#i'm finishing whumptober and you can't stop me

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #26

A/N: This is just a wee little tag to the latest episode (8x05), so spoilers for that!

xxx nightmares

It was Evan's turn to pick the movie for movie night. He'd decided on the second Pirates of the Caribbean, because it has Keira Knightly and Bill Nighy from Love, Actually and because he hasn't watched it since realizing that he has a crush on both Elizabeth and Will (and Norrington too, apparently). It's Evan's pick, and yet he's tucked against Tommy's side, snoring lightly, Tommy's arm around his shoulders. It's hard for Tommy to be irritated, though, after the week Evan had. And it doesn't hurt that he's so cute when sleeps.

They're at the scene where Will is reunited with Bootstrap Bill when Evan stirs slightly. Tommy thinks it's just a twitch at first, doesn't think anything of it until Evan makes a sound, a small noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Tommy twists to look down at him. Evan's brow is furrowed, mouth pulled down into a frown.

"Ev?" Tommy says softly.

Evan doesn't wake, the expression on his face growing more distressed. His breathing grows heavy and his body jerks against Tommy's.

"No," he murmurs. His chest is heaving, and a tear slips down his cheek. "No!"

Tommy is pretty sure he read somewhere that you aren't supposed to wake someone up when they're having a nightmare, but it's alarming to see up close, to see someone he cares about in obvious distress. He can't just sit by and watch.

"Evan?" he says, a little more loudly this time.

Evan lets out a sudden cry, sitting bolt upright, eyes flying open, and he's gasping, these ragged, sobbing breaths. Tommy is off the couch in a second, crouching in front of Evan and gripping his arms.

"Hey!" he says. "You're okay, Evan, you're safe!"

Evan's eyes are wide and unfocused and Tommy moves one hand to gentlycup Evan's cheek, his own heart hammering.

"Evan."

Evan blinks and his gaze slowly lifts to meet Tommy's.

"Do you know where you are?" Tommy says gently. Evan blinks again, then nods slowly. "Yeah? Can you tell me?"

"Your...your living room."

"Good. Deep breaths, Evan. You're okay."

Evan nods again, and Tommy can see the effort it takes for him to slow his breathing.

"You're okay," Tommy repeats, wrapping his arms around Evan as Evan leans forward, burying his head in Tommy's shoulder. Tommy puts a hand on the back of Evan's head, holding him tight. He can feel Evan trembling lightly against him.

They stay like that for a long time, the movie playing, forgotten, in the background. Finally, Evan pulls away, wiping at his eyes.

"Sorry, it was, uh – a nightmare. A pretty intense one."

Tommy grabs the remote and turns off the tv, then moves back onto the couch next to Evan, taking the man's hands in his own.

"Has this happened before?" Tommy asks.

Evan takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. I had a few nightmares after the ladder truck and-and the tsunami. But never really bad ones, not until the lightning strike. I was dead, you know, clinically, for over eight minutes. And it's not like I remember it or anything, but for a while after I'd have these...these really awful nightmares." His eyes brim with fresh tears and he sniffs. "I think, uh. I think Denny's heart stopping may have brought some things up on, like, a subconscious level?"

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, moving his thumbs idly over Evan's knuckles. "Seeing something like that is never easy, but it's harder when it's a kid. Even harder when it's a kid—a family—that you care about. Is there anything I can do?"

Evan shrugs, then offers a small half-smile. "You wanna finish the movie?"

"We can do that," Tommy says. He get the movie going again, then settles back onto the couch. Evan leans over, draping himself across Tommy's chest.

"Is this fine?"

Tommy plants a kiss on the top of Evan's head. "Yeah, that's fine."

Evan seems to be okay as they start watching again, calling out random facts about the movie (and things that are only tangentially related to the movie). But Tommy can't help but worry about him. He knows from experience how important sleep is in recovering from both physical and emotional trauma, and if Evan is having nightmares like this then he won't be getting good rest...

"You can stay here tonight, if you want," Tommy says once the credits start rolling, "if you think it would help, to not be alone."

Evan looks up at him, eyes shining. "I think that would help, yeah."

xxx

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 24

Radiation Poisoning - Collapsed Building - Equipment Failure - I never knew daylight could be so violent (Florence, The Machine No Light, No Light)

Twenty-four hours.

It had been twenty-four hours since the equipment had a minor blow up in the lab.

Twenty-four hours since Whumpee was given a lab shower to get all of the goop off. They were always harsh when these showers were done. Whumpee knew the goop needed to come off, but how they longed for a gentle hand. Someone to make it feel okay... even while in pain.

They shuddered.

They were now restrained in a wheelchair in the center of their room. Naked as naked can be.

"Do you feel any different at all Whumpee?", a researcher went over the radio. They had to monitor the lab rat. They weren't sure what the goop was, and the rat had been covered in it.

"I'm cold and tired. Please I just want sleep", Whumpee whined, "can I have my clothes back at least?"

"No, we are monitoring the burn on your stomach, and can't do anything until we know what the goop was", the scientist sighed, "so nothing has changed?"

"I'm more tired. Can I at least go to bed yet? How long has it been since I've slept?", Whumpee whined some more.

"You may not sleep as we are monitoring you. You've been awake for twenty-four hours now", the scientist replied.

Whumpee swung their head back and groaned, "why am I being punished for this?"

"It's not a punishment. Whumper is actually concerned about you. Hence the monitoring", the scientist sounded annoyed now, "be patient."

"Can I at least have some heat? I'm shivering. I'm still fairly damp because someone didn't dry me off properly. Plus, I'm naked", Whumpee pleaded.

"I'll ask Whumper", the scientist sighed.

- "Whumper, patient 01134, Whumpee is asking if we may turn up the heat in the monitor room. Body temp is normal. Room temp is 60°F. They said they are freezing", the monitoring scientists texted Whumper.

- "Yes, that's fine. No wonder they're cold. We are finishing up with the research. The substance doesn't seem to be dangerou. We need another hour or so. I'll come up when all is done. Does everything seem to be okay on their end?"

- The scientist received the text, "yes they say there are no changes. They are tired from being awake for so long. Sore. Cold. Nothing major."

- "Perfect."

"Whumper has given permission to raise the temperature for you", they spoke into the radio again, "now, be a good little patient and sit their quietly."

Whumpee sighed happily when heat started in their room.

"That's nice", Whumpee whispered in relief.

Whumper stepped into Whumpee's room after a little while and knelt beside the chair.

"Whumpee", they whispered.

Whumpee had fallen asleep. Those monitoring them had run out of ways to keep them awake.

Whumpee let out a disturbed snore before opening their eyes.

"Doc", Whumpee looked at Whumper.

"Yes, it's me. We just got back results. The goop was nontoxic. I'm pleased to say you are in the clear", Whumper smirked.

"That's good", Whumpee yawned tiredly, "can I sleep in my bed now?"

"I actually have a surprise for you. I'm going to cover you in a blanket, and take you somewhere", Whumper stood up.

"Where?", Whumpee questioned.

"It's a surprise", Whumper chuckled, "you've been such a good lab rat lately, so you've earned it. Plus, I now have to fix the lab due to the explosion." They unlocked the restraints, "are you ready?"

Whumpee was stopped in front of an elevator.

Whumper waited for the doors to open then backed Whumpee inside.

"Are we... are we going to Caretaker's floor?", Whumpee questioned when they saw Whumper hit the button.

"I don't know. Are we?", Whumper chuckled, "yes, Caretaker said they would take care of you while the lab was being fixed."

Whumpee excitedly watched the floors change.

"How long will I be with Caretaker?", Whumpee peaked back at Whumper.

"What, are you in a hurry to get back to my tests?", Whumper laughed as they pushed the wheelchair off of the elevator.

Whumpee thought for a moment on what they should say.

"No", Whumpee finally whispered, "not really."

"Aww, you're breaking my heart my dear", Whumper joked, "I guess I understand though. I'd rather stay with Caretaker, too. He spoils his patients."

"I wouldn't call it spoiling", someone stepped out of a room, "we just treat patients a little differently in the infirmary."

"Other wise known as spoiling" Whumper smirked, "not knocking it, I definitely appreciate you taking care of the accidental injuries my experiments cause. Here is your newest one."

"Yes, I've read a little bit already", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee, "let's see", they knelt down.

Whumpee couldn't help their nervousness and watched Caretaker closely.

Caretaker sensed their unease.

"It's alright, I'm only going to check your burn", Caretaker promised as they carefully pealed the blanket away, "we will get you in a nice warm bath. Then a snack. Then you can rest for a while."

Whumpee perked up at the plan.

"Alright. I'll leave you in Caretaker's capable hands. Have fun being spoiled. They don't have any limitations on them either. They earned a full rest, so there are no restrictions."

"Perfect", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee, "are you ready?"

Whumpee excitedly nodded.

Whumpee stood beside a giant sink while Caretaker filled it up with water.

"Caretaker what is that?", Whumpee watched them pour something else into the water.

"That will help your burn and any other wounds you have. It's antibacterial and soothing", Caretaker felt the water temperature, "perfect "

Whumpee climbed into the sink and sat down.

"This feels so much better than the lab showers", Whumpee sighed contentedly.

"Anything feels better that", Caretaker smiled, "alright lean your head back please."

Caretaker worked shampoo into Whumpee's scalp until it was fully covered. The lather sat an inch above Whumpee's head.

"I might cut a few inches of hair off. Would you be okay if I did that?", Caretaker reached for a cup to help rinse Whumpee's head.

"I don't know what Doc wants", Whumpee whispered.

"It's not up to Whumper. If you want some hair cut off, we will do it", Caretaker tipped Whumpee's head back and started to rinse away the shampoo. They held one hand on Whumpee's forehead to guard their eyes from getting soap in them.

"I feel really good", Whumpee smiled as they ate a snack.

Caretaker trimmed some of Whumpee's hair.

"I'm glad to hear that", Caretaker grinned, "after this I'll get you into bed. It's pretty late, so you will be able to sleep in tomorrow."

Whumpee nodded eagerly.

The next morning.

"Whumpee it's time for you to get up", Caretaker gently shook them.

Whumpee squinted their eyes open and smiled.

"It wasn't a dream?" Whumpee looked around and saw the room, then Caretaker.

"Not at all, you're up in my infirmary to heal" Caretaker smiled, "are you ready for breakfast?"

"Yes sir", Whumpee nodded, "what do you want me to wear?"

"Your pajamas you have on are fine. You get to be cozy up here", Caretaker smiled as they helped Whumpee up, "pajamas are more than welcomed."

Whumpee sat happily until they saw Whumper walk in.

"Hey, are you ready to come back yet?", Whumper looked at them seriously.

"But, but, but" Whumpee almost felt their lip quiver.

"Hey, I'm just kidding. The lab is definitely not ready and you still have time to heal", Whumper waved their hands in surrender when they thought Whumpee was going to cry.

"That's a mean prank", Caretaker came in with a plate of cut fruit, "no wonder your patients are always on edge."

"I just came up to see how they were doing. They look happy, so that's good", Whumper grinned, "Caretaker can I talk to you privately?"

Caretaker nodded as they set the plate in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee wondered what was said, but didn't ask.

Caretaker still seemed to be in good spirits so that was good.

Whumpee was taken back to their room after breakfast.

"All of my things are here?", Whumpee looked around.

"Yes" Caretaker nodded, "you will be staying up here for a little longer", Caretaker sighed.

"I-is something wrong?", Whumpee backed away.

"Uhm, some what, but don't worry about it right now. How about we get your decorations put up", Caretaker went for one of the boxes.

"Caretaker, I want to know", Whumpee frowned, "I'm happy to stay up here, but I know Doc isn't one to retire lab rats unless something is wrong."

"You are one if my smarter rats", a voice came from behind, "Caretaker I'll let them know."

"Doc?", Whumpee frowned.

"Sit down", Whumper pointed at the bed.

Caretaker sat down and held their arms open for Whumpee.

Whumper leaned against the wall.

They sighed, "that goop that got on you was deemed nondangerous... at least so we thought. It is highly radioactive. For fun, we held a meter tool by it. Unexpectedly, the meter read a large amount. You were unfortunately in the room when the explosion happened. It got all over you... and inside of you. I believe some entered you through your burn. Unfortunately, you have what is called radioactive poisoning. Your blood work came back highly positive, so there is a lot."

Whumpee gulped, "so how does that get fixed?"

Whumper looked down.

"You can fix it right? Doc? If anyone can it's you", Whumpee pleaded.

"There isn't anything anyone can do", Whumper looked at Whumpee compassionately, "it's unfortunately inside of you."

"What about everyone else?", Whumpee looked down, "and Caretaker?"

"It isn't contagious. So Caretaker and I are safe. The team had appropriate protection on, so they should be fine as well. We are waiting on bloodwork. If you had just gotten it on you I think you would have been fine too. I think though it got in through the burn and maybe other ports of entrance like your mouth."

"What does this mean for me?", Whumpee whispered.

"Well you are retired from being a lab rat. Caretaker is going to give you the best retirement he can. The end result...", Whumper's voice cut out with a small sob, "Uh, the end result will be death... a sooner death than you deserve I fear."

Whumpee looked down over themself, "I'm going to die?", Whumpee looked at Caretaker, "bu... but I don't want to... die. There is nothing that can be done?"

"No Whumpee, I'm sorry. I will help make sure you won't experience pain or discomfort. You will be very comfortable", Whumper frowned, "I'm sorry, I really did not want this to happen. To you especially."

"I'll make sure you are comfortable as well", Caretaker chimed in as they hugged Whumpee close.

Whumpee had wiped a few tears away already, and was shaking in Caretaker's arms.

"How long do I have?", Whumpee whispered.

"I, uh, don't really know. You might start displaying signs soon, or you could be alive for a few more years. Everyone is different", Whumper reached and held a comforting hand on Whumpee's shoulder, "I am really, really sorry that this happened. I really did not want to deliver these news, but I know how smart you are. Let me know if you need me for anything."

Whumpee nodded and burried their face into Caretaker's chest to cry.

"I'll text you if they need something", Caretaker rubbed circles into Whumpee's back.

Minutes turned into hours.

Whumper came back up to check on things after not hearing anything else from Caretaker.

Caretaker was just stepping out of Whumpee's room.

"They cried themself to sleep", Caretaker whispered.

Whumper nodded, "I'm heartbroken. I had planned to retire them. I told myself just one more experiment, then I will pack them up and move them up here for permanent retirement. That decision cost them their life... that's my fault."

"You didn't know. It would have happened regardless of who was in that room", Caretaker frowned, "though I don't always like what you are doing.."

"Someone else would have been expendable", Whumper looked back at the room, "my favorite rat wasn't."

"Maybe this will teach you not to play with people's lives so freely", Caretaker frowned.

Whumper nodded.

"Will you keep an eye on them for me. If you notice any pain let me know. I've got stuff to keep them out of pain."

Caretaker nodded, "I will, they are in good hands."

"Thankyou... Caretaker, I, uh, appreciate you taking care of them" Whumper started to turn.

"Doc?" Whumpee peaked out through a crack in the door.

"Yes Whumpee?", Whumper quickly wiped a tear away, "how can I help you."

"Will you visit me a lot until I die?", Whumpee whispered.

"Of course I will. I will be here daily to check on you", Whumper smiled, "I promise."

Whumpee nodded and gently closed the door.

Whumper turned back to Caretaker.

"I need to leave. I'm about to cry", Whumper hurried away.

"Yep, hate for the big tough scientist to be seen as sensitive", Caretaker called after them.

Caretaker sighed, "and I'll clean up your mess... like always."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

[strawberrylabs]

Whumptober day 5 with Wanderer!

Prompt: debris

Whumptober masterlist

Summary: Wanderer regrets his last words to you.

Warnings: Being burried alive, arguments, blood, yelling, death, willing death

It wasn't uncommon for you and Wanderer to get into arguments.

He wasn't always the best with words, or with being honest about his emotions.

Usually conflicts could be resolved within the hour and everything would be fine.

This time it was different.

"Fine! Go ahead and die! Abandon me like everyone else did!"

Spit flew out of wanderer's mouth as his anger seeps through his words.

You had recently come back from a particularly dangerous commission, one where your life was out in danger more than once, and you had received quite a few injuries.

"You know that's not fair! I'm doing my job! You know I would never just intentionally die, that's stupid!"

Normally you were calm when arguing with him. You know he's learning, and you'd usually have patience.

But not this time.

He scoffs.

"Well you're human so I wouldn't put it past you to be stupid enough to die. You would be selfish enough to leave me alone after getting me attached to your mortal ass!"

"Fuck you."

He turns to you

"What was that?!"

"Fuck you! I have been nothing but patient with you these past months as you learn about emotions! I've dealt with everytime you yelled and given you time to calm down! But I will not be called selfish for saving someone elses life! And I will not be guilt-tripped by you accusing me of abandoning you!"

You seethe at him, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"What would you do if I did die? Is my last memory going be worrying about you hating me for supposedly abandoning you? Is my name going to be tarnished by your opinion on my death?"

You could feel yourself boiling with unbridled rage.

"Yeah well maybe it'd be better if you died! Then this false heart wouldn't feel so heavy all the time!"

The silence after his words was heavy.

"I'm going to finish my commissions. I'll come back when you stop being a prick."

You fix him in place with a hard glare.

Wanderer feels a lump in his throat. He'd seen you glare sure, but never at him.

You close the door behind you without a second thought.

Fine. Wanderer would wait. It's not like you could avoid him forever, you live with him after all.

And so he waited.

He would never admit that he didn't sit down once. He would never admit that he didn't stop pacing.

He would never admit that he didn't notice the hours passing, too stuck in his own head.

It was only when he heard someone yelling about the location of your commission did he snap out of his daze.

"Someone said the buildings in the area collapsed!"

Wanderer was out the door in an instant.

Surely you were out of there already right?

The only reason you weren't home is because you being petty, right?

'What would you do if I did die? Is my last memory going be worrying about you hating me for supposedly abandoning you? Is my name going to be tarnished by your opinion on my death?'

Wanderer bit his cheek so hard it bled.

He was an idiot.

Wanderer finally made it to the old village after a few short minutes.

The place was a wreck.

Not a single building was left standing.

But what caught Wanderer's eye was a familiar piece of clothing.

Time froze.

There, in the light of the now setting sun, painting the morbid scene in a sardonic shade of red; lay you. Your lower half covered by rubble of a half fallen, unstable, building. Blood was leaking from where your body disapeared.

He had to get you out.

And he had to get you out now- or else the rest of the building would collapse.

"Hey! You moron, stay with me!"

He got no response.

He left out a breathe when he felt your pulse. But you were unconscious.

"Come on! Wake up! I can't get you out like this!"

He grabs underneath your arms and pulls, eliciting a whimper of pain from you.

"Shit! Come on!"

The more he pulled, the more cries fell from your mouth.

He tried to lift the debris, but it just made the remaining structure unstable.

Before he knew it, hot tears were streaming down his face.

Normally he wouldn't let anyone see him cry.

But in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"im sorry! Ok?! Im sorry! I know I was wrong, dammit! I know I'm terrible with words and emotions and im sorry I took it out on you! I know it was stupid!"

he grits his teeth, not attempting fighting the tears

"But archons be damned, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me! I need you! You make me whole! You make this fake heart feel something! and I'm not letting you leave me!"

"I'm sorry I said what I did! I was a fool! I know you would never leave me and life would be unbearable without you!

He places his forehead on yours

"so please..." he whispers

"Please! Stay!!"

He feels a hand on his cheek and snaps his eyes open to see your weak gaze meeting his.

One look at your expression told him all he needed.

You weren't making it out alive.

"..I'm staying with you."

You sputter

"You can't! This building will fall any second. You have to go-"

"I don't care! I'm not abandoning you. I'm not leaving the one idiot I love in this cursed world!"

Wanderer moves to be beside you, lying down as best he can to hold you. You action is awkward given the obstacles, but it's morbidly comforting all the same.

No more words are spoken as the two of you look at each other.

No moves were made, now phrases uttered, but the emotion in your eyes conveyed all that needed to be said.

'You loved him.'

'And he loved you.'

You held each other tight as you focused only on one another, foreheads touching.

The last thing wanderer saw as the roof fell, was your resigned, love filled eyes.

And then it all faded to nothing.

Link for part 2(currently a poll to decide what to do)

[darkkitty1208]

on fic writing and fandom: where am i going forward?

So. It's a bloody dull Friday and I'm writing this post--have been meaning to, for a while--because I can't stop thinking about it. It's just a few (a lot, actually) thoughts I've had in my mind the past few days that I've decided to spill into a single post, which turned out far longer than it needed to be, but nothing too important. Under the cut.

I've been a fanfic writer for a while now. Not a long time by any means, but a while nonetheless. My first fic--which is now orphaned like a few of its brothers for undisclosed reasons, though if you're an og you might be able to guess why--was dated back to the 18th of November 2021. 3 years later and I've got a humble 89 works and counting (the orphaned works and unposted wips unincluded). I can safely say I've improved quite a lot since then.

Where are you going with this, then, Kitty? Surely you aren't here just to brag about your writing progress?

Well. Not exactly. But I'll start with this: I guess what I'm trying to say is I've lost the spark.

You know. The old feeling. That boost of serotonin you get after you finish a piece you're proud of, or when you get lovely reviews on ao3, or when you get a kudos email, or a new mutual, or some wild tags under your silly post. The spark. I haven't felt it in a long time, now. The last time it's been so palpable was... I'm not sure. Probably last year's October. That was a lot of fun. I was most prolific in fic writing, that year. It shouldn't feel like a long time ago. Because it wasn't.

Don't get me wrong. I love all this. All that's going on right now. The comments I'm getting--even if fewer than I had before--and all the other interactions, I appreciate and enjoy and love them so, so much. And writing my newer fic projects are well exciting. But it just isn't the same anymore. I'm afraid it never will be.

(Maybe it has something to do with the lack of interactions lately. Maybe? I don't really know, either. I'm sure we're all well aware the fandom is past its peak, and with the current developments in the MCU I am frankly unsurprised, but I dunno.)

I guess that's part of the reason I've been less active lately. I've been inactive as a whole this year, admittedly, and disappearing far too often for far too long (and I notice some of my friends are, too). I just didn't get the same joy from being in a fandom like I had when I first started this blog, or my ao3 account.

In hindsight, I've probably been a little too dependent on fandom to provide me serotonin. The past few years have been hard, the years before that, too. Life just keeps kicking me in the arse time and time again. I guess I've been using fandom and fic writing as a coping mechanism, and once I've had my fill, the joy dies off to something a little more dull. Like a gum I've been chewing for too long that the sweetness has since worn off.

Honestly? I don't want it to be this way. I want to live without being so dependent on my presence online. I want to live without only knowing joy through internet interactions. I've got to learn to. It sounds silly, but it's true. (I think I may be slightly chronically online, oh no. x'D)

So naturally my first instinct is to distance myself a little. I contemplated quitting, but I can't do that. I don't see myself ever doing that, no matter how many times my brain convinces me that I might.

When this year started, I had set some goals for writing. One of them was to write for more whumptober prompts than I did last year or complete them all. I did like 21 prompts or something last year. Of 31. Within a little more than a month. While still balancing all the life stuff I had going on. This is, if not obvious, an extremely ambitious goal. I am not insane. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't possibly do that now, can I? Not with all the stuff that's been happening.

...

Can I?

...

Yeah, no. Definitely not.

See, that's another thing: writing. Probably the thing I'm trying to get at in this post but otherwise derailed completely from. Fuck my brain.

I'm sure many of you have noticed that I've been writing significantly less. I still post, obviously, but not as much as like, last year when the number of works I had went from a few to far too much. That had helped me improve quite a lot, actually, but those days I barely slept because I just insisted to replace my sleep time with Writing Shit For The Gays. It was pretty unhealthy now that I look back at it. My sleep schedule is still shit now but, yk. Some things just never change.

I was really, really caught up on wanting to be good at writing. Like, really good. I wanted to make awesome things. I wanted to write like a real fucking pro. Like all the more popular fandom authors I look up to. I want to be like the big dogs in fandom. It sounds so silly. I did everything; sprinting daily, setting a minimum of 500 words writing sessions every day, trying new writing styles, churning out works after works, writing for prompts and events and gifts and the like. I was enjoying it, yes, but was it really something I did for myself? Or was it because I wanted to please other people or impress other people for their validation, which is something I'm entirely too dependent of? Was it for the numbers?

Well. It was more for that than for me, I realised a little too late.

So yeah. Fuck wanting to be good. I want to write for the hell of it. I want to write something that's for me. Not what the majority of the fandom or other people want to read, but for me. Which is why I absolutely loved writing works like just a matter of time, how to kill a god, or how to become a god, because they're not meant for other people but myself. (Ironically that last work is a gift but, yk. I still liked it.) I know I joke about self-projecting a lot, but it's been seriously helping me rediscover the joy of writing that doesn't come from the incessant need to be good or perfect or focus on producing more and more and more. It makes me feel like a kid again. Also, I'm only realising this now but I'd rather get like 5 people who enjoy reading my works so much and express them to me rather than 100 people who silently thumbs up at me and then go away to consume another fic or demand more. (All this to say I still love interactions, it just shouldn't be my no. 1 priority to get them when writing fanfics.)

But yeah. None of those works are perfect. They're not meant to be. But they're mine. They're me. They represent me. And it's so, so great to feel that in writing. I've been so stuck up on being some sort of content machine. I'm doing this for myself, how could I forget? I've been saying this since the beginning, I don't know why I'm still struggling to do it. God. It's ridiculous.

Anyway. That's that. This has become a very long ramble. Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk. And for letting me waste your time, if you make it to the end of this post.

[amethystfairy1]

Hello! Hello! Hello!

I don't really have a question to ask... you're just one of the blogs I've followed the longest (you as well as doody are the reasons i got tumblr actually) and I've never sent an ask so I thought I'd just stop by and say... well, hello!

I absolutely adore your works and although I've never sent a comment on ao3, just know that you can go to any chapter you've ever wrote and imagine many, MANY, keyboard smashes from me, lol

I'm proud to say I've been here since the beginning (Pretty Boy my beloved...) and am always looking foward to where you'll end up taking us next (traveling thieves was one of the best spur-of-the-moment things to come from whumptober-ish), and no matter what you do, fanfiction, original stories, art (even if you claim you can't draw)... you'll always have my, as well as many others, support

I hope you have a wonderful night of sleep, because you deserve it

Awww you're so sweet thank you thank you! 💖

I'm so glad you've stuck around since Pretty Boy for TTSBC and enjoyed TT as well! And it's so kind of you to say you'd be interested in anything I were to create (I promise you it won't be art tho, definitely can't draw 😭) that really does mean so much to me!

Like I've mentioned here and there, I have an original concept I've been working on for years, and it's meant to be written similar to TTSBC and TT, that is, multiple storylines all kinda tripping over each other, and while I don't plan to actually post anything of it until I finish my degree, which will be next May, I am already thinking about how I would figure to share it with all of you! It would be so much fun, and I hope it'll get at least a little bit of the astounding amount of love that my AUs have!

But for now, it's tippy taps for the block men! 😆

Thank you so much for coming by!!!

[whumpninja]

I don’t know why it took SO LONG to fill this prompt! Thanks to everyone who sent me ideas, I…ended up using none of them and going with this random thing. Whoops.

Prompt used: Whumptober, defiance

Featuring: magic whump, smoking, vaguely 1920s setting I think, anger, defiant whumpee, magic spells/curses/whatnot, immortal whumper

Whumptober Day Thirteen: Deal With The Devil

"You're not happy."

Lawrence kept the remark casual, offhanded. He flicked open the engraved silver lighter he carried in his pocket and lit a cigarette, pretending to be absorbed in the action. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his young assistant do the washing up. "You can't hide things from me, Jamie. I can tell you're angry."

Across the room, the young man set down the plates with more force than strictly necessary. They rattled dangerously on the edge of the counter. Lawrence took note of the taut lines of his back, the hard set to his jaw, the snap of fire in his dark eyes. Jamie wasn't just angry; he was furious.

"Was there anything else you needed, Mr. Lexington?" Jamie asked through clenched teeth. Mr. Lexington. Not Lawrence. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

"I can't remedy whatever I've done unless you tell me about it, Jamie," Lawrence said, taking a drag of his cigarette. "If you're finished banging things around like a child throwing a tantrum, I'll listen."

Jamie stared at him for a moment, black eyes blazing. He seized the back of a chair and dragged it out from its place with a deliberately ear-piercing screech, then dropped into it with enough force to make it teeter on its back legs before it rocked forward onto solid ground again.

"I certainly hope that's the last display of temper from you tonight." Lawrence put just a hint of a warning in his voice.

Jamie ignored it completely. He stabbed a finger in Lawrence's direction, trembling with fury. "You put a spell on me." He practically spat out the words. "Didn't you?"

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know how I didn't notice before. I can't disobey a direct order from you- not without feeling sick, and it only gets worse until I obey. I also can't go a certain radius away from you. I walked the whole of it today, just to see. I can't go more than a few miles away from wherever you are." Jamie slammed his hand down on the table. "I can't think of any other explanation. Did you or did you not put a curse on me?"

"Yes," Lawrence answered.

He could tell Jamie had been expecting him to deny it, which was exactly why he'd done the opposite. The young man was an open book, easy to predict and even easier to fool. Lawrence worked in double crosses and blind sides and traps set in fine print. It was hardly his fault if poor souls just happened to stumble into them.

Jamie found his voice again. "Why?"

"Oh, I needed some way to keep you in line. You'll find that if you attack me the spell will reflect any damage back onto yourself, so I wouldn't try that either." Lawrence tapped out his cigarette, one eye on Jamie's outraged expression. "See, you bound yourself to my service in exchange for power. Which I gave you. But I needed a way to make sure you didn't someday take it into your head to use that power on me. So, the spell."

"This is not what I agreed to."

"I think you'll find that it is."

"How long does it last?"

"As long as I need it to. Only the person who cast a spell can lift it. Haven't I taught you anything?" Lawrence clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"I don't need to lift it," Jamie snarled. "If I can break it."

"Good luck with that. I'm an immortal sorcerer, boy. The day someone like you pulls a trick on me...well, it'll never happen."

"I won't stop trying."

"I don't doubt it. I chose you because you're spirited. I like the fiery ones." Lawrence stood up, in no particular hurry, and sidled around the table to stand over his young servant. "You fight me as much as you please, Jamie. Scream insults at me. Try to strike me. Use your own magic if you like. It will amuse me to watch you try- and fail- to break my spell."

He took the boy's chin in his hand, tilting his face up to look into the angry dark eyes. "Because you will fail. Magically speaking, I own you. You would do well to remember that."

[karume-everything-else]

Whumptober 2023

Day 28: "Please don't make a promise you can't keep" [Reader x All Might (Toshinori Yagi)] {My Hero Academia}

Being late to everything was never fun, Toshinori knew that all too well. And yet, here he was rushing into a reservation nearly an hour late because of a villain attack that he'd tried to stop. The foolishly hopeful attempt was to finish everything off long before now and just barely be late by maybe five or six minutes.

But here he was showing up just as you were getting ready to leave.

As understanding as you were about Toshi being All Might, there had to be a line somewhere. Not only was it difficult on you to always be put to the side like this, but it was putting extra strain on him. Nothing about the situation seemed fair, but you didn't know what to do.

"[Name], sorry I'm late." He panted as he settled into the chair opposite you, "Work was a little-"

"Please don't Toshi." You were almost whispering, trying to keep the hurt feelings out of your voice, "I already know how busy you are. Maybe we should just call it a night?"

"I know it's rather late, but I just got here." He could tell what you were holding back, "Please, let me make this up to you?"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep." It came off much more bitter than you truly intended but... "Please, for all our sakes. I know you're always busy and maybe that's a good enough reason to be a little... distant. Cause we both know how much your career means to you."

"It doesn't mean nearly as much to me as you do though." He reached for your hand, "Surely you know that?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"Unfortunately?"

"I'm smart enough to know you mean everything you say," You looked up at his bright blue eyes, "But emotionally I can't say I know anything. And I know that's my problem to deal with but--"

"No, it's not just your problem to deal with sweetie." His hand tightened carefully around yours, "I just don't know how to make things better. Not unless you tell me."

You couldn't help but look away, down at the small candle in the middle of the table. Of course he would make every effort to be there, but he was also the number one hero in Japan. Anything you asked would feel like a selfish demand, regardless of what Toshi might say to the contrary.

"[Name], I'm well aware of how it must feel." He continued, "Trust me, I don't want to be late for everything like this either. I really want to do better, to find a better balance between work and you. Cause you're the love of my life. Something I never thought I'd ever be able to have."

There was a brief pause while the waiter took your orders, locking you into this date and conversation. Not that you minded, if you were really that upset, or even remotely unwilling to forgive Toshinori you'd have left before he had a chance to get this far in the first place. But there was still something bittersweet about what he was saying. As if he were trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

"[Name], sweetheart, I want you in my life. I've honestly never felt this way about anyone before." He sighed, "I just want to be able to say I did my best, that it wasn't my job driving you away, but my own stupid choices. I know that technically means the same thing but... I can't help but feel like the nature of my job makes it more difficult for you to speak your mind. And I really don't want that to get in our ways."

"I... we'll see..." You murmured, "But maybe we should discuss this at home, where we don't have to dance around the subject. Or have some random person put their two cents in where it doesn't belong."

Toshinori nodded, wondering how he was going to fix this. After all, it wasn't like he could just solve this and move on with his day. This would undoubtedly take a lot of time to get just right.

[one-piece-aus]

I can't wait for your whumptober <33 can i request Sanji for day 2? :・'°☆

Of course, Sanji is one of my favourites to write angst for~ and I'm happy you enjoy my Whumptober ^-^

Whumptober Day 2

Prince Sanji x Reader

Warning: Sad drinking

"Sanji, we- we can't be together, you're a prince."

"I don't care about that life, all I want is you." Sanji held your hands and pulled you closer. "I can't imagine my life without you, [Y/n]."

You smiled and rested your forehead against his. You stared into those blue eyes, they were so full of love and adoration for you. Moving your hand out of his grasp, you delicately laid your fingers over his cheek.

"You are the only man I can ever love," you said as your other hand moved to hold his cheek.

Sanji placed his hand over top of yours, caressing them. "What if we ran away together?"

You laughed, thinking his suggestion was a joke. "Are you mad? We'd be caught within a day."

"Not with the route I planned out, they'll never find us."

You giggled and had to take a step back to calm yourself down yet as you glanced back at him when your laughs stopped, you saw his eyes with the look of when they were determined to do something. Could he- no?

"You're serious?"

"I wanted to ask you for a long time." Sanji stepped toward you. "But I needed to find a way to make it possible, I didn't want it to be some distant dream, I wanted- needed it to be real."

His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing your hair to the side so he could see your beautiful soft eyes.

"You mean... you really do want to run away... with me?" You could hardly grasp the idea to be any more than a dream.

"I already planned out the path we'll take, I packed everything I need, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?"

Sanji nodded.

"That quickly?"

He nodded again.

"I... I don't what to pack... I-"

Sanji took notice of your worry and held your hands to bring your attention back to him. Your doe eyes peer at his soft expressions giving to a reassuring smile.

"Just bring what is important to you, I can buy the rest if we need to."

"Are... are you sure about this?" you asked, still wondering if he thought this through.

Sanji brought your hands to his lips and kissed them. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

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

You travelled through the forest boarding the North side of the kingdom's walls, stopping in front of the massive oak tree he told you to meet him by. With the sun only setting, you sat down by its roots and rested your eyes.

When you woke up, the full moon hung high over your head and you rubbed your eyes, a little confused about where you were until you remembered why you were here. You glanced around wondering where Sanji was. He should've been here by now.

"Sanji?"

Crickets chirped in response. You rose to your feet and began walking around the tree, calling his name.

"Sanji? Saaaaaaaaanji!"

Minutes passed, minutes turned into hours. Your mind started to whisper that he set you up, that he didn't mean anything he said. You didn't want to believe these doubts but as dawn approached, you frowned and picked up your things.

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

"And I left," you told the ravenette beside you, finishing the last of your drink.

"A sad ending to a beautiful love story," the lady commented, tapping the side of her cup.

She had found you at the bar alone and decided to take the seat next to you, inquiring why you were moping in the tavern all alone. Now here you are, your life's story spilled and an empty mug in front of you.

"You know..." You started while staring into the mug. "I really thought he meant it... he seemed so genuine..."

"You wouldn't be the first to be fooled," the ravenette said, taking a sip from her drink.

"Yeah, I guess..." You pushed the mug away from you.

"I know from experience too," the lady set her drink down and set a bag of coins on the table. "Men like them, they don't care about you. They'll say all the things you want and once they have your heart... they leave..."

You lay your head on the bar, zoning out. You felt numb, empty. You didn't have a clue what you were going to do next. You only knew one thing.

You'll never love again.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

Part 2 here

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hand in Hand (part three)

@whumptober No. 8 "It's all for nothing."

cw: violence/beating

previous ///// au masterlist ///// next

~ ~ ~

Dan is awake long before the cell door swings open. The only way he could sleep with even a little comfort was sitting up, back pressed into the wall, and now he's stiff all over. He can't imagine how Wes feels. His arms must be dead from the partial suspension, shoulders aching, legs well-past being asleep. If he begs Swift, will she at least loosen the chains enough for him to lie down? He's willing to try.

But it isn't Swift who steps inside. It's a pair of Riot Kings. Both are wearing masks. Pointlessly; he knows who they are, but maybe it's in an effort to make themselves feel better about this. They must feel at least some kind of shame, right?

"Peres. Sawyer," he says. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" One of them, Sawyer, freezes in place as he's named, but Peres is undeterred.

"Swift wanted another demonstration with him," he says, jabbing a thumb in Wes's direction. "But I figured we'd offer you a deal."

A deal? Dan doubts it's anything good, but if they feel guilty enough to try and hide behind masks, maybe they still have the decency to not want to hurt Wes. "What sort of deal?" he says.

Peres lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna unchain you, and I'm gonna beat the shit outta you."

Dan makes an effort to hold still, not letting his apprehension cross his face. "Doesn't sound like the kind of deal I usually make."

He's expecting the backhanded blow Peres deals him, but it still stings. Behind him, there's the clank of metal-on-metal as Wes throws himself against his chains.

"Fucking traitor! Leave him alone!"

Peres rolls his eyes and gestures to Sawyer, who's quick to gag Wes. Dan regretfully agrees with the decision. It's probably for the best if Wes is unable to piss these guys off.

"You didn't let me finish," Peres says. "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you. If you can take it, if you don't try to run or fight back, we'll leave him alone this time. Got it?"

Dan closes his eyes with a grimace. This will be fun. "Got it," he says flatly.

He sits perfectly still as Peres unlocks the cuffs, hands in his lap, flattened to keep him from clutching at the fabric of his pants. Even now, he needs to look stronger than he is. That's how it's always been, and he refuses to let his own mask slip now.

Dan knows he'd stand a chance against the pair, even aching and exhausted, even outnumbered. He can wait until the chains are gone, strike when neither are expecting it, and win. He could free himself and Wes.

But why unchain him at all when they could get the same result without the risk? If they want to hurt him, why not tie his hands behind his back so there's nothing he can do? Maybe they want him to try and escape, maybe they're expecting it. Maybe that's how they plan on justifying hurting Wes more, and insisting he's to blame for it.

Dan isn't about to risk it. As long as he's in this cell, surrounded by his former allies, he's powerless to stop them from hurting him, from hurting Wes. All he can do is take what he's offered and---

A fist collides with his stomach and he doubles over with a grunt. He doesn't even have time to catch his breath before it's followed by two more. Cheek, chin. Powerful enough to daze him.

"Stand up."

Dan does, getting his hands under him then carefully pushing to his feet. He doesn't stay up for long before Peres hits him in the stomach again.

Can he even block it? Move his body in such a way that he takes the least amount of damage? Or will they count it as fighting back?

"Hold him up." This is directed at Sawyer, who quickly moves behind Dan, grabbing his arms and keeping him steady.

It's all he can do to keep breathing as Peres whales on his torso, punch after punch, sharp and rapid, until Peres is panting and Dan is retching.

The other man grabs him by the shoulders and jams his knee into Dan's sternum, then lets him go. Dan doesn't even try to break his fall, just tries to keep his chin tucked as the men above him kick at his back and ribs and legs.

Beyond the blood rushing in his ears, beyond the pain the crashes down on him like a wave, threatening to completely overwhelm him, he can hear Wes's frantic shouts, muffled by the gag.

Peres---or maybe Sawyer, he can't tell anymore---gives one final kick to his stomach, and Dan cries out.

"Stand up."

He tries, but it hurts to breathe, and he can't figure out how to get his legs beneath him.

"Stand. Up."

Wes screams through the gag again, and Dan knows he has no choice. It's tedious work. A palm first, an elbow over it. A knee on the ground, and then he's slowly pushing himself up, swaying on his feet.

Peres punches him square in the jaw, and he's on his back, staring at the ceiling in a daze. One of the men above him grabs him by the hair and drags him back to the wall, locking the manacles back in place. It takes a tremendous effort to sit up, to ease the strain on his shoulders, and once he does, he can't keep his head up.

"I'm surprised you actually held out," Peres mutters, then nods to Sawyer. "Grab the cattle prod."

Dan shudders. Aren't they done? But through half-closed eyes, he sees Sawyer closing in not on him, but on Wes.

He sits up, wincing. "Y-you said--"

"I didn't think you'd make it," Peres says. "And I'm not about to go against orders from Swift."

~ ~ ~

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

[willows-adventures-in-words]

Writing this one broke me. I had to stop and get a hug from my husband before I could finish it. So, because I made myself suffer, I'm dragging everyone else down with me.

Whumptober prompts 20: Emotional Angst shoulder to cry on | giving permission to die | “it's not your fault” word count: 1,101 Some background info: This was a slightly altered discarded idea that would have been part of another story I was writing from a different fandom in an attempt to add more characters. That other story was a 7 Days to Die AU. 7 Days to Die is a zombie game. When you get infected in the game you can cure a certain percentage by using items. Honey (5%), Herbel Antibiotics (20%), and Antibiotics (25%). Obviously when the infection gets to 100% you die.

~-~-~

He ran up the road as fast as his tired legs would take him. Almost there. Almost back to the house. As Geoff reached for the door, there was a sound behind him. The groaning and shuffling that was way too familiar. “Not now...” Turning, he gripped the bat tighter. There was only one. Good. Stepping down off the porch, Geoff approached the zombie. When he got about a dozen feet away he held the bat with both hands and, with another step forward, swung as hard as he could knocking it to the ground. He grimaced in pain from the wound on his arm, before he grabbed the knife he carried and stabbed it in the head. Quickly, he got up and hurried back to the door. He could retrieve the knife later...

“Layne!?” he called out. Glancing in the kitchen as he passed by, he saw a half prepared meal. Geoff hurried to the bedroom and practically threw open the door. “Layne.”

Layne shifted his arm off from over his eyes and looked over. “Hey... You're back.” Geoff let out a sigh of relief and headed over to the bedside. “I tried to cook you something but-”

“I told you to rest.” Layne just smiled weakly as he rested his arm back over his eyes.

Geoff pulled his backpack off and, setting it down on the chair, pulled it open. “What did you bring me?” There was a pause. “Tell me it's not honey.”

“... It'll help.” Layne shook his head. “Layne.”

“No...”

He crouched down next to the bed. “It'll buy us some more time.”

“No,” Layne spoke, his tone sharper than what Geoff was used to hearing as of late.

“Layne, please.” Pulling his arm off of his eyes, Layne turned his head to look at his friend. “It's all I could get. I couldn't... I tried. I tried to get antibiotics. But... But someone else...” He couldn't keep the desperation and despair out of his voice.

Layne reached out and rested his hand on top of Geoff's. “It's not your fault.”

“I couldn't-” But Layne shook his head.

“The infection. I was reckless. And I know you tried your best. To help me. But I can't do this anymore, Geoff. I'm tired.”

“Please take the honey.”

“Keep it. In case you need it later.”

Geoff shook his head. “I can't lose you. I,” his voice cracked. “I can't do this alone. Let me keep trying.”

He almost gave in. But Layne knew he didn't have long. He was exhausted constantly and didn't even have the energy to walk around the house. His attempt to cook earlier made him sick. Honestly, he didn't know if he could even stomach eating the honey if he wanted to. But if he could... “It will probably only get me through the night...”

“Then- Then take it. And we'll leave. We'll find help.”

With a slow sigh, Layne told him, “You know I can't travel anymore.”

Stubbornly, Geoff told him, “Then I'll duct tape some rope to this mattress and drag you.” Layne let out a light laugh but otherwise remained quiet. “We can still get rid of the infection.”

Closing his eyes, he let out a breath. “Geoff, please. Let me go. It's been two weeks.” Layne hated telling him this. They've both lost too much already. Everyone they knew and loved was gone. They were all each other had. And now he was telling him to let him die and lose the last person close to him.

“... You can't ask me to do that.”

“I'm sorry...” His next breath came shallow. Layne realized just then, that his heart-rate had started to slow. There wasn't much time left. Though he wasn't scared, he had already resigned himself to this fate a couple days ago. No. He felt guilt. If he'd been more careful, not been reckless, then he wouldn't be putting his friend through this. “Can you, just stay with me. Until it's over?”

Geoff closed his eyes as he fought back the pain and tears. Then swallowed. “Okay,” he nearly whispered.

“Thank you.”

Silence fell heavily over the room. Geoff watch over his friend. His attention on his face for a bit, but then noticed how shallow his breathing was. How slowly his chest would rise and fall. He almost didn't make it back in time. Layne would have died here alone. Geoff would never have forgiven himself. Just like all the other things that have happened. He would have just added it to the pile. Though this one would have been the worst. Right next to losing Kathy.

He let out a shuddered breath. And it startled him when he felt Layne's hand grip lightly over his. Geoff glanced quickly from his hand to Layne's face. His friend slowly blinked his eyes open for a moment and attempted a smile before his eyes fell closed again. Then, not even a minute later, his breathing stopped and he was still.

Geoff didn't move at first. And when he did he looked down to the floor. His eyes stung with tears. This was it. He couldn't even help Layne. The one thing he should have been able to do. And he couldn't. As he blinked tears fell. Geoff let out another shuddered breath. He should go. But he didn't get up. Couldn't bring himself to do so. He just... He just wanted a little more time. Just a little more time.

He should have known it was a mistake. But grief made him forgot in that moment. And when the zombie with Layne's face opened its eyes and lurched up did he realize his mistake. Geoff jerked back, lifting his arms in defense as the zombie that looked like his friend launched itself at him. Its teeth catching his already injured arm tearing it open anew as he fell onto his back bumping the chair with his shoulder. Geoff struggled against him as he stared at Layne's face. He managed to bring a leg up for leverage and shove him, it, away. It fell back onto the bed and Geoff scrambled to his feet. Grabbing his backpack, he rushed for the door. Seconds after he left, shutting the door and leaned against it, he felt the bang from the other side. Geoff pushed away from the door and, cradling his injured arm, ran from the house.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #22

A/N: Surprise! This is a precursor to day 8. I actually had this one planned ages and ages ago, before I'd written 8. I tried to write them so that each one could stand on its own and not be too confusing, since they're being posted out of order. Anyway, enjoy!

xxx oh, that's not good

"I didn't see any sign of him," Guy frets as she and Lamb reconvene at the front entrance of the house.

"Are you surprised?" Lamb says. "These guys aren't exactly geniuses but they're not stupid enough to keep a kidnapped MI:5 agent in their hall closet! Come on, we've still got loads of places to look, and not a lot of time to do it before those idiots come back. Stables next."

Guy sighs and nods. "Right."

Her expression is one of deliberate focus as she exits the house and heads toward the stables, gun in hand. She's so focused on the stables, in fact, that she doesn't bothering observing the rest of her surroundings, which is probably why she doesn't notice the many pairs of boot-prints in the mud. And why she doesn't notice Lamb stopping to look at them. He doesn't call after her, partially because he's confident there's no one waiting in the stables to ambush her, precluding the need for backup, but mostly because he can't be arsed.

He follows the prints to a pair of basement bulkhead doors round the east side of the house. There's a heavy chain and padlock keeping them shut, but the lock obviously cheap. All it takes to get it open is a large stone Lamb finds on the ground and a few heavy blows. He highly doubts there's anything in the darkened basement that he'll need to shoot, but he draws his gun anyway before pulling the doors open and making his way down the steps. It's dark at the bottom, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

When they do, he can see that he's in the right spot.

“Fuuucking hell,” he murmurs, holstering his weapon before stepping further into the basement. “Christ, Cartwright, you alive?”

The figure huddled against the far wall stirs slightly, but offers no other response. Lamb makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat (or worried, more like – not that River will be able to tell, the state he's in) and crouches next to the younger agent. There's old blood in his hair, dark red matting the blonde over his left ear and dried onto his neck. An ugly purple-yellow bruise stretches over his jaw on the same side, a few days old. A gash on his right cheekbone looks newer. Lamb doesn't need to see to know that his torso likely took the worst of it; ribs and kidneys tend to be favored targets of this sort of brainless thug. River’ll probably be pissing blood for a day or two, and he'll be hurting for a bit, but he seems surprisingly okay given the circumstance.

“Oi," Lamb says loudly, giving Cartwright's shoulder a firm shove. River's brow crinkles into a frown and he grimaces, blue eyes fluttering open. His gaze lands on Lamb and he groans, letting his eyes fall back shut. Lamb prods at him. “If you think I'm gonna carry you out of here, think again."

Cartwright opens his eyes again, staring up at the low ceiling. He takes two deep breaths (But not that deep, Lamb notes) and then slowly starts to push himself up on his elbows. He doesn't say anything, hardly even seems to notice, when Lamb reflexively puts a hand on his back to help him get upright.

Lamb doesn't like it.

“What," he says, putting a sneer into his words in the hopes of drawing some sort of reaction. “Don't tell me you don't have something smart to say. No, ‘I’d’ve had it’? No, ‘Where the hell have you been’?"

Cartwright sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I’d’ve had it," he says, and looks up at Lamb. “And where the hell have you been?"

Lamb bites back a smirk, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, you'll be fine. Come on!"

He turns, pulling his mobile out as behind him Cartwright makes his way, groaning, to his feet. Shirley answers after the first ring.

"Yeah?"

"I found Cartwright," Lamb says. "Hurry up and finish what you're doing and meet us out by the cars." He glances over his shoulder as he returns his mobile to his coat pocket. Cartwright is swaying slightly, but there's a determined set to his expression. Lamb raises an eyebrow at him. "You coming?"

Cartwright gives him a shaky thumbs-up. "Yep."

xxx

It's not a sunny day—far from it, seeing as they're in the English countryside in October—but the daylight is still far brighter than the hole in the ground where River's been held the last three days. Or maybe it's four? He's lost track. Regardless, he finds himself wincing as he emerges from the basement as the relative brightness sends bursts of pain through his skull.

"Lamb!" Louisa's voice. "He's not in the stables. Where did you go?" She looks over Lamb's shoulder and her eyes widen. "River!"

"Hey, Louisa," River says, raising his hand in a sheepish wave.

Louisa steps around Lamb and grabs River's arms, looking him over, brow furrowed. "You alright?"

River shrugs. "Oh, you know..." He looks up at the back of Lamb who, unsurprisingly, didn't stop to watch Louisa and River's reunion. "I'm surprised Lamb came himself."

"Yeah. Marcus and Shirley are here, too."

"Really?" River frowns. "All of you are here?"

"Well, not all of us. Roddy's still at Slough."

River snorts. "He doesn't count."

Marcus and Shirley are already at the cars when they get there, and Shirley grins as soon as she sees River, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against Marcus's car.

"Were they keeping you in the stable?" she says. "'Cus that would be really fucking embarrassing."

"It was the basement, actually," River says dryly. He's not sure why he expected anything else from her.

"Because we're Slow Horses," Shirley continues as if River hadn't spoken. "Horse. Stable. It's funny."

River shoots her a sarcastic smile and holds up his middle finger. Shirley scowls.

"Rude."

He opens his mouth to answer, and is interrupted by the loud crack of gunfire.

"Get down!" Lamb shouts, and River thinks it's a little funny that he bothers saying it; they're all already moving, diving for cover behind the parked cars. They may be Slow Horses, but they're still Service. They aren't just going to stand around while a sniper opens fire on them.

“Shit!" Shirley cries as a round strikes the dirt near her. "Where is that coming from?”

“Uh – barn.” Marcus is the one who answers. “Hayloft, I think.”

Lamb growls. “You didn’t clear the fucking barn?”

“You called and told us you had River! You didn’t say anything about clearing the barn!”

“I said to finish what you were doing, I didn’t think I had to fucking spell it out! Bloody well should have known, though, you’ve all the sense of a toad. Didn't clear the fucking barn..."

"We can return fire, but I don't know what good it'll do us," Marcus says. "He's got better cover, better range, a better vantage point..."

“He’ll run out of ammunition eventually,” Shirley says, and Lamb lets out a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, I suppose we could just roll around in the dirt here and hope the bastard is stupid enough to waste all of his bullets. Anyone else have any bright ideas they'd like to share? Cartwright?”

River, who's only been half-listening to most of the conversation, looks up at the sound of his name. “Erm – what? Sorry?”

Lamb’s irritated expression shifts slightly, his forehead creasing in the middle. Then his eyes flick downward, then back up again, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. “Are you hit?”

"What?" Louisa says sharply.

River looks down to where his hand is clasping his hip. He hadn't even noticed he was doing that...He lifts his hand away from his side enough to catch a glimpse of bright red before quickly replacing it, swallowing hard to quell the nausea that tries to rise up.

“Yup. Yeah, I--I think so. Yeah."

He's not sure he would've realized if not for the sight of blood. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.

"Jesus," Marcus says.

Louisa's voice is tight with near-panic. "We have to get him out of here!"

"It's fine!" River's voice is loud, almost shrill. It comes out too insistent. He swears internally, then takes a breath and forces a smile that he hopes looks less manic than it feels. "I'm alright, it's a good guy wound."

Shirley makes a face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The good guys in action movies, they always – you know what, never mind!" His mind is racing. He's pretty sure adrenaline is supposed to bring clarity, but his thoughts are all noisy and competing for attention. The one that makes it out of his mouth, before he has time to really process it, is, "This is a good thing."

"How?!" Louisa and Shirley cry in baffled unison.

There's an opportunity here for River to turn something humiliating—having to be rescued from the ex-military meatheads that had managed to kidnap him—into a win. He just has to make them see it.

"Look, now that their secret hideout isn't a secret anymore, they're just going to go deeper underground. Whoever's shooting at us is alone right now. We can press him for information, I--" He falters momentarily as he sees the doubt plainly written on his co-workers' faces. "I can distract him, and you can sneak around the back of the barn and get the jump on him. We might not get another chance."

"You'll distract him?" Lamb chuckles. "What, for the two seconds it takes to blow your head off? All that'll do is give me an extra pile of paperwork to fill out."

"But--" River begins.

"We're not here for him, Cartwright, we're here for you. And we have you, so we're gonna fuck off back to London. Let the Dogs deal with these pricks."

River blinks in surprise. Of all of them, he'd thought Lamb was the most likely to agree that they should try and get something out of this shitshow. If Lamb notices his shock, he doesn't mention it.

"Guy, Cartwright and I'll go in your car. Dander, you're with Longridge – Christ, I feel like I'm arranging a carpool. Anyway, whoever is up there isn't a very impressive shot, or Cartwright wouldn't be alive right now, but still: move fast."

There's an exchange of glances, some nods. No one counts down, but somehow everyone starts moving at once – Marcus and Louisa yanking open driver's side doors and clambering in, keeping their heads down and trying to make themselves as small as possible (an easier task for Louisa than Marcus) as Lamb and Shirley get into back seats. River is waiting for it, for the sound of gunfire to pick up again, but it doesn't come. He should feel relieved that they aren't being shot at, but all he feels is dread.

"Cartwright!" Lamb barks.

River is still sat in the gravel beside Louisa's car. He's sitting there when a man in a balaclava comes out from behind the small garden shed the cars are parked next to.

Oh, that's not good.

The man's got a gun raised, and it's aimed right at Louisa's head and fuck if River is going to let her get killed. His body doesn't feel like his own as he launches to his feet and places it between the gun and Louisa. There are two loud pops, and then he's falling and the man in the balaclava is falling, too and Louisa is screaming his name but he can't gather the breath he needs to answer because it feels like he's just been kicked in the chest by the world's angriest horse and he can't breathe--

Someone grabs him under the armpits from behind and pulls, and that's enough to shock his lungs back into working.

He screams.

When his vision returns, he realizes he's in the backseat of Louisa's car. He's more than slightly mortified to find that he's laying partially in Jackson Lamb's lap, one of Lamb's hands held tightly against the bullet hole in River's chest.

"Drive!" Lamb yells, and the car lurches into motion and the only sound River makes this time is a low, strangled groan.

River isn't particularly religious, never has been, but as he bleeds and bleeds and tries to breathe in the backseat of Louisa's car, he finds himself pleading with whatever higher power is out there to please, please not let him die in Jackson Lamb's arms.

xxx

[16mistypaw]

Misty's Whumptober 2024

Day 7 (Only for emergencies)

Wild makes a split second decision that saves his brothers lives at the cost of his own. Little do they know Wild is far more familiar with death than they realize.

Wild ducked under another attack, springing back up to spear the monster on the end of his sword. Flicking the corpse off his blade he chanced a look around to see how the others were faring. The monsters in Wars’ era, while numerous, were typically weak and more of a nuisance than a real threat.

Introducing black blooded monsters into the mix though made them a very real threat, and the leader of the monsters kept summoning a seemingly endless supply of reinforcements. So overwhelmed were the chain, that none had been able to get close to the summoner long enough to land more than a hit or two before being pushed back by the hordes. They were losing badly, and wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

A dark spirit Wars had identified as a big poe swept onto the battlefield, hovering high above the ongoing conflict. Dark energy gathered around its lantern, condensing into a swirling mass that kept growing.

“Fall back!” Came Warriors’ shout. “It's charging up for a big attack, it'll take out everything in the area!”

“Can't we stop it?! Can anyone reach it up there?” Legend replied.

“It must be black blooded, it's charging too fast! We won't make it out of the blast area before it's done.” Time shouted.

Wild glanced up at the spirit, then at the others making a vain attempt to flee the impending attack. Time was right, they wouldn't make it in time before it finished charging. Mind set Wild turned the other way, running towards the spirit, ignoring the cries of alarm from the others.

His sword was sheathed in favor of grabbing his glider, and with a running leap Revali's ghost launched him high into the air. Suddenly he was right in front of the poe, and glider was seamlessly swapped for sword once more, driving the blade through the spirit from above. Both spirit and gathering energy exploded, consuming Wild in the blast. It burned, even as it threw him back, clinging to him as he fell like a ragdoll.

He hit the ground hard, feeling a crack in both skull and spine. Wet warmth pooled beneath his head, and sensation from his lower back down was practically nonexistent. Someone screamed his name, though he couldn't turn his head to see who. His body refused to move, everything seeming muffled and far away.

‘Only a few minutes.’ Wild reminded himself. Only a few minutes to die, and be revived by his long lost love. He let his eyes close, vaguely aware of several people reaching his side. The familiar feeling of healing magic warmed his skin, and Wild wanted to scream at Hyrule to stop. Even if Hyrule could save him, his body was already beyond repair. Mipha's grace was the only thing that would be able to fix this level of damage, but for that Hyrule needed to let him go.

“Stop.” Wild's voice was barely a whisper, for all the effort it took to get that one word out.

“No! Don't give up, we can fix this!” Even as he said it, Wild looked into his eyes and knew the Traveler didn't believe it. The attempted healing gave him the strength to speak once more.

“I'll be alright. I have a healing ability, but you have to let me go. Please, it won't work otherwise.”

“You-”

“Please.” Wild was practically begging, and Hyrule relented.

“You have to promise, I'm not letting you die.”

“I promise.” Hyrule withdrew his magic, and immediately Wild started to fade. His breaths grew shallow and weak, body quickly shutting down. Only minutes later the labored breathing stopped altogether, and Hyrule nearly had a heart attack before an aura of healing magic stronger than anything he had seen enveloped Wild. There was a sickening pop as his spine was realigned, and the crack in his skull sealed itself closed. Every injury, major or insignificant, was healed in a matter of seconds.

The magic faded, and Wild took a shuddering breath as his body came back to life. He opened his eyes, and Hyrule nearly cried in relief.

“Don't do that again!” Hyrule scolded, holding back the tears.

“I don't make a habit of it.” Wild swayed a little as he sat up, holding his head in his hands. “This ability, it's not a free escape from death. It uses my own life force to revive me, shortening my lifespan every time it's used. I also lose some of my memory, which…”

“Which you already don't have a lot of.” Hyrule finished. “Why, then? Why did you do that?”

“You guys wouldn't have made it out in time otherwise.” Wild looked up to the worried Heroes gathered around him.

“And I couldn't risk losing any of you.”

[greatandquestionablecontent]

"Leave the lights on." | Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

Lexan's POV

"Leave the lights on," I say absently to whoever I could hear locking up for the evening. It should go without saying, but lately Raegan's been on closing shift and she doesn't know everything yet.

"I was planning on leaving you in the pitch dark," comes Livia's voice. "Could be good for your sleep."

A little something relaxes in me at the sound of her voice, and I remind myself to loosen my shoulders, inhale fully, stop crouching at the computer like that guy from Death Note.

Everyone knows this office never gets pitch dark. Even "turning the lights off" is really only turning off about half of them. We're not stupid. We've got backup generators upon backup generators, and solar lights, and lights with no off switch at all.

I lean back and stretch, pushing my arms back and sucking in air deeper and deeper as my binder and muscles strain until I hear several cracks in rapid succession. Perfect. A few twists to one side and the other bring several more satisfying crunches. I'm more careful with my neck -- I'm too familiar with how that can make it worse, even though I know I shouldn't be doing it at all -- as I tilt an ear to each shoulder for a couple crunch-crackles. I pop my elbows, then my knuckles, wrists, and a couple other joints in my fingers, just the ones that need it, not all of them.

I'm in the process of cracking my hips, which involves some unseemly leg spreading and pelvic wiggling, when Livia spins me around in my desk chair. I meet her eyes as I tug at my knee, eliciting a snap that I've never heard anyone else's hip do, and we both chuckle at the faux-sensual nature of it.

"You could be in the dark at my place," Livia says.

"I don't want to be in the dark at all."

"Even better. I wasn't gonna unplug my lava lamps for you anyway."

It's true that her unit of the townhome she shares with Jetlag is hardly the best place to be in even what passes for darkness around here. It's part of what makes evening in her room feel so otherworldly, the purple fairy lights and shifting bubbles from the lava lamps shining onto the walls, not to mention that I probably get a contact high just from breathing in there. I'm more tempted than I'd like by the thought of stretching out on her fuzzy rug and dozing off to the background sounds of her getting ready for bed...

I shift my jaw forward and out, but to my disappointment it doesn't snap, crackle, or pop this time. "I can't. I have to finish this infrastructure review before demo tomorrow."

"Didn't you already do an infrastructure review?" Lexan plucks my bottle of Excedrin off the desk and gives it a shake. Go figure she would remember how full it was last time she shook that thing. "Babe, no wonder you're not sleeping. When was the last time you took these?"

"Now?" I reach for it, unsurprised when she holds it out of my reach. "You're not my nurse. Give it."

"I prescribe some rest and relaxation. And ease up on the NSAIDs, you're gonna burn a hole in your stomach."

She's so predictable. It's nice, though. And maybe a part of me appreciates that someone gets what I'm putting myself through to keep this up. North with his pack a day habit and pull yourself up by your bootstraps mindset sure doesn't want to hear me complaining, and half of our staff doesn't even know why our work matters so much, so they see me as a neurotic workaholic with a stick up my ass. Which isn't to say that I'm not, but it's also not to say I don't appreciate some sympathy on occasion.

My face must have done something, because she sets down the bottle and reaches over to tuck a stray chunk of dirty blonde hair behind my ear. I avoid her gaze and bend my ankles to and fro, getting a couple tiny clicks out of one but not the other. "It's gonna be fine, Lex," she says.

"We don't know that."

She doesn't argue this. "Come back to it in the morning," she suggests instead. "You can get up in time to watch the sunrise. You weren't planning on staying in here another nine hours on your own, were you?"

"No," I admit.

It's been a while since I've managed to watch the sunrise, favoring late nights over early mornings lately. There was a while where I'd get up early enough to go for a long walk in the lavender mornings, climb up on the old drilling rig and watch the sun stretch out over the desert.

And then scramble back down and hurry back to the office building before anyone saw. We're not supposed to fuck with the old rig at all, but sometimes it's the only way anything feels real after two weeks of four hours a night of sleep. I kind of miss that feeling, when caffeine and adrenaline powered through the haze just enough that everything seemed bright and bitterly beautiful, but also distant enough to not be overwhelming.

These days, it all feels overwhelming. It feels like every morning and every evening I'm squinting up at something too big to fully see, and maybe that's why I miss climbing up so high that everything looks small.

"Sunrise," I repeat.

And as soon as I've decided I'm going home with her, the exhaustion hits. The mere process of saving my work and shutting down the computer feels momentous, and I don't know how I thought I'd fit in another couple hours without collapsing on the desk.

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 21 - Spirit possession

09/02/2018

With the teenagers' crucial discovery about yet another planet-destroying weapon that the X-Men needed to stop, yet the inevitable requirement of another few hours to sit idle this night before they could make a move of any kind … All Logan felt like doing right now, actually, was picking up with his wife in his bedroom what the red alert from the sick bay earlier had interrupted. Leaving behind all the shit out there for at least a short while before things would probably go down the drain once more. The Gods knew he'd been forced to do without that treasured comfort by his side for far too long.

Just when Jean and he had finished checking on the last of their teammates and their successors via Logan's wrist com though, letting the other X-Men know they would be unavailable until sunrise, the apartment door opened.

Since Logan had just secured the door frame display against access by anyone not living in these quarters, it wasn’t too hard to guess who was about to interrupt their badly needed privacy, though Noemi had actually made it very clear to Logan earlier that she wasn’t willing to spend any more time than necessary in their apartment in the foreseeable future. Not as long as someone was residing there whose guts she hated. Accordingly, she made it a point not to grant Jean as much as a single glance from the corner of her reddened eyes, hurrying toward the door to her room with tight lips. "Never mind me. Just running low on spare clothes."

"Noemi … Sit with us for a moment, please." Logan didn’t think he'd get used to this broken tone in Jean's usually so warm, deep voice anytime soon. She'd only ever been talking like that when the terror of the demon ruining all their lives for so long now had shaken her soul. Which was not something he wanted to be reminded of when they were just trying for a while to enjoy this repeated yet still so surreal gift of being reunited again, after one of Jean's painful demises.

Noemi, sadly, was entirely oblivious to this bone-deep grief and angst or even worse, couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. And from her point of view, Logan could hardly blame her. Especially after Jean had so dumbly rejected her in the sick bay earlier. "Fuck off."

"Language, Red." His strength reserves for even one more argument close to zero for the day, Logan wasn’t too surprised to find his hand shaking when he patted his shirt down for a cigar in a gesture of routine. No, not exactly how he'd pictured things to go in the past, in the unlikely case that Jean and he would ever get a shot at a normal family life with their kid. Then again, normal had been notoriously absent from their relationship from day 1.

"Fuck you, Dad," Noemi hissed, ignoring his wince as Logan reluctantly had to admit, maybe he should have listened more often to certain admonishments by his team leader about minding your words a little around minors, at least if you didn’t want them to get thrown back in your face at some point. "Little too late to teach me decency, don’t you think?"

"I only want to apologize, Noemi." Jean quickly spoke up again before the girl could storm into her room with clenched fists, very aware that this might be the only chance to at least get this off her chest before they'd all be wiped off the star maps tomorrow. "I only told you to leave before because I can't tell if I'm safe from her this time. I just know I’ll hurt you all over when I'm forced to leave you two again. You were right about one thing ... After the Scapels moon, I lived with nothing but fear, and now, too, it was the first thing I felt when I awoke. And I’m …" A sob so quiet Logan was sure only his enhanced senses could pick up on it broke from her lips when Jean buried her face in her hands for a moment, gratefully nestling against his hand on her neck. "… I'm so fucking tired of it. I want to give the three of us a chance, even if our time might be limited. Especially then."

Noemi's hand came to rest on the door display right above the opener button but contrary to Logan's resigned expectations, after so many failed attempts of this kind in the past, she didn’t press it, not yet. She wasn’t turning around either though, not surprising given the faint fragrance of salt heavier in the air by the second. Noemi didn’t like displaying weakness even to her own family. In that regard, just like in so many others, she was so much more like Jean than she knew. "You can’t just pretend you were never gone."

Jean made no move to get up and approach their daughter in any way. Only her frail shape was tensing under Logan's soothing caress up and down her back when she, too, sensed there might be at least a small glimpse of hope in the air there. "I don’t mean to. I just want to try and be a part of this family. A part of your life, of all the beautiful things you've achieved and become without me."

Noemi snorted and quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve, baring her teeth still without doing as much as looking back over her shoulder. "You know shit about me."

"That’s not true," Jean hurried to assure, her dark eyes shining with reigniting energy more by the second, finally, an energy that Logan had still failed to give back to her earlier when she'd fortunately stopped trying to bite him away just like Noemi. "I’ve been allowed to watch you guys sometimes from the Further ..."

Noemi finally spun around, almost making Logan wish she hadn’t for a moment, her whole body shaking with aggression, her pale round cheeks glowing in a warning shade of orange smothering on her body, the way she'd only threatened to lose control over her gift as an infant every now and then. Good thing this damn apartment had been made entirely fire-proof ever since then. "I’m not talking about Phoenix’ mind tricks. You never fucking bother to ask! You just think. You thought you couldn’t beat her. You thought the others couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t protect you, couldn’t drive her out. You thought Dad and I couldn’t take it, knowing your mind and soul were alive this whole time. And now you think we’re too weak to handle it when you piss off again. If you want to be free of her, get rid of her arrogance first. You don’t know anything, Jean Grey."

"Then tell me. Let me get to know you." Now Jean was pleading, help- and hopelessness growing, her grip on Logan's hand on her shoulder growing tighter, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak up himself, not even once. This was her own personal battle she had to fight, and if she didn’t succeed right now, before they'd all have to work together, overcoming enmities and sensitivities tomorrow … Then they might as well have called Mystique to freely give her the missing information about that weapon that the Brotherhood held in their hands, and then sit back and wait for this damn piece of rock to fall into particles.

"Why should I? I don’t know you." Noemi leaned back against her door with her hands shoved down the pockets of her jeans and her chin raised her eyes, her pupils still faintly glowing in defiance. But at least she wasn’t trying to leave anymore and that was already more than Logan could have hoped for five minutes ago.

If Jean wanted to make this catastrophe right, somehow, this might be the only chance to start, so Jean forced herself to let this open contempt ooze off of her, straightening up under Logan's arm around her shoulders, looking straight into these angry eyes that so eerily resembled her own back then when the light of her demon had burst out from deep within her. And yet, hopefully, were so very different from that dangerous state of possession. "For your dad's sake maybe? He’s dedicated his whole life to you."

"Dad is a slave of his love to you," Noemi replied harshly, the same incomprehension as ever dripping from her tone as she watched Logan rummage in his pockets for a damn lighter somewhere next, silently, with his jaw grinding and his eyes on the ground, unwilling to let himself be infected by these destructive dark emotions that he'd always been unable to cure his daughter from them. "All you ever did was hurting him and me. You never cared. You only ever thought about yourself."

"Now who’s assuming? You weren’t there." For the first time in this debate, Jean started to sound upset herself instead of just depressed and apologetic, and maybe that, too, was cynically healthy and necessary for a chance at healing. There'd been far too much unsolved tension never accumulating into a cleansing storm in this house in the last 15 years as it was.

Noemi threw her head back with a harsh chuckle, her fists clenching in her pockets, but with a small bit of relief, Logan could also scent that she had to blink more and more tears from her eyes, the iron wall of wrath and refusal starting to crumble. "Oh yeah, that’s right. So sorry I was only a day old when you pissed off from my life. So sorry I never got to know the so-called real you."

"Do you want to?" A surprising, almost scary calmness had spread in Jean's posture, in her gentle voice, one that Logan didn’t think he'd been able to sense in his wife ever since months before Alkali Lake. Noemi's last justified reproaches of all things seemed finally have to have uncovered something in the depths of Jean's shattered and arduously mended soul that she'd almost forgotten about, after having been used physically and mentally for nothing but destruction by an otherworldly immortal entity. When she reached out her hand to her daughter, it was no longer shaking the slightest bit.

Noemi had felt the change too and surprisingly enough didn’t tell Jean to go fuck herself right away once more. Maybe less out of the desire to solve this shitty situation, than out of the same sense of duty she'd early developed without Logan ever having to do much about it, long before she'd become the leader of her own small team. She knew just like him that with all this hostility between them, they'd be fucked in the fight waiting for them soon. If this reluctant knowledge that it was her job, making sure their chances would be as good as possible, was the only reason for her at least considering giving this reconciliation a shot, rather than a real yearning for a relationship with a mother she'd long decided she didn’t need in her life? Well, then Logan would gladly take that over these unbearable smashes of hatred being exchanged here right before his eyes. "How do I know you’ll show me the truth?"

Jean's hand came to rest on Logan's shoulder on her part now, coaxing him to leave his reserve position at last and accompany her when Jean cautiously stepped toward her daughter, keeping the last of respectful distance though. "I’ll keep the link to your father active. You’ll feel it in yours to him if I’m lying."

Noemi's lips tightened, her eyes on that narrow hand hovering in front of her, the disgust even at considering touching it plain to see … But then curiosity won, one of those notions she'd very clearly not inherited from the father's side of her family. "Whatever."

One hand firmly in Logan's, Jean was quick to reach for her daughter's with the other when it finally was raised, as if she was afraid – for good reason – that Noemi would change her mind again if she waited too long.

Part of Logan promptly wished she hadn’t, being thrown without warning right into that ocean of orange and green of their mental connection all the way, a sensation as if he was yanked from his body that never failed to have his stomach turn and make him sway on his feet unnervingly, the experience joined by the still so restless, still so unshaped flickering of the pure crimson red that was Noemi's presence this time … An event that under different circumstances, he might actually have enjoyed experiencing this time, knowing that the three of them were finally, after all this time, as closely joined in their consciousness as could be.

If only Jean hadn't been forced to use that joined link to have them all go through the darkest times of her life, of what little of their lives they'd had lived together.

From very far away, with that hated sensation as if he'd had cotton in his ears, his feral perception no longer only tethered to his physical shape, Logan could hear Noemi gasp in both shock and pain somewhere beside him, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but be angry with his wife himself, close to yell at her via that deep soul connection to stop right away. To tell her that Noemi didn’t deserve to go through this shit. That their daughter wasn’t ready for that completely unreal experience of having to feel in her head what a powerful telepath like Jean was putting in there in terms of the impressions left on Jean's nerve endings at any given point in time … And yet it was already far too late to stop it, now that the journey had begun, and part of Logan was still aware enough, luckily, of just how necessary it was to soldier through it. So he forced himself to keep his eyes open and swallow down the tightness in his throat when he understood, that burning and throbbing in his lower abdomen and in every single vein was what Jean had been waking up to this morning six feet under, as Phoenix had once more brought her body back to life.

A body not half as extensively healed as back then though when his wife had arisen from the floods of Alkali Lake for the first time, the damages she'd succumbed to at her last death still torturing her. It was a mercifully brief flash only, thankfully, Logan's mind darkening when Jean took Noemi and him further with her into her memory, showing them glimpses of those last few years that she'd been resting and healing in the Further, meditating to strengthen her mind against Dark Phoenix' mental tendrils trying to get hold of her again. Dull, daily efforts, hours over hours, without any real idea if it would ever even become necessary to use those shields in a real mortal shape ever again, a routine only occasionally broken by small breaks that Jean was allowing herself to let her gaze wander afar. To the planet and the people, she'd been forced to leave behind once more. To glimpses of a life that stung in her heart like a rusty poker every time and at the same time filled her with the bitter relief that she'd done the right thing, allowing her little family happiness without the dread of an everlasting threat hovering over them. An endless string of moments witnessed, of that deep affection, pride, and limitless trust shaping Logan's and Noemi's unbreakable bond more by the day, of all these steps of their daughter's on her way to becoming that headstrong, powerful, and incredibly empathic young woman she was today.

Like when Noemi had protected fellow members of her first training group in a Danger Room session as early as at five years old, from a painful fall down a simulated skateboard half pipe. How she'd been training her complicated powers every day over until they no longer threatened to burn anything down by accident, not least by lighting Logan's cigars every morning for breakfast with a small snapping of her fingers. Giggles in the sun in some waterpark at a slide race together with her best friend, tearful apologies over using her telekinetic gift without even meaning to, to further her chances in that little competition. Apologies in the shape of an allowance wisely spent on a round of ice cream for the two girls and beers for Scott and Logan. Desperate tears of loneliness in her father's arms after they'd dropped off Saskia and Scott in their apartment across the floor that night, to the welcoming arms of Saskia's mother waiting for them to hear the tales of her little girl from that exciting day. Questions there was never any good answer to every day at bedtime hour, until Noemi had stopped asking them at some point. A daily gaze up to the sky from the Mutant High roof, with tears glistening in Noemi's eyes.

The same that were running down her chubby cheeks when Jean said goodbye to her daughter under similar desperate sobs, putting her in Ororo's arms as the agony of lethal injuries were wrecking her body. A telekinetic field fading away from around Noemi's tiny shape that Jean had had used that day to protect her baby from the very same weapons of those Clean Mankind for God bastards that had ended her latest attempt of living without her demon. Dark Phoenix' mental hold seeping through the shields around Jean's soul like battery acid thanks to that protection being paper thin that morning, because the bigger part of Jean's mental powers, she'd used to protect Noemi's entirely defenseless mind against the very same influence of that fucking cosmic bitch.

This time Logan almost did feel himself topple over, only held by the instinctive telekinetic strength from two sides at once broadening his stance. The taste of bile burning in his mouth was almost unbearable at this point, cottoned sensations or not. So this was why. This was really how he'd lost Jean last time. And he hadn’t even fucking realized. The renewed hurt and disbelief didn’t entirely fade but at least was pushed in the background somewhat, soothed by a warm tenderness in his soul when it was now the images of those few hours before this horrible battle at Ontario Lake before his inner mind's eye. The endless car ride from the hospital home, shaped by the growing anxiety if they'd make it to the protection of their team in time before the enemy would find them. A tension they'd so desperately tried to not let their newborn daughter feel, with Jean holding that tiny pale body to her chest the whole time while Logan and she had been singing for their baby along to the radio so that she would remain asleep and not have to sense the fear for her wrecking her mother's mind.

A shaking, faint squeeze of his hand let him know, Noemi might finally, after all this time, just have understood why Logan had stopped finding any kind of joy in music long ago.

Back at the hospital. Limitless hate filling both Jean's and his soul as they hurried to the jeep as fast as Jean's condition, compromised from the early birth, would let her. The memory unshakable in their heads of why they were getting the fuck out of there, against every advice by doctors and their friends and teammates.

Alright, but really only another moment. She needs her bath. The brilliant smile of some auburn-haired haggard nurse with their child in their arms, trying to leave the room with the little one several times, only held back by Jean's desperate hold on her mind as his wife, long before Logan did, realized, something was terribly off about that woman.

Logan. Take Noemi. Now. Tell that bitch we need a few minutes alone with her. I'll try to make her leave. She's had telepath defense training; I'm hardly getting through to her. Distract her. Hurry. Jean's desperate, fearful pleading in his mind, not a bit less painful as back then, followed by the gruesome vision of that very same psychotic woman fantasizing in her head, even as she had a helpless infant in her arms, about how she would drown that baby in the next best sink the moment she was alone with it and fill the IV bag that Jean was hooked to with lethal medication.

A shriek of terror that might as well have come from Noemi's shocked mind as from one of theirs before Jean quickly took them both away from that moment, another few minutes back this time only, to comfort them over the horror so barely prevented that day. Showing them instead what had maybe the only moment between the three of them when they had been really happy as a family. I love you so much … Both of you … Jean, exhausted but happier than Logan had maybe seen her ever since before Liberty Island even, with her little girl in her arms, firmly snuggled into his arms as both her and his tears fell down on Noemi's beautiful little face. That one other day that he could remember when she had been similarly smiling for him like this, as it had become so rare since she'd become the unwilling vessel for that demon bitch. A kiss in the rain, a ring on her finger. Some images from between these two occasions, from Jean's sinewy body slowly rounding, camouflaging clothing no longer able to hide her condition from the critical eyes of the world. Lying next to each other in bed for hours, to escape that hostile scrutiny out there, her hands next to his caressing her belly. Impatient curses while trying to reassemble some damn cradle ordered online because shopping in person with the woman the world knew as the face of some insane fire demon, was a really shitty idea. Dark Phoenix' menacing glow in the garage of the New York Mutant Department as Jean was reluctantly using her enhanced powers once more to protect both Logan and the innocent being in her belly from aggressive bigots trying to take revenge for the destruction of their city. Limitless hate. Endless fear. Love stronger than both of these powerful sensations combined. The three dominating emotions in that broken beautiful mess that was Jean's soul.

When Noemi pulled back abruptly, tearing the three of them out of this incredibly intense joining, panting hard, the tears were openly on her face this time. It hurt … But at the same time, Logan didn't think he'd ever heard something as beautiful as that choked little sound on her lips that she'd never wanted to pronounce Jean's way her whole life. "Mom …" Her widened gaze went back and forth between Logan and Jean several times, beholding the way, Logan was tiredly burying his head against Jean's shoulder, still trying to process everything he'd just seen and suffered through once more while Jean on her part looked as if a huge weight had finally been lifted off her heart, now that a few things had finally been revealed that she'd not been able to bring herself to back then. And for good reason as Noemi, too, now had finally been made to see. "I … I think I get it now. But I … I can't … Not right away …"

"I would never ask you to." Not letting go of Logan for even a second, Jean reached out to Noemi again, and this time, Noemi took her hand immediately. "All I can hope for is a chance, little Firebug. And that the two of us can find the strength inside to protect this world from Dark Phoenix together, the way I was never able to alone."

Noemi nodded slowly, visibly still far too overwhelmed by all she'd just seen to consider such momentous questions again already. After a long squeeze of Jean's hand, she pulled away, burying both hands in her hair, slowly shaking her head. "This … has been a lot, guys."

"Take your time", Jean nodded, carefully pulling Logan back towards the sofa with her, to show Noemi that she was more than ready to give her daughter all the time she needed. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Again this shaky, uncertain nod, this gaze into emptiness. But for now, Noemi still didn’t make any move to vanish into her room or leave for her best friend's apartment as so often in the past when she'd needed distance from this incomplete, blurred picture in these quarters of a family she'd never had.

After a few moments of cluelessness as of how to show her daughter that she'd support her in this newfound confusion in all the ways Noemi wanted and needed it, Jean softly rested her lips on Logan's, motioning him to wait, and then went over to the elegantly polished black instrument that Katja had had delivered to this apartment not too long ago, as a thank you to Noemi for helping her break free from the possession by Emma's telepathic hold.

Promptly, Logan was left once more with his mouth hanging open, his damn cigar still dangling from his fingertips, forgotten, as another secret between his wife and him was revealed, albeit this one that didn’t hurt as much as what she'd let him in on earlier. Jean had never mentioned even once she could play the damn piano.

It had probably been some time, judging by her slightly clumsy movements and the occasional mistake … But the sound of that one melancholic jazz piece that Noemi had played for Logan back then before everything had gone to shit in New York once more, was still unmistakable. Yes, his wife had very obviously been watching them closely.

Once Noemi was done blinking her new surge of tears away, without a lot of success, she strode over to her mother on unsteady knees and bent over the stool without hesitation, resting her lip's on Jean's forehead for a long moment. When she pulled away, a faintly glowing spot remained on her mother's skin, just for a split second, before disappearing.

Jean gasped, entirely forgetting about finishing her little performance, her fingertips wandering to her head. "Noemi …"

"She will never get you again, Mom," Noemi said calmly, firmly, without the smallest doubt in her voice. "She will never destroy our lives ever again. I promised Dad that, and I hold to that."

For a long moment, she paused, looking back between Jean and Logan once more, taking a deep breath as she forced her heart, too, to at least start accepting the same thing of which she'd just coaxed her powerful gifts to help make sure, it wouldn’t just vanish from their lives right again. Not now, when they'd all finally managed to feel it for the first time. "So that one day, we might finally be able to live what the two of you started back then. Maybe. I can't promise anything yet, Mom."

"Your father and me, we've always rather been friends of keeping promises, anyway," Jean answered, still completely taken aback, wiping her eyes a couple of times before finally giving it up, just staring up shyly at her so very composed, powerful and big-hearted daughter. Her hands shyly folded in her lap, she was holding on to Logan's like a lifeline when he finally overcame his own surprise enough to come to stand behind her. "I know that can't mean a lot to you, Noemi but … I'm so unbelievably proud of you."

"I think I can live with that quite well." Noemi finally brought herself to smile, somehow, and it seemed genuine. The way she briefly reached out again to squeeze Jean's shoulder and flick Logan's cigar alight finally with an almost casual movement, said more than any dramatic embrace anyway. "I … think I need to be alone for a while now. And we should all be getting some rest before tomorrow."

"Your daughter is more reasonable than the two of us combined, James," Jean realized with a wry little grin.

"His and your daughter," Noemi corrected her dryly, rolling her eyes a little. "At least about that, there's never been any doubt. Oh, and speaking of it: Just so we're clear, same rules for you as for Ororo. Every time I can hear you two have sex, my allowance rate rises by five percent."

Logan finally gathered his wits back enough to show his daughter a very good-natured middle claw before Noemi left them alone with a mischievous little giggle.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

[justabigoldnerd]

A Guide to Works by JustABigOldNerd

I saw @hypnostheory do this and I have 38 (holy shit!) works in the TMFU Fandom on Ao3, so I wanted to as well!

"I wanna read somethings soft and sweet" Okay! I don't have a lot, but:

Kintsukuroi - Set in the Winged Spies universe, Solo catches up with an old friend

I'm Going to the Stars Tonight - Playful (and drunk) winged spies

In Summer We Can Taste The Rain - Solo catches a winged Illya preening in the rain

Ravens Love The Snow - A winged Solo can't resist the call of the snow

A Christmas Peril - A Christmas fic!

Surrender Yourself - a funny little pre-slash ficlet based on a writing prompt found here

I Want To Fade Away With You - Modern-ish AU company paintball tournament goes (hilariously) wrong

In The Moonlight, We Let It Go - Poolside confessions

"I'd like some light angst, nothing too serious, please" Gotcha covered:

One More or One Less (Nobody's Worried) - Winged Spies canon rewrite

The Toil of Expectations - Medieval AU with a happy ending and a couple of explicit smut scenes

"Q" Is For Kid - the trio accidentally acquire a child on their mission to stop a Nazi faction from developing a nerve gas

To Grow Old In Simplicity - this is mostly happy, the angst comes from the fear of outliving your partners and the struggles that come with being an aging (former) spy

The Moment I Knew I'd No Choice But To Love You - the agnst in this one is more memory related

Is That The Kinda Way To Face The Burning Heat? - porn with a little bit of angsty backstory

Nothin' But The Water And The Sunrise Now - light angsty backstory with some fun NOS-induced moments and a happy ending

All Eyes On Me (Your Eyes On Me) - this one's a bit heavier, but the angst is just internalized homophobia and Illya not wanting to be a honeypot but needing to. Has masturbation and explicit smut

I Am Scared Of Nothing - religious trauma

A Rather Frightening Thing - religious trauma

As Sharp And Serious As A Pistol In The Eye - canon rewrite (explicit smut)

It Takes Three To Tango - post-canon

"Alright, now I want the heavy stuff. Gimme the angst!" Coming right up, my friend!!

Emotional Angst:

You Had To Be A Big Shot, Didn't You (You Had To Open Up Your Mouth) - Winged Solo backstory

My Wings Have Been So Denied - Winged Illya as a child

She'll Tell You She's an Orphan After You Meet Her Family - Winged Gaby grieving (explicit smut)

You Take Me In Your Arms When Walls Are Closing In - Body Horror in (false)memory

Pretty Piece of Flesh - sexual trauma (explicit sexual content)

The Awful Things We Do To Make The Head Go Quiet - near suicide attempt

Lost On You - internalized homophobia and period typical homophobia

Physical Harm:

Quietly, It Slips Through Your Fingers, Love (Falling From You Drop By Drop) - Alternative ending where Illya shoots Solo (he lives)

Let Me Be Your Own Icarian Carrion - Winged Spies, Illya goes down in the water

One Deep Breath Out From The Sky - Missing scene fic after the motorcycle crash

Whumptober 2023 - "The Man From Uncle (2015)" - I mean. This is Whumptober. So.

Will You Remember All The Danger We Came From? - Vampire Illya prequel. Body Horror.

All My Love And Terror Balanced There - Illya wakes up as a Vampire. (Explicit smut)

I'd Block The Sun (If You Want It Done) - the trio's plane goes down in the middle of the ocean and they have to survive on a deserted island

Grounded And Giving And Darkening Scorn - Illya's past comes back to haunt him

The Injury of Finally Knowing You - 5+1 Times fic

Major Character Death (temporary):

The End Is All I Can See (And It Scares The Hell Out Of Me) - time loop

"I want that one restaurant critic AU that will be updates eventually but hasn't for a while!" Uh, oddly specific, and thank you for wanting to read this unfinished fic, and I WILL finish it eventually, but, uh, here ya go!:

Michelin Star Spy - Illya is a food critic swept up in spydom.

[wishlikes]

holy shit. looks at you with my massive autistic eyes. what’s bad future time traveler ritsu PLEASE share with the class. and if you don’t want to share with the class that is ok but also please if you are so inclined then at least share with the me

Well. You see.

It all started when I was running low on time to finish Whumptober prompts and... well, I had just come from the rottmnt fandom. I had 'character time travels from a bad future' on the mind. So I drew this and thought 'surely no more will come of this'.

And yet the concept stayed in my mind. I drew this sketch page several months later. Someone's tag on it inspired me to actually write the story, as explained here (along with more info, though I'm going to change some things from what's written here).

There's also these two drawings that take place in the bad future, although I didn't draw Ritsu old enough in the second one, because I hadn't figured out the timeline yet when I drew it. (warnings for blood and injury on both of them)

I've figured out the timeline of the bad future now, though. And I am cursed with the knowledge that the very little I'd already written needs to be rewritten to suit it. This writing/rewriting will not be happening until I am done with my current wip (which is almost done... but might need a sequel because i am cursed).

So I myself know very little about what's going to happen in the bad future time travel fic that i had better fucking write because I desperately need to know what happens.

Some Key Events of the Bad Future:

Sep 2015 - [Redacted] is murdered

Nov 2018 - First anti-esper laws drop

Jan 2020 - Shou 'goes missing', his father is 'convinced' to identify several espers- including the one he couldn't beat

Feb 2020 - Shou escapes custody in an incident his father doesn't survive, Shou is labeled a terrorist, Mob is arrested, Shou and Ritsu go into hiding together

Dec 2021 - Shou is killed (among others), Ritsu fakes his own death

Jun 2023 - [Redacted] informs Mob of Ritsu's 'death'. As you can imagine, this is a bit like setting off a bomb. A bomb that can self-heal and keep exploding until the rage burns out, until only despair remains, until there is no longer even the barest sub-conscious thread left of self-preservation. And so the wounds stop healing, and power dies down, and only then can Ritsu come close enough to help, to show that he's still alive. But it's too late, too late. This place, this time is not safe for Ritsu; they would kill him. And Shigeo has not seen him in over three years and he looks so awful now, and Shigeo cannot protect him. He has to send him away, away to somewhere safe. And then Ritsu is gone, safe. And there is nothing left for him here.

Jun 2011 - Future!Ritsu arrives

So. Ah. I got a bit carried away there. I wouldn't normally include that much, but Future Ritsu is such an emotionally devastated wreck of a man that I can't bear to write from his pov, so i don't know how much of all that ^ is gonna make it into the fic anyway.

What I do know is that Ritsu thinks he's been sent to the past specifically to Fix Everything. And that's the only thing keeping him from just lying down and not getting up again. The knowledge that his brother only wanted to save him would probably make him worse actually.