberry while chewing on some gum, half listening, “Halle’s my god-mom, of course she will be here to support but who else is on this list exactly?”

“I invited pretty much everyone, the hottest stars even those who may or may be in your age range. It doesn’t matter! As long as you get good pics that brings fresh press.” Natania voiced as she began flipping through a notepad.

You hum knowing the deal, considering you’ve been in the limelight since you were fourteen so this was not anything entirely new. “I’ve got the perfect outfit for Hector and I.”

Natania glances up from writing, “funny you mention him after I say press.”

“Him has a name and who also happens to be my boyfriend?”

“Don’t remind me,” Natania mutters, “and just to think you could still be with Taylor Lautner right now. His stats are only climbing after ‘Breaking Dawn Part I,’ dropped and I can only imagine how much more attention he’s gonna get.”

Shrugging your shoulders you say, “I’ve got more than enough attention with and without a guy by my side. It was fun while it lasted but as soon as he booked the role for twilight, the distance just grew. It was all only a matter of time.”

At sixteen and seventeen years old you got into a relationship, naturally with who everyone may know as Jacob Black but he was just Taylor to you. You met way back in a martial arts class that your uncle actually taught but you didn’t end up sticking with it thanks to a tv series you booked. You met again not long after at a audition for “Sharkboy and LavaGirl.”

“Well the both of you could have at least faked it for a little!” Natania almost stomped her feet before sighing, “I mean Taylor still talks highly about you although you decided to pick a old paparazzi instead as your new fling.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to say anything less,” you blinked, “wasn’t a bad break up anyway and I don’t pay you to make judgements on who I date. I pay for you to manage my career, not my personal life, sooo mind yours.”

Natania rolled her eyes beneath her glasses, “whatever, you’re right. I’m just saying you could have done better. There’s just something off about him—Hector and not the whole follow people like you around for cash either.”

“Nat!” You hissed, “shut up already, hector’s coming over, he’s gonna be at that party with me and that’s that. When’s the stylist coming over?”

Natania puts on a forced smile and glances at the watch on her wrist, “in about a hour.”

“Great! Hector says he’ll be here in fifteen so that gives us a little down time. You can let yourself out whenever you’re ready.” You state laying back to rest your eyes.

You’ve been up since six thirty this morning doing a extreme workout routine you didn’t like with a trainer who took it too seriously. You were more of a cardio person than juggling ropes, jumping and squatting, and flipping over tires.

Soon the door bell rings and you pry one eye open to see the monitor by the door glowing, making you aware who it could be. Groaning you took your time getting closer to the screen, seeing no one there. Shrugging to yourself, you plopped down on the lounge just as your closet door budged open revealing your stylist and no other than your boyfriend, Hector.

Lounging on your elbows you smile and wave at the two.

“No, please. Don’t get up, I got it.” Your stylist wheeled in a rack while you laughed at the usual sarcasm.

“Hey, baby.” You craned your neck to meet Hector’s lips as he leaned over you in greeting before sitting next to you, “what happened to fifteen minutes?”

Hector laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, knowing that he was late, “traffic? Even on my bike and Hunger…”

You hum at this.

“Just burgers.” Hector whispers as you shrug your shoulders.

You knew what it was like, actually dating someone in the supernatural world. It could always go one or two ways and of course there were heavy rumors surrounding Hector since he was there at the time of Mazey Day’s death. He should have been dead—especially with the amount of damage done to his body, you knew what he and Bo were up to and the pictures Bo showed you was not something you would forget.

However Hector was meant to live and see it through…and he did with the help of your family.

They got to him first.

That’s right, a long history of, “werewolf or wolf training,” depending on which form. You had more experience with simply wolfs while the higher skilled like your parents and siblings dealt with the werewolf’s. Due to your involvement with the spotlight you didn’t have much time for…family activities but you weren’t completely clueless.

If you were able to get to Mazey Day in time, perhaps things could have been different. No one really knew and some still didnt accept what it was.

Werewolves were fucking real and you so happened to be dating one.

“Soooo,” you drag pushing yourself up once more to face Hector with a tired smile, “I’ve got an idea of what we should be for Halloween.”

“Aw but you didn’t see what Freddie brought yet.”

“Oh it’s in there alright,” you push off the chair to head over to Freddie who has measuring tape draped over his shoulders.

You do the honors of taking the protective cover off the clothes and run your fingers over the various fabrics, “we have DoubleDare contestants from the 90s, or you can be Cupid and I’ll be a large fuzzy heart, or my personal fav: little red riding hood and her werewolf of a grandmother.”

Hector blinks after briefly studying the costumes and says, “I love you, I swear I do but we’re not wearing matching costumes.”

“Uh oh,” Freddie mutters while you frown at the curly haired man.

“And why the hell not? The last option is the best one.”

“I get that one,” Hector replies with a knowing look in his dark eyes, “but don’t you think it’s a little…corny?”

“We’re supposed to be corny! You’re my boyfriend and I’m your girl.” Digging your fists into your hips and peer at Hector who snorts.

“Yeah but—

“At least try it on! I mean if we’re gonna be at my party together shouldn’t we at least match?”

Hector lightly grips your wrist to pull you from Freddie’s ear shot, “it’s gonna be a full moon that night.”

“Even better.”

“For who? Not me.”

“It’s been a year already,” you slip your hand down to squeeze his, “you’re gonna be fine.”

“That’s not what your mom believes.” Hector’s shoulders almost slump, which irritates you, the fact that your mother was always getting into his head was not something foreign to you but when she started to do it to people you cared about, that’s when it became a problem.

“Newsflash, she doesn’t know everything like she claims.”

“I mean I should listen to her since…”

“Since she’s more skilled than me? Ah alright well I get it. Look, I’m not gonna peer pressure you. I just know I wouldn’t have you here if I didn’t think you could handle it. We’d take all the proper precautions a few days before just like I planned but if you really don’t feel comfortable…we’ll just make sure to take the pictures in advance and we’ll go from there.”

Hector studies you then. He knew that it was hard to be around each other sometimes whenever the moon shifted. He was thankful he got another chance at life…sure but life just become a whole lot more difficult now with this new lifestyle and being legit involved with someone in the public eye. No doubt he’s thought about it before but never pictured it happening and Bo also told him it was a bad idea after figuring out that he basically resurrected and could transform into a hairy ass creature!

You lived one way and he lived another, there were contrasts to you just like the sun and the moon, the pair of you worked taking turns to let the other breathe separately. Space was efficient when it came to your relationship but when you were together? That opened up a whole new feeling. A scary one. He wasn’t sure if this relationship would be long term but he had the chance to see you for what you are beyond the lights and that was a treat in itself.

He exhales, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face, “…let’s try these costumes on then.”

And you squeal, hopping into his arms and he holds onto you as you lock your legs around his hips, his beaming smile meeting yours as you peck all along his handsome face.

“We look foolish,” Hector comments as he readjusts the gingham hat on top of his head while you stand side by side in a full length mirror.

You laugh as you wrap your arms around the curly haired man in the floral green nightgown, “correction: we look fine as hell.”

“Fine enough to where I don’t need to spend two hours sitting in a chair having ass cramps and getting wolf prosthetics on?” Hector slips on his circular glasses and peeks over them at your reflection.

Red was certainly your color.

You snort, “you could always let the moon do it’s thing.”

“That’s not even funny.”

Pressing your chin against the back of his shoulder you say, “Wanna give me a little snarl or something?”

Hector sends you a pointed look as you trail one hand up to twist one of his damp curls, “Oh Granny, what pretty curls you have.”

“All the better for you to tug my dear,” Hector begins to play along.

A smirk makes its way onto your red painted lips, “Oh granny, what a beautiful face you have.”

“All the better for you to,” Hector starts before quickly twisting his body to yank you tight against his body, “sit on.”

You see the specs of ember swirling in Hector’s ink eyes now and you know you were pushing it as the length of his nails began to poke at the fabric of your red hood.

He then places a open mouthed kiss to your beating throat, “you didn’t say anything about my teeth.”

Standing up some with your hands locked around his neck now, you lean just a bit closer so that your forehead presses against Hector’s; you reply just as some knocks sounded at your closet door, “Now that’s satire.”

Hector let’s out a small laugh as you untangle yourself from his grasp to get the door, making a show of pointing the makeup artists in his direction only.

With your confidence in him and against the full moon, Hector can’t help but to shrug his shoulders and take a seat peeking at the face he got used to over the years. Somehow even this skin felt different and not just the scars embedded.

He just hoped you were right but knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Well…here’s to a new change of course for Halloween! That might actually be terrifying but as long as he had you on his team, his doubts and speculations from outsiders—which he used to be—didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚

Continue along with my fall anthology prompts here.

#black mirror #halloween writing prompts #black mirror mazey day #mazey day #black mirror Hector #danny ramirez #Danny Ramirez x reader #october prompts #Spotify

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lilac-gold · 1 year ago

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OMORI AI-less Whumptober 2023

Contents Page:

DAY ONE: Sick Summary: Aubrey falls ill, unable to leave her room. Her mother doesn’t care, and certainly won’t let her friends come visit.

DAY TWO: Overworked Summary: Hero uses studying to cope with Mari's death. Unfortunately, staying up all night studying can lead to passing out at the most inconvenient of times.

DAY THREE: Isolation Summary: Unlike Hero and Sunny, Aubrey didn’t isolate herself. Her friends and family did so for her.

DAY FOUR: Hiding an injury Summary: Mari’s supposed to be perfect, not go running for help. Hero’s got enough of her worries on his plate without her bad knee too.

DAY FIVE: Held at gunpoint Summary: Someone’s got a gun at Hero and Kel’s school. Kel should be concerned for himself, but all he can think about is his brother.

DAY SIX: Mind control Summary: Under Bossman, Hero is a puppet. He has no say in what his body does, and no way to resist when it starts to hurt his little siblings.

DAY SEVEN: Flatline Summary: Basil hears his grandmother die. The sound of her flatlining sticks with him for hours afterwards.

DAY EIGHT: Panic Attacks Summary: Aubrey deals with things using anger. She can control that, but the panic rushing through her is a different matter entirely.

DAY NINE: Presumed dead Summary: In Black Space, he gets constantly ripped apart, and Omori doesn't seem to care. When he returns to Headspace, Basil learns that his friends ended up giving up on him completely.

DAY TEN: Collar Summary: Molly always treats him like he's less than human. Still, Omori really could've done without the constant reminder around his neck.

DAY ELEVEN: Paralysed Summary: Upon a mountain, freezing to death, Spaceboy can't move a muscle. He's beginning to dislike the numbness.

DAY TWELVE: Sacrifice Summary: The Recycultists have never been a threat, not really. Things change when Basil ends up in one of their rituals.

DAY THIRTEEN: Drowning (ALT Prompt) Summary: He's not a strong swimmer, and hasn't been since he was little. Still, Sunny jumps in after Basil, and wonders if he meant for this to happen.

DAY FOURTEEN: Grief (ALT Prompt) Summary: Unlike Mari, Hero leaves a note. Kel finds it just minutes too late.

DAY FIFTEEN: Transformation Summary: Spaceboy tries to fight the anger that threatens to overcome him every single time. It never works, and hearing that tape again is the last straw.

DAY SIXTEEN: Hospital Summary: Mari is familiar with hospitals, especially this one. One place she's never visited before, however, is its roof.

DAY SEVENTEEN: Hypothermia Summary: Maybe climbing a huge, snowy mountain in only her too-large nightgown and with no shoes wasn't the best idea. Aubrey's certainly starting to feel the chill.

DAY EIGHTEEN: Warm soup Summary: Sunny hasn't eaten Hero's food in years. Now, starving as he is, it tastes even better than ever.

DAY NINETEEN: "Why wasn't I enough?" Summary: Locked in the walls, Rococo's starting to go insane. He still doesn't understand what he did wrong.

DAY TWENTY: Stockholm syndrome Summary: Hero, touch-starved and grieving, craves even the tiniest scrap of love. Finding it in Sweetheart was inevitable, really.

DAY TWENTY-ONE: Near-death experience Summary: After Humphrey, his friends seem fine. Omori knows better.

DAY TWENTY-TWO: Punishment Summary: The guilty must be punished. Sunny can tell no-one, so the only one left to inflict punishment is him.

DAY TWENTY-THREE: Forced to watch Summary: When Kel is about to be strapped down to the dissection table, Hero begs to switch places. Kel hears every broken cry that follows as his older brother watches him get cut open.

DAY TWENTY-FOUR: Failed escape Summary: Hero tries to escape the basement. The man who took him films his punishment. (Inspired by @charismabee's 'found footage' one-shot in our Hero-centric Febuwhump earlier this year)

DAY TWENTY-FIVE: "Why didn't you save me?" Summary: If Basil had been there even a minute earlier, he could have helped. Instead, he made everything infinitely worse.

DAY TWENTY-SIX: Curse Summary: Biscuit used to be able to talk. Now, the only person who understands him is his sister.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Immortal whumpee Summary: Mari was supposed to be dead. However, looking at herself in the mirror, she sure didn’t look like it.

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Oxygen deprivation Summary: On a mission through the stars, something goes horribly wrong. Before he knows it, Spaceboy is struggling to navigate the way back as his lungs run out of air.

DAY TWENTY-NINE: "The easy way or the hard way?" Summary: Mikhael’s cocky attitude and overall lameness lands him in a bit of trouble when he gets on the wrong side of a group of delinquents at Closeby High. He only hopes the Hooligans come to his assistance soon.

DAY THIRTY: Mind games Summary: Rococo owes Sweetheart his everything, and he knows she loves him… Even if what she says sometimes doesn’t completely align with that.

DAY THIRTY-ONE: Crying Summary: Kel hasn’t let himself cry in years. After seeing Basil’s body in the bathroom, it’s all he seems able to do.

And so, the time arrives! I will be posting each of the above one-shots to AO3 under "Whumptober 2023", as well as here on Tumblr in a series of posts. I will add links to each day once completed, as well as a 'previous' and 'next' to each day on Tumblr. I hope that you stick around and enjoy this month, because it's going to get whumpy!

(In addition to this, I will be doing a collaborative work with @charismabee centred around every alternative prompt for this event. Each day will be set in a different Omori AU that we've created. She is also doing her own version of Whumptober alone, so check her out if you'd like to see more! <3)

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th3sp4rr0w · 1 year ago

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Day Seventeen

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Seventeen Hypothermia/Heat Stroke/”You Look a Little Pale”

Alt. Prompt For Day Seventeen Memory Loss

Prompts Used for Day Seventeen Hypothermia, Heat Stroke, "You Look a Little Pale"

Tw's; Medical Experimentation, Past Injury Mention, Past Child Abuse, Mentioned Vomit, Mentioned Gross Behavior Towards Children, PTSD/Flashbacks *Note; There will be no actual sexual assault, especially towards minors, in this fic. It is strictly gross comments made in his past. The scene with the agents touching his cheek is not meant to portray sexual assault. I do understand that it sounds that way, which is why I added the comparison to other creepy adults in his past. It is just Jason's PTSD being triggered and sending him spiraling.

Chapter Seventeen under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were left alone for a while.

Agents, mostly Agent A and Agent J, would periodically flitter into the room to check on Phantom’s wound, see how it was healing, give them bathroom breaks, etc. Agent A had even pulled a few strings and got them showers. She’d even gotten them fresh clothing but promised they could keep whatever pieces they wanted, and she’d wash the rest. Cardinal kept his masks, belt, and gloves, and Phantom kept his hoodie. They, of course, kept their shoes as well.

When Agent A started making comments on their greasy hair and the way they smelled, Cardinal got an inkling he knew what was going on. He’d managed to shove all the contents of his belt into the hiding place without breaking the tile. He put a few things he knew he probably wasn’t going to be allowed to keep into the belt, to check if they’d search it. They were missing when he got it back. He was suddenly glad he’d thought of the ceiling as a hiding spot.

Cardinal had helped to shampoo Phantom’s hair when he was asked, rinsing it gently. He’d helped him get dressed again after he got stuck in his shirt and asked for it. He’d had to step up a lot for his twin recently, but he didn’t mind.

The bastards had gotten their answers results at his brother’s expense; blood blossoms did affect them negatively in human form, and their limbs...

It hadn’t grown back fully yet. They weren’t sure what kind of scarring there’d be, what the functionality level would be like, if it would cause any pain, but Phantom’s hand had started growing back. It would be fascinating if it didn’t send rolls of nausea careening down his body every time he thought about it.

He’d started exercising again. They still weren’t sure how to tell time, but he figured it was about every twelve hours or so Agent A and Agent J would switch off. That’s how most places would handle shift change, right? As far as he could tell it was as close to making sense as he could get it.

He did one set of exercises the first time he saw Agent A and the other the first time he saw Agent J. Phantom joined in where he could, having to be careful of his injury and mindful of his human half’s limitations. He also tried to keep up with the collar training; it worked fairly well most of the time.

One day he’d started moving slightly... sluggishly. He couldn’t figure out why, no matter how hard he’d tried. It was like his body had decided to just... stop working. Until he started exercising, at least.

As soon as he’d started to sweat a little bit, he felt infinitely better. It was so much worse after he was done with his sets and started cooling down. It was like someone was actively trying to freeze his joints together using his own body water.

The worst part about it was that Phantom wasn’t anywhere close to dealing with what he was. He swore the room was colder, but Phantom didn’t know what he was talking about.

Cardinal wasn’t stupid. If this had been just about any other person in the building, he would’ve thought they were fucking with him. But Phantom? It didn’t make sense.

What was (probably) the day after that was better, for him at least. He felt warm, like he could actually retain the heat he generated and use it for something. The frozen joints had thawed out and he could move freely; it was like he was some little creature, coming out of hibernation new again.

But Phantom was sweating like he was in a sauna. Beads of it dripped down his face and back; he took his shirt off just to try and cool down again.

It was odd. Neither of them could make sense of it.

The temperatures in their room kept getting more extreme. Phantom would thrive on days Cardinal was too stiff and cold to think, let alone move, and Cardinal would absolutely love the days Phantom was too hot to speak.

Then came the day the agents finally decided Phantom was healed enough to begin testing again.

He had about half of his hand and thumb regrown. The first joint was moving on its own. It was, apparently, enough for the agents to deem him fit. Cardinal almost asked if they could wait but he decided not to get too cocky. They had it decent in there right now; neither of them had been physically hurt in days, they had snacks, neither had gotten caught journaling yet, and they’d even had a shower. As far as kidnapping scenarios went, they were doing pretty good for themselves.

Agent J marched them down to the medical room. They still didn’t know why they’d started having experiments in there instead of their room.

They were directed to sit on the cots. Cardinal could tell Phantom didn’t exactly feel comfortable; in his defense, neither did he.

“Alright,” Agent J was holding the tape recorder again, “Log 51 on subjects T and F. This is Agent J, by myself. I have gotten the greenlight for further testing on the temperature experiment.”

Cardinal looked at Phantom. He looked back. They knew they weren’t going nuts. How rude, truly; all the other times they’d at least warned them they were being tested on.

“I’m going to start the experiment out at 68 degrees, then lower it slowly. Afterwards we will climb back up.”

They set the temperature and waited. At first, both boys were fine; he had a slight chill, but it was bearable.

When it was lowered, Cardinal reacted, squirming to try and get warm. Phantom looked at him like he was nuts.

The lower they went, the more it became obvious that he wasn’t doing very well. His teeth chattered; his body shivered. He pulled his knees up to his chest to try and preserve some of his heat.

It was odd. Cardinal had been through harsher temperature changes than this before; why did he feel like a frog slowly getting boiled alive, or more accurately, slowly frozen to death?

It felt as though everything had slowed down to an unbearable level. It was like his brain had been set on fire and he was trying to stay afloat.

The temperature dropped.

His hands were bright red. He couldn’t feel any warmth in his cheeks.

The temperature dropped.

It was like someone had taped pillows to his joints. Moving them felt stiff and uncomfortable; it almost hurt a little bit.

They were pale. That wouldn’t have been concerning if the temperature had risen at all, but given the trend of dropping it that didn’t seem likely. He felt like he was slowly being syphoned of all of his energy. The longer he stayed cold, the more he felt the effects of being that way.

“Hey, Cardinal? You doing okay?” Phantom asked.

The thought of opening his mouth to say anything filled him with dread. He did it anyways.

“I dunno,” he slurred.

Phantom winced. “You really don’t do well in the cold, do you, buddy?”

On the outside, he shrugged, but internally he was slightly freaking out as much as he could. It, at least, was in the 20’s; It’s not like he was in the negative temperatures without any gear. This shouldn’t have been possible.

The temperature dropped. And dropped. And dropped.

He had no idea what he’d done to deserve this. It was like he was in hell, except hell was a frozen tundra. It felt like he should have frost on his eye lashes. He wasn’t sure if he was hypothermic yet, but with the way he was shivering as though it was his full-time job he wouldn’t be surprised.

Phantom gave him his warm hoodie. He, without thinking much about it, had pressed his face into the fabric. He breathed in Phantom’s scent; something minty with an undercut of... huh. It almost smelled like one of Nightwing’s zesty’s. He looked like he wanted to go over to the other boy; they had been lucky to even get away with giving him the hoodie. Something about skewed results.

He looked over to his twin often. He was... doing just about as well as Cardinal had been in the beginning. He couldn't help the flash of jealousy; he’d never had the temperature training Cardinal had back when he was Robin. How was he doing better in the cold than he was? He didn’t feel like it was fair.

Then again, fair was never in the equation in this place. It was a luxury they’d never been able to afford, and frankly he’d be suspicious they were gearing up to something if suddenly it ever was. He was having a hard enough time trying to remind himself that being given access to things like food, water, and a toilet was considered a human right and not a kindness.

Being in the room was not pleasant. He put the hoodie on over his t-shirt and sweats. They’d been surprisingly comfortable considering he didn’t think that the facility would bother providing clothes at all; they were hesitant enough to allow them to shower.

He wondered if Agent A convinced them by telling them it’d skew the results too much if they continued to ferment in their own juices. These people really only listened if you pointed out it could potentially skew results of the experiments they were conducting. That was a depressing thought.

The temperature continued dropping, even as he began to feel worse. What else was new? Once they started one of these ‘experiments’, they rarely stopped unless one of them was really hurt. He could feel himself starting to nod off.

He tried to keep himself awake as best as he could. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he fell unconscious during one of these torture sessions.

He closed his eyes again. He thought of when Batman took him to see the Al Ghul’s one week when they were being extra weird and cagey about what they were up to. It’d been hot; he’d sweat into his eyes and could hardly move in his suit. The bat had lathered his exposed skin in sunscreen whenever he even thought about going outside and he’d still gotten sunburnt.

He tried to convince himself he was warm. The Bat had always told him mind over matter; Nightwing had said the same thing, though, and he’d trusted it way less.

He loved Nightwing and trusted him with a lot of things; psychology, or anything having to do with decision making, he did not trust. This was the same man who ate cereal with his sugar instead of the other way around and drank zesti, like, at least three times a day. It was absolutely ridiculous and he still maintained they needed to stage an intervention for him. Alf usually agreed. He’d also decided the Discowing suit was an acceptable thing to fight crime in, so again, he did not have the best track record.

Though, thinking of his family back home had helped. He’d stopped shivering. He thought back to his lessons with the bat. Wasn’t that a big sign of hypothermia?

He looked down to the rest of his body. He tried to move his toes, which barely cooperated with him. He began to wonder if it was too late to try and beg not to do the experiment, or to at least start raising the temperature and seeing how they do.

He felt something in his chest trying to take shape. Phantom looked at him.

Questioning-Concern-Reassurance

Cardinal tried to focus on sending a response, but there was really only one feeling he had to share.

Cold

Somewhere in him, he recognized that Phantom raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t have the energy to send anything else and he sure wasn’t going to be trying to verbally respond anytime soon.

Somewhere on the outside, he thought he heard something. He felt the change somewhere deep within him. It was like something had built up in his chest and was telling him of all the things he would normally miss out on.

The temperature had risen, just a little.

He whined, bringing his legs up and tucking them into the hoodie. He pulled the hood up, fumbling with it and nearly being unable to do it at all. He pulled the strings and put his hands in the pockets.

The temperature continued to rise, and Cardinal felt more human with every degree. That’s not to say that he wasn’t cold. He was still freezing; it felt like he was Thanksgiving’s turkey thawing in Alf’s sink, but days before the actual event; the man wouldn’t add water until the day before, saying it was bad luck or something. He didn’t know much about thawing... anything, really? He’d always taken the elderly man’s word on it. He had to know a little bit about what he was doing at least, his food was always delicious.

He shifted slightly to look at Phantom from his makeshift cocoon.

“Subject T,” he heard Agent J’s sharp voice.

He slowly moved his head to the agent. “Yes?”

“Are you done with the dramatics? We have an experiment going.”

He resisted the urge to twitch. He took a deep breath. “Play the long game,” he reminded himself. “You can turn this place into a big campfire later.”

He vaguely wondered if the bat would let him bring marshmallows. At the very least, Nightwing would indulge him. He was certain of it.

“I’m sorry,” he grit out. “I was uh, I’m. God it’s cold,” he said, burrowing back into the hoodie.

“Stop being dramatic,” the agent said simply. “You cannot be that sensitive to temperature.”

He almost pointed out the whole point of this experiment seemed to be how sensitive they were to temperature. He bit his tongue. He could make fun of these people with Phantom later; for now, he needed to be the perfect little captive. He couldn’t wait to tear these people apart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, attempting not to sound bored or sarcastic. Nightwing said when he wasn’t feeling good his tone just naturally took that route. He didn’t think the agent would appreciate it.

Phantom was right; these people had to have been living in their moms’ basements before this. He couldn’t see a single well-adjusted person ever wanting this job, even if you took away the genocide and other things.

Plus, if a single one of them had ever been even mildly interested in science ever, they’d know this was incredibly unscientific. Cardinal had never been able to puzzle out a single hypothesis. It was like watching a child with a magnifying glass on a sidewalk full of ants.

The temperature slowly rose in the room. His temperature rose with it; eventually, he was able to slightly uncurl himself. He still wasn’t brave enough to take the hoodie off, but he was feeling somewhat better. He looked over to Phantom.

He almost wanted to reach out. He also didn’t want to be separated. He had a feeling that these people weren’t into empty threats, given what happened the last time they were here.

The mark, even being scraped out, hadn’t healed completely right. He had a huge divot in his arm where the mark was, digging into his skin and marring it forever. There were a few scars he wanted to see if they could do something about when he got older; that was one of them.

Phantom looked at him and smiled. Calm-Reassurance-Okay

Cardinal smiled back. Okay-Reassurance-Cold

He could see Phantom almost laugh before he caught himself.

The experiment, like so many others, involved a lot of waiting to see what would happen. It truly was nothing new; these people got paid to basically sit around and watch two teenagers obsessively. Except for Agent A; he wasn’t sure what the hell she was supposed to do. He was pretty sure she was stealing company property with the food and water, and she had yet to conduct an experiment on them. He was pretty sure she was deadweight to the agency; so why did they keep her around?

He might have to conduct a few experiments of his own.

He stretched, finally feeling the frost around his joints loosen. He flexed his hands; they still had the ‘pillow’ quality to them, but at least he could move his fingers without little pinpricks of pain dotting his hands. He didn’t want to imagine how Phantom would feel trying to do this.

His brother looked like he was beginning to feel the heat starting to build in the room.

He yawned and stretched; being in here was so boring sometimes. He didn’t think he wanted to see it get interesting though; it seemed like every time it did, they came away with some new oddly specific trauma. He took off the hoodie, beginning to fold it so he could put it at his feet.

He tried not to think about how the feeling that being experimented on was just another part of their life now.

Phantom stretched out, starfish style. As the temperature rose, he was doing worse. He already looked somewhat worse off than Cardinal felt; he wondered if he’d had enough water today.

The warmth that spread around the room felt nice. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket with hot cocoa after crushing Nightwing in a snowball fight. The other boy had claimed all through the winter that he’d let him win, but considering how much he complained coming in, he seriously doubted that was the case.

Phantom’s skin had a flushed quality to it. When Cardinal looked him over, combing his eyes over his face, he looked dry. He tried not to worry about it, but if he remembered right from his training days, that wasn’t exactly a good sign.

He knew better than to act alarmed. If it got worse, he might try to get him some help. Didn’t they have the data they needed by now anyways?

It kept rising.

He thought it felt nice. It felt like a nice summer day, or a pleasant winter day spent by the fire, or when he used to enter the library on a cold rainy day to find it warm and dry. He’d find a book, probably either an Austen or some other classic, and he’d spend the day reading until they closed.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he got the feeling the exact opposite was true for Phantom. As he watched his twin on the bed next to him, he could tell he was struggling; his chest rose and fell rapidly and he sounded like he was barely getting any air in.

He felt the urge to go help. It was just how he was; he may not be Robin, but Cardinal wasn’t willing to let it go, either.

He opened his mouth. “Um, not to be a pain or anything, but his breathing is pretty heavy, don’t you think he should get checked out or something?

Agent J rolled her eyes. “He’s just faking it so he can get out of a bit of discomfort, the way you did, subject T. He’s fine; don’t bother me again.”

He inhaled. He couldn’t protest it; they wouldn’t listen unless they decided they wanted to be cruel and punish them for very little reason again. He wasn’t about to make things worse for them... on purpose, at least.

Phantom seemed to be trying to say something lost to the movements of his mouth. It was like he couldn’t get comfortable; he wondered if it was similar to what he went through with the cold.

A few agents entered the room, glaring at the children as they came in. They had icepacks and hand warmers.

“Ah, good,” Agent J mumbled. “Right on time. Icepacks go to... that one-” they pointed to Cardinal, “Give the warmers to the other one.”

He twitched. Visibly, physically twitched. Who did these people think they were?

He didn’t say anything as the ice packs were pressed onto his neck, hands, and feet. Already, the skin there ached- it's like they were trying to make sure they both came out of there with physical and psychological damage.

Seeing someone in distress for that long would do it for sure.

Reassurance-Protection-Okay?

Hot

… He supposed that was fair, considering he did the same to him earlier.

He watched as the heat packs were applied to Phantom’s flesh. The boy squirmed and tried to fight off the oppressive heat; it did not do much.

The agents were bigger. They didn’t seem bothered by the heat of the room. They seemed to be just fine in their cheap suits as they forced a teenager to undergo heinous torture. He’s pretty sure the UN put this on the list of things you cannot do while interrogating enemy soldiers. He could see why.

He tried to keep breathing. Just because Phantom was likely out of the game for a while, doesn’t mean he had to be.

… They had to have been there for hours now. He couldn’t help but wonder if Agent A would come rushing in to be the savior again. Suspicious or not, playing the long game meant that they were out of options. They had to cooperate with whatever batshit insane plot these people had come up with this time; they couldn’t afford to protest. If the wanted this to end before they were ready to end it, they had to rely on other people in power. Even if you were pretty sure those other people in power weren’t going to be your allies for long.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that. They were aiming for survival. And who knows? Maybe his mommy issues leftover from Sheila had translated into a hard mistrust of women in his life that would follow him for years to come and Agent A really was a good person.

He didn’t rule out that both scenarios could be true. Maybe he should listen to Alf and get therapy.

He began to rock back and forth, trying to maintain his core temperature. He could feel his hands and feet going numb. He took a deep breath.

He tried to close his eyes and focus on happier times. Throwing sticky pancake chunks at Nightwing during breakfast, when he and the baby bird played video games, his mom reading him a Jane Austen novel for the first time-

He heard something being dragged in. He almost didn’t want anything to do with it; the whole “seeing what’s coming” thing hadn’t been great for his morale as of yet, and avoiding thinking of their next move was kind of working out for him right now. Maybe if he had his belt stocked when they got captured, or maybe if he didn’t know very well that apparently nothing was off the table to these people, he could think about it.

As it was, he didn’t want to. It would just make the situation worse. He could be tense and ready when the time came.

Although he hated it, he had a feeling that time was now.

Against his better judgment, he cracked an eye open. He didn’t want to know where they got a tub from. He had a feeling he knew what it was for as the ice packs dripped down his neck.

“We want to see how you do when exposed to cold temperatures for longer periods of time, since you seem to be ‘sensitive’ to it,” Agent J said when they caught him looking.

He tried not to sigh. This was going to suck.

He looked back over to Phantom, who looked to be on the verge of passing out. At this point, who’s to say if it wasn’t going to get worse just to get worse?

He looked around. It, apparently, took three agents staring into the same tub to slowly fill it with undoubtedly freezing water using a hose. One looked like they were actually doing their job and monitoring it until they could go get ice to shove into it, the others were doing... he wasn’t sure what they were doing. Probably screwing around. He could relate.

Agent J wasn’t staring at them anymore. They had gotten up to do... something, he guessed, over by the door. He peaked.

He didn’t know what was happening. There was nobody there. That would normally set off all of his instincts, but this place seemed to be more sadistic than intelligent. He took one more look around before grabbing the icepacks and moving over to Phantom.

He swapped their torture devices silently and quickly, looking to make certain nobody was watching. Even if they caught him, he was prepared to take the punishment. He’d rather get in trouble for doing something rather than for little to no reason, anyways.

He slid back onto the cot without a sound. He was getting better at that these days; moving swiftly, silently. Sure, he’d done so as Robin, and he’d done it well, but normally he could at least hear something when he did. The ruffle of his clothing, a swoosh of his cape. He was almost glad he’d lost it in the van that day.

As he watched the tub fill and the agents begin to shove ice into the water, he resigned himself to his fate. He’d known for a while that he’d changed after Ethiopia, emotionally anyway. He’d known he’d changed physically. Being forced to strip to his underwear in what was supposed to be a hot room judging from the beads of sweat dripping down the agent’s foreheads, while he himself was perfectly fine was...

Well. It wasn’t an easy thing to come to terms with.

He could avoid it all he wanted, but one day he’d have to face that these people have changed him irreversibly. The Joker when he blew him up in a warehouse, the GIW when they kidnapped him and are currently still torturing him. Sometimes it felt like his body was just a roadmap of hardships.

Getting into the tub reminded him of something he’d thought he’d forgotten.

He’d been little, maybe five. Before Catherine had gotten addicted, she’d been sick. He wasn’t sure what it was; she’d hidden it from him for a long time, never really addressing it. She had once just been his mom, trying her best in a shit situation.

She’d been really sick that day. She’d been vomiting; he thinks she might’ve had a migraine. She used to get those a lot when he was older. Willis had come home for the first time in days and had been berating her for not cooking dinner. She’d tried to explain, but he’d only yelled at her.

He was five. All he’d seen was someone yelling at mommy when she already didn’t feel good. He didn’t know monsters were a thing that existed outside of underneath the bed and in the closets. How could he?

He was five.

He’d said... something. His memory was fuzzy after all these years. He was nearly certain the word ‘poopy-head’ had been involved, since that was the strongest cuss word he’d known at the time. Instead of taking a step back and wondering why a five-year-old felt the need to call him a poopy-head, or better yet, asking himself why the child calling him an insult hurt his feelings so much, Willis had dragged him into the bathroom.

The electricity had been shut off again that month. It was winter. He vaguely remembered going to the neighbor’s sometimes to bathe with their kid and cook dinner. It didn’t matter. What mattered is there was no hot water in their apartment, and it was winter.

Willis made him watch the tub fill, like he did now. He’d made him get in.

He remembered his lips turning blue. He’d remembered the way it made his body feel. The pain, the cold. Willis had threatened to put him outside in the grey snow after, just to teach him a lesson.

He’s still not sure what the lesson was. Don’t back talk? Don’t call people poopy-head? Didn’t matter.

It’s funny that something that seems so insignificant now still has the power to take his breath away. He settled into the cold water as he tried to ground himself in this moment instead of living in that one. He wasn’t about to let these people see him cry, but it felt like he was five years old again, in the freezing bathtub as the man who was supposed to be his dad berated him. His mom had been so, so mad.

She’d packed him up and taken him to the neighbors, blue-lipped and barely responsive, he’d been told. They ran him a warm bath. They bundled him up in all the blankets either household could spare and put him right next to the heater. They hadn’t known if he would survive the night; a hospital trip had been out of the question for several reasons.

He was pretty sure he had been hallucinating by that point, but after he was supposed to have lost consciousness after the blast in the warehouse, he could’ve sworn he'd felt like he was freezing. He’d just been burnt by an explosion; his skin was probably still burning itself. He’d felt so cold.

He knows if it was real, it was probably just the brain’s way of trying to convince him he wasn’t dying. He wished he could do it now to feel some semblance of warmth after this.

Whatever they were trying to accomplish by doing this, he wished it would just happen already. He could feel his skin burn as he stayed there. Someone dunked his head underneath.

He felt the water soak into his masks, making them stick to his skin. When he was pulled back up by his hair, he reached a shaking hand up.

He clawed at his ear where it looped around. The fabric made it feel like he couldn’t breathe; his hands were so cold that he couldn’t get the thing off for several moments.

It finally caught on one of his fingers. He could barely hear some of the agents mocking him as he tried to catch his breath. One of them caught him by his jaw, forcing him to look up at them. “Look at it, man,” he said, caressing his cheek.

“It almost looks like a real kid, but look at that scar!” Said a different one. He felt another hand poke him on the ‘J’. He resisted the urge to bite them; he didn’t know where they’d been.

He wished they’d get their ogling over with. They were starting to uncomfortably remind him of the grown men and women who’d ghost over his shoulder and ask when he’d be joining the working girls of the alley. If he came with a discount. Where he’d gotten his long lashes and baby blues from. It made his stomach twist.

He thought about closing his eyes and pretending it was Batman, checking over him and making sure he was alright after a hard night out, but quickly shut down the idea. The thought of the man he considered to be his papa acting anything like these disgusting pigs made him want to vomit more, if that was even possible.

He tried to pull himself out of his head as they kept making comments about the scars on his body. Openly wondering if they were death marks. Making bets on how he died as if that wasn’t one of the worst days of his life they were chatting animatedly about. He wondered how these people could go home and sleep at night with the way they acted. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping very well when he finally got out of this fucking thing.

They dipped him under again. He tried not to think about their tiny apartment in the alley with the mold on the windowsills. He tried to pretend he didn’t think of the blast that had left him in this mess.

More memories fluttered to the surface. The group of men that tried to stiff him while he was selling tires chasing him when he pickpocketed one of them to compensate for the missing money. Falling into Gotham harbor when he first started out as Robin while trying to dodge a bullet from some goon that didn’t know how to shoot. Throwing up water for 30 minutes after Batman fished him out and stripped him of the costume. When the bat took his cape off to wrap around him. Peeking his head at Commissioner Gordon when he asked what happened and him asking if they needed clothes for him.

He didn’t like these memories. He tried to remember his mom’s face when they caught the first snow fall together, before the plows could come through and ruin the pure white snow. The way the snow looked when first falling over the rooftops, covering Gotham in a layer of gorgeous ice. He tried to remember the face the baby bird made when he convinced him to go outside after school and threw a snowball at him, causing them to have a war like he did with Nightwing at home.

Any time he tried to remember the more delicate details, something horrible would come up. In a way, this was worse than it was days ago with the blood blossoms.

These people really should wear masks. He hated feeling weak; he swore to himself he was going to make every single one of these people feel this way one day.

Playing the long game sucked. It got you dunked in a tub of ice water while grown adults laughed at you. It got you memories that mocked you during your lowest moments. Here’s what it also gave you.

Patience. Cardinal had been playing the long game his whole life. When he was a child being abused by Willis, assuming he had come home that night. While he was Robin, staking out criminals and waiting for the day Batman would let him go out alone. With the Joker. While he was here. People assume playing the long game got you nowhere. That it was only good for making memories you didn’t want to keep.

Holding onto things can make you bitter. Sure, the occasional bout of melancholy was to be expected from someone in his position. Mostly, however, he was angry.

How many other kids had to go through this before anything was done? How many other kids had to die before something was done? Starting out as Robin had mostly been for the long game of helping the alley. The game sucked, but it kept him alive long enough to do something about it.

When you’ve been playing the long game as long as Cardinal has, you get the pleasure of seeing who’s been eliminated. What makes your opponent tick. How their brain works. It gives you the ability to predict what happens next, should you choose to.

Playing the game with the GIW had sucked so far. However, the way he saw it, it was necessary. It gave him the incentive to make his revenge more... satisfying.

Batman doesn’t do revenge. Robin hadn’t either.

Nightwing did. He’d helped him a few times. He was pretty sure the baby bird also took revenge, if the way he’d been plotting getting his father divorced was any indication.

Robin had never been vengeful. Not that he didn’t have anything to be vengeful about; but he’d been happy. Taken care of. He’d believed that Batman would always be there to protect him; he knew now that, if he could, Batman would trade places with him in a heartbeat. That wasn’t what he was worried about.

He’d never understood why other heroes would say he was just a man. Sitting in the tub, he thought he understood now.

There were limits being human had. Robin had never been willing to admit that Batman had limits beyond those he self-imposed. Whether Robin had ever admitted it or not, it was something Cardinal had gotten to know intimately. He supposed it was fair. Robin was never supposed to shoulder that burden; it was, after all, the reason Cardinal was able to take flight. Cardinal was born because of the limitations Batman had.

He felt the hands leave him. He eventually found his grip on the side of the tub, hauling himself above water and looking at the scene in front of him.

Agent A was fussing over Phantom. He could hear her muttering about cooling him down. He saw her place a gentle hand on his cheek, muttering “You look a little pale,” as he watched him fight not to let his head lull to the side.

These people would pay for what they’ve done. However, patience was a virtue. He could be patient. He could play the game. He could wait his turn, bide his time.

He was willing to burn this place to the fucking ground if it meant he’d never be cold again.

#dp x dc #ailesswhumptober2023 #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai less whumptober day seventeen #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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