#pre-whumptober

[manwathiel-elensar]

For @tobias-hankel 2024 Pre-Whumptober Challenge

Prompt:

Main Whump-ed Character: Spencer Reid

Bad Thing: Childhood Sexual Abuse

Bad Person: Parent/Family Member

One Line Prompt: "I don't have to have a reason... just... don't touch me in my sleep again."

Summary: Unspoken feelings have been bubbling between Morgan and Reid for some time. When they finally get it together, it feels like everything they ever wanted. But deeply hidden and painful secrets threaten to tear them apart before they've even started.

Tw: Childhood sexual abuse, PTSD, flashbacks, sexual content

[fidothefinch]

the water is fine

cw: natural disasters, scarcity of necessities that follows read below the cut (or on Ao3)

There were bodies floating downstream.

The announcement barely caused a ripple through the convenience store. Everybody was too tired, too numb. They clutched their allotted case of water bottles like they were afraid someone would take it away.

“Next,” the cashier called.

The line of refugees, which reached out the door, shuffled forward.

Jason tugged Damian closer to him, squishing the kid’s backpack between them. He looked to be on the verge of collapsing, not that he would ever say anything. Tim stood beside them both, carrying their case of water. He stared blankly ahead.

“That’s terrible,” the woman behind them moaned. She wore a backpack on her front and one on her back, and dragged a duffle bag along through the mud. She had said, earlier in the line, that she was avoiding looters. “Where do you think they’re coming from?”

Her companion was older, and her hair was pulled back into a greasy braid. The hem of her jeans were stained the same color as the floor. “Probably the Narrows.”

The first woman gasped. “You think they got hit hard?”

Someone else chimed in, then. “I could see it from my roof. The Narrows is gone.” He swept a hand through the air, miming the flood waters that had risen so quickly. “Woosh,” he said, deadpan.

The first woman’s voice cracked. “I have family in the Narrows.”

The man shifted his hold on his water. “I’m sorry.”

It was how most conversations ended. Rumors spread wildly – they were turning away search and rescue volunteers because there were too many bodies; accounts of houses floating down the river and the people who cried for help from inside; the old carpet factory by the docks that didn’t even tell its employees to evacuate. Every bridge and tunnel into Gotham had been washed away, and every road in the city was impassable. There was no radio, no cell service, no internet. No way to contact the outside world or the others stuck in the city.

No way to verify what was real. No way to find out who was still alive.

“Next,” the cashier called. His voice was dry.

The line shuffled forward.

“I want to look,” Damian whispered. “I’m going to find everyone.”

Jason and Tim’s eyes met, both bloodshot and cradled by dark circles.

“It’s not safe, squirt,” Jason said. “The floodwaters are still up.”

“I can swim,” Damian huffed, without heat. They had had this argument before. Damian had yet to win it.

“This isn’t the kind of water you can swim out of,” Jason had shouted. “The boat will flip, and you’ll be swept downstream like everyone else.”

“I can’t just sit here and watch people drown,” Dick growled. “I’m going to help, or die trying.”

It was the last they had heard from him.

“Next,” the cashier called, and it was their turn.

Tim dropped the case of water bottles onto the counter. Jason fished cash out of his pocket. No cards – that would require power.

“This, too,” Damian said, throwing a tube of triple antibiotic on the counter.

“We don’t need that,” Jason said.

Damian clicked his tongue. “Drake is hiding an injury.”

“No he’s—” but Jason stopped at the very brief, very subtle dirty look Tim shot to the youngest in their group. Not brief enough. “Tim,” Jason bit out, tone sharp.

Tim dropped a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change,” he murmured to the cashier, already grabbing the case of water to go.

Jason watched, but he couldn’t find evidence of any injury. He followed Tim’s quick progress out the front doors, past the line of wide-eyed, lost-looking refugees. The ground outside was rough terrain, the road washed away in places and buried in a thick layer of mud in others. Bricks and wood were scattered throughout the mess, like chunks of the city had been put through a blender and spilled onto the streets. Broken glass twinkled under the hot sun in an ironic twist since the storm. Murky, fetid water still flowed in a steady stream from somewhere further up what used to be the block.

They were lucky. They had made their way to the high ground. Walk a block in any direction, and the city was submerged under feet of rushing floodwater.

Jason grabbed Tim by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. “Where are you hurt?” he growled. “And why didn’t you say anything?”

Damian caught up a moment later, bringing the ointment with him. “There was blood on his hands this morning,” he said, accusingly. “I do not know where it came from.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tim hissed. “Damian, that medicine could have gone to someone who really needed it.”

“Nuh-uh; nice try.” Jason stepped between them. “You’re too tired to deflect.”

“It’s true,” Tim ground out. “That antibiotic isn’t going to do me any good.”

Something in his tone gave Jason pause. “What do you mean by that?”

Tim’s jaw twitched. “I. . . .” he trailed off, eyes downcast. “C’mere, Damian. Get some water.” It was the first clean water they had found since their old supply ran out the day before.

Damian accepted the proffered bottle, but didn’t open it. “Drake?”

Tim ran a dirty hand down his face. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

His tone scared Jason. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my leg.” Tim brushed some debris aside with his foot and sat heavily. “It’s just a small cut.” He rolled the hem of his pants back, revealing dirty shins and bruised knees. Jason dropped down to inspect further. There was a slice across his calf, maybe an inch long, and not too deep.

“When did this happen?” Jason asked, brushing some dirt away from the sluggishly-bleeding wound. Damian had said he saw blood this morning, but that was hours ago, and surely it wouldn’t still be bleeding now?

Tim closed his eyes. “When we crossed into Old Gotham. Yesterday.”

When the realization hit him, Jason sucked in a breath at the impact. Crossing into Old Gotham consisted of traversing waist-deep still water, with the aid of a rope someone had installed to keep balance on uneven ground. The water had been brown-orange with dirt and had an iridescent sheen from the oil it had picked up on the way, and it had smelled like the subway.

Damian, thinking along the same lines, opened his bottle passed it to Jason, who rinsed the silt from around Tim’s injury. It revealed puffy, pink skin.

One tendril of dark pink reached two inches up Tim’s leg.

“The water was contaminated,” Tim whispered. “Infection was imminent.”

It was the word the emergency warnings had used. Flash flood warning – seek higher ground immediately. Dam failure imminent.

Jason tilted the bottle, and Tim gripped it before any more water could spill out. “Save it,” he snapped. “Don’t waste it on this.”

“It’s not waste, you cretin,” Damian interjected. “We must clean the wound.”

“The infection has already spread to my blood,” Tim stated cooly, like it wasn’t his death sentence. “I don’t have a spleen, and all of my antibiotics have washed into the Atlantic.”

Damian still had the tube of triple-antibiotic ointment. He squeezed it hard enough the tube warped into a mold of his fist. “We will get you more medicine.”

“Where?”

“We will find a place that is open.”

“Pharmacies are gone. We don’t have cash to pay for it. There’s no way off this island, and as far as we know, there’s no help on the way.” Tim’s voice got louder as he spoke, his posture stiffer.

Jason recognized the fear, underneath the anger. He placed a hand on each of Tim’s shoulders. “Look at me, Tim.” He waited until Tim peeled his gaze off the muddy ground to continue. “We are not going to let you die here.”

Tim’s mouth pulled into a tight, flat line. “You aren’t letting me do anything. It just is what it is.”

“It is what I say it is,” Jason countered, forcefully enough even he almost believed it. “And I say you’re going to get through this. We’re going to find everyone else, we’re going to clean up the city, and Bruce is going to have new gray hairs to name after you for years to come.”

One corner of Tim’s mouth cracked upward, briefly, at the last comment, but fell away again almost immediately. “Okay.”

He didn’t sound like he believed it.

That was fine. Jason had enough belief for the both of them. “Get up, loser.” He hefted Tim up off his feet, and hefted a squawking Damian onto his own back.

“We’re going shopping.”

[flyingwargle]

whumptober day 1: panic attack

tw: panic attacks

iwaizumi knew today is going to be a bad one from the moment he woke up.

every step is akin to torture, leaden limbs refusing to cooperate with even the slightest movement. his gaunt expression stares back at him in the mirror, faintly encouraging him to take a day off. this wouldn't be the first time, nor the last, but the team has a practice match after school. their ace can't afford a mental health day, not when victory is on the line.

"morning, iwa-chan!" oikawa meets him on the corner of their block, a routine they've had since they were old enough to walk to school together. his best friend's chipper expression falls at iwaizumi's slumped shoulders and downturned eyes. "you look awful, even worse than usual. bad day?"

he nods. oikawa's smile is small, stretching his arm toward him. iwaizumi takes his hand, reassured by its strength, and lets him guide him to school.

morning practice is on the lighter side, which iwaizumi is grateful for. it's easy to turn his brain off for drills, guided by muscle memory and instinct. oikawa isn't as loud as usual, which is his teammates' cue that their ace is at the mercy of his anxiety, curbing their exuberance for his benefit.

at the end of practice, they change into their uniforms and head for the school building. oikawa hands iwaizumi a protein bar, leaves him with a gentle pat on the shoulder when they separate to their respective classrooms.

the buzz in his mind worsens as the day passes. iwaizumi doesn't retain anything from his lectures, barely takes any notes. at lunch, he stares at his bento while oikawa, hanamaki, and matsukawa chatter, ultimately reaching for the lid to put it away, untouched. that causes all conversation to cease, earning him an incredulous look from oikawa. "what?"

"you have to eat, iwa-chan," he says, stopping his hand. "we had morning practice, and a game after school. you need the energy."

"i'm not-"

"did you take your meds?" hanamaki asks.

he shakes his head. “they make me drowsy. i can’t fall asleep now.”

"i think that's better than this," matsukawa comments, gesturing with his chopsticks. "you aren't in any condition to play, anyway."

"i'll be fine," iwaizumi insists. "hanamaki is still out with his rolled ankle, and kunimi is absent. what kind of message are we sending, if all our regular spikers aren’t on the court?”

“it’s just a practice match,” oikawa points out. “it isn’t the end of the world, iwa-chan.” and yet, he can’t help but feel like it is, a tremor shaking his body at the idea of sitting out because of his anxiety. he isn’t that fragile. he can push passed this.

or so he thinks.

the end of the school day comes, and iwaizumi is back in the gym. jouzenji will arrive in an hour; in the meantime, he hardens his expression, directs his underclassmen and speaks with oikawa to finalize their line-up. “iwa-chan, you-“ he turns away, ignoring the rest of oikawa’s words to help their managers with the practice bibs.

jouzenji arrives, and after a quick warm-up, the match begins. iwaizumi starts in the back row, ready to receive. his heartbeat echoes in his ears, nearly drowning the whistle. the serve goes up, the ball flying across the net straight toward him.

shit, the ball is flying straight toward him. panic rises in his chest, raising his arms to receive, but it’s at an awkward angle, and it bounces out of bounds. the first point comes to jouzenji.

his heart lurches at the astonished looks around him. matsukawa claps his hands. “don’t mind,” he calls out. watari echoes him. the others turn away. iwaizumi gives a quick apology, avoiding oikawa’s eye.

watari picks up the second serve, and oikawa sets the rhythm. they go back and forth, and iwaizumi is rotated to the front. matsukawa serves, their opponents picking it up. matsukawa receives their spike, and iwaizumi makes his approach. he jumps, raises his arm. his fingers barely brush the ball.

it falls back on their side. iwaizumi looks at oikawa, hands still over his head. “iwa-chan-“ he tries to say.

“sorry. i’ll score the next one.” his limbs are still so heavy. same with his chest.

after a few rallies, he’s jumping for the spike again. a triple block rises over him, the ball floating in front of him. he musters his strength and spikes, a satisfying smash that echoes in his ears. except, the ball rebounds off the block and back onto the court. a point for jouzenji.

a chorus of don’t mind! arises. iwaizumi braces himself on his knees, breathless. he hears his opponents murmur behind him. are you sure that’s seijoh’s ace? was he always this pathetic? there are snickers and declarations of victory. his team is three points behind, jouzenji the first to reach 20. he hasn’t scored a single point, squandering every chance, being absolutely useless–

“iwaizumi.”

coach. he beckons him with his finger, and iwaizumi stumbles toward him. “i don’t want you to play in this condition. take a break.”

“i’m fine, i just–“

“it isn’t a suggestion, but an order. sit out.”

iwaizumi freezes. his replacement takes his place on the court. instead of sitting with hanamaki on the bench, he drags his feet to the locker room, shoving the door open, and sinking onto the nearest bench.

the anxiety that’s been building since the moment he woke up finally claims him.

his breaths are short. the air is sweltering. his chest hurts with every gasp, tears at the corners of his eyes. he squeezes them shut, tries to count his breaths like his therapist taught him, but his thoughts run rampant, a deafening symphony that makes him feel smaller and smaller.

you’re useless. you just left your team behind without scoring a single point. what kind of ace are you? useless, failure, don’t deserve to play, weak, weak, weak–

“hajime.” a voice cuts through the darkness, a bridge of light through the spiral. “hajime, listen to me, okay? let’s get your breathing under control, hm?”

iwaizumi gasps like a fish out of water. the voice is unperturbed, counts his breaths with a measured tone. a hand rests on his back, rubbing counterclockwise circles. “you’re doing well,” the voice soothes. a handkerchief touches his cheeks to dry his tears. “you’re safe with me, iwa-chan. you’re doing so well.”

that makes him open his eyes. he’s still in the locker room, oikawa seated beside him, still in his practice uniform, #1 bib over his shirt. iwaizumi tries to speak, his words caught in his throat. oikawa places a finger on his lips, shaking his head. “don’t talk, just breathe. it’s just us. take your time.”

the last of his panic recedes, leaving him boneless, as always. iwaizumi leans against oikawa, fresh wave of tears springing in his eyes. “why’re you here?” he rasps.

“do you really think i’d keep playing, knowing my best friend is having a panic attack? yahaba-chan is a good setter, you know. mattsun can take care of the team; we’re heading home.”

“what? but-“

“no buts. we’re going home and you’re going to take your meds. i asked makki to text auntie what happened, so she’ll make your comfort food, and i’ll feed you. then, you’re going to sleep. i’d say take a bath too, but that can wait.” oikawa turns to him, expression solemn. “it was dumb of you to play like this, iwa-chan. just because you aren’t physically hurt doesn’t mean you can pretend you’re fine.”

iwaizumi deflates. he used to give oikawa so much shit about overworking, but when it came to his own mental health, he always pushed through, even if it left him exhausted or worse, panicked. “sorry,” he mumbles.

oikawa shakes his head. “there’re more matches, you know. it’s okay to sit out when you have to. ready to go?” he stands first, supporting iwaizumi every step through changing and then out of the locker room. they leave with the match to their backs, the sounds of the court reminding iwaizumi of what’s to come, but only if he cares for himself better.

he’ll learn. he has to.

[moonlight0934]

It's For Your Own Good

Bellamy walks into his mother’s office, and he immediately freezes. Octavia is laying on the bed, not moving. He doesn’t even remember the last time that she didn’t run to hug him, or jump onto him when he came back home from school. 

“Is she ok?” Bellamy whispers, sounding frantic. 

“Not really. She was playing with scissors earlier, and she cut herself. I gave her some stitches, but I’m afraid it’s going to get infected if she doesn’t have it treated properly. I don’t know how to treat it any better than I already have,” Aurora says, grabbing Bellamy’s arm tightly. 

“It’s ok, Mom. It’ll be fine. We’ll try to keep it really clean, and if anything happens, I’ll figure something out.” 

She lets out a heavy breath, her grip loosening just a bit. 

“I promise it’ll be ok.” 

Aurora nods, taking a few more deep breaths. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be freaking out so much. It’ll be fine.” 

Bellamy nods, then walks over to Octavia. He puts a hand on her arm. 

“Hey, O. How’re you feeling?” he asks, keeping his voice low. 

“I’m fine. My hand just hurts.” 

“Can I see?” 

Octavia nods, and holds out her hand. It’s wrapped in cloth, which Bellamy quickly unravels. He grabs the first aid kit out from under the bed, wincing at the jagged stitches. 

That’s definitely going to scar. 

He braces her, then cleans the wound before wrapping it tightly in fresh white bandages. 

“Am I going to be ok?” 

“Of course you are, darling. You know that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I love you too much for that.” 

He kisses her on the top of the head before pulling her up. He climbs behind her, and lets her rest against him. She falls asleep quickly after that. He stays right where he is for the rest of the night, his cheek pressed against Octavia’s hair. However, no matter how hard he tries to keep the wound clean while he’s there, Octavia starts to develop the symptoms of an infection within three days. 

“What are we going to do?” Aurora asks, sounding near tears. 

Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Where are the scissors that she cut herself on?” 

“They’re in the top right hand drawer. The really large ones. Why are you asking though?”

“She’s asleep, right?” Bellamy asks, walking over to the desk. 

“Yeah.” 

“That was me asking you to make sure.” 

Aurora walks over, and checks on Octavia, who is still sleeping fitfully. 

“Yeah, she’s still asleep.” 

“Ok.” 

Bellamy pulls the scissors out of the drawer, then presses the tip gently against his own hand. He takes a steadying breath before pushing down, and dragging the scissors across his palm, and down in arm in almost the exact same spot as Octavia’s. Aurora watches, looking slightly horrified. Bellamy walks over to the open first aid kit. He roughly stitches his own arm, biting down on his lip hard enough for blood to well up there too. Neither of them say anything for a while, then Bellamy cleans the blood off of everything. 

“Ok, well, at least we didn’t wake up O.” 

“Bellamy,” Aurora whispers. 

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go down to medical, and get some antibiotics for Octavia tonight. It’ll be fine.” 

Bellamy stays exactly where he’s sitting, his good hand in Octavia’s hair until nine that night. The later it is, the less people are going to be in medical, and the more likely it is that no one is going to ask any questions. As long as the antibiotics work, then he shouldn’t have to go back, and worry about someone questioning how he got cut. It’s actually a pretty simple process. The man who examines his hand is young too. 

“Just come straight here next time. These stitches aren’t great, but none of the ones that you do on yourself probably will be. It’ll be better for you to just come straight here, and let a professional deal with that.” 

Bellamy nods, and just agrees with everything he says. It’s late by the time he gets back to his mom’s office. He offers her the bottle, then drops into a chair. He falls asleep quickly, exhausted from his long day. Once properly medicated, Octavia does get better. She’s back to bouncing around within a week. 

However, Bellamy is starting to feel sick by then, and his arm is taking a lot longer to heal than it should. Aurora has started giving Bellamy worried looks, but Octavia hasn’t even noticed yet. It’s eight days after he cut himself that Bellamy’s walking to class. He’s feeling a little lightheaded, but pushes past it in hopes that it’s nothing. It’s not nothing because he barely makes it into class before he passes out. 

Abby walks into their apartment, her shoulders low, and tears streaking her face. Jake is next to her in a second. Luckily, it’s just the two of them in the apartment since Clarke is off with Wells. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Jake asks softly. 

“It’s one of my patients.” 

“Oh, did someone die?” 

“No, but he’s fighting an infection and pneumonia.” 

She falls quiet aside from her sobs. Jake continues to rub her back as he pulls her to the couch. 

“Do they not think he’s going to make it?” Jake asks, honestly confused on why she’s so upset. He’s never seen her respond this emotionally regarding a patient. Normally she can detach herself at least to some extent. 

“I’m not sure. It’s not looking good right now. We just had to put in a chest tube to keep the fluid off of his lungs. It’s just that… he’s only fourteen. He’s only a few years older than Clarke, and-” She sobs for another minute before continuing. “The wound placement, I’m pretty sure he did it to himself. He cut himself, got an infection, and is dying in a hospital bed alone. His mother only came to see him once, and it was at night.” 

Self harm, and in someone so young. 

Jake feels tears spring into his own eyes. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know. I feel like I can’t leave him. What if he dies alone? No one deserves to die alone, and I know life isn’t fair, but he’s a child. He’s so young, and he should have to be scared and alone. Especially if he felt desperate enough to try to take his own life. I just don’t know what to do. Even if he does get better, I’m going to have to fight to get him seen by a psych team since it’s not a normal self harm wound. I’m sure that he did it to himself though. I’m completely certain of that much.” 

She sniffles, desperately wrapping her arms around Jake like he can magically make her feel better. 

“Well, how about we leave Clarke with Jaha and Wells tonight, and we can stay with him together? Or I can stay down there with him if you need some time for yourself. That way he won’t be alone, but the burden doesn’t fall solely on your shoulders.” 

“I want to go with you. It’s not a burden, he’s not a burden.” 

Jake hugs her closer, his heart hurting for his wife, and the child that he doesn’t know and hasn’t met. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Bellamy Blake. His mother is Aurora Blake. She’s always been known to be a recluse. I asked parents with kids his age, and she’s never been to any of the school events, or taken him to any of his extra stuff. Apparently he’s going to join the guard when he’s older.” 

The “if” he gets there stays hanging in the air untouched. They stay there in silence for a few minutes before Jake gets up. He covers Abby with a blanket before wiping his eyes. He walks to the Jaha residence. He lets himself in with his key, and peeks into the kitchen. Jaha is sitting in there while the kids are in the living room. 

“Hey.” 

Jaha looks up. 

“Jake, come in. What’s going on? I thought you weren’t picking Clarke up for another half hour.” 

“Actually, can she stay with you two tonight? Abby has a young patient that might not make it, and he’s been alone. She wants to stay with him tonight.” 

“Of course. What’s going on with that?” 

“I’m not entirely sure. Apparently his mom is always absent. It’s not something that you need to worry about though. We’ve got it covered on that front. I really appreciate you letting Clarke stay here tonight. I’m going to tell her now.” 

Jaha nods. 

“Of course, anytime.” 

Jake walks over to Wells and Clarke, who are discussing their homework. 

“Hey, pumpkin.” 

“Dad, you’re early.” 

“Actually, I came to tell you that something came up for your mom and me. You’re going to be spending the night here.” 

“Are you both ok?” 

Jake nods. 

“Yeah, we’re both fine. I have a pair of your school clothes here for you to change into in the morning. You were dressed casually enough that I didn’t think you’d need anything else.” 

“I’m good, thanks. Goodnight, Dad. I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

“Can you tell Mom the same thing?” 

Jake nods, then kisses Clarke on the top of the head. He walks back over to Jaha at that point, thanks him one more time, then heads back to his own apartment. It’s less than thirty minutes later when they walk into the infirmary together. Jake lays eyes on Bellamy, and his chest constricts. He’s underweight, his face sunken, a chest tube through his side. He looks near dead especially with his complexion being as pale and waxy as it is. 

He’s so small. Could that have happened in just a few days? 

Abby sits down beside Bellamy’s bed. She takes his small hand in hers, stroking the back of his hand. His other hand is heavily bandaged, the white bandages dwarfing his delicate fingers. Jake sits beside Abby, just watching the boy’s face. He stirs a few times, but ultimately stays quiet. That night is one of the longest of Jake’s life. Abby eventually falls asleep, tears in her eyes, still holding Bellamy’s hand. 

Jake doesn’t sleep a wink. His eyes keep shifting between his wonderful, empathic wife, and the child in front of him. Everything about this situation makes him want to scream, especially as a parent. He can’t imagine something happening to Clarke, and not being there for her. They go back to their apartment in the morning, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

It takes a couple more days, but Bellamy does start to improve. Jake and Abby are both there when he wakes up. Jake catches his gaze almost immediately. He has dark brown eyes that are clouded over with confusion. Abby doesn’t notice immediately, but Jake takes a step towards him, resting a hand lightly on Bellamy’s leg underneath the blankets. 

“Where-” Bellamy rasps, looking around. 

“You’re in the infirmary.” 

“Who are you?” 

Abby turns around. 

“Jake, can you step out? I’m going to do a quick examination. Can you go get-” she trails off, looking him dead in the eyes. 

Jake nods, and walks out. He goes to inform the psych team that agreed to meet with Bellamy that he woke up. They say they’ll be down there in a few hours at the very least, so Jake heads back to wait outside. He doesn’t end up having to wait long since Abby was almost done when he got there. A nurse motions him back in. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Bellamy says, his eyes wide and scared. 

“Look, Bellamy, it’s ok. You can tell me what happened. Did someone else cut your arm, or did you?” Abby asks, still standing close to Bellamy.

“It was an accident. I did, but I just slipped while cutting something. I was using way more force than I should have been.” 

“How did you develop an infection then?” 

“I was being stupid. I wasn’t taking care of it like I was supposed to.” 

“Look, there are too many inconsistencies in your story. We’re going to have to put you on psych watch.” 

“I didn’t mean to though.” 

“It’s for your own good. If you didn’t do anything on purpose, then the professionals will clear you. You can go back to life and recovery like normal.” 

Bellamy looks anxious and unsure. Jake walks over. 

“Hi, Bellamy, I’m Jake. It’s ok, you don’t have to be scared. Even if you are hiding something, we can help you. You’re going to be ok.” 

Bellamy shakes his head. 

“I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” 

“I know, I’m just trying to tell you that we can help if something is going on.” 

“There’s nothing for you to help with. What are you not getting? It can’t be that hard to understand. It wasn’t on purpose, and no one hurt me. It was just a stupid accident. I was being careless, and now I’m having to pay for it here.” 

Jake nods, taking a step back. Bellamy does end up getting checked out by the psych team. They all got the impression that he was hiding something, but nothing detrimental to his health, so they let it go. Jake doesn’t see him again after that, and if Abby does, she never mentions it. Eventually they have to learn how to let go of the situation, and just hope that he’s alright.

[meyerlansky]

chapters: 1/1 fandom: Masters of the Air (TV 2024) rating: Not Rated warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply relationships: Curtis Biddick/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Curtis Biddick & Richard "Dickie" Snyder, Curtis Biddick/Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan characters: Curtis Biddick, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan additional Tags: Whumptober, Whumptober 2024, Not Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Blood, Survivor Guilt, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, again: light on the comfort but it's there, Episode: s01e03 Part Three (Masters of the Air) series: Part 3 of whunktober 2024, Part 2 of three bluebirds summary:

Curt shakes his head. Feels the soaked shearling peel off his skin with the movement—a nasty, wet noise straight in his ear, and he has to swallow hard not to be sick at the sound.

[masterwords]

even a fool

Summary: The Bureau fired Derek after the whole Doyle and Emily fiasco. Now he has to figure out what the hell he's going to do with his life.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan (break up -> make up)

Words: 6.1k

Notes: The first of many prompts written for @tobias-hankel and their amazing Pre-Whumptober Challenge. The prompt for this one was job loss/fired + derek morgan, and admittedly I took it a little further than that but also it's not SUPER whumpy it's just pure angst and feels with a happy ending. I'll try to whump harder next time. This is a lot of angst with a soft ending.

........................................................................................................................

“Fired? You’re canning me?” Derek asked, staring Strauss down like she’d suddenly grown a second head. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. In all his life, he could have imagined plenty of ways his life would go, plenty of shitstorms he would have to weather but never once did he imagine he would be fired. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry Agent Morgan. I did what I could, but the committee demanded that someone be held accountable. People died as a result of a rogue mission for revenge. They felt that Agent Hotchner’s service overseas was sufficient to save his job, so it came down to you and Ms. Garcia.”

“And they decided…”

“You were the one that made the call, Derek. This was your team in Aaron’s absence. A team leader has to take responsibility when things go wrong, and things did go very very wrong. Ms. Garcia was acting on your orders.”

“I didn’t give anyone orders. I did it on my own and I told her she never had to be part of it. I’ll take the blame, but you gotta know I never made anyone do anything.”

“You have to understand…”

“I got it. I gave my life to this place and for what, huh? I get to be a scapegoat so those useless fucks can look like they actually did something.”

The look on Strauss’ face was priceless. Part amused by his candor, and part ashamed that she’d ever bought into the system so hard. Watching the way this process played out had her reconsidering a lot of things in her life, and siren song of that bottle calling her name from the top drawer of her desk had never been quite so loud. Firing a man who didn’t deserve to be fired had to be a new low, even for some of the low, terrible shit she’d done in her life.

And the only thing she could offer him was useless platitudes.

“If you need a personal recommendation...if I can be of any help at all…”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot. Who else knows?”

“You’re the only one.”

“You didn’t even tell Hotch?” He could scarcely believe that she hadn’t told him before she fired a member of his team, before she fired his right hand man.

She just scoffed and rolled her eyes dramatically, as if he should already know the answer to that question. That’s a pile of steaming shit she won’t be stepping in any time soon, at least not sober. He appreciated that about her at least, she wasn’t about to stand on formality at a time like this. “No. That’s your job.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[pencilofawesomeness]

Heeeeey guys :D

So I got drop-kicked but a plot-bunny that should have been on the backburner, as it slotted itself into my Whumptober line-up at the last minute. So..........

Remember the Changeling episode? It's HTRYDS version time, but I am indecisive and also down for some true randomness, so:

The options are somewhat limited for safety and some secrecy reasons (fancy biologies go brr) but I am torn on which way to go. Also if people have other fun ideas drop a comment? Though I am most likely bugging the comrades on discord about this in the morning when people are awake lmao.

[crimsonwolf715]

Nowhere Else To Go

(Disclaimer: I'm spelling Fried's name how the official translation has it spelled, so please don't send me messages about how I'm spelling his name wrong. Also, Laxus is 17 and Fried is 14.)

Laxus has been staring at the job board for a while. He wants to do a job, but he also really doesn’t. 

Fried walks over. “Did you hear that Bickslow left on a job?” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“So why have you been over here for the last thirty minutes?” Fried asks. 

Laxus sighs. “I don’t know. I want to work, but I don’t.” 

Laxus looks at Fried and he looks thoughtful. 

“What about it do you not want to do? The actual work or going out?” 

Laxus shrugs, even though that’s a blatant lie. He just doesn’t want to go somewhere by himself right now. Not that he would ever tell Fried that. 

“I could go with you if you don’t want to do the whole job.” 

“Why would you do that? What do you gain?” 

“Friendship isn’t always about what you can gain from it.” 

Laxus shrugs again. 

“And we’d split the pay so that at least.” 

Laxus smiles. “Well, if you insist we can go together.” 

Laxus picks up one of the easier quests and offers it to Fried. He nods, then walks over to the bar counter to let the guild know that they’re taking the quest. Laxus folds his arms and leans against the wall. 

“Whatcha poutin’ about?” Mirajane asks as she walks over. 

“Not pouting,” Laxus answers. “Thinking.” 

“A dangerous pastime.” 

Laxus sighs. “Sure, maybe for you.” 

She punches his shoulder and he rolls his eyes with a small smile. “Have fun with Fried.” 

“M’kay.” 

Laxus watches Natsu and Gray fight in the guild until Erza shows up and starts lecturing them. 

“Come on. We should get going, Laxus,” Fried says as he walks over. 

“Right on,” Laxus replies, pushing himself off the wall. 

“They want us to recover a relic from a temple near their guild. Why wouldn’t they just do that?” Fried asks as he reads over the finer details on the paper. 

Laxus shrugs. “I don’t really care as long as they pay us.” 

They took a train and are now walking the short distance to the guild that sent out the request. Fried looks thoughtful, but doesn’t say anything else until they get to the guild in question. Almost nobody’s in the building and it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in ages. One of the three people in the building gets up when they see Fried and Laxus. 

“Are you guys the guys from the Fairy Tail guild?” 

“Yeah, we are,” Laxus answers and Fried shows the guy his guild mark. 

“Here, you guys’ll want this map to the temple.” 

He offers the map to Laxus, who takes it and then hands it to Fried. 

“I can’t read a map,” Laxus says. 

The guy looks a little confused, but doesn’t comment on it. 

“It should only be a day trip there and back. We just lost a lot of members recently so we don’t have the manpower to do it ourselves.” 

Fried nods. “Thank you.” 

Once they’re on the way to the temple, Fried asks, “You can actually read a map, right?” 

“Yeah, of course I can. It was one of the things my old man taught me. I’m just not good with distance judgment like you are.” 

“Okay, just making sure. You travel alone too often to not know how to read a map.” 

“My old man said the exact same thing.” 

“The master’s a smart man.” 

Laxus nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“But you don’t seem to like him very much.” 

“It’s not about that. More complicated. Don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Fried nods. 

They get to the temple and it looks one light breeze away from falling down. 

“Oof, history being lost to time,” Laxus says. “Let’s find the relic before the temple falls apart on top of us.” 

They walk into the temple and Fried starts writing in the air. Laxus watches with mild interest as the letters turn into an arrow when he’s done. 

“Come on, the relic’s this way.” 

Fried leads the way and Laxus trails behind. When the arrow stops moving, it disappears. Fried writes something else in the air, but nothing happens. 

“No traps,” Fried says. 

His magic is so handy. So many uses. 

Laxus walks into the room and grabs the relic, which is a metal orb. 

“This is anti-climatic,” Laxus says. 

Fried nods, then the two head out. They get halfway back to town when Laxus hears something. He stops and listens, but he can’t hear it anymore. 

“Laxus.” 

Laxus turns and sees that Fried’s bleeding. He rushes over and while it’s not a lot, there doesn’t seem to be something that caused the wound. 

“What happened?” Laxus asks. 

“I don’t know. I just felt a sharp pain, and then there was blood,” Fried answers. 

Laxus starts looking around and he manages to see someone in a black cloak running behind a rock. 

A black cloak in broad daylight? That feels like the opposite of helpful if you’re attempting to sneak around. 

Laxus sends a bolt of lightning behind the rock and the person comes scurrying out from behind there. Laxus zaps them and they fall. 

“Why is someone following us?” Fried asks. 

Laxus shrugs. 

A bunch more people start running towards them and throwing a variety of spells at them. The two retreat until they hit a ravine. They’re now cornered in between the ravine and the dark wizards. 

“Nowhere else to go,” Fried says. 

“Then we fight,” Laxus replies. 

“There are like thirty of them.” 

“So? You’re one of the best letter magic users in the area and I’m me.” 

“Your head is so far up your ass,” Fried replies. 

“Sometimes. I actually think we can manage this though,” Laxus says. 

“Split the guys fifty-fifty?” 

“Yeah, that works for me. I’ll deal with any reinforcements that show up. I was hoping for a little more room to move, but this is fine.” 

Fried nods, so the two come out from behind the rock and attack the dark wizards. Fried takes out closer to three-fourths of them with his attack and Laxus laughs. At least twenty more rush up and Laxus takes them out with a high-voltage shock. Laxus has a cocky smile on his face. 

“You bleeding anymore?” Laxus asks. 

“No, that stopped after we dealt with the first batch,” Fried answers. “I think I overdid it a bit though. My arm’s bothering me.” 

“If any more come, I’ll handle them. We should get back to town to let them know about this.” 

They continue on their way back to town when they’re attacked by more people. Laxus keeps taking them out but it feels like an endless amount of them. His arms are getting sore, which means he’s hitting his body’s cap on magic output. Laxus mutters curses as he finally deals with the rest of them. 

“You alright?” Fried asks. 

“Yeah,” Laxus answers, trying not to let Fried see his discomfort. “Is everyone and their moms a part of this black cloak group?” 

“I have a feeling this is a bigger issue than we were led to believe.” 

“Yeah, probably.” 

Another group shows up and Fried deals with them with a swiftly written spell. 

“Thanks,” Laxus says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Laxus sees another group coming their way. “Company.” 

Laxus goes to take on the next group and he finds himself blocked by a barrier of ruins. 

“Fried!” 

Fried turns towards him. “You’ve used up most of your magical energy dealing, let me protect us!” 

Everything in Laxus wants to disagree. 

Fried’s just fourteen.  

He nods against his better judgment. He didn’t like it when people treated him a certain way because he was young, so he won’t subject Fried to that. 

Fried starts writing runes in the air for a second protection spell after blasting some of them into the distance, but isn’t quite fast enough due to his arm injury. Fried gets hit with the majority of the blasts, Laxus left to watch behind the first barrier. 

“Fried!” 

The protection spell drops and Laxus rushes over to Fried. The dark wizards are powering up again, so Laxus turns on the defensive. While he doesn’t have a lot of energy left in him, Laxus puts as much power as he can into the lightning attack and fires it at the attackers. He feels the lightning start to burn his arms but he keeps it up until every one of them is down. Laxus looks over his arms and the burns are all minor. He breathes a sigh of relief because he can still carry Fried. He gently picks Fried up and heads back towards the town. 

When he gets to town, he heads straight for the clinic. He walks in and several people run towards him. He backs up a bit and they stop and only one walks up. 

“Is he alright?” 

“He’s injured, obviously he is not alright.” 

“Come on, we can take him.” 

Laxus walks back with the healer and they tend to Fried. Laxus keeps a close eye on them and they seem to be a little uncomfortable under his harsh gaze, but he doesn’t ease up. The healers leave when they’re done taking care of Fried. When Freid wakes up, the first thing he does is look for Laxus. 

“Stop looking like that,” Fried says. 

Laxus looks up and gives Fried a smile he doesn’t feel. 

“Stop that too, that smile is creepy.” 

Laxus smiles genuinely as he tries not to laugh at Fried. 

“Did we win?” Fried asks.

“All thanks to you,” Laxus answers. 

“Of course.” 

The two share a laugh. 

“Your arms…” 

Laxus looks down at his arms. “Yeah, I’ll probably mention them when the healer comes back in. They’re not as bad as they look.” 

Fried looks skeptical, but doesn’t argue. He looks around. 

“Where are we?” 

“Clinic in the town where we got the request from.” 

“Did you contact the guild?” 

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure that you were fine, then I’d do that.” 

“Huh,” Fried huffs. 

“What?” Laxus asks. 

“I happen to remember you saying that you didn’t like me enough for that.” 

“Huh, that is odd. I don’t remember saying that.” 

Fried rolls his eyes and Laxus shrugs. The healer walks back in and makes sure that Fried’s alright. 

“His arms are burned,” Freid says. 

“Snitch,” Laxus replies. 

She walks over and after looking at them, she heads out. 

“Well, guess I’m gonna head to the guild we got the request from,” Laxus says, getting up. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Fried replies. “Sit your ass back down.” 

“Okay.” 

Laxus sits back down. The healer comes back in with a bottle and explains that Laxus needs to put the liquid on his burns for up to two weeks or until they’re gone and that he needs to wrap them up. Laxus agrees, mostly because Fried’s glaring at him. She shows him how to do it then wraps up his arms. He thanks her and she says that Fried will be free to go in an hour. 

“Guess we’re going to the guild we got the request from in an hour,” Laxus says. 

Fried nods. 

The two chat until the healer releases Fried then they head to the other side of town to alert the guild that they had finished their mission. Then they return to Fairy Tail.

[huh-1260]

I suddenly remembered that my original idea for day 14 with the alternate prompt which was a Wolfwalker AU with Twilight and Time meeting each other for the first time and just like the movie Twilight accidentally bites Time, and I can post it here instead of letting it rot in my notes

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“Damn it!” Link yelled as he was hanging from a rope that was on his ankle.His sword was on the ground, too far for him to reach it with his hands.The wolf in front of him looks at him with its ears flopping on its head, whining.All Link could do was swing around trying to move.The wolf had circled around him, looking at the rope that was tied to his ankle, before leaping in to try and attack him, which Link had moved away.He wasn't stupid trying to get bitten by a wolf. Especially because it could have rabies or it could get infected.The wolf still circled around him, trying to bite his leg, which Link had smacked the wolf away.They did this little dance for a while until the wolf finally bit him on the arm, ripping off the armor on his arm as it bit him. “Ack!”The wolf whimpered as it looked at him, almost as if it was sorry about the wound on his arm.A strange magic flicked from the wound. Magic that was similar in the lost woods.Link's vision flickered and there sat a boy with the same blue, with a grayish green scent.  Link blinked and just saw the wolf. Before Link could do anything the wolf ran, running into the woods.

______

This idea was unrelated to The chain is totally hylian (this is a lie)

[mantisgodsdomain]

You may say to yourself things such as "wow, mantis god, you seem really behind for bugtober this year", and you would be right, but what you can't see behind the scenes is that we are actually being surprisingly productive in the hours of the day that are not dedicated to school, it's just that some months ago we happen to have thought to ourself "well, we enjoy learning things, so maybe we should take a hack at school since the grant is decent, get some actual certification on our resume so we can get a real job" and then forgot that the reason we don't already have official certification is because formal schooling historically has had worse effects on our overall mental health than almost literally anything else in our life, and now that's eating 4-6 hours of our life per day with an extra few hours of recovery after which makes it unfortunately difficult to work on art.

[savebatsfromscratch]

Guys I'm so excited to post my (TV) Monkees whumptober fics this is so crazy.

[kitkatyes]

Summary:

Phoenix wakes up in an all-encompassing pain

[flyingwargle]

whumptober day 6: "it's not my blood."

tw: aftermath of a car accident, hospitals

atsumu has not moved from the tiny hospital chair in the corner of the waiting room ever since the paramedics left him there.

the world continues to move around him. patients come and go, supported by friends and family. nurses hurry to and fro. paramedics rush in and out. announcements come over the speakers, paging doctors and personnel, calling for codes and emergencies. the air is charged with relief and joy, sorrow and pain.

"atsumu!"

a flurry of footsteps approach. "are ya okay?" gin is frantic. "where's osamu? there's blood on yer jacket, are ya-"

he shakes his head. "it ain't my blood." his rasp is tight. "it's..." he stiffens at the memory, the harsh shattering of glass, the screams that resonate in his ears.

suna unzips his jacket. "here, you can wear mine." he places it on the next chair to gently pull atsumu's jacket off, draping his own over his shoulders. atsumu doesn't miss the way he folds it, the blood facing inwards.

kosaku sits, gin and suna standing by the wall. it isn't long before aran comes, taking the empty seat beside atsumu, kita arriving with omimi and akagi. "did ya call auntie ma?" aran asks.

"she didn't pick up," he replies, monotone. "i texted her." aran nods, squeezing his shoulder. he jumps at the sudden tears in atsumu's eyes, the sobs that wrack his shoulders. "god, aran. it was so bad. we were just crossin' the street when 'samu grabbed me, an'..." the screeching tires. the rough asphalt against his body. his brother's dead weight on top of him. "there was so much blood..."

"shh, ya don't hafta talk. it's fine. 'samu will be fine." aran wraps an arm around him, draws him closer into a hug. "we're here, an' we'll stay with ya 'till 'samu wakes." atsumu nods, sniffling between his breaths.

at one point, kita tells the others to call their families of their whereabouts. at another, omimi and akagi get drinks for everyone from the vending machine. a police officer comes to speak with atsumu, and aran goes with him.

it was an accident. a driver didn't pay attention to the signs and barreled through the crosswalk. atsumu, always on the right, was swiveled to the left. he fell upon impact, osamu taking the worst of it.

"it shoulda been me," atsumu whispers. "i was s'posed ta be on the right, but he-"

"osamu moved on instinct," aran tells him. "he musta thought, shit, i gotta protect my brother."

"he shouldn't have! i woulda done somethin', i coulda-"

should've, could've, didn't. atsumu's breaths become frantic, tears prickling his eyes again. aran doesn't let go of him, turning to the officer. "sorry, i don't think atsumu will be able to answer any more questions right now."

they return to the waiting room at the same time a doctor approaches their group. kita steps forward to address her, gestures at atsumu out of the corner of his eye. she turns to him. "yer family with miya osamu?"

"yes, ma'am, he's my..." the words catch in his throat. "he's my twin brother."

her expression softens. "oh, honey. are yer parents here?"

"our ma is in himeji fer a conference. we don't have a pa."

"we're his teammates," kita adds. "we'll support him 'till his family comes."

"normally, only family is allowed ta visit patients, but..." her eyes flicker toward them, their expressions worried and taut. "i'll make an exception."

"so, he's...?"

"there was some head trauma, so we'll need ta make sure he doesn't have a concussion. aside from a broken leg an' some scratches, he's fine."

atsumu melts into his chair, feels the world spin around him, blurry and light. "thank god," he chokes out.

"he's still unconscious, but i reckon he'll wake soon," the doctor continues. "only two visitors at a time, please. i'll speak more 'bout his treatment when yer mother comes."

they thank her, and atsumu and aran follow her to his room, kita staying behind with the others. she leaves them at his door. aran opens it.

the ecg beeps in time with osamu's heartbeat. bandages are wrapped around his head, tucked beneath the blankets, leg wrapped in a cast. an oxygen mask is over his mouth, breathing steady.

atsumu slides into the chair beside him. for all their fighting, their injuries were always minor cuts and scrapes, once a sprained ankle, but never the hospital. they'd never broken a bone, rarely got sick, kept their health in check, thanks to their ma being a nurse, themselves being athletes.

and yet, accidents happen. they hear it on the news, sign their classmates' casts, but atsumu never thought it'd happen to them.

"ya idiot," he murmurs, reaching forward to ruffle his brother's hair. "ya didn't hafta do that. yer big bro is tough, ya know?"

the rest of his teammates cycle through, although there's not much they could do or say. eventually, kita tells them to go home. "i'll tell coach what happened," he says to atsumu. "make sure ya rest, okay? you're also a victim, even if ya weren't hurt."

he nods wordlessly. aran remains behind. "i'll stay 'till auntie ma comes."

night falls, but the hospital stays alight. the ecg remains steady, slight movement catching atsumu's attention. with great effort, osamu's eyes open, hazy and unfocused, lips moving soundlessly, fingers twitching against the sheets. atsumu captures them in his hand, gives the lightest squeeze. tears spring into his eyes when his brother squeezes back.

“yer such a scrub, ya know that?” atsumu mumbles. “stay on yer side o’ the sidewalk next time.”

osamu gives something like a smile, mouthing something in reply. atsumu lowers his head to hide his tears, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. it’s a known fact that he’ll only cry for his brother, and he’ll never stop, as the tears express a myriad of emotions – frustration, anger, sorrow.

and, of course, relief. he’s gonna be okay, an’ we’re gonna be okay.

[starwritingbri]

Day 4 is a go!! Back to FMA, ironically after the 3rd. It's fine.

Fullmetal Alchemist Prompt: Hallucinations Ships: Royai Rating: T Idea: Riza's disjointed thoughts directly after the back burning.

[snprblu72]

The First Call|M|661 Words

Read on AO3

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

Characters: Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Original Characters

Tags: Whumptober 2024, "I warned you.", Kidnapped Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Streetfighter Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Phone Calls & Telephones, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Worried Eddie Diaz, Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Angry Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley Takes Care of Eddie Diaz, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Alternate Universe

Summary: The man who has Chris calls Eddie.

Whumptober 2024 Day 3: "I warned you."

Notes: Part 6 of the Kidnapped Chris AU, which is being posted out of order.

[aziraphalesbookkeeper]

For a guy who never takes off his gloves, Varian sure does lose them a lot. It’s not really the gloves Hugo notices though—it’s the scars underneath them. Or: 5 times Hugo tries to take off Varian's gloves + 1 time he doesn't have to.

Whumptober Day 27: Scars AILESS Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal