#pre-whumptober

[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.

[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!

[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

____________

“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.

[abubblingcandle]

whumptober numbers!

13 and/or 21

💚🌹💚🌹💚🌹💚

Yay thank you!!! This is for the Whumptober Ask Game (send me a number and I'll tell you about and send you a snippet from that fic). I'm still accepting numbers if anyone is curious!

Day 21 - Spirit Possession - Other Doors

This is a one shot from my RJK Being Human AU where Keeley and Jamie start looking for someone to teach Roy how to ghost. Turns out Jamie knows a guy ... the guy is Ted 😂Jamie hates the guy but he is a human that can see the supernatural and has a ghost pal (Beard) so surely they'll be able to help Roy.

“You need to learn how to be a better ghost,” Keeley commented in the middle of Pointless one night. Keeley and Jamie were tangled up on the settee in a mess of pink fluff and limbs while Roy sat straight in his regular armchair, focused on the TV. “A better ghost?” Roy huffed and turned to face her with his eyebrow raised. Keeley did bite the corner of her lip and look bashful as she said “ok yeah that was a bit mean but like I’ve seen ghosts who can touch stuff and go outside and be seen by the living.” Roy grunted, eyes going back to the TV. “We did promise when we moved in that we would help you explore and enjoy your undeath and all we’ve done is watch tv and tell you about the world outside. Don’t you want to live in it?” Jamie asked. “I’m dead.” “Oh wow!” Jamie yelled, startling Keeley so much she nearly fell off his legs. “I didn’t know,” he rolled his eyes at the flip off from Roy.

Day 13 - Multiple Whumpees - Roll Call Ch4

This is Isaac's chapter where his leg gets crushed at the impact site of the bus crash. It's getting there slowly and I'm chipping away at it. Probably about a third of the way through so hoping it'll be on your screens on the 13th

Isaac looked nothing like Colin knew his best friend to be as he laid in the hospital bed. Isaac was larger than life itself and Colin hadn’t realised how much of his emotional stability he had mortgaged on Isaac looking him in the eyes and saying something like “it’s all fucked mate ain’t it but we’ll be good.” But Isaac didn’t do that. Isaac was unconscious on a plethora of different pain killers. Colin focused on his lax face. Isaac’s torso had come out of this with surprisingly few injuries, the doctor said most of them had actually come from the firefighters removing him from the coach. Colin couldn’t look at his lower half. If he didn’t see it then it wasn’t real.

[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.

[kalevalakryze]

Barbs

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Pairings: Sabine Wren/ Ketsu Onyo Characters: Sabine Wren, Ketsu Onyo Warnings: Blood, Injury,  Notes: For Whumptober Day  15, For @sabineweek Day 1 Prompt: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle this myself.” | Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m Fine.” + Imperial Academy  Word Count: 1,419 AO3 Link: Here!

Their very first field exercise came with higher stakes than most; Talk of  Rebellion and Insurgent activity, along with whispers of a ‘Death Watch’ that was credited with the fall of Mandalorian civilization, needed looking into, and the class of rookies in the Imperial Academy seemed like the perfect candidates. 

Sabine had been sent ahead to scout when tripwire sprung; Wire sliced through the cheap plastoid of the subpar armor they’d been supplied with, until the point they were considered to have ‘earned their beskar’. 

Barbs cut through her skin before she could get back in time, feet scrambling in the dirt to avoid the wrap as both ends snapped from the ends of the trap, just avoiding having the trap wind its way around her entire leg. Sabine didn’t want to think about how fast she’d get the boot from the academy and Mandalore, if she would have been taken out so quickly. 

“Karabast!” The young Mandalorian hissed, yanking her bucket from her head and dropping it into the dirt as she dropped, hands moving to squeeze the meat of her thigh above the torn open wound.

The thorns in the wire were made of a beskar alloy; something every Mandalorian was meant to understand, their metal was for armor, to be used to protect themselves, not spill blood, yet here she was, staring at the impure metal where it sat coated in the dark red ichor it had ripped from her body.

There was a crunch of boots nearby, Sabine’s hand flew to her blaster, eyes squinting in the direction of the noise before she caught sight of the Imperial Academy logo on their gear, and the noticeably not regulation helmet. “What do you want, Onyo.” She called with a huff, letting her blaster drop back into the dirt as she focused her attention back on her marred leg.

“Should’a known you’d go and get yourself into a mess,” The older Mandalorian remarked, a smirk pulling onto her lips and a haughty sway in her hips as she eased from the brush to the opening Sabine had gotten herself caught in.

Ketsu dropped to her knees in front of Sabine, brows furrowing even as a teasing smile pulled at her lips. “Gnarly, ‘bine. You need a hand?”

Sure, Sabine knew that Ketsu had been assigned as the recon squadron’s reluctant medic, and that she would have something to ease the stinging pain and the sluggish way blood oozed from her torn thigh, plastoid warped and pressing painfully into her thigh.

“I don’t need you to help me, I can handle this myself.” She insisted stubbornly, lips twisting as she glanced down to the sickening sight of her own leg; It wasn’t her first time seeing an injury, on herself or otherwise, but it was not on her favorites list. 

“Uh-huh,” Ketsu rolled her eyes before firmly plopping herself down on the ground next to the injured Mandalorian. 

“What are you doing?” She huffed, annoyed, golden eyes shifting to their surroundings as Ketsu got comfortable beside her. The ‘revolutionists’ could be anywhere, watching their trap in action.

“Oh, you know; Thought we could use some time away from the kids, just the two of us.” She bit back, mirth and annoyance like a dance in her tone, a smirk pulling at her lips as violet eyes were rolled hard enough that Sabine could feel her growing annoyance. “I’m the assigned medic, di’kut. If I don’t do my job, then we’ll both be scrubbing the latrines over your fuck up.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you care,” Sabine grumbled sarcastically, stubbornly setting her face to stone as she forced herself to poke and prod at her wound, where blood was finally beginning to clot and well up, slowing the flood that pooled into Mandalore’s surface. 

“Come on, Wren. It’s not like that, and you know it.” A closed fist bumped into her shoulder. “Your stubborn ass needs my help though, you know it, I know it; krif, Tarre Viszla himself probably knows it.” 

“I’m fine,” Sabine snapped, weight shifting painfully and forcing a harsh breath to be sucked in between her teeth, eyes snapping shut as the jostle of bone-deep pain. “Alright! Fine! I need help.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Ketsu answered sweetly, a sickly thing that dripped with false pity, though her hands were gentle when they moved to finally press around Sabine’s thigh, checking to see how far her skin had been torn beneath the armor. The woman shifted to drop her bag from her shoulders, digging through it with a hum. “Had to stitch up the infantry, they got spooked and blasted each other,” Ketsu’s eyes rolled as she shook her head. “How they passed the entrance exams will always be beyond me.”

“That’s probably why I’m out here,” Sabine commented sourly. “Not a combat major, they pulled me from my work for this,” She grumbled, thinking back to her climate controlled lab, and the last pieces that the Duchess needed to be operational. 

“Yeah yeah, you’ve got a brain on you, and a lack of knowing where the tripwires are.” Ketsu started sliding the plastoid from her own arm, working quickly to toss each piece into her bag without care. “Just means you’re the lucky winner who has to wait till we get back in for any bacta or real bandages, less you want me to go scrape some extra off that Eldar kid’s ass,” 

“I’m good,” Sabine shivered and shook her head, forcing her breathing to even out and relax the heavy beating of her heart. 

The Mandalorian slid a blade from a sheathe inside of her shin guard, cleanly slicing through the sleeve of her undersuit and working her arm out of it. “Alright, move your hands,” She ordered, grabbing the remnants of a cleaning solution bottle and dousing their makeshift bandage with it. 

Golden eyes flashed between the gash in her leg and the growing annoyance in violet hued eyes. “Don’t tell me, Sabine Wren is scared.” 

“I’m not!” She snapped back, glowering at the older woman as she finally, slowly, forced her hands away from the wound, hissing out a soft “ah-” at the rush of blood, pain, and the return of too much and too little pressure. Her hands dropped to the dirt, the fingers of her gloves digging indents into the dry outer layer. 

“I’ve seen braver Tookas.” Ketsu remarked dryly as she pushed her way into Sabine’s personal space, making quick work of ruined armor. 

Cutting away the artist’s underlayer brought quiet sounds of barely muffled agony into the space between them as she twisted and writhed, doing her best not to move her leg and avoid adding more pain onto her list. “Dude, do I need to tie you up and gag you, or something?”

Sabine’s brows furrowed immediately as she froze. “What?” She stammered, face flushing as Ketsu used the distraction to cut away the last of the ruined flight suit. 

Chuckling to herself, Ketsu began winding the remains of her sleeve tight around Sabine’s leg, using her fluster to her advantage.

“I’ll have to keep how loud you are in mind for later,” She teased mercilessly after a moment had passed and the younger woman had started to react to the pain again. 

Sabine blanched, mouth opening and closing dumbly; at least the older Mandalorian could say that she made ‘Ms. Overachiever’ dumb and speechless.

“Now come on, I’d rather not leave you behind with these demagolka’s running loose.” 

Ketsu worked Sabine up and off the ground, slinging one of Sabine’s arms around her shoulders as she wrapped an arm securely around the smaller woman’s waist, using her free arm to sling her bag, full of their armor, back over her shoulder, 

“Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe they’ll let you go to medical before they send you out to dust the courtyard.”

“Hmmph, yeah, in a perfect world-”

Grunting as she helped Sabine down a hill (carried was more like it, kid could barely stand on her ruined leg), Ketsu allowed a traitorous thought to form on her tongue. “Would be cool to get out of here, one day. Live like our ancestors, instead of an Imperial lapdog.”

Sabine said nothing to this, but Ketsu could see the gears turning behind the tormented artist’s eyes.  It wasn’t a horrible idea; Bounty hunting and traveling the stars, like Mandalorian’s were meant to do. And.. if Ketsu was at her side, maybe it could even be… nice.

Translations: Di'kut - Idiot Demagolka - Monster

[crimsonwolf715]

Trust Issues

Clarke’s so close to camp. She sees the Millers by the gate and she smiles.

It’s good that they’re back together.

Clarke gets closer to the gate when two people grab her from behind. She originally fights them, but then realizes that they’re Ark Guards. She stops fighting them and they take her to the gate.

“We found her wandering over by the border,” one of them says.

“Hi, Miller,” Clarke says, sheepishly waving her hand a little.

“Clarke?” Nathan Miller asks. “Holy shit, you look different.”

“The red is temporary. Just something that I put on my hair.”

“She’s good. We know Clarke. I’ll take her inside.”

Once they get out of earshot of the other guards, Miller sighs. “You better brace yourself because nobody is gonna be as happy as I am to see you.”

“What does that mean?” Clarke asks.

“It means most people aren’t happy with you, Clarke. I mean, I’m not thrilled that you left but your choices are your own. On the other hand, other people, Monty and Bellamy especially, were upset that you left.”

Clarke sighs. “It’ll be alright.”

Miller takes Clarke to a room where Kane’s looking over a map.

“Sir,” Miller says.

Kane looks up. “Clarke. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Clarke replies.

“You can go back to your post, Nathan. I can handle this from here.”

Miller nods, then leaves.

“So what brings you here?”

“The Ice Nation is hunting me down and I need somewhere safe to hide.”

“So you’re here until this clears up with the Ice Nation?” Kane asks.

“As of right now, that is the plan,” Clarke answers. “I don’t want to burden you guys unnecessarily.”

“You’d never be a burden, Clarke,” Kane says. “I’ll call your mom in here so you can see her after you get cleaned up.”

“Thanks, Kane.”

He leads her to the door of the room with the showers, most people avoiding looking at her completely. Clarke tries to ignore it, but it feels like a tiny little puncture to her heart every time that someone she considered her friend avoids looking at her.

“Abby'll be waiting out here for you, but take as much time as you need, Clarke.”

“Thanks, Kane.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clarke goes into the bathroom and spends almost an hour cleaning up. When she comes back out, Abby and Kane are bickering about something. They stop when they see her though.

“Come here, Clarke,” Abby says.

She walks over and hugs her mother. Abby cries a bit, but pulls herself together quickly.

“My baby,” Abby says, putting a hand on Clarke’s face. “I’m so glad that you’re home.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Mom.”

“We have some stuff to tend to, but I’ll see you at dinner, darling,” Abby says. “Bellamy’s coming to grab her, isn’t he?”

Kane nods.

Right on cue, Bellamy comes up.

“Yes, sir?” he asks.

“If you will take Clarke to wherever you’re all gonna congregate,” Kane says.

“I will, sir.”

Bellamy starts walking and Clarke trails behind him. There is not a word exchanged between them and that feels even worse than people avoiding looking at her. Bellamy, avoiding talking to her. Bellamy walks into a room and Clarke smiles when she sees Monty.

“Do me a favor and watch Clarke for me, Monty,” Bellamy says.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Clarke replies.

“Yeah, clearly you do. Miller told me that the only reason you came back is because you’re on the run from the Ice Nation. Monty, stay with her.”

“Yes, sir,” Monty says.

Clarke turns towards Monty. Bellamy walks out.

“Why are you siding with him?” Clarke asks.

“Because you left me without so much as a goodbye,” Monty answers. “You think Bellamy’s the only one that took that hard, Clarke?”

Clarke sits down, feeling defeated. “I did it so that…”

“So you could run away from your responsibility. Leave everything for someone else to deal with. Bellamy said that your reason was that you couldn’t face us, which makes you a coward, Clarke. And I know you’re not a coward.”

“Monty, please.”

Monty sits down and starts messing with the stuff on his desk, moving it around. Clarke sits down next to him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, any of you. I just… I couldn’t bear seeing you guys after what I did to get you home.”

“And it’s fine now? Or is it convenient? Are you staying?”

“I don’t know, Monty, but I promise to say goodbye if I do leave.”

Monty nods, then gives Clarke a small smile she isn’t sure he feels. The two start catching up, Clarke telling him about her time traveling without any of the more gory stories while he tells her about camp and how everyone’s been doing.

After several hours of them catching up and talking about camp, Bellamy pokes his head into Monty’s “office”.

“I need the report from the incident today by tomorrow.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Monty says.

Bellamy nods, then leaves without so much as a look in Clarke’s direction.

“You should go talk to him. He’s reasonable.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if I make it worse?”

“How are you gonna make it worse? Go talk to him,” Monty replies.

“Okay,” Clarke says. “I’ll talk to him.”

Clarke gets up and jogs down the hallway.

“Bellamy!”

Bellamy turns as Clarke makes it to him. He looks like he’s going to cry.

“Are you okay?”

“Obviously not, Clarke.”

He turns to keep walking and Clarke grabs his hand. Bellamy pulls his hand away.

“I want to trust you Clarke, I do. More than anything, but I just can’t. Why can’t you understand that?”

Clarke makes a decision at that moment.

“I’m so sorry, Bellamy. I do, I understand. Take as long as you need, I’ll be here. For whatever you need, I’ll be right here.”

Bellamy pulls Clarke into a tight hug and Clarke lets herself relax in Bellamy’s embrace. She feels tears on her shoulder as Bellamy puts his head on her shoulder. She rubs his back slowly.

“Everything feels like it’s riding on me making good decisions and the Ark survivors can’t stop arguing,” Bellamy says.

“I know, I saw my mom and Kane earlier,” Clarke replies. “They’ll work it out, they always seem to.”

“And Octavia…”

“Octavia’s a kid. She’ll mature and realizes that everything you’ve ever done has been for her benefit. She’ll understand how much you love her, Bellamy. I’m sure of it.”

“It feels like she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, she’s just confused right now.”

“I just want the pain to go away, Clarke.”

More tears on her shoulder.

“Come on. We’re gonna have Monty tell Kane that you need the rest of the day off and we’re gonna go out for a bit.”

Bellamy pulls away, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t just leave camp, Clarke.”

“We’re not leaving camp. Come on.”

Clarke grabs Bellamy’s hand and starts gently leading him towards Monty’s area. Bellamy lets her, seeming to focus more on his footing than fighting her on where they’re going. She pokes her head into Monty’s “office”.

“Hey, can you let Kane know that I’m stealing Bellamy for a bit?”

Monty nods. “Yeah, he’s gonna come in here in like fifteen minutes, so I’ll let him know then.”

“Thanks, Monty.”

“You’re welcome.” Monty gets up and grabs a blanket. “You’re probably gonna need this if you’re heading outside. It’s getting chilly.”

Clarke takes it. “Thanks again.”

She takes Bellamy outside and they end up in a quiet corner of camp. Bellamy pulls his backpack off and offers it to Clarke. Clarke puts it to the side, then the two sit down.

“It’s okay to cry, Bellamy. This is stressful and you’ve been strong for so long.”

Bellamy looks like he’s getting teary-eyed again.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice gives away the very obvious lie.

Clarke pulls him against her and runs her hand through his hair. “I promise, you’re safe here with me, Bellamy.”

Bellamy practically melts into Clarke’s embrace, which makes Clarke smile. She covers the two of them up in the blanket. After a while of Bellamy silently crying and Clarke quietly singing to him, he falls asleep. She hums for a little longer before she falls asleep too.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Never Be the Same - Whumptober 2023

Billy's mum walked out on Neil and him in 1978. Billy wants answers but Neil doesn't want to answer them, leading to the first time he ever hits Billy. It isn't the last.

For day 26 of @whumptober Also on AO3. Shows child abuse so be warned

Words: 850

Sounds of scraping and cutting filled the air as they ate. The food was bland, his dad wasn’t a very good cook, mum wasn’t either but she had practice. Neil thought cooking was a woman’s job, that was until his mum had walked out. He had to learn or they’d starve. 

“Stop playing with your food and eat,” his dad said. 

It was bland and boiled. His peas were more grey than green. He had to eat them or he’d go hungry, but that seemed more appealing than choking this down. 

“If mom was still here, she would’ve made something better,”

“Watch your mouth,” Neil snapped. “You don’t talk about that woman, didn’t we talk about that?”

He stopped moving his knife and fork. His eyes stung as tears welled up. He hated when his dad shouted at him, he hated disappointing him too. It was a simple request but so hard at the same time. He’d gone to bed with her there and woken up without her. It was natural to be curious, right?

“That we don’t mention mom again,”

Neil cleared his throat. The way he looked at him made him unable to not meet his eyes. 

“We don’t mention that woman again.” 

The tears overflowed as he tried to carry on eating his dinner with shaking hands. He heard his dad’s chair screech across the floor. His shoes smacked against the linoleum as he slammed his hands against the table. Billy dropped his knife and fork. He kept his eyes on his plate, his hands under the table as he tensed them to hide the fear. 

“Why are you crying?” He said, voice stern and not raised. “Why are you crying, like a pussy, over her?"

"She left us, Billy, she left us, so she doesn’t deserve your tears. No one does." He lent over him. He could feel his breath on his neck as he flinched away from him. 

"But why? Why did she leave?" He asked.

He knew he shouldn’t. Neil didn’t like him asking questions. He said he knew best so why question that. His mum had liked him asking questions, she wanted him to know that the world was big and beautiful and there were so many possibilities. It was hard for him to know when to stop questioning for his dad and start for his mum. It got confusing.

"Because we weren't enough for her," he said, then grabbed him by his collar. "Are you looking at me?"

He tried to nod but the tears kept falling. Neil took this as his cue to lift Billy from his chair. His body was shaking as he stood him up, legs trembling.

"I can't have you holding onto people who are never coming back, so repeat after me, 'She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me',"

He didn’t say anything. His body was shaking so much that he couldn’t. And the thought of his mum not caring, the only person who felt like did half the time, made everything seem bleak. If she didn’t care then what hope did he have? If she wasn't coming back, was this his life? Awful dinners and tense conversations?

"Say it." 

Neil’s face was red from anger. Billy could feel it rising and about to blow. He was really going to get it tonight.

Smack. Billy stumbled back a step. The tears had been wiped from his face. Had he just done that? Had he actually just done that? He didn’t hit him, he shouted and was strict but he didn’t hit him. Had he actually-

"Say it!" He grabbed his arm hard enough that the skin when red, then white.

"She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me,"

"Again."

"She's never coming back and she doesn’t care about me."

"Good, now go to bed,"

"But I'm hungry!"

"Bed! Now!"

He walked away in shock. He almost couldn't move. The tears didn't come back as he trudged up the stairs. He felt the pictures on the wall were staring at him, not caring but judging. 

Once he’d reached his room, he hurried over to the phone on his desk. His mom had given a number to call for emergencies, she’d only called once just to give it to him, she probably didn’t want his dad finding out. He’d tried calling back but got nothing. He was going to give up trying soon, after days without contact and still no answers, but after tonight, he had to give her one more chance. He needed her.

Ring ring, pause, ring ring, pause, ring ring, pause. After waiting again for the phone to pick up, to hear her voice on the end of the line, he got nothing. He couldn’t call again. His dad would get suspicious and if she did pick up he could easily pick up the landline downstairs and listen in. That’s the last thing he needed. 

Instead, he was left with the harrowing fact that he’d hit him. He actually hit him. He didn’t hit him.

Well, he guessed that now he did.

----

I had this idea as soon as I saw the prompts for Whumptober. A lot of the prompts this year remind me of stranger things? Maybe it's because I'm in an 80s media mood with my top gun special interest and stranger things has a lot more whump (at least my style of whump) possibility for whumptober.

Poor Billy too. I wanted to show him as a vulnerable kid, one who wanted his dad's approval and was sensitive. I also think maybe deep down he still wanted his approval, but also didn't want to want his approval. Conflicted feelings baby. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

[spencer-reids-adventures]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Diana Reid & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid Characters: Spencer Reid, Diana Reid, William Reid, Jason Gideon, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Penelope Garcia Additional Tags: Abandonment, Loneliness, Letters, Family Issues, Mental Health Issues, Autistic Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Whump, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Financial Issues, Episode: s02e01 The Fisher King Part 2 (Criminal Minds), Self-Harm, Food Issues, implied/referenced eating disorder Summary:

Diana doesn’t forgive Spencer for having her institutionalized… at least, not right away.

 Written for @tobias-hankel’s Criminal Minds Pre-Whumptober Challenge!

Main Whump-ed Character: Spencer Reid Bad Thing: Abandonment/Loneliness Bad Person: Parent/Family Member One Line Prompt: "You know, I write her a letter every day... She has never written one back."