#febuwhumpdayx

[blackwood4stucky]

tell me a lie to keep me in line, you swear it's a sign but it's the tortured who rise | aspen blackwood

series: blade of nightshade, be my strength not my ruin

james “bucky” barnes x steve rogers | mcu

🅼 | word count: 2,336 | complete

tags: all souls x mcu fusion, pre-stucky, steve-centric, omegaverse, paranormal creatures, body horror-adjacent, bucky barnes-implied

A tale of struggle and pride, desire and blood, longing and suffering, and the discovery of a witch.

bingo fills + event prompts

@badthingshappenbingo | I have your loved one

@fandombingo: mcu card | free space

@fandombingo: rpf card | sidhe

@fandom-free-bingo: flight edition | betrayal, passing out from pain, torture

@fandom-free-bingo: valentine’s edition | alternate - omegaverse au

febuwhump | alt: 6 - immortality

@multifandom-flash: round 3 [3013] | blinded by rage

@stuckybingo [5080] | b3: skinny steve + amethyst [february prompt]

snippet: “The day I presented as an alpha was one that was rejoiced throughout the village. The sickly, little asshole I had become known as, had finally become a man… My mother and father certainly never warned me of the pain that I would have to endure to become one of them…”

read: ao3 | ffn | sqwa | the nana

mini playlist

bucky’s prequel

[writersmorgue]

Day 9 - voice loss

Read on Ao3

Word count: 628

TWs in tags

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Shouto is… not sure what’s happening. 

Now he can confidently say he doesn’t normally know what’s happening either, but he thought he had been getting better. This has to be something else.

It’s dark wherever he is, quiet too. He tries clapping a few times, and he can tell they’re moving but there’s no sound, not even of his pajama shirt rustling.

His voice was the same; he could tell there was a noise somewhere, the rumbling vibrations still running along his throat, but it remained silent.

He stands, picking a direction and walking, hoping he’s still on school grounds. He was when he went to sleep last night, so hopefully he’s in the common room like he thinks.

He reaches his arms out, fingers running along something solid. There’s no texture, but he’s not sure there should be. It’s lukewarm and unyielding against his touch.

Something brushes along his arm; the same vague feeling, and he’s not sure if he bumped into something or if he’s not alone anymore. That is if he ever was.

Only I would get wrapped up in this bullshit. Or maybe Midoriya.

He sighs, wrapping his hands around his elbows.

The rough feeling of his calloused hands is missing.

A weight lands on his left shoulder, and he reaches up to lay his on top of it. The feeling yields beneath his fingertips.

Someone is there with him.

He attempts to ask for Aizawa, feeling the rumble of his voice exit his mouth.

There’s silence.

Shouto’s eyes burn, and he realizes he’s forgotten to blink for gods know how long.

The feeling squeezes his shoulder twice. 

No.

“Can you bring him?” He says, probably.

One squeeze; Yes.

The pressure disappears and with it Shoto’s sense of stability.

He frowns, wobbling.

I’m sure it’s fine if I sit down.

“Um, I'm going to sit.” He waits for a silent answer and nods to himself, doing just that.

He folds his ankles under himself and waits, biding the time thinking about the quiz he’ll probably miss in English today.

The hand returns, accompanied by another on his left shoulder. He rotates his torso toward the latter, his teacher’s sturdy grip giving him some semblance of normalcy.

He feels something brush his knee and assumes Aizawa has sat down beside him. 

“Senses are gone, I can feel pressure.” He keeps it short, still unnerved by the silence of his voice.

The hand squeezes once.

“Probably a quirk. Internship.” He vaguely remembers brushing against a criminal, though he had bright orange hair and Shouto naively believed that must’ve been his quirk. Kirishima dyes his hair red, Shouto didn’t know he could be so dumb.

“Do you think it will go away?’ 

Yes.

“How long will it be?”

A pause.

Shouto presses his palms together, “Right, never mind.”

Not that he thinks he’s a weak-minded individual, but Shouto doesn’t know how long he could actually deal with this without going insane. Not that most people would do so well, the quiet is maddening. 

Shouto’s pretty sure he read an article about the ‘world’s quietest room’ and how the longest anyone had managed to stay inside was an hour.

Maybe actually being able to hear his heartbeat, or his bones rubbing together, would be grounding. As it is, he hasn’t been given relief.

The pressure returns in several intervals; Aizawa is patting his back. 

Well isn’t that unnerving?

Shouto frowns, bringing his knees up to his chest.

I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine. Aizawa will fix it and it’ll go back to normal. It’ll be okay, Shouto.

Shouto doesn’t see his teacher watching him with a concerned expression as he rambles out loud, rocking back and forth while he stares sightlessly at the air in front of him.

[febuwhump]

please remember that if you wanna be reblogged by the febuwhump blog you gotta tag febuwhump AND febuwhumpdayX!! if you don't I will not reblog on principle alone!!!!

[elenarodriiguez]

day nineteen: black eye | m.m.

summary: when may comes into the medical wing it’s usually life or death; a black eye and bloody nose are welcome changes.

pairing: melinda may x reader

cw: minor injuries, blood

word count: 759

Bruises and scrapes were a dime a dozen around these parts. These parts being the base’s medical wing, home to the meagre team that Coulson managed to put together and the plethora of patients walking in and out at a sometimes hourly basis. Of course the field agents practically lived in this wing, that was obvious, but for a load of supposed geniuses who could take over the world at the push of the button, they were not on friendly terms with lab safety rules.

So despite the many years you’d slaved away to get your degree in medicine, your skills were more often than not being put to use dealing with the most minor of injuries. But the pay was phenomenal, secret government agencies and all, so you couldn’t say that you minded too much if your days were rather slow and monotonous more often than not. And over time you’d gotten to know who were the staunch avoiders of the medical wing and who were the frequent fliers.

Which is why when you see Agent May poke her head in the room, your mind immediately jumps to you being in the Twilight Zone. Because a fan of medical help, she is not, and there is no other way to describe her being there on her own accord than unnatural. Rather than making a scene about it, you abandon your paperwork on your desk and stride over to her, determined to keep her from running away again for no good reason.

“Agent May, this is a surprise. Come on in and I’ll get you sorted out.”

“I don’t think-”

“Nonsense!” You interject before she has the chance to make her escape. “It’ll take five, ten minutes tops, and then you can go back to terrifying rookies once more. And hey, a black eye will really seal the deal.”

Before you can drop yourself in it any further, you turn on your heel and head towards your little cubicle, staunchly staying silent instead of filling the silence with chatter. You hear May close the door behind herself, and seconds later the crinkle of the paper covering the chair reaches your ears.

Grabbing yourself a pair of gloves, you pull them on and pass May a box of tissues now that you can see the dried blood which had been dripping from her nose. Once she’s satisfied with her attempts to clean off the blood, you hold out a hazardous waste bin for her to put them in, placing it off to one side when she’s done.

After getting her permission to check that she hadn’t broken her nose or fractured her eye sockets, you start up a one sided conversation, filling the silence by telling her all about the people whose ailments you’d treated today. It’s by no means interesting, although you think the story about Agent Fitz yelling at one of his underlings loudly enough that they thought they were having a heart attack brings a smirk to her face, but never once does she tell you to shut up, silently or otherwise.

It’s weird, she avoids the medical bay like the plague, and seldom speaks to you except when it’s necessary, but she’s just different with you in a way you’ve only ever spectated when she was around her team. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she had feelings for you, but everyone knows that she and Coulson were destined to be together, they’re just both too blind to see it.

“So, how did you get this black eye? I thought you were untouchable, at least that’s what Piper and them lot say.”

“Davis wasn’t looking where he was flinging his elbow and apparently my nose was the target.” She says so dryly, you would’ve thought she dead serious if it weren’t for the mirth lighting up her eyes.

“Okay, well, so long as you avoid Davis’s elbow again, you shall live to fight another day.”

“Thanks.”

May pushes herself off of the table and hesitates, arms still braced on the pleather seat as she leans against it. You don’t take much notice of her, disposing of the slightly bloodied gloves before turning to face her. She doesn’t give any indication of her next move, rather she leans in and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before turning tail and fleeing from your little cubicle.

It’s a good thing you didn’t put anything into the office bet about her and Coulson after all, or you’d have been a very sore loser.

[writersmorgue]

Day 19 - you deserve this

read on Ao3

word count: 360

TWs in tags

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C’mon Ochako, just a bite more.

The voice of her inner consciousness urges her to finish her onigiri. It takes the form of her dad, specifically from when she was little. When she sat in her high chair and refused to eat whatever he had on the little rubber-coated spoon for her.

Of course, back then it was out of defiance and childish anger toward anything green or healthy. Nowadays she can’t bring herself to take more of anything than necessary.

It goes a lot farther than food; her clothes (excluding her uniform and hero costume) are all ripped or stained in some way. All of her toiletries she takes from the girls’ communal bathroom. Momo is kind enough to keep a basket stocked with necessities in there, although Ochako is pretty sure she’s the only one who uses it.

Her mouth waters as Deku walks by her with a mug of coffee. She doesn’t even like coffee, maybe she’s coming down with something.

Her attention is drawn back to her plate.

You work so hard, you deserve this. Kirishima took three, finish your first and you can go up to your room to study.

Ochako’s stomach cramps at the idea. The soup she had for dinner yesterday (it was lunch and dinner, but she finished the bowl) is long gone. Her energy is waning and her head is fuzzy with need for sustenance.

She taps her fingers together idly. Maybe she should busy herself with dishes instead since Bakugo made her and Kirishima breakfast and she hasn’t had the chance to thank him.

But Kirishima is already at the sink, drying the utensils as Bakugo hands them over.

“Oi, Round Face.” Bakugo grunts, not looking away from his task, “Something fucking wrong with my food?”

Ochako startles, looking down at the remnants of her onigiri, discarded at some point while she was zoned out.

“Oh! No Bakugo, it’s wonderful, thank you so much.” She grins sheepishly. I have to eat it now, she reasons, so as to not upset him further.

Yeah, she nods to herself, shoving the rest of the (truly delicious) rice in her mouth. 

For Bakugo.

[writersmorgue]

Day 14 - captivity

read on ao3

word count: 1298

TWs in tags

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Shouta watches as Hizashi backs away from him with tears in his eyes, and he wishes he could take it all back. 

“You need to get your shit together, Shouta. I can’t even look at you right now.” Hizashi’s voice cracks, and he finally turns to exit the staff break room, furiously scrubbing his eyes. 

Nemuri hums from beside him, “Yeah, I’m with him, Sho, you’ve been a fucking mess since the raid on Friday. I think you should go back to your therapist.” She pats him on the shoulder, not unkindly, but missing the usual warmth she exudes, “Give him space, yeah?”

And then he’s alone. 

His eyes roll, and he moves to sit back down in his chair. 

“Fucking idiots,” His voice echoes in the silent room, grading to his ears. 

Yeah, the raid. He hasn’t felt right since then, either. Saying things he doesn’t believe, hurting his friends, hurting Hizashi. 

There has to be someone interfering, and the unprompted speaking and crude outbursts serve to further his theory. 

His body has been in a constant state of pins and needles for three days. He feels like a puppet with invisible strings.  

“What do you think, Eraserhead, should we hit him harder or apologize?” His mouth asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Who are you? He tries to ask. What do you want?

Whoever it is must not be able to read his mind, at least there’s that. 

His legs carry him to the staff bathroom, and he locks the door before heading to the mirror over the sink.

Shouta stares at his face, unable to look elsewhere in the room. 

“Wow, you need a nap, dude.” His mouth voices, eyebrows scrunching together, as his hand comes up to brush his eyebags. “This is honestly pitiful, I don’t know why Shigaraki has such a thing for you.”

Shouta very nearly vomits trying to process that information. 

Okay, there’s a league member infiltrating UA, they don’t know what his goal is, and he’s buddy-buddy with Shigaraki. 

But Shouta can’t tell anyone. 

Godsdamn shit ass mother fucker. 

He smiles to himself in the mirror, teeth on full display, sharp canines adding to the unsettling effect. Yeah, this is why he doesn’t fucking smile. 

The villain nods in approval, poking his teeth, “Not bad, not bad.” He hums, running a palm over his scruff idly. 

He examines Shouta’s clothes, unwinding the capture scarf and setting it down in the sink. 

Shouta’s forehead is glistening in the light, hair flattened down with sweat. Maybe a side effect of sharing his body with someone else. The feeling of overheating is muted, but he’s sure the other feels it heavily. 

The villain pulls his long-sleeved shirt over his head, leaving the loose black tank Shouta usually keeps on for bed. His shoulder muscles tense with the motions, his own eyes drawn to the movement. 

Oh great, the bastard checking him out. If someone walks in right now he thinks he’ll die. 

He continues down, patting his pockets for shit. He feels around, his hand landing on the switchblade he keeps hidden, and the small bottle of eye drops. 

The school bell chimes, signaling the end of the lunch break. “Oh! Looks like we have class now. Let’s go meet our children, shall we?”

At least get my damn capture weapon.

Shouta steps away from the mirror, swiveling to the door and smacking it open with a bang, startling some last-minute stragglers who’d been chatting outside.

His body walks towards the hall of classrooms, obviously unfamiliar with the layout. They peek in every room along the way, probably looking for one of the kids they’ve seen on TV from the sports festival. 

Finally, their eyes lock on Mina’s pink skin, and they enter the classroom with confidence. 

Shouji gives him a strange look as he enters. The kid has always been perceptive, he has probably picked up on his change in demeanor. 

“Aizawa-sensei, you’re late,” Iida observes, looking back and forth between the clock and his teacher, looking unsure. 

Shouta huffs, “And you’ve got a stick in your ass, Ingenium Junior.”

Who talks to their students like that?!

“Wh- Sensei!” Uraraka squawks, gripping Iida’s shoulders.

The kid himself frowns, not looking too put off by the statement, but wary. 

“Alright,” Shouta starts, “I don’t have shit planned for today, so we’re just gonna sit here like a bunch of idiots. Which one of you can lend me 4000 Yen?”

Momo raises he hand and Shouta’s hand waves her on, “Um, is it for… hero work?”

Shouta scoffs, “What? No, I’m just fucking hungry.”

Bakugo huffs in his chair, slumping, “Fucking hypocrite.”

Shouta frowns, flicking a pen at his student, “Loser. Go suck a dick you little shit.”

The boy gapes at him, looking around the classroom to confirm what he just heard.

Midoriya is vibrating in his seat, a mix of nervous and angry energy emanating from him, “Sensei, are you feeling okay?”

Shouta glares at him, “Yes, I’m fine you quirkless pest.” Quirkless? What the fuck?!

Midoriya pales, Black Whip activating out of instinct and flicking towards Shouta’s body, stopping three or so inches from his neck.

Shouta’s quirk activates without his permission, eyes lacking their usual burn. 

“Sensei, what the fuck?” Shinsou stands from his desk, pushing his chair back. 

Yes please brainwash him and end this goddamnit.

“Is that how you brats talk to your teacher?”

“Tell us what you did with Aizawa-sensei,” Hitoshi demands. 

Shouta has hope for all of two seconds before he realizes that he is feeling the effects of Shinsou’s quirk. Which means-

“Oh did you use your quirk? I guess the jig is up then.” The villain says, “Interesting, I bet it did work on him though, too bad I can’t hear what he’s saying.”

“That means this is Sensei’s body, since his voice did answer and the quirk didn’t work…” Midoriya mutters, squinting at the floor. 

“Yeah, which means when I do this, you should panic!” He slips his hand into his pocket, whipping the knife out at lightning speed and flipping it out, holding it to Shouta’s throat. “If I die I go back to my body, but little Eraser here gets it.”

Momo gasps, moving forward instinctually.

“Ah!” The knife moves slightly to the side, and a dull sting erupts along his jugular, “No moving, brats! I’m going to need the green one to come with me.” 

He snaps his finger and a gust of wind blows from behind him. 

“Shit, the league!” Kaminari shouts, pointing unhelpfully to where Shouta cannot see.

Ah, so Kurogiri’s portal then. Awesome. 

Midoriya holds up a shaking hand, nodding, “Alright, I’ll come, just don’t hurt him anymore.”

The boy walks up to the portal, sighing when Shouta gestures for him to walk in first. 

He looks behind him briefly, taking a good look at his classmates, before stepping through, disappearing into the abyss. 

Shouta turns back to the room, smiling as the knife lowers slightly, “Alright, thanks for your help. Don’t follow!” He chimes, before moving his arm to the left and dragging it across his throat in one fluid motion, then plunging the five-inch blade into the center of his chest. 

Shouta feels the villain’s presence leave him, exiting his back like a ghost. 

He gasps in pain, falling to his knees and watching out of the corner of his eye as the portal closes. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor is the only thing permeating the silence until the kids finally process what has happened. 

He falls onto his back and someone shouts. They crowd around him, Momo putting pressure on his neck and Iida calling for help in the background. 

They’re the last thing he sees before he passes out.

[febuwhump]

If we're using an alt prompt should we still tag it as "dayX" and say the alt prompt elsewhere it is there something different we should do?

just need "febuwhumpdayX" - anything else is your choice

[febuwhump]

we've completed a week! I hope you guys are feeling creative and inspired and ready to keep going!

as a note for something that has regularly come up, there is absolutely no point tagging the blog in your posts if you aren't going to tag correctly! I don't reblog anything that doesn't have a febuwhump tag AND a febuwhumpdayX tag,,, you guys are just filling up my notifs with things I can't reblog, so please tag correctly!

[elenarodriiguez]

day seven: “i dreamt you were alive” | l.s.

summary: it's been a year now, think i've figured out how, how to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

pairing: leslie shay x female reader

cw: canon character death, major character death, angst, hurt/no comfort

word count: 1129

Walking down the paved path with a bouquet of freesias hanging limply from your hands, you already know that this is going to be a rough visit. Not that any of them are ever easy, the pain of losing your soulmate a raw and gaping wound you doubt would ever truly heal, but today had already been difficult enough without coming here. Despite the numerous offers of company that had been floated around Firehouse 51, and the 21st Precinct, you were doing this alone.

You had to. For her. Because in a matter of minutes it would mark a year exactly since Shay had taken her last breath and you had lost her for good. A year of waking up in bed alone, twelve months of pasting a smile on your face and pretending all is okay, three hundred and sixty five agonising days of watching the world slowly move on from an impossibly incredible woman.

You find her headstone like it’s second nature - it practically is nowadays - and you make quick work of discarding the dead leaves tarnishing the sacred site. As you place the new bouquet of flowers in the godawful vase she’d bought you as a gag gift for your six month anniversary, a soft breeze picks up and you fight to keep your hat firmly in your head.

There’s no one else around, it’s an odd time of day to be visiting a cemetery, and relief grips at your lungs, forcing out a heavy breath knowing that no one else will be there to witness this. You’d been functioning on autopilot for the past week, the thought of the anniversary paralysing any emotional response you could muster up, and it was only a matter of time before the metaphorical dam broke and your resolve shattered.

“Hey baby, it’s me. It’s officially been a year. I hate that I haven’t seen you in so long.” You pause, sniffling under your breath.

“I dreamt you were alive this morning, yeah, we’d spent the day at the beach, and you were happy, like genuinely happy and carefree. You were like a little kid, trying to get me to freeze my ass off by going into the ocean. I called you mad, but now all I can think about is how stupid I was for not following you in, relishing that time we had together, even if it was just my brain trying to soften the blow of today.”

The breeze picks up and almost sends your hat flying, and you can just imagine her cheeky grin at that, telling you not to be so silly.

“It’s been a year now and I’m already forgetting things about you. Not the big things, but god forgetting the little things somehow feels worse, like I’m such a terrible person for forgetting you. We always used to joke about how I remembered every little unimportant detail, and now I just feel like I’m dishonouring your memory by forgetting.”

“This is just the first in a long line of forgotten elements of you, I don’t remember just how angelic you looked in the early morning light when it streamed into our room, what’s next? Your voice, how your hugs felt?” Shivering at the thought, you wrap your arms around yourself. “God I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I did, being in your arms was one of the only times I felt warm and safe.”

The realisation dawns on you and you bark out a sad laugh.

“Fuck you Leslie Shay. Why did I let you mean so much to me when you were gonna leave me so soon? I know, I know, it’s not like you meant to die but still. Sometimes I hate you for it.”

The tears start falling down your cheeks, making your scarf all damp and horrible, but all you can seem to muster up the strength to do is squeeze yourself tighter and refuse to let go.

“I hope you’re okay, wherever you’ve wound up, but I wish you could’ve stayed here longer. Had the chance to give me that ring you made Kelly hide, which by the way, I’m still really mad about that. I’m sorry that you’ve been gone a year and yet the world keeps turning, but just know that my world stopped the moment I got the call, and I don’t know if it’ll ever start spinning again.”

The steady trickle of tears soon devolves into gut wrenching sobs leaving you unable to catch your breath, clinging onto the headstone for dear life. Nothing could ever be okay again, not when the woman who had lit up your world could no longer shine, and to pretend as if it would was forcing you to lie to yourself.

You don’t hear anyone approaching you, but when a strong set of arms circle your waist and pull you towards their chest, you let yourself sink into the embrace, still sobbing hysterically. Kelly tries to soothe you as best as he can, a low voice singing the song that he’d caught the two of you dancing in the kitchen to, but he soon realises you need to let this run its course.

“Who told?” You ask when the sobs have subsided leaving sniffles in their place.

“Come on, I know what you’re like, kid. It didn’t take much thought to know I’d find you here.”

“I loved her Kelly, how is this fair? I’m losing her all over again and I just want time to stop.”

“I know kid,” he says, rocking you from side to side on the grass, neither one of you in a comfortable enough position to do it for long, “me too. But you know Shay, she’d kick both of our asses for being this sad about her all the time.”

“I think we can afford to be sad today.” You snark, wincing when it comes out harsher than you’d wanted it to be.

“Yeah, that’s true. Come on, let’s get you home and we can be sad indoors.”

“Okay, just give me a minute and I’ll be there.”

Kelly doesn’t argue with you, pushing himself off of the ground and heading back towards his car, leaving you alone with the last physical thing connecting you and the blonde who you’d joked was like your own angel.

“I’m off now love, take care of yourself, I’ll see you one day.”

Leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the headstone, you brush the dirt off of your clothes and walk back in the direction you’d come. There’s one final gust of wind, so strong it nearly bowls you over, and you smile, hoping that that was your girlfriend’s way of telling you how much she loved and missed you too.

[elenarodriiguez]

day twenty: shrapnel | g.g. & j.h.

summary: mouse finally comes home after reenlisting, and jay can’t wait to see him again.

pairing: greg “mouse” gerwitz x jay halstead

cw: references to war, mentions of PTSD, minor injuries

word count: 2322

read it on ao3

Getting the phone call from an unknown German number is like a punch to the gut. Because while Jay knows that this is a good thing, that Mouse will be coming home from that godforsaken hell hole, most likely for good this time, it also means that he was hurt. Badly enough to warrant a stay at a military hospital for the foreseeable future. And there was absolutely nothing he could do from Chicago except insist that they keep the amount of opioids he’s on to an absolute minimum, as is stated in his medical records.

Try as he might to convince the nurse giving him the courtesy call to give him something, anything to keep him from going out of his mind, but all she says is that it’s confidential and when Staff Sergeant Gerwitz is conscious, she will pass on his concerns. The next few days are insufferable for everyone, watching Jay pace around the unit floor so much it makes them dizzy to watch, every phone call putting them on the edge of their seats.

It’s on the fifth day, after many tickets to Germany have been searched for, and what constitutes as borderline harassment of the poor nurse, that his phone lights up with that same unknown number. He rushes into the kitchen with his phone and answers on the second ring, heaving out a sigh of relief when a very tired Mouse starts teasing him.

“Oh screw you man, at least I’m not the one in hospital.” He retorts back, the urge to stick his tongue out at the man despite being on different continents.

“Right now you’re not, but don’t think I haven’t been keeping an eye on you Halstead.”

“It was Trudy, wasn’t it? You, Kim and Hailey have always been her favourites.”

“I’m not at liberty to give up my sources.” His words soon become interspersed with coughs as he pays for his quiet laughter.

“You good man?”

“I’m fine Jay. I’ll be back home soon, honourable discharge and all, so you better come meet me at the airport.”

“Oh I’ll be there, front and centre. Now tell me, do you prefer honey bunches or schnookums? Because I’m good with either, but I need to know how much glitter glue I’ll need to steal off of Makayla.”

“Makayla?”

“Oh yeah, Kim and Adam’s kid.”

“So they finally got their shit together? They didn’t get married without me, did they?”

“God I wish they had, it would’ve been a lot less painful to watch.”

The rest of their brief conversation is filled with Jay catching Mouse up on all the major events which had gone down stateside, while Mouse listened and interjected with his own commentary now and again. But soon enough the nurse who most likely vehemently hated Jay was informing Mouse that he needed to rest and they were saying their goodbyes, exchanging promises to see one another at O’Hare once Mouse was declared fit for travel as they prolong their goodbye.

It takes another week and a half for Mouse to get permission to travel back home, and the moment that Jay finds out, he’s ready and waiting for his arrival. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he’d roll out the glitter glue, and managing to rope his niece into the chaos just made it all the more wonderful - and it also meant that Mouse couldn’t turn the sign down without risking evoking Mama Bear Kim.

The unit had decided that it would be best if Jay were the only one at the airport, so as not to overwhelm him, and Voight had unsurprisingly given him the day off work to help Mouse get used to Jay’s apartment. It may have been a long time since Jay got back from the army, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the hellish adjustment period which followed it.

Add that to the newest injury that Mouse had sustained, and the years he’d been at war, and it could very well end in disaster. But Jay wasn’t worrying about that now, not when the flight board announced that the charter flight from Frankfurt had landed, meaning it would only be a matter of minutes before Mouse was officially back where he belonged after the longest five years of Jay’s life.

He waves his poster up high, the gold glitter adorning the card threatening to blind everyone who passed it, and it doesn’t take Mouse long to locate him with a playful glare and a begrudging smile pulling at his lips. Tugging him into a gentle but firm hug, Jay starts to catalogue the minute differences in him. His face is no longer clean shaven, although that could be due to the hospital ward he’d been in, and he’s definitely regained the muscle he lost after his first tour.

But there are still things that are refreshingly the exact same as the day he left: his piercing blue eyes which never failed to calm him, the way he imperceptibly bounced on the balls of his feet at all times, only noticeable when they hugged. The way he said Jay’s name like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Without thinking, or pausing to argue with him, Jay grabs Mouse’s duffel bag, passing him the poster to hold onto for safekeeping. He passes on the team’s well wishes, and lets him get an idea of just how ecstatic Makayla is to meet her Uncle Mouse. It doesn’t go unnoticed that his eyes go misty at the moniker, just like his own had the day she’d first greeted him with a football tackle and a battle cry of ‘Uncle Jay’, but rather than rib him, Jay leads him to his car.

At first he’d considered bringing his truck, but from the little information he’d been given on Mouse’s injury, he figured that having to climb up into the vehicle probably wouldn’t be the best course of action if he wanted to avoid seeing Will at Med. The journey back to Jay’s isn’t long, per se, however there is a growing tension between them, the uncertainty of how all of this would go, only increasing the closer they get to Mouse’s new temporary abode.

Jay doesn’t question it when Mouse practically launches himself out of the car and takes the somewhat familiar journey up to his apartment, letting his friend get his thoughts together as he takes his time to get up there. Grabbing Mouse’s things, he takes the countless stairs up to his apartment, regretting his decision when he reaches the fifth floor and still has a long while to go yet.

Once he finally makes it up to his floor, he chucks his keys at Mouse, warning him before he throws them and allowing the injured man to unlock the door for him. Jay hands him his things and tells him to take a load off, reminding him of where the bathroom and the spare room are so he can get changed out of his fatigues and into something more civilian.

In the meantime, Jay gets to work preparing them both something to eat, nothing crazy just a simple stir fry, pairing it with a couple cokes seeing as he’d gotten rid of all of the alcohol out of respect for Mouse’s sobriety. As soon as he’s plated up the food, he goes to yell and let Mouse know, only for him to walk out with a pile of his dirty clothes and damp towel to put in the laundry room.

Mouse joins him moments later, his hair standing up as though he’d been shocked by static electricity, and they eat their meal in a relatively comfortable silence. But once the meal is over, and there’s no excuses for why they aren’t speaking, that’s when the awkwardness sinks in. While they move around one another in synchronicity, neither of them knows what to say, seemingly playing a game of Simon Says as they mirror one another’s attempts to speak.

“Shall we?” Jay ends up settling on these words, gesturing at Mouse to follow him to the couch.

They sit at opposite ends, their socked feet managing to twine themselves together without either of them even realising it, it happens so naturally.

“So, first things first, I feel like we need to set some ground rules. It’s been a while since we’ve lived together, since we’ve seen each other, and so it makes sense for us to set some boundaries.”

“Such as?” Mouse asks, not averse to the suggestion in the slightest.

“Like no harmful substances of any kind in the house, I know you’ve been clean for a while but I don’t think either of us need any alcohol in the house, not with our issues.”

“I agree. I wouldn’t do that, but yes, I agree.”

“Alright. Second thing is that I’d prefer if you speak to someone about things. I see my therapist every two weeks, and I have done so for years now, and while I’m happy to be there for you, I can’t be the only one man.”

“Uh. Okay. Wow, I never thought I’d see the day that you went to therapy, not that it’s a bad thing, just, different. Can I add something too?” He waits for Jay to nod in agreement. “For the time being, no other people stay in the house overnight. Including the unit. I know they’re like your family, and I definitely don’t want to take time away from Makayla, but I also can’t in good conscience risk them getting hurt while I have a flashback or an episode.”

“Done. I don’t really have anyone to stay over anyway so that’s not a hardship, but I’ll tell Kim that Makayla will have to stay at her apartment if I'm babysitting.”

Mouse sinks back into the couch, resting one of his arms on the back and briefly drawing Jay’s attention away from his face and the conversation they’re having to his muscular biceps.

“Next order of business, I don’t need to know the details, but it’d help if I knew the basics on how you were injured, how it’ll affect you, all those sorts of things.”

His face pales as he looks at Jay, his hand unconsciously drifting towards his midriff, but after taking a few moments to work on his breathing, he slowly starts to regain some colour in his cheeks.

“It was an IED explosion. I was the one closest to the blast and got hit with the brunt of the shrapnel. They managed to get most of it out, but they did say that they wanted me to go for a CT at Med once I got back just to check.”

“And you’re feeling alright now? No side effects I should know about?”

“Some fatigue, and since I haven’t taken any of the meds they tried to fob on me, I definitely feel achy. But aside from that, no not really.”

“Good, I’m glad. God I’m so glad you’re okay, I was worried sick about you every damn day. And I know we said that not talking that much was okay, but fuck man, it was torture.”

“Trust me Jay, I know the feeling.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, closer than they had ever been before to admitting that there was something else to their friendship which had never been discussed. As their bodies shift so that they are leaning into each other’s space, neither of them can find the words to say, because what do you say? Almost two decades worth of friendship, charged by this undercurrent that neither of them had acknowledged and now here they were.

When Jay presses his forehead to Mouse’s, they don’t have to find words which would never be enough because they both know already. He dares to open his eyes to find Mouse staring right back, his bright blue eyes tracking every single freckle that painted his alabaster cheeks. And when their lips finally meet, a kiss that was eighteen years in the making, it feels like coming home for the very first time.

There’s no mad scramble to put their heart and soul into this kiss because they already know, they already know that their souls belong to one another, it was just a matter of time before they admitted it. Instead when Mouse pulls away, yawning and blinking sleepily, they don’t chase for another kiss, Jay lifting Mouse into his arms and carrying him to bed, smiling as he rests his head in the crook of Jay’s neck.

The soft puffs of breath tickle his sensitive skin but he pays it no mind, cradling him impossibly closer. He pauses outside of his room, not wanting to make Mouse uncomfortable, but when the man reaches out to push the door open, Jay follows his lead. Rather than going through his whole night routine, after placing Mouse on his bed he quickly brushes his teeth and shucks off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and a T-shirt.

When he returns, he finds Mouse making space for him, impatiently patting the mattress when Jay takes too long staring at him. Jay quickly settles down under the covers, lying flat on his back as Mouse lies down on his side facing him. He pillows his head on Jay’s outstretched arm, the detective paying no mind to the inevitable pins and needles he’d awaken to, and slowly slides his hand under Jay’s shirt.

As his hand settles right above Jay’s heart, he presses a gentle kiss to the strong bicep his head is resting on, allowing the feeling of his heartbeat to lull him into a comfortable sleep. And as Jay watches his breaths even out, he allows himself to do the same exact thing, a cheesy smile gracing his face as he falls asleep. His honey bunch would be safe with him, he’d make sure of it.

[elenarodriiguez]

day eleven: “i’ll never forgive you” | s.c.

summary: there’s something to be said about the bitterness of forgiveness, revenge is far sweeter.

pairing: sharon carter x reader

warnings: TFATWS spoilers, dark!reader

word count: 906

“If you walk out of that door, I’ll never forgive you.”

Sharon stops in her tracks, probably would have tripped over her own two feet if she weren’t so graceful, and you can see her hand clenching her duffel bag of things. It’s a low blow, you know that it is, but this isn’t just any normal argument to be having. Your life together was amazing, she was going places in the CIA and you had gotten a well paying teaching job, which was practically unheard of these days.

There was so much going right for the both of you, you couldn’t fathom why she’d be so content to just drop everything because Steve had called. Steve, who neither of you had heard anything from besides a brief conversation at Peggy’s funeral. Steve, who had a plethora of individuals at his disposal, all far more powerful than your wife.

Both of you had seen on the news how tensions were rising: between the devastation in Lagos, the assassination of King T’Chaka, and the push from the right for the ‘Sokovia Accords’, you knew it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. Not that you’d ever mention it to her, but you’d been counting down the days until Steve got in contact, knowing she’d do anything for the man that her aunt had cared so much for.

However it didn’t mean that you had to like it, and you certainly didn’t. Steve’s anti-Accords status didn’t surprise you, they’re terribly written and set to criminalise enhanced individuals of any calibre, but the people endorsing them are dangerous, people you don’t want Sharon to fight alone.

Because that’s how she’d end up, despite how much you hope otherwise, she’d end up alone and on the run from politicians with an axe to grind and no need to pardon a rogue CIA agent. Captain America and all of his friends would be more than fine, but Sharon, you and her both know that if she left right now it could very well be the last time you ever see her.

“I mean it Sharon. If you go, I’ll never see you again, and we both know that.”

“I can’t just ignore Steve, I owe him.”

“What do you owe him?” You ask, your voice raising an octave as anger courses through your veins. “What could you possibly owe him that’s worth losing everything you’ve worked for? The moment you’re seen with him, with all of his team in this fucking avengers civil war, your life is over! No more CIA, no more living on US soil, no more us! Is he really worth losing everything?”

“Of course not,” she says, dropping her bags and crossing the distance between you to hold your face in her hands, brushing away the stray tear tumbling down your cheek, “of course not. But this is bigger than just us, or him, this is something that will affect people for decades to come, maybe even centuries. I can’t just stand by and let it happen.”

“There are other ways, you know there are. Hell, you’re CIA Sharon, and you know that Coulson is rebuilding SHIELD with May and Mace.”

“But are they as effective as the Avengers being divided because of these laws? I don’t honestly think you can say they are, not yet they aren’t anyway.”

“I meant what I said.” Your lip quivers as she smiles sadly at you and tells you that she knows.

She leaves you one last parting gift, a tender kiss to your forehead, before grabbing her discarded duffel bag off of the floor and leaving you alone in your apartment, the slam of the door forcing everything to sink in all at once. She’d left you, knowing that she probably would never see you again. It feels selfish to be upset, not when you know it’s for the right cause, but your heart feels as though it’s just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Seven years. Seven painful years since you’d seen or heard from your wife. No calls, no texts, no ‘please tell me you weren’t dusted’ messages that you’d gotten off of all of your fellow survivors, nothing whatsoever. And yet here she was on your TV screen, walking down the steps of congress after being officially pardoned by the United States’ government.

You were surprised to see her still wearing her wedding ring, yours was lost somewhere in your apartment, thrown in anger only never to be seen again. After a minute of taking in the little differences in her, the way she walked more akin to a predator, how she had dyed her hair lighter and let it grow out more, the smile that was so clearly fake to you, you turn the TV off, throwing the remote onto the other end of the couch.

She’ll come crawling back to you soon enough, undoubtedly wanting to reestablish her lovingly married ex-CIA agent persona, maybe even wanting to rekindle your romance and make up for lost time. You just hope she’s ready for it.

After all you’d kept your word, you never had forgiven her for leaving you and never coming back. And manipulating the Power Broker into doing your bidding, ruling her empire as she’s unknowingly under your thumb, maybe even turning her in one day, well, that’s better revenge than anyone could have ever asked for.

[elenarodriiguez]

day six: natural disaster | v.r. & h.u.

summary: the largest volcano in el salvador erupts and it makes vanessa think about family she’s never met.

pairing: vanessa rojas x hailey upton

cw: foster care trauma, discussions of death, volcanic eruptions

word count: 1742

read it on ao3

It doesn’t make headline news. That fact in itself isn’t particularly surprising, American media rarely takes a moment to post about anything other than the latest American fuck up, but it still rubs Vanessa the wrong way that she only hears about it by overhearing one of her CIs talking with his family. One of the many volcanoes in El Salvador had erupted, not an unusual occurrence, but due to the size of the smoke plumes, thousands of people are getting evacuated from their homes left and right.

As soon as she’s alone, she looks it up on her phone, religiously refreshing the page to see if any deaths or serious injuries had been reported. She knows it’s stupid to do so, she doesn’t know if any of her extended family even live in the vicinity of the eruption site, and she certainly wouldn’t call her mom up to check, but she just needs to know. Vanessa doesn’t begrudge her mother for losing custody of her at such a young age, she’s lived far too many years without her presence to maintain that grudge, but she missed out on a lot.

Family being the thing she noticed missing out on the most. Thirty two foster homes is a lot, even for a kid who was in the system for almost a decade before finally being given up on one last time at age fifteen, and those years had been filled with inconsistencies on both her mother and her father’s ends. The vast majority of her files had stated she was Salvadoran and black, and while DCFS wasn’t exactly known for its accuracy in regards to anything, she figured that this many repetitions of the fact had to give it some credibility.

The rest of the work day passes her by in a haze, nothing of interest arising in their ongoing case leaving her to stare at paperwork and worry about a nation of people she would never get to know. On more than one occasion, she finds her hands twitching towards her phone, itching to call a number she blocked years ago on the off chance that her extended family lives near a currently active volcano.

Before she knows it, Voight is letting them go home for the night, saying something about looking at it from another angle in the morning, and Vanessa rushes to pack up all of her things and go home. Shutting down her computer and shoving her unfinished paperwork in her top desk drawer, she steadfastly ignores Adam’s calls for a round at Molly’s to distract themselves in favour of grabbing her things and leaving.

Which would have been a great plan, except for the fact that Hailey had driven them both into work that morning, and her girlfriend had been more than eager enough to accept the invitation on both of their behalf. Any other night she could have gone, any other night she could have enjoyed a couple hours after work spent drinking and relaxing, but not tonight. All she wanted to do tonight was obsess over the disaster event, forget everything else going on in her life, pray for people she would never know, and blame her parents for their misgivings.

She does her best to muster up a smile when Hailey walks into the locker room, but she can tell it’s weak at best and it certainly isn’t enough to convince her girlfriend that all is okay. At first Vanessa tries to brush it off, says it’s nothing serious and that she’ll get over it, but all that seems to do is light up warning signals, somehow telling the blonde that the world as she knows it is ending. Sighing in defeat, Vanessa slumps down on the uncomfortable wooden bench, waiting for Hailey to take a seat beside her.

And sure enough, in less than a second her girlfriend is next to her, tucking Vanessa’s hair behind her ear and squeezing her knee, lacing their fingers together as soon as Vanessa holds her hand out to her. They both keep an ear out for their team, and once Vanessa is sure that none of them are coming in, she rests her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder, closing her eyes and forcing back the tears that have been threatening to spill over all day.

Hailey, being the blonde angel that she is, doesn’t say anything to her about it being okay to cry or about how it’d all be okay, letting Vanessa take her time to relax and be in someone’s company with no expectations.

“There was a natural disaster in El Salvador today. Volcano erupted in San Miguel, it’s one of the bigger cities, and it just threw me off.”

“Anything in particular that got to you, or just the whole volcano in your home country thing?” Hailey whispers, turning her head to press a kiss to Vanessa’s temple.

“Kind of. It just made me think about the other family I must have out there, the ones I never met and never will. And then it made me think about Mamá and… basically my head’s been a mess trying to work through a new issue I didn’t realise I had.”

“I’m sorry baby, that sounds like it was really difficult. I’m proud of you though, for not falling back onto bad habits.”

“Thanks Hails.” Vanessa says, her voice hoarse. “Can we, uh, possibly skip Molly’s tonight? I’m not really feeling it.”

“Of course, listen, you take the keys and go wait in the car, I’ll tell Adam we can’t tonight. We can go home, maybe get some takeout, watch some TV, what do you think?”

“That sounds perfect cielo, I guess I’ll see you outside.”

Pushing herself off of her girlfriend, Vanessa grabs both of their bags before heading out the back exit, sure to stick close to the walls and keep out of sight of any of her well intentioned coworkers. Unlocking Hailey’s car, she dumps their bags in the back seat, sliding into the passenger’s seat and checking her phone again for any more updates on the people of San Miguel.

Hailey gets into the car not even five minutes later, having successfully deterred Adam by citing ’women’s problems’ as the reason why they were dropping out, Kim thankfully not mentioning the fact that she knows neither of them were on their period. Vanessa drops her phone in her lap, sighs loudly at the lack of news, and Hailey smiles sadly at her, rubbing her shoulder before turning the car on and driving out of the precinct.

The journey home is a quiet one, Vanessa stuck in her head and Hailey respecting her need for quiet in this difficult time, but when she parks the car in front of their apartment building, Vanessa shakes herself from the thoughts racing around her head, thanking her girlfriend for being so good to her. Hailey tells her to stop being stupid, there being no need to thank her, but Vanessa simply shrugs and leans across the car seat to grab their bags from the back.

When she steps out of the car with them, Hailey takes hers, giving her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek as ‘payment’ for her help despite the look which says ‘you’re so ridiculous’ in response. They walk through the lobby hand in hand, Hailey sending off an order for some Greek food with her spare hand while Vanessa checks her phone again. By the time they get to their apartment, Hailey’s gotten a text to confirm their order meanwhile Vanessa is ready to throw her phone across the hall if it meant the journalists would write updates faster.

As they step into their home, Hailey takes their bags and dumps them in the closet before pocketing Vanessa’s phone, promising to return it once she’s gotten changed into something more comfortable and brings some blankets out of their room with her. She complains at first, glaring at her partner as she stretches her arm high enough to stick it on the shelf of no return, but once she realises she may lose her phone forever - or at least until one of them can be bothered to get a chair - she tactically retreats to their bedroom.

Grabbing the first hoodie she sees, which just so happens to be Hailey’s if the blonde hairs covering it are any indicator, as well as a pair of discarded basketball shorts, Vanessa changes out of her work gear, grabbing the blankets they keep at the end of their bed. Padding across the cold wooden flooring, she walks back into the living room to see it completely transformed.

All the blinds are drawn, and the only light in the room comes from the warm glow of fairy lights draped around the shelving units and window frames. The food that Hailey had ordered is spread out on their coffee table, a bouquet of tulips decorating the centre, and the TV is cued up with Lilo & Stitch, which had quickly become Vanessa’s favourite film after her girlfriend had declared it a travesty that she hadn’t seen it before.

Hailey herself looks rather cosy, sitting at one end of the couch with her feet tucked under the throw cushions that decorate the furniture, wearing a hoodie which Vanessa suspects is hers. She walks over to the couch, pressing a kiss to Hailey’s golden locks and draping the blanket over her, before taking up residence at the other end of the couch. There’s not much point, Hailey will undoubtedly migrate over to her by the time the movie’s half way done, but she doesn’t say anything, smiling to herself at her girlfriend’s antics.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. You can check your phone now, just to see any updates, and once you’ve seen them, you give me your phone to keep a hold of during the film. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good, I love you mi amor.”

“I love you too, asteri mou.” She responds, passing her partner her phone and grabbing a takeout box off of the table.

And with one last check of the news, no serious injuries or deaths reported, Vanessa silences her phone and places it on the coffee table, exchanging it for her food and motioning for Hailey to press play on the movie. Which she does, smiling proudly at her girlfriend as she does so, so amazed at the strength of the woman she loves.

[febuwhump]

This may have been asked and I apologize if I just missed it, do the alt prompts have to be in order? If I'm using Alt 5 and 8 on days 2 and 7 can I post alt 8 on day 2 and 5 on day 7?

okay I don't at all understand the second half of this ask but:

alt prompts can be used whenever you want during the month. they can be picked and chosen to suit your needs. you can use them in any order and there is no harm done by using them.

there is no extra tagging needed by using a prompt. please continue using the #febuwhumpdayX tag when using alts.

[febuwhump]

so I probably (definitely) should have asked this before posting my first work, lol. but for Tumblr posts, does the day tag have spaces? "febuwhumpdayX" or "febuwhump day X" or does it not matter? I like my tags to have spaces so that's what I did but it seems like all your examples don't have spaces.

no spaces, all one word so I can find it when I search for that specific tag, which is what I do to find works to share

[febuwhump]

I feel like I’ve been doing good at remembering to tag properly (#febuwhump, #febuwhump2022, #febuwhumpdayX) and being sure to @ you whenever possible. Completion-wise, so far so good as I’ve managed to fill the first week. It’s going to be a little more difficult going forward, even with some of the alts being an option… but what’s life without a little challenge, right? So I’m going to keep at it. Even if my style is lighter than others. But overall, I’ve been liking the prompts thus far, being able to experiment with how I can take one and use it in different. I hope I can do the same once this year’s Whumptober comes around as well.

this one's been sitting unanswered for like 2 weeks - sorry! - but i'm so happy for you!!! i hope the rest of febuwhump goes well!!!!!

[febuwhump]

we’re a week into febuwhump! i hope everyone’s keeping up the creative spirit.

as a note: there are a LOT of people tagging me in their febuwhump posts without actually tagging correctly!! its super important for me when i’m going through posts to be able to find things easily so PLEASE make sure you’re tagging with the relevant trigger warnings AND febuwhumpdayX - ALL ONE WORD. super necessary, please tag correctly or i can’t reblog!

thanks!