#i whump them all

[wonderwhump]

wonderwhump / november_1 fanfiction list

Hi guy's I hope you're all doing fine :)

This is a list of my fanfics. I'm a huge fan of reading and also writing fanfiction of all kinds of fandoms. My AO3 name is november_1.

If you like, check my them out. They are all whump stories with various degrees of emotional and physical whump. If anything triggers you, please check out the tags before reading.

I'm happy about any feedback you might give me. Kudos and comments make my day (yeah, I'm desperate and attention seeking 🤣 But aren't all writers...)

I will add to this list as I write more stories.

FANDOM: Jedi Fallen Order / Star Wars

Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

After Zeffo, after barely escaping Ordos Eris with his life, Cal is hurt. Physically, but also mentally. He should have listened to his master's words. "Trust in the Force alone." Now he's paying the price for letting his guard down and people in - and this stupid, childish notion that anybody might care about him in this vast universe.

A Cal Kestis whump story.

Endings and Beginnings

An explosion on Bracca and Cal and Prauf are in the thick of it. Hurt and comfort ensue…

FANDOM: Slow Horses

Operation Escapegoat

The force of the impact spun River around, slamming him backward into a tree, his back pressing into the rough bark. Then came the pain—a sharp, blinding sensation radiating from the point of impact.

The clamour from a few seconds ago had come to an abrupt halt. A brutal silence settled over them, broken only by a quiet, “Shit.” Blinking a few times to steady himself and grasp reality, River looked down. “You … you shot me!” he gasped.

FANDOM: Lockwood & Co.

The dread of undying love

Lucy had been keeping a close eye on Lockwood for days. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Yet. He was quiet. And pale. Big dark circles under his eyes. She knew something was wrong, but he didn’t talk about it. Of course he didn’t.

Will Lucy and George find out what's going on and be able to help their friend before it's too late?

A Lockwood & Co whump story with lots of angst and pain but also friendship and some undeniable more-than-friends-tension between Lockwood and Lucy.

FANDOM: Chicago PD / Chicago Med

Duty & Obligation

“You want what?!” Voight’s voice came loudly from the office. Way quieter, but loud enough to understand, Halstead said “I need a few days off, Sir, because-“ But Voight didn’t listen. “Are you kidding me, Halstead?! You fuck up the op, let Harris get away and the next day you have the audacity to come in here and ask me for a few days off? What for? Too stressful for you around here? Need a holiday or some relaxing spa days while we are trying to fix your fucking mistakes? Are you out of your mind?”

Jay Halstead is having a tough time. But nobody knows just how tough...

The wrong son

A party. An argument. A car crash. And a dead brother...

Lots of angst and emotional whump for a young Jay Halstead.

Survivor

"What are you supposed to do when somebody calls you out of the blue one beautiful summer evening and tells you, that your husband is missing?"

This story is set some months after 10x3. Jay and his team are captured on a mission in Bolivia. What will happen to them? Will they get out alive?

Brothers

Jay and Will Halstead take a car trip together. It doesn't go that well...

I'll give it to someone special

Jay is out Christmas shopping. But the day doesn't go as planned.

Into the abyss

They find Jay in his apartment, unconscious, unresponsive... dying. Pills and alcohol. A suicide attempt obviously. But was it really?

A week of bad luck

It was one of those days you wish you just hadn’t gotten up at all. That you’d just have turned over in bed, pulled up the sheets over your head and ignored the world out there. It had been a whole week of those days for Jay Halstead and he desperately wished to be able to crawl back into the safety of his comfy bed and hide from the world.

But the world had some more bad luck from him in store.

Life and Death and Baseball

Jay gets injured during a Baseball game. But that's just the beginning and the day gets from bad to worse rather unexpectedly.

Camping is fuckin' dangerous, man!

Jay stumbles into the bullpen and collapses to the ground unconscious. He's seriously injured and drugged up to his eyeballs. Everybody thought he was out in the woods camping and fishing for the last week... But did he even get there? What happened to Jay and who did this to him?!

The bar fight

A good looking stranger steps in to protect a woman in a bar.

Sacrifice

It was Jay's fault that they were in this mess. Now he'd do anything to protect his unit. Even if it meant torture and death...

Pain & Purpose

"The mornings were the worst. The nights were pretty bad too, to be honest. But the mornings made him feel so lost, like he had forfeited the grip on the world. Like the world, and Jay in it, had lost all meaning."

Jay Halstead is a broken man - physically and mentally - when he returns from the war in Afghanistan as the only survivor of his unit. How will he deal with the pain and the trauma?

Remember me

Hailey is 37 weeks pregnant and she and Jay are excited and happy to be parents soon. But one day they are kidnapped right off the street... and suddenly happiness turns into fear, pain, suffering and despair... What will happen to Jay and Hailey and their unborn baby girl? Will they survive this dire situation unscathed?

Beautiful day gone south

The blood felt warm and sticky. It gushed out between her fingers and colored her hands in bright red. She pressed down as hard as she could and he groaned. But how ever hard she pressed down on the wounds, the blood kept on flowing. With every passing second, with every drop of blood, she could feel the life leaving him.

Burning up

Jay knew he was getting a cold. He had been feeling off for the last couple of days: sore throat, beginning cough, headaches, maybe even a fever. But he just ignored it. It would pass. He didn’t have time for a common cold, no time for feeling like shit. And just for the record: Halsteads didn’t get ill. End of discussion.

Shaken

"There was a sharp jolt and then the earth started shaking. From one second to the next the lovely sunny day turned into chaos and destruction."

Will and Jay Halstead are in Los Angeles visiting their friend Connor Rhodes who moved there a year ago to work at UCLA. It was supposed to be a vacation! A little escape from Chicago with sun, beach, fun and drinks. But somehow everything turns out quite differently when an earthquake hits the city and Will and Jay are buried under tons of debris.

Trust and betrayal

Connor's day starts out perfect - until he is wrongfully accused of sexually assaulting a young woman. Suddenly everybody hates him, nobody believes in his innocence, he is suspended and arrested. Who is this woman that accused him of raping her? And what kind of game is she playing? Will Connor be found innocent or stumble deeper and deeper into this mess?

It should have been me

Terry's death hit Jay really hard. It triggers his PTSD and he's spiraling down. But before he can hit rock bottom, somebody from Jay's past turns up and something even worse happens. Something that Jay and his brother Will may not get out of alive...

This story is set right after 3x17.

Shallow waters

If anybody had told Jay that morning that he would drown in thigh deep water in the middle of Chicago, he would have laughed. But right now, he didn’t feel like laughing as the water swashed over his mouth.

FANDOM: Seal Team

Broken

Brock’s last conscious thought was „Oh, fuck – that was it!”. He didn’t feel the shuddering of his body when it impacted with ground. Didn’t feel the bones splintering. Didn’t feel his limbs go slack. He didn’t feel the blood seeping from his nose and head wound, forming a little pool on the forest floor. He also didn’t hear his brother’s screaming. Didn’t hear Cerberus whining.

Wake up, sleeping beauty!

Clay still lay on his side, as he had before, eyes closed and fast asleep. He looked pale. Stella crouched down in front of him smiling, gently stroking his hair. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty.” She kissed him, first on his forehead, then on his lips. He didn’t move. Why didn’t he move?

Clay just doesn't wake up the morning after they came home from deployment in Afghanistan. What happened? Will he be ok?

Cold as ice

Sonny Quinn’s right leg was on fire. Well, obviously not literally, as he was lying on his back on the icy ground - in the snow of a dense larch forest. He was sure the leg was broken. He had sneaked a peak down his leg – and no leg should ever be bent in such an angle. But that wasn’t his top concern at the moment. Clay, his best friend, lay about 5 meters from him, his body curled around the tree trunk that had broken his fall down the steep slope - as if he was hugging it. Lifeless.

Too much blood

Brock felt something impact with the back of his head. Hard. His head, and with it his whole body, flew forward and stars exploded in front of his eyes.

Brock is mugged on his way home from the bar.

FANDOM: Six

8 weeks later

Did you ever wonder what happened to Joe "Bear" Graves and his team after the show's last episode (S2E10)? This is my take on that story never told...

Joe „Bear“ Graves was in pain. 8 weeks since the day that had shattered his life to pieces. 8 weeks since the day he had destroyed the life of the people he loved. But now it would be over soon.

[whump-in-the-closet]

weak in the knees for situations where a stoic whumpee allows someone to help them. they don't say a word of acceptance but they don't protest either. Too injured to say no and too tired to deny they need it. Just grudgingly letting a gentle hand guide them to a bed or to wrap a wound. Then a quiet, "thank you." in between sharp breathing as they try not to break down in front of someone else. Love love love shielded vulnerability

[mischefous]

OOGHHHH- man this fic, this fic I come back to very often to re-read. especially chapter 2. When FanJoyJuly was announced I was like this one. this is the fic I wanna draw for.

the whump, the emotion, the recovery was so painful but so rewarding. everything that was described was so tangible. I could feel everything Four was experiencing in such heart-wrenching detail. I felt the unbridled fear of the Chain when they were helping him through everything. this is one of my top favorite fics in my little hoard that I love coming back to.

just be mindful of the tags in this fic. but give it a read! IT'S SO FREAKING GOOD! thank you to @cluelessmoose for this amazing fic💙

[95-6qrsk2rx9uq42069nnnnnjthewolf]

i think tim is high maintenance the way a boarder collie or austrialian shepherd is. like you have to make sure they're not only given space to expend energy but you have to specifically let them get the herding instinct out and challenge them intellectually or they start destroying ur home

[theminecraftbee]

you know the excellent quadruple life fan comic has me thinking about double life again. and MAN. thinking about the soul bonds mechanically. like, before I get into my meta-analysis it’s worth noting that non-diagetically the soulbond mechanic being based on how many hearts someone has is basically the only way I can think to do it in minecraft that’s sensible, but diagetically…

so do you ever think about how the marker of what made people soulmates in double life was pain?

like, soulmates share injuries/pain! that’s the whole premise! like, to the point that day one people were making up elaborate ways to hurt themselves so they could test for their soulmates! you met your (very romantic-coded) partner and confirmed they were the person you were looking for by hitting each other, generally!

being a soulmate in the double life universe isn’t about being compatible, it’s about literally sharing pain, and it’s just… I think about how for some pairs, they share the burden between each other, and it brings them closer. for some pairs, though, the only way they know how to communicate is by hurting one another. and the thing is, this isn’t just a literal thing. like, mechanically, the thing soulmates do is share pain and communicate with pain, but metaphorically, can you say desert duo doesn’t have trouble communicating because half of how they know how to exist is either sharing in pain or causing it for each other? can you say that ranchers’ strength wasn’t a pair of people who understood each other’s pain and desperation to be better than they’ve been before? can you say that divorce quartet isn’t, well—

so pearl wins after scott hurts them one last time don’t you ever think about that,

[whumpypepsigal]

…… for science ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[whumpitisthen]

Leashed to the floor by a short lenght of chain. The chain has just enough give to let them scramble back just a couple inches, low to the ground on their hands and knees, when they get scared. They can't even look up from how hard the unforgiving leash pulls their neck back towards the ground unless they stay where they are supposed to, right where whumper wants them to be.

[katabay]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU, ERIC CARTER!

my laptop charger uhhhhhh. met its end in a very permanent, very fire hazardy kind of way last week. while waiting for a replacement I decided to try and get some work done at the library and was asking around for some urban fantasy (extra points for a mystery plot of some kind) recommendations to check out while I was there

the eric carter series was mentioned a couple of times, AND had the added bonus of having a necromancer for a main character. I love necromancers. someday I'm gonna play one in a game instead of immediately defaulting to vampires.

Fire Season, Stephen Blackmoore

[whump-queen]

sabotage

a carewhumper who’s constantly engineering situations for whumpee to need them, to run to them crying, to fall to their knees, broken and shattered and so easy to convince that all they need is whumper.

- slashing their tire so they’ll have to call whumper for a ride

- paying dudes to go rob and beat them up so they’ll be bloody and broken and weak and whumper can happen to ‘stumble upon them’ since they were just in the neighborhood…

- sabotaging whumpee’s finances (stealing their rent checks, running up their credit cards) to get them kicked out of whatever meager housing they’ve managed to rent. make them destitute. desperate. and all whumper has to do is waltz in with open arms, maybe a warm coat, and an offer whumpee can’t afford to refuse.

whumpee just doesn’t know why these things keep happening to them. whumper doesn’t help of course; their every word implies it was all whumpee’s fault. that maybe if they weren’t so careless and reckless with these things, maybe they—

no, whumper should just take care of these things for whumpee from now on. that’s what’s best, since whumpee has clearly proven they aren’t responsible enough to manage money, or shopping, let alone a job or really any human responsibilities.

after all, whumpee’s just a broken thing, and only whumper can put them back together.

only whumper will let them break down. only whumper can make them safe. only whumper can hold them close, warm, and just let whumpee collapse into their arms and sob against their neck until they finally drift to sleep.

[foundfamilywhump]

whumper who weaponizes whumpee’s insecurities to break them down emotionally, to make them easier to manipulate or even just for fun, to see them hurt. make them cry.

reminding whumpee of the parent(s) who hurt them. the friend who betrayed them. the team who kicked them out. dredging up the sources of their beliefs that they won’t matter to anyone, that their pain, their suffering, their life is nothing anyone would care about.

taunting them: who’s coming for you? even if you got away/told someone what’s happening, what would be the point? go ahead. we’ve already called them, they say good riddance. we could put an ad out in the paper, broadcast it online and no one would lift a finger in your name. you’re free for the taking. anyone could do anything to you. just face it: you’re a defenceless target.

[federaliszt]

recovering whumpees with:

a black eye and accompanying bruise that covers nearly half their face.

a split lip that keeps reopening and is impossible to keep bandaged.

a lacerated eyebrow, drawing attention to the wound with every slight change of facial expression.

a distinctive limp that has gotten so bad that co-workers or family members have started to tease them for it, because they don't know the true source of the original injury.

a chronic flinch when someone near them moves into their space unexpectedly or too quickly.

deep purple bruises on their back, from being hit repeatedly with the same blunt object on the same spot.

choke-marks and fingerprint shaped bruises around their neck that they try to hide under a scarf or high-neck sweater.

a broken bone that can't be kept in a sling or cast, which they unconsciously cradle when they think no one is watching them.

dizzy spells that rise up and cloud their vision because they still can't bring themself to eat normal meals after what happened.

nightmares of being trapped in the moment where everything went so horribly wrong, and daydreams of going back to that moment and being the perpetrator instead of the victim.

[vanmarkus]

9-1-1 + close-up 9/?

[siren-of-agony]

Answers to "please stop"

No.

I can't.

I won't.

I don't want to.

I don't know how.

I will soon.

But then how will you learn?

We're almost done.

It's almost over.

Ask me again!

Oh well, if you're asking that politely…

Fine. For now.

Only once I've come up with something more fun.

Only once you've come up with something more fun.

Or what?

I know you can go a little bit longer.

You know I won't.

I love it when you beg.

I hate it when you beg.

I'm so bored by your begging.

Not until you're too weak to ask me to.

But I don't have anything better to do.

I wish I could.

Alright! See? All you had to do was ask nicely.

I'm not doing anything.

What, exactly?

Just once more, I promise!

Just once more, I promise! (🤞)

You're doing this to yourself.

You wanted this.

You want this.

You know you made me do this.

Are you ready to give me what I want, then?

I will once you give in.

What will you give me in return?

Why should I?

You know there is only one way to end this.

You know there is only one way this will end.

(Answers to "it hurts")

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 27

Geralt is fighting a mage who takes his memory of the last 30 or so years and plops it in a jar before fucking off. Geralt is confused, but even moreso when he returns camp and some guy in obnoxious clothing is waiting for him. The man gasps at Geralt's appearance - No big deal, humans always do - Before rushing over to him and pouncing to attack. Geralt does the smart thing and flings the human away. The human slides in the dirt a bit and looks up at him with hurt in his expression, which is... odd. Roach also seems a bit peeved. Maybe because there's a strange man in their camp? "Geralt, what's gotten into you? That- That was rather rude. You could've just said you didn't want me to hug you today." "Today?" "Yes, Geralt! I hug you after every hunt gone well! Every day! What are you, a doppler?" "Are you?" "Hah hah, very funny Geralt, I'm laughing, truly, I am." "...How do you know my name?" And suddenly the human looks very worried. "Oh fuck- Did you hit your head or something!? Do you have a concussion? Can witchers even get concussions!?" The bright man screeches, reaching for him again. Geralt very awkwardly flails his arm up to swat his hand away with a harsh "Don't touch me." and the man glares at him, before slowly just looking... sad. Deep down, Geralt dislikes seeing this man look upset. It causes this odd ache deep to his core. Geralt begins interrogating this man about why and how he knows him, and the man keeps talking to Geralt as if he's some poor wet puppy in a box. Eventually Geralt tells him to leave the camp and not follow him. The man doesn't listen. Geralt is getting really fed up with him, until the man tells him he'll leave Geralt if he takes him to some woman named "Yennefer" because "She'll hopefully know how to help." This in turn becomes Yennefer saying Geralt's lost all his memories of Jaskier, Jaskier sobbing into Yennefer's shoulder as she awkwardly comforts her weird gay friends, and then her sending Jaskier and Geralt (and or also coming along) to track down the mage and get the jar of memories back, even though the entire time Geralt is adamant about Jaskier not coming, fearful for the human who seems to care so much about him for some reason. Either he can't trust this "Jaskier", or even worse, this Jaskier who seems too perfect to be true is real, and does indeed care for Geralt this much, and thus Geralt can't let ANYTHING bad happen to him.

[snippetsnitch]

Okay, but military whump. Military tropes in general. The POTENTIAL.

(❗️TW: Mentions of Torture, War, Oppression, Death – basically anything related to the shitty sides of militaries, power-abuse and warcrimes❗️)

Characters being captured by enemy forces and tortured for information until they either break or get rescued before they give out anything important.

(even better, if they don't have the information, but no one believes them 🥲)

Characters that are mistreated and abused in and by members of their own military. Maybe because they:

- do not agree with the way of their armed forces doing things (torturing enemies, repressing protests, committing warcrimes, etc.).

- have problems with authority and higher-ups that will be beaten and drilled out of them.

- are an outsider or part of a group that is strongly marginalised in the society the military forces are embedded in.

Characters being conditioned to never show any sign of pain, emotion or other 'weakness' to make them an effective and lethal fighter weapon.

Characters who are convinced pacifists being conscripts and suffering through grave emotional turmoil due to what is expected of them.

Dehumanising the enemy through language, propaganda and stereotypes.

Humanising the enemy by having to talk to one of them through a line of unfortunate circumstances (being imprisoned together, helping each other despite strict rules and surveillance, showing mercy on the battleground, etc.) or through anti-war-activism.

High-ranking characters that are dressed in ✨️fancy uniforms✨️

Power-dynamics and intrigues in the high ranks that have nothing to do with the cause and everything to do with elitism and gaining political influence.

Character A being higher-ranking than character B and using that power to bully them mercilessly (or to protect them, if you want it to be wholesome, though 😚).

Childhood friends being separated and seeing each other again on the battlefield – on opposite sides. :(

Old generals that have given up on the world, because they saw the cruelty and senselessnes of war vs. young, idealistic and possibly propaganda-brainwashed characters that see service in the military as the most honorable thing someone can do.

- breaking the view of those young idealists through the horrors of war.

- breaking the view of those old pessimists through good and selfless behaviour despite the horrors of war.

The "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" when characters are captured by enemy forces/caught spying and are taunted by their captors

(possibly combinated with forcing the captive to their knees)

(and grabbing their chin)

("Look at that, such a pretty face...")

(For the captive to defiantly spit in their captor's face or on their uniform)

(Only to be beaten violently)

(And to find themself with a boot on their chest/back/neck)

(You know what I'm getting at 👀).

Characters killing for the first time and breaking down completely.

Or characters killing for the first time and finding out that they enjoy it far more than they should.

Characters refusing to hurt/torture enemy characters, causing rank-internal drama and possibly putting the merciful character at great risk.

Veteran characters that struggle to find back into their "old life" after their service has ended.

Characters who grew up in a war-setting and know nothing but violence and danger.

etc.

etc.

etc.

There is just so much potential to explore your characters in depth, especially because it's such an extreme setting.