#this was going to be whumptober stuff last year

[rosieblogstuff]

Are you accepting flowers? I stopped at FTD and got you a bouquet!

💐

I was on the fence about what to excerpt but hey how about a WIP I have a bunch of words of and will finish... *waves hand* sometime. Someday. Probably. And I don't think I've posted this bit before? Sadly it has no title, but here's a chunk of words!

“Try calling in again, dammit, Ri.” 

Jack’s voice carries enough of the snap of command that Riley stops typing and reaches for the phone again. “I already tried the South America station line, the international Phoenix line, and war room twice each,” Riley says.

“Try them again.”

“Okay,” she says under her breath, and pulls up the number listed as SOUTHSIDE FINANCIAL on her phone. The number rings through, answered by a woman who manages to sound bored as she asks which advisor Riley’s trying to contact and if she got their number via a referral.

That’s a coded request for Riley’s call-in code, which should trigger her access into the CIA’s phone system and get her in touch with Matty.

But when she gives it, the operator tells her, in a tone so snide it makes her blood boil even though she knows it’s just an act, that she’s dialed the wrong number. Then the line goes dead. Again.

“No good,” she reports. “And before you ask again, I’ve tried Matty’s direct line four times, Jack. I got a the number you dialed is not in service robot recording all four times. I don’t even think I’m being allowed to connect to her phone number anymore.”

Jack lowers his face to his hands and curses quietly and colorfully. His elbows are on his knees, propping up his arms. He looks tired, and he’s as tense as she’s ever seen him. They’ve been through some bad days together. This one started out bad and is going downhill fast. “This is the worst fucking timing. It’s bad enough if we’re all disavowed, but it’s a real low blow cutting us off when she knows we need Phoenix resources to get to Mac.”

Matty loves Mac. They all do. But nobody makes it to directing covert ops if they can’t make the sort of tough call they know might get somebody killed.

Like disavowing your team in the middle of a rescue op.

“Fuck,” Jack says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Has Perrine ever gotten super injured? Like breaking a limb, getting super sick, ect.? With the other children present?

this is just gonna be basically every fic in my Whumptober line up lmao, so yes!

i feel like they all get roughed up sometimes, especially since they live out in the woods, so scraps and bruises are probably really common for all the kids.

Perrine tries to be careful, but stuff happens sometimes- a smack on the head after tripping and falling, jumping out of a tree and landing wrong, simply stumbling and scraping her palms, accidentally disturbing a nest of bees...being chased by a boar.

she seems like the type to hide injuries/illness. i feel it in my bones.

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 10- Slurred Words | "I can't think straight"

This one is kinda long, so under the cut it goes!

The mission was simple. Get in, do some recon, get out. Don’t get caught. Hero was born ready. Vigilante and Superhero were less convinced though, so much so that the latter insisted that the former go with them.

“I’m not a baby, you know,” Hero said, as they and Vigilante went inside the night club.

“I am a foot and a half taller than you and five years older, you are a baby,” Vigilante replied.

Superhero’s voice crackled in their ears.

“Stay together, both of you. Villain could be anywhere.”

Vigilante and Hero got nearly buried in a crowd of people, some dancing, others holding drinks.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Vigilante said, “I won’t let them out of my sight… Hero?”

…

Hero stood near the bar, looking quite out of place. Where was Vigilante?

“Hey,” the bartender said, “you good?”

Hero whirled around.

“Oh haha yes I am, I am so good, I love drinking alcohol!” Hero blurted rapidly.

Something glinted in the bartender’s eye. Hero didn’t like it.

“Well, if you really like the spirits, then you’ll have to try this one,” they said.

The bartender whipped up a cocktail as they spoke. Their movements were so fast Hero could barely track them.

“It’s the house special, no charge for the first drink.” they winked.

Hero fought the urge to gulp. They were barely old enough to drink as it was, and they hated how the stuff burned their throat. Plus, something about this didn’t feel right. Then again, if they refused, they could jeopardize the entire mission.

Hero forced a smile, taking it.

“Thanks,” they said.

The bartender watched them expectantly.

Down the hatch, Hero thought.

There was a fruity flavor that masked most of the alcohol, and the burning was minimal. Hero shook their head, immediately feeling a buzz.

“Good huh?”

“Mhm,” Hero said, and it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Well, uh, I should probably go find my friend,” Hero said, “thank you!”

Hero could feel the bartender’s eyes boring into them as they merged back into the crowd.

…

Time seemed to slow down. The room became blurry, and the sounds of the club were muffled, as though Hero was underwater. They put a hand out for balance, but slipped. Someone caught them at the last moment.

“Vigilante, thank goodness,” Hero slurred, “I can’t think straight.”

The blurry figure said something, but Hero couldn’t quite make it out. They were just thankful Vigilante had found them. They felt themselves being led out a back door.

…

“Just admit it, you lost them,” Superhero’s voice crackled in Vigilante’s earpiece.

“For the last time, I did not lose them! They lost me! And furthermore- oh no.”

“Oh no? What’s oh no?”

“I gotta go,” Vigilante said suddenly.

…

Strong arms deposited Hero in a plush armchair. Another figure sat with their back to them in a swivel recliner.

“So, Superhero is sending out rookies to spy on me now?” Villain’s voice drawled.

Hero blinked, taking a minute to process what they were hearing.

“Superhero? Who’s Superhero?” they asked.

Villain turned to face them. They stood, crossing the room and putting their hands on Hero’s armrests.

“You’re cute, but you’re a horrible liar. Especially under my concoctions.”

“Okay, man, I am sensing some boundaries being crossed, and if you continue to invade my personal space…”

Hero stood, intending to duck out from under Villain’s arm. They crumpled to the floor instead.

“What is this?”

Villain chuckled.

“Well, I guess I could always use you as leverage,” Villain nodded to the bartender.

The bartender hoisted Hero up and shoved them into Villain’s chest. Villain snaked an arm around Hero’s torso, pinning their arms to their sides.

“Le…leggo…”

Hero blinked slowly. They were just about to go under when an aggressive knock sounded at the door.

“Lucy I’m home!”

Vigilante kicked the door down. They held out two handguns.

“Put the pretty Hero down, or I will put all of you down in a different way,” Vigilante said darkly.

“What makes you think you’re in a position to make demands?” Villain said cooly, “I clearly have them as a shield, and-”

A shot rang out, and the bartender crashed to the floor, clutching their bloody leg.

“Do I need to count to three?” Vigilante asked, “let them go, or I’ll take out your entire staff.”

Villain glared.

“One…” Vigilante started.

Villain roughly pushed Hero away from them. Vigilante smiled.

“Good choice.”

Another gun shot, and Villain cried out as a bullet lodged itself in their shoulder.

Vigilante picked up Hero in a bridal carry.

“Bye-bye!”

Vigilante jumped out of the nearest window and ran into the night.

…

Hero woke up to the sound of hushed voices.

“I told you to keep an eye on them! If anything happened to them-”

“I had it handled, if anything, they aren’t ready to take on these kinds of things yet.”

“They’ll never learn if they don’t get to try!”

“Try, or die? Very similar words, be more specific~”

Hero groaned before they could stop themselves.

“See that? See what you did? They were having a nice dream and you woke them up!”

“Me!?”

Hero opened their eyes, seeing Superhero and Vigilante standing at the foot of their bed.

“Wha happen?” Hero asked.

Superhero came over to Hero’s side. They bent down and kissed them on their forehead.

“It’s all okay now,” they said, “you’re not in any danger.”

“Did I ruin the mission?”

“…No.”

“You hesitated,” Vigilante pointed out.

“You did not ruin anything,” Superhero continued, “but I think as far as Villain goes, we might want to try a different approach.”

“But-”

“Villain had you Hero,” Superhero went on, “like, full-on had you in their clutches, and if anything had happened… yeah, no, I can’t do this. You’re benched.”

“What!?”

Hero sat up against the pillows.

“You can’t bench me!” Hero protested, “you’re not the boss of me! Heck, you’re barely older than me! I can do this, you don’t need to baby me-”

“I am the leader of this team,” Superhero said, “what I say goes. And I say you’re benched. It’s too dangerous”

“Danger is kinda in the job description there, buddy,” Vigilante tried.

“And you!” Superhero rounded on Vigilante, “I have more choice words for you later.”

Superhero turned back to Hero, and their gaze softened.

“I’m sorry, Hero. There will be other missions and other villains. But I can’t lose you.”

Hero felt crestfallen, and it must have shown on their face, because Superhero sighed and looked away.

“Get some rest, yeah?”

Superhero ushered themselves and Vigilante out of the room, leaving Hero to sit there in silence until the tears fell.

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[accursedkaleeshi]

Welcome back to Kaleesh Week! New hub blog this year: me, Accursed :)

Posting early to give time to the try-hards & the busy! Entries will not be reblogged until the week begins. Details under the cut!

What is Kaleesh Week?

Kaleesh Week is a week dedicated to the small but thriving subset of the Star Wars fandom that loves General Grievous and his people, the Kaleesh. Similar to much more well-known fandom celebrations such as Smaugust, Mermay, or Whumptober, Kaleesh Week can pertain to any medium of choice. Taking advantage of the fact that canon doesn't look over here to do whatever we want!

What are the rules?

The rules are simple, but should be followed to ensure the happiness of all participants and make my job as archivist easier!

Tag your stuff meant for the week with #kaleeshweek24 or #kaleeshweek2024 ! Tag @accursedkaleeshi additionally if you don't want me to miss it. I will be reblogging all the goods to my blog this year! (we still love TB, F in the chat. they aren't dead)

Any type of creation is allowed, whether art, fanfiction, gifs, videos, or anything else. As long as it's Kaleesh-related, there's no problem

Remember to properly tag all triggers

It isn't strictly necessary to follow along every day, this is meant to be fun! Post whenever you like, whether that's all seven days or just one. You can also post anytime after the week if you'd like

Alternate prompts can be used to mix and match in any way you'd like with the standard prompts, so go crazy

And last but not least, have fun!

What are the prompts, and what's the deal with alternate prompts?

The two lists of prompts a day are there to give any participants more freedom with whatever they'd like to create. The days are more of a guideline, as mentioned above. Go crazy, or for those of us with busy lives, freak it sensitive style in wild space. If you post only one thing of any effort whenever you can? You're participating fam! I will be reblogging your tagged posts when the week begins & beyond. pm me with any questions!

Prompts:

Color

Tusks

Tradition

Many

Food!

Fast

Nest

Alternate Prompts:

White

Teeth

Tech

One

Food?

Slow

Trees

Bonus Wildcard Prompt to swap with: Kaleeshi Hatsune Miku lol

I'd like to join the General Grievous Discord server! Where do I sign up?

If you'd like to come hang out with us at the Kaleeaboos server, simply PM me! We have all sorts of fun stuff going on, and a pretty chill vibe. I'm one of the mods there along with some other big names in the Grievous fandom. Come hang with us!

And finally, good luck, and have fun!

[bokettochild]

Genuinely don't have the energy/will to write ANY more of whumptober right now, so I might intentionally just.... write them when I can and when I want to, rather than trying to get it all done this month.

The list this year's wasn't as good as previous years and so many of these prompts are either incredibly vague, limiting, or leaving me very uninspired, and it is DRAINING me.

I have stuff I WANT to write, and almost none of it is the whump prompts, so.... yeah. they'll get done when they get done, but right now I'm clearing the table and giving myself a chance to choose what I want to work on, so that way we don't get half-assed creations Ill just look back on with a scowl and which none of y'all are likely to even enjoy anyway.

Write for yourself, you know?

I'll still do them all, but it'll come slower and I think it might be my last go at Whumptober.Febuwhump is on the table, but I'm realizing October is probably one of the worse months for me to try writing what with how busy I get and the seasons changing and my body reacting badly to both of those things.

I promise to knock out all the prompts eventually though :)

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day three

@ailesswhumptober 3 — shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.” ↳ october, 1899 word count; 1.5k

cw; sibling death, implied alcohol abuse

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Jack thinks about Michael every day of his life. Maybe that's a good thing. He can't imagine the guilt if he didn't. But he also, really, can't imagine being able to…not. The thinking is one thing, but the nightmares are another.

And then there's the reminders.

Jack is all too aware his brother's death had had witnesses, all those boys watching out of the Refuge windows as they'd hopped the carriage, as Michael had slipped — and witnesses talk. Newsies talk, every shoeshine and street rat in New York talks; there ain't much else to do when they're working dawn 'til midnight or locked up behind those barred windows under Snyder's heel. Everyone knows. But it's one of those things most folk don't dare talk about — not when he's Cowboy, not when he's got the mask of being a leader to hide behind. Folk don't mess with him, though it's not the same way they don't mess with Spot Conlon. It's not fear.

They just…like him. Too much to bring up his dead little brother every time the urge might strike, whether they're pissed off with him — Jack thinks about his photograph, silently torn to shreds after he took the money — or they're just curious.

The Delanceys have no such reservations.

"Hey, Kelly," Oscar calls out from a little way down the alleyway Jack had just turned down. "Happy anniversary."

It's not. It's in a couple weeks. But Oscar's never been good with numbers.

"Fuck off, Delancey," he responds.

It's fucking cold. Too cold for October, too cold to be outside all day, but Jack doesn't have a whole lot of choice. He'd sold like shit, the way he always does in that lull between the cold weather starting and Christmas coming in — it's late and he's only just sold his last pape, he just wants to be done. But there Oscar is, leaned against the wall of the alleyway Jack's trying to cut through to get back to the lodging house, cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He smells like the stuff, but it isn't the sharp, acrid smell of the cheap booze that can usually be found amongst the newsies. It smells good. It looks good.

Oscar grins at him, lopsided. Jack can guess that what's been drained from the bottle has all been drank by him tonight, and his suspicions are confirmed when Oscar brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long, easy drink.

"How long's it been now, eh?" he asks as he draws the bottle away, voice still a little tight as he swallows, utterly casual. "Since Michael. Ten years?"

His tone is lazy, something smug and amused and utterly infuriating in his face. Jack rolls his jaw.

"C'mon, Oscar, get your fingers up. Try an' count it out."

Of all the possible reactions, he isn't expecting Oscar to laugh.

Violence would be expected, normal, but Oscar laughs, the way he usually only does when he's beating someone into the pavement or ruining their day.

It makes something in Jack's gut curl, burning hot and angry.

"Y'know, I really don't get it," he says. "Why you're like this. Why you act like all that time in there was nothin' to you, jus' somethin' to crack jokes about now. I saw you. Every day. Saw you go through Hell with me. An' your little brother."

Oscar takes a slow drag from his cigarette, still sort of smiling around it. One side of his mouth curled up to bare a canine that gets covered when he exhales the smoke into the cold night air.

"Been through worse," he says with a shrug. Takes a swig of his whiskey. "An' clearly I did better in there 'n you did. Got my wee brother out alive an' all."

The noise he makes when Jack throws him into the wall is satisfying, at least. A grunt from deep in his chest as the air is knocked out of him, a dull crack of his head hitting the brick last. His cigarette tumbles to the floor, and Jack takes no small amount of satisfaction in catching it beneath his boot and scraping it hard, mangling it into a spread corpse of tobacco, though Oscar keeps a firm hold on his whiskey.

And then he smiles again, lazier this time.

"You always been jealous."

Jack had seen Morris go through Hell in the Refuge. As much as if not more than Jack himself and Oscar had faced. He'd been tiny when Jack first saw him. A tiny, malnourished little kid who'd clearly been brutalised all his life. For the first few years, Jack had believed Morris to be a lot younger than he is — Michael's age, maybe. Never could've guessed that he's only a few months younger than Jack himself. But Morris was always well looked after by Oscar, regardless of the circumstances in there, or the circumstances of wherever they'd come from. Morris was forever under the protection of his older brother. Oscar, who would start fights with the other boys to wrench their rations from them to give to Morris. Who'd stay awake all night and curl himself around his brother, vicious and protective like a dog, or sit vigil at his bedside to ensure nobody dared come close. Who'd walked out of the Refuge, freshly eighteen, with his hand clasped around his little brother's bony wrist when their uncle had arrived, looking for boys to put to work.

Maybe Jack thinks about them near as much as he thinks about Michael. It's a fact he fucking hates.

He'd compared himself to Oscar at every possible turn as they grew up, confined together, the only other older brother he'd ever known to compare himself to.

He'd wondered, in the wake of Michael's death, if he could've kept him alive, protected him better, if he was only more like Oscar. More vicious, more controlling, more willing to bide his time and take it for as long as he had to until it was over, instead of always having to try and run. Maybe he could've been stronger.

"'M'glad," he says, without. Really thinking about it. Means it, at least. "That you got your brother out."

He's still got Oscar pinned to the wall, leaning his weight against him with hands balled into the worn fabric of his jacket, but finally he forces himself to let go. Staggers a step backwards, skin feeling heavy on his body. Grief feeling heavy on his aching shoulders.

There's a brief stretch of silence. And then Oscar wordlessly holds out the bottle of whiskey between them.

Jack takes it without hesitation, and tips it back to draw a long swig from the bottle. It's good. Rich and warm, burns down his throat right to his empty stomach. Oscar's looking at him.

"You expectin' me to lie to you?" he says, but his voice is softer now. "Tell you it's not your fault?"

Jack shakes his head, and takes another swig, maybe half because he can and half because he's cold. Mostly because he needs it.

"Know it is," he says forcefully. "'Course it's my fault."

It had been October then too, and he knew then how utterly miserable winters in the Refuge were. He'd just wanted to get out before the cold set in, wanted to get him and Michael somewhere they could stay warm. Boys always died during the winter in the refuge. And isn't there a sick irony to that.

"I—" Oscar says suddenly, then stops himself. Swallows, and drops his head back against the brick again, pale eyes looking up at the sky. "Dunno how you kept goin'," he says. "Dunno that I could. 'f Mo…"

Jack swallows too. He can't help but look at Oscar, closer than he usually ever gets to be, something. Sickeningly intimate about the vulnerability in this moment. The older boy looks tired. He looks sad. And then seems to experience his own wave of grief, as if realising in an instant that he's said more than he wanted to — revealed too much, like Jack hasn't already seen everything. Hasn't seen Oscar holding Morris' limp body and screaming. It was just the fact that Morris woke up.

"Fuckin'. Whatever," Oscar mutters. "I gotta get home."

Jack imagines Morris is waiting for him.

It's how it always is, when the two of them are apart. They're just waiting to be reunited, two broken halves of a whole. Oscar goes suddenly, without another word, and Jack watches him walk away with his hands shoved in his pockets, boots crunching. He's still got his own hand around the neck of the bottle that Oscar had left with him. There's still a warmth to it where Oscar had held it.

Jack takes another swig, and starts heading his own way home, trying not to think about Michael waiting for him somewhere.

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 20

Caesar x Reader Mermaid AU

Requested by @flossie12

"Caesar, please!" You begged, hugging octo-limbs. "The humans have changed, they're not the cruel barbarians they once were. You should see how much their colonies have advanced!"

"And risk being turned into calamari? Shorororo, yeah right!" Caesar laughed before getting out an odd hairbrush from a glass vial. "I'll keep collecting their things when they fall into the ocean."

"They wouldn't do that, at least not the man I met," you defended them, folding your arms and pouting.

"Did you even meet him?" Caesar questioned, turning to you with a quirked brow.

"Well- no-"

Yesterday you watched a male human play with his furry seal companion. You admire how much affection he expressed to the creature, you know humans finally adapted to caring about other lifeforms. On top of that, you wanted to explore the world above since it changed so much from the last few years you observed their life from the sea. You rambled about your desire to your friend Caesar when he mentioned he probably had a way you could adventure up there, but he tried to backtrack when you perked up at the idea.

"But he had a furry seal companion with him that he deeply cared about-"

"Dogs, they're called dogs," Caesar corrected while setting the odd brush next to the large flat seashell.

"Dawgs? How do you know?" You inquired, watching the purple octo-man scoop shrimp and oysters from his cauldron onto the seashell.

"I've spent my fair share of time up on the surface to conduct research for my experiments, my dear." Caesar set the cauldron down and swam back to where the seashell with the cooked creatures. "I've learned about their things and more. It is not a place for merfolk to go, especially since most of them believe my nature is cruel." With that, he used the brush to stab one of the shrimp and ate it-

"Oh, that's a mini trident!"

"The humans call it a fork."

"Oh..."

You watched him as he ate the cooked creatures, this being one of the reasons other merfolk thought Caesar was cruel, though did not understand why. To you, your friend simply wanted to eat different things in different ways. You frowned, wishing the others could accept your friend for his strange mannerisms, but alas he acted "too human". Wait-

A mischievous smile wormed it's way onto your lips. "Caesar, I find myself comfortable around your nature, and I enjoy your company."

Caesar felt his cheeks start to glow red. It didn't help that you began to twirl his hair between your fingers, an affectionate habit you had.

"Sooooo, therefore I should be fine around the humans, right?" You believed your logic made sense.

Caesar sighed and brushed your hands away from his hair. "If this is your idea of making me give in, it won't work. I've seen what they do up there, [Y/n], you'll regret going up there and walk the same surface they do. Not even I want to go back there. As tempting as it is to gather their newest items, it's not worth it for me."

Caesar huffed, grabbing the flat seashell and mini tri- fork before swimming over and dropping them into a bubbly hole. You hummed to yourself, racking your brain for another approach.

"What if you sent me up there to gather those items for you?" You suggested. "I get to explore the surface world and you get new stuff without the hassle of going up there yourself."

"Even if I were to agree, I don't know how the potion would affect you. It took me months to perfect the potion for myself, but there's no telling what it'd do to you since our anatomies are different."

"Come on C.C. it can't be that drastic of a difference, we're basically the same species."

Caesar glanced over your form, the major difference between the two of you is the fact you were female and had a fishtail, whereas he was male and had octopus limbs. He could also go on about the micro things that differed you apart, though he knew that'd bore you.

"Alright, fine, wait here." Caesar went to another room and grabbed a glass bottle. Returning, unsurprised that you beamed with glee. He almost smiled if not for his worry about what may happen to you but it seems you will only learn the hard way. "Follow me."

He led you out of his cavern and swam to the shallow waters near the human's shores. He turned to you and presented the potion you desired.

"When you take this, your tail will be replaced with human legs, you won't be able to breathe underwater either so you'll need to surface and ahead to shore," he instructed.

"Got it." You grabbed the glass bottle.

"One more thing." Caesar reached into his pocket and handed you a signal seashell. "Every week I expect you to call me and deliver human goods to me, you can also use it to ask for me to bring you home if you so desire."

"Yeah, yeah." You took the seashell and put it into your sash bag.

"Hmph." Caesar turned to leave when you hugged him from behind, catching him off guard.

"Thank you, Caesar, I mean it." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Wariness and guilt ruined Caesar's internal bliss, uncertain of what will happen to you. Though he savoured the moment nonetheless.

Four weeks had gone by since that day, and he hasn't seen you.

You kept your end of the bargain. He'd hear the seashell call but when he went to the shore, Caesar would only find a pile of human junk with a note for him. It frustrated him, why haven't you talked to him yet? Surely you wanted to ramble about the things you've seen to him, it's something you always do when you find something exciting. No matter, Caesar returned home carrying the items in a bag and proceeded to shift through them to see what held value to him. Soon it became mindless routine to him, and that's when he began to notice how quiet his life became. 

Months have passed by now, he hardly looked at what you gave him, tossing the bag in a corner full of junk. The only reason he bothered to collect them at this point is to tell you he still came. He ceased caring about these objects long ago, they will never be able to make up for your absence.

Hope had started packing up to leave Caesar. It's been ages now since he's seen your face, let alone heard your voice. He has begun thinking you loved your human life and would never want to return. Acceptance will be taking Hope's place, acceptance that his heart will be gone forever. Until he heard it.

The seashell call early in the week.

He scrambled to the surface, carrying the potion that'd turn you back. Breaking through the water, he scanned the area in search of you when he spotted you at the sandy beach smiling and waving him over.

"[Y/n], I was beginning to think I'd never see you again," he said once he neared you. "How come you never cared to see me all this time?"

Your smile faded, replaced with gloom. You point to your throat. Caesar tilts his head puzzled by what you meant to communicate with him. Why not use your words? He watched your lips move with no voice flowing out, only then did the pieces fall into place.

He said no more, opening his arms to embrace you and giving you the potion. Your tail grew back, alas your voice is still gone. He guided you to his home, a frown present on his face as he observed your gloomy self.

When you settle down, he gives you gel and some seashells for you to write with. You informed him of your time on the surface as a mute human, and while there were glimpses of your once starry demeanour, ultimately they were all washed away when you wrote about how you unveiled human's cruel nature. Just as you wrote the words "You were right", Caesar stopped you and held you close, telling you not to stress over it. 

Tears bubbled from your eyes into the ocean and you sobbed in his chest. Caesar gently stroked your hair, calming you the best he could while he tried to tame his own growing resentment toward humans. Times may change, but people never do. He'll make them regret what they did to you.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[zarvasace]

It’s “appreciate yourself” hours! Pick five pieces of writing/art that you’ve done that you love and talk about them! ❤️❤️❤️

Ahhhh okay, thank you!! 💜🌻 I finally have a free moment (aka work is slow) so I'm going to work on drafting this out :) I have far too much art I'm proud of—I'm at a stage in my progress right now where I think my art looks pretty awesome. So this list will be stuff from my Greatest Hits collection on AO3. In order of oldest to newest, I think:

incandescently happy

An LU post-adventure work, one of the first longer fics I posted. I released one chapter a day over the summer of 2022, so a lot of the notes have something about my day in them. It's about 30k all told.

I absolutely adored expanding on what the boys might do after the whole LU adventure happens (though I did forget about the fact that I think Time and Malon have a kid during this time!) This work features some proto-Shatterproof stuff, like Wind having a prosthetic leg and Four starting to specialize in crafting prosthetics/disability aids. I gave Hyrule longer hair and a job making maps for the royal family. Legend got another adventure but also started a magic garden/orchard, which pulls in more business than Ravio's stuff. Four and his grandpa adopted a single mother and her two kids. Man I went off with some of these headcanons. I've always considered writing more in this world, but I think it stands very well on its own. Maybe someday I might revisit and rewrite it with some of my new skills. :)

Rise and Shine and Fall

Whumptober 2022, focused entirely on LU! Guys this thing is almost 78k. I realize now that most people pre-plan or pre-write for things like Whumptober, but I wrote these one by one every day, which was extra-hard because I had both college classes and a day job at the time. I came up with some fun AUs, learned a lot about writing (especially whump), and proved to myself that I can do hard things like this!! I've adored doing daily challenges since, though I haven't done it in a while. I look forward to this year's whumptober though!

I really like the table of contents in the first chapter—it makes things easy to find. I know individual works are probably more accessible, but I was still getting to know AO3, and those big numbers are fun. XD I have a hard time picking favorites, because I really went off on these, but I'd say a couple of them are:

Chp 3, "Right Here" about Sky

Chp 7, "Proof of Life" about Four and Shadow

Chp 18, "I'm onwy a babey :(" about Wind

Chp 21, "6:13" about Hyrule and Time

Chp 26, "Silence is Golden" about Wild

Chp 31-32, "The Worst Thing About Earth" about Legend, but kind of more specifically the rewrite/expansion I did last year... haha...

The Marvelous Misadventures of Wind and His Merry Band or Maybe-Human Heroes

It's been a while since I updated this story (56k, 6/8 chapters), but it's constantly on my mind. I've started chapter 7 twice, and I know what I want to happen, but I am easily distracted by the siren call of some other whump fics. XD

I freaking love this story, though. I really want to finish it. It's kind of an... experiment? I guess? I want to get published someday, and I picture myself writing middle-grade novels. This story is sort of my attempt to hit that tone. Also I just love Wind so so so much. Let him be cool!!

Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School

56k Four Swords completed story! I wrote this in a frenzy of like two or three weeks, then took another two to edit. It takes plot points from a vampire novel I enjoyed and twists and applies them to a story about Shadow and the Four Swords manga boys. I'm very proud of what I accomplished here, and that it's a complete story! I think it worked out really well. I learned a lot about plotting and handling larger stories, and it helped that I had the half-remembered structure of an existing novel to use as training wheels.

I love the worldbuilding in this story! The premise is that Shadow is an evil soulless vampire from a (rather abusive, not that he sees it) family of the same, but then he gets the ability to walk in the sunshine. He's assigned to go to high school for a while to get a feast for the vampire gala, but meanwhile he's developing a conscience and getting very attached to these human boys. I think I did a good job. I love rereading this, every scene is just so fun! :)

Counterbalance

55k exactly of a stupid LU darks AU. This started life as a series of oneshots and then the plot progressively got more and more convoluted and I love these stupid boys so much. The plot is very much not tight, in contrast to Blood-Sucker's Guide, but I learned a lot about how I write and how I like to plan with this one, too.

The characters are stupid and the plot is just kinda silly and there is both a bathhouse scene AND a spa scene. Legend blows up multiple things, my lovely nasty little Dark Links need smacks and therapy, and Prince has a legitimately emotional moment at the end. I love how it turned out, it's like an ugly little stuffed animal I made and hug until the eyes pop out.

That's five but I would be extremely remiss if I did not also mention something from Shatterproof:

The Incredible Shrinking Chain

About 10k, this is entry 31/68 in my series Shatterproof, which is a close-canon AU in which each of the boys has a different physical disability. This series also plays into my publishing ambitions, because whatever I publish will very likely have some disability representation. I'm rather passionate about it, actually! Shatterproof is close to my heart, and I'm so honored that so many people seem to love it too. :) I need to work on the next entry again!!

This entry in particular is so much fun. In it, the whole Chain sans Four is stuck mouse-sized, and Four has to travel out to Twilight's castle with them to get Dusk to help break the curse. They all have to figure out how to navigate while tiny, and Four pulls some very silly stunts. I love them.

Anyway, there's my list!! I've written a lot over the last like two and a half years, and I'm so so glad that I get to be here and part of this community. The LU fandom as a whole (or at least the parts I've seen!) is so welcoming and positive and I try to give back where I can! I'm going to suggest looking through my bookmarks and ultimate rec list collection to find some new favorites from some very talented authors! :) (oof I need to update the collection soon!! I've been seeing some awesome stuff!)

[chosen-hero-inari]

Whumptober Day 20: Shoulder To Lean On

When your sky falls

Ena’s hands are shaking as she takes the letter from the Shibuya art contest up to her room. It’s just like last year, but this time, she’s way better. She’s been practicing more, getting tips from her dad, doing art in all sorts of contexts, actually going to class?

This year will be different! Actually different!

So, trembling, Ena takes out the letter and scans the words at the top of the carefully printed letter.

Thank you for entering the Shibuya Art Contest.

We received many excellent entries, and upon careful examination, we're sorry to inform you that you did not place at this time.

Ena collapses onto her bed. All that practice, and still? She’s still not good enough? A whole year later and she still didn’t place? She’ll… really never be good enough, will she?

There’s a soft knock on her door. God, it’s Dad again, probably. He knew she was entering, said he hoped she won something, but it’s the same as last year all over again.

Akito’s voice comes through the door. “Ena? I’m gonna come in. Don’t throw anything.”

Ena doesn’t even have the strength to yell at him when he barges in, and he doesn’t say anything either, just sits down next to her on the bed.

Akito grabs the letter out of her hand. “So, didn’t win anything?”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Well, we figured if you won you’d already be downstairs bragging about it. Dad wanted to give you a pep talk, but Mom talked him out of it.”

“I don’t think he knows how pep talks work,” Ena says, but her heart isn’t in it. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you remember that Tono guy?”

Ena rolls her eyes. “Yes, I remember that you happened to bump into the half-brother we never knew about.”

“I never told you how we met though.”

“Something something singing, something something?”

Akito flicks her on the forehead. “Nah, actually he kicked our asses in a battle. He was so far ahead of us at that point, I couldn’t take it. I went into training mode, nonstop, like I used to do with soccer.”

“Running laps and stuff?”

“That, doing a lot of solo practice, doing more solo shows, not getting enough sleep, making everyone who knew me deeply concerned for my health, almost collapsed a couple of times, you know how it is.”

“Right,” Ena says. “But your friends told you to stop being an idiot?”

“They did, but before I admitted they were right, I rematched Tono, and you know what happened?” Akito laughs. “He kicked my ass again. He called it a tie but no matter how much I practiced he still wiped the floor with me, and everyone knew it.”

“So, is that your point?” Ena asks. “That we both suck and practicing doesn’t help?”

“What I’m trying to say is I got past it because I had my team to help me. And at the end of the day, we surpassed RAD WEEKEND, and that never would have happened if I gave up after that second battle.”

Ena closes her eyes and leans on his shoulder. “How’d you get past it? Seeing the wall and instead of thinking about how tall it is, start thinking about how to get over it?”

“Support from my friends, knowing I couldn’t spend forever wallowing,” Akito says, “seeing my big sister get back into art after losing an art contest.”

“Liar.”

“Hey, we live in the same house and you pretty much work here, it’s hard not to remember what goes on in your life.”

Ena manages a weak laugh. “Yeah, ok. I guess you’re right. I mean if you can do it, I certainly can.”

“Yep.”

“Think if I still look sad enough Dad will buy us takeout for dinner?”

“Only way to find out is to go downstairs and talk to him.”

“Yeah, yeah ok.” And Ena gets up, and starts moving forward.

[darkkitty1208]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

Can I?

...

Yeah, no. Definitely not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[skyward-floored]

Hello!!

Um…

I really loved that one fic you wrote called “caged” with fable and legend, and I also really liked the sequel. I love how you described the scenes, it was really fun to read!

I saw that you were talking with another user about how legend got into the castle, and you mentioned that he probably got in through the secret passage way that he knows from alttp

I was wondering if maybe you were thinking about writing a prequel to that fic?

Maybe about how the chain lands in Legends Hyrule and they see Hyrule castle looming in the distance, perhaps under a spell of some kind and legend immediately runs towards it to find he can’t enter normally and he tells the chain that he does know of a way in. So they enter through the secret passageway and perhaps legend gets some flashbacks to alttp as they’re fighting monsters (or maybe brainwashed guards) and looking for fable.

It’s just a suggestion tho! I’m aware you have other stuff to do, so…

Uh anyways, I really liked this years whumptober fics a Lot too, they were all amazing! You are really such a talented writer!

That’s all, hugs!!🫂🫂🫂

I hope you have a nice day

So I wasn’t really thinking about writing a prequel at all, and I don’t do requests really but... well. The idea intrigued me, and I sat down and started writing, and this came out 😅

It’s minimally edited and certainly not my best work, but hey, it’s something. I hope you enjoy the little prequel anon, and thank you for the kind words :)

Caged

The sequel (Aftermath)

———————————————————

Again.

Again.

It was all Legend could think of as he stared at the castle in the distance, dread and anger and too many emotions for him to name making his hands shake.

They’d just exited a portal, landing in his Kakariko, and the relief of being back in his own time was immediately overshadowed by the oppressive dark magic in the air. Impa had found them soon after, and explained with a worried look in her eyes about a wizard who had tricked them, and overtaken the castle.

With Zelda inside.

The blood had begun to roar in Legend’s ears as Impa explained further, but he was barely listening anymore, his head spinning and chest tight with anger.

She’s in danger again, the kingdom’s in trouble again, and I wasn’t here to protect—

“Legend, what should we—?”

He took off.

He ignored the shouts of the others, the calls for him to wait up, and booked it towards the castle, his pegasus boots making it impossible for the other heroes to keep up with him. Rain had begun to fall at some point, but Legend didn’t let it stop him, not even when he nearly wiped out in a puddle.

He reached the castle gates in mere minutes, and banged a fist on the doors. They were shut tight though, sealed with magic that Legend knew he wouldn’t be able to break. But he pounded against them anyway, took out one of his rods and blasted at it, tried his rings and items and all sorts of things before finally kicking at them with an angry yell.

The others had caught up to him by then, and they joined his side, split evenly between looking at him and looking up at the gates.

“How are we going to get in?” Wind asked a little hesitantly, and Legend sighed, swiping some drops of rain off his face.

“I know a way.”

He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but it looked like it was the only way they could get inside.

Legend led them all around to the east side of the castle, the group’s weapons drawn and eyes squinted through the rain for any enemies. It was only a passing shower, not a torrential thunderstorm like the last time he’d used this passage, but the similarities still made Legend tense.

History sure does love repeating itself.

More then one concerned look was shot his way as they went, but Legend ignored them, as well as the memories that were trying to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. He had a job to do and a princess to save, and he wasn’t going to get lost in his head.

Even though this was at least the fourth time he’d done this and he was so tired of evil striking at his kingdom and the people he loved and having to stop them again and again. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Not now.

They didn’t run into any monsters on the way to the other side of the castle, which made Legend suspicious, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He quickly revealed the secret passage that would lead them inside, and gestured the others in.

“That’s convenient,” Wild commented, and Warriors studied the passage in interest.

“Are you the only one who uses this tunnel? Seems like a security risk.”

“Only a few people know it exists,” Legend replied, then dropped in so he wouldn’t have to continue the conversation.

Legend took the lead as they began to walk down the tunnel, and kept himself several paces in front of the others, his shoulders slowly hitching upward.

Water dripped as they walked along the passage, running on the edges and making the floor damp. There weren’t any monsters in this spot either, which made it easy for Legend to stride as quickly as possible past the spot where his uncle had breathed his last.

He hated being down here. He hated the reason he was down here and the slimy feel of the floor under his boots, and the smell in the air and the squeak of rats he hated it.

And was it his imagination, or was he smelling blood?

“Legend?”

Legend breathed in sharply as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked over at Twilight, the older hero giving him a searching look. They were nearly to where the dungeons connected, he didn’t want to stop now.

“You alright?” Twilight asked, and Legend let out a bitter laugh.

“Sure, I love coming home to find out the kingdom got taken over in my absence. And nobody knows what happened to my Zelda, and getting to tromp around in the sewers, I’m having the time of my life, thanks,” he snapped. “What’s one more crisis for the kingdom of Hyrule?”

Twilight’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “Legend.”

Legend stopped in his tracks and glared back at Twilight, gripping his sword so tightly he was sure it was leaving lines in his palms. “What.”

“We’ll save her, Legend,” Twilight said firmly, and gave his shoulder a bracing squeeze. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us this time— whatever this wizard is capable of is no match for all nine of us. We’ll save Zelda, and the kingdom. We’ll stop this together.”

Legend stared, then looked behind Twilight to where the rest of the Links were standing, and they all gave him equally determined looks. Their eyes were bright and fierce, and full of just as much resolve to save Zelda as his own were.

Legend felt his eyes sting, but he forced himself to blink the tears back, and nodded at Twilight, breathing out as some of the emotions storming in his chest eased a bit.

Twilight released his shoulder, and Legend turned back around, waving them all onward.

“Only a bit further to the dungeons. We’ll check for Zelda there first, but if she’s not there, we’ll... we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Legend said firmly. “Finding her is our biggest objective. The wizard comes second.”

The others nodded as they crossed through a doorway, and Legend squared his shoulders, shoving away the rest of his anxiety and terror and digging up the courage in his chest that had gotten him through six adventures already.

We’re coming Zelda, hold on, he thought desperately, shouting a warning back to the others as they reached the dungeons, and an enemy’s sword nearly took his head off.

Please be okay.

[insertsomthinawesome]

I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!! Okay so honestly I have been very very inconsistent over the years with just disappearing for periods of time due to various things 😂 So it probably seemed pretty normal to most people.

But it felt different on my side, so I'm excited to be back in business. I took a month long hiatus! 31 days of not drawing digital art. Its not something I talk about on here? But I've been suffering from some serious long term Art Burnout for.... a really really long time. Long enough that I should've taken a break probably years ago. It finally got so bad that I could barely draw. I was scared to do it (cause it always looked "bad" in my eyes [i'll come back to that]) and doing it was exhausting and disheartening.

I talked it over with somebody and realized that the fear and anger and frustration I felt towards my own artwork was uh. Not Normal or Healthy. And I finally committed to taking a real break for once.

I still drew a little bit by hand? Traditional art has always felt like it has lower stakes for me (i don't often share it online, and sometimes I don't even share it with friends) so I did some of that when I felt like it. But Digital art was completely off the table.

I had put such an immense pressure on myself to make my digital art perfect, to make as much of it as quickly as possible to satisfy something. It wasn't fun anymore. I'm proud of what i've made over the years! But for a long time now the stuff I've been making was made while hating every second of making it. With some rare exceptions.

I hated my art! It was a combination of Perfectionism, taking in too many external expectations, and the burnout. If you hate doing something its kinda hard to love it even when you want too lol. It wasn't "Bad" in the sense that the quality was low and it was ugly! It was "Bad" in the sense that it was unhealthy for me to keep doing it at that point in time.

I'm glad to report though, that with my hiatus officially over as of Wednesday last week: I am once again. In Love. With doing art, and being an artist :)

I put off taking a break for years cause I was scared that taking a break would mean that I would never achieve all the things I wanted to do with art. I was scared it was a stupid and lazy thing to do that would mean I'd never achieve my dreams. And Also even though I kinda hated drawing, I also loved making art. Its a weird duality that I can't even really explain??? I hated it but I also loved it. I wanted it but I also wanted to run from it. It wasn't until I was more mature and had more clarity and insight (and unfortunately also until the problems got worse) that I was finally able to let go of those fears and just do it.

And I'm really really glad I did. It was everything I needed. And I hope to strike a better balance in the future with art. Taking more breaks when I need them, or just when other things have my attention like reading or Video games (Some star rail got played during this time xD)

From the outside things probably aren't going to be that different?? At this point I don't really have any sure plans to post anything I've been drawing since my Hiatus ended. I might or I might not xD I'm still a hobbyist artist taking things at her own pace, but I hope that it shows how much happier I am :)

Whumptober 2023 is being officially put to rest by this post btw! I was in major burnout when that event started, and I'm ready to just, move on from all the past expectations I'd shoved on my shoulders. If I feel like filling any of the prompts or going back to any of the ideas I'd come up for it I will! But I'm not going to worry about doing it unless the desire sets in. Thanks to everybody who's been so kind to me throughout my time on here as an artist! Ya'lls tags and screaming and kind words, the fanfic, the asks and the responses? Its been fantastic :) You guys have made me laugh, smile, and cry tears of joy. I hope from here that things only get better and sweeter! And if I have bad days again, that's okay too.

Here's to 2024 and whatever it may bring ya'll :D 🎉🎉✨✨🧡💜

[febuwhump]

can i ask whats up w the bees thing? i keep seeing it pop up in whump circles but is it literally just like bee stings? or is it code? im so out of the loop...

so to my knowledge, febuwhump is one of, if not the only, whump challenge that crowdsources and votes on prompts. (especially at a large scale.) i, as admin, do not actually decide anything other than 100 of your prompts for you to then choose from.

so other whump challenges are just out there coming up with this stuff on their own with no peer review system, and a few years ago, whumptober had a prompt that was just the word "bees". and this got. a reaction. it was funny! we all thought it was funny! and silly! and ridiculous! like it would of course be sitting alongside prompts like "poisoned" or "chained" or "knife-point" or whatever. bees.

just.

bees.

and that's funny.

in some ways, its a good prompt. in many other ways, in a whump challenge specifically, its not. and that's funny

(we also love and respect whumptober so this is no shade, they know what they did and they must know it was hilarious)

so its really not code. i tried to persuade people to vote for bees last year and no one did, and this year i just thought it would be funny to shine a spotlight on it, try to get people to vote for it, the silly little prompt "bees" as a throw back and a poking fun of whumptober's unironic use of it a few years back.

that's truly all the lore there is!

and i totally, 100% know, that people are going to see the prompt list this year, and if "bees" has made it in they will post their snarky little tags comments about it being a dumb prompt, and they will not know that its there as a joke, and that's totally fine! they are not in on it!

anyway. it's funny to me and that's why we're doing it. along the way, i think some people did start to see the potential in the prompt however, so now its got an excited little fanbase made up of people who think its funny and people who really just want to write about the raven cycle or their blorbo being allergic to bees

if it doesn't make it in, we might just have to host a febubees day on march 1st, like we did 2 years ago for the prompt clowns not making it through. it has earned that much

[whumpsday]

my unhinged rant about the whumptober discourse, below the readmore for the benefit of ppl who dont wanna see that crap. im just gonna go insane if i don't say this somewhere bc i feel like i'm losing my mind

this drama is genuinely so mind-blowingly stupid it's unreal, and it's been bothering me so much that i just HAVE to talk about it or i'm gonna go insane, if for no other reason than to get it out of my system. i honestly never expected the whump community to go on the kind of bad-faith tirade that's taking place.

disclaimer right here that i do not support AI scraping creative works without permission (like chatgpt and a whole host of AI art programs do) or these AI-generated works being passed off as legitimate creative works. obviously that stuff is bad, and literally everyone on all sides of this agrees it's bad. i used chatgpt exactly once one week after it came out, before i knew how shit it was, and haven't touched AI stuff since. because it steals from creators and it sucks.

now:

saying "whumptober supports/allows AI" when their official policy says plain as day:

"we are not changing our stance from last year’s decision"

"we will not amplify or include AI works in our reblogs of the event."

"we discourage the use of AI within Whumptober, it feels like cheating, and we feel like it isn’t in the spirit of the event."

is bonkers! whumptober is a prompt list, there is nothing TO the event other than being included in the reblogs. they literally cannot stop people from doing whatever they want with the prompts.

someone could go out and enact every single prompt in real life on a creativity-fueled serial killing spree and the whumptober mods couldn't do shit about it. it's not like it's a contest you submit to. it's a prompt list! someone could take every single prompt from the AI-less whumptober prompt list, feed it into chatgpt right now, and post them as entries. and the mods of THAT wouldn't be able to stop them either. because it's a prompt list.

the AI-less event have also made just... blatantly false claims, like that grammarly isn't AI. grammarly IS AI and they openly advertise this. hell, this is grammarly's front page right now:

and this is a statement from grammarly about how its products work:

its spellchecker / grammarchecker is AI-based! claiming it's not AI is just... lying. saying "this is an AI-less event" and then just saying any AI that you want to include doesn't count as AI is ludicrous.

and you know what? whumptober actually pointed this out. they said they don't want to ban AI-based assistive tools (like grammarly) for accessibility reasons. this post has several great points:

"AI is used for the predictive text and spellchecker that's running while I type this reply."

"Accessibility tools rely on AI." this is true and here's an article about it, though the article is a little too pro-AI in general for my tastes, there's nuances to this stuff. it's used for captioning, translation, image identification, and more. not usually the same kind of AI that's used for stuff like chatgpt. THERE ARE DIFFERENT KINDS!

"But we can't stop that, nor can we undo damage already done, and banning AI use (especially since we can't enforce it) is an empty stand on a hill that's already burning, at least in our view of things."

and people were UP IN ARMS over this post! their notes were full of hate, even though it's all true! just straight lying and saying that predictive text isn't AI (it is), that AI isn't used for accessibility tools (it is), that whumptober can somehow enforce an anti-AI policy (they can't because it's a prompt list).

in effect, both whumptobers have the EXACT SAME AI POLICY. neither allows AI-generated works, but both allow AI-based assistive tools like grammarly. everyone involved here is ON THE SAME SIDE, they all have the exact same opinion on how AI should be applied to events like this, and somehow they're arguing???

not to mention that no other whump event has ever had an AI policy. febuwhump, WIJ, bad things happen bingo, hell even nanowrimo doesn't have one.

and you wanna know the most ridiculous part of this entire thing? which is also the reason why none of the above events have an AI policy.

no one is doing this. no one is out there feeding whumptober prompts to chatgpt and posting them as fills for whumptober cred. it's literally a hypothetical, made-up issue. all of this infighting over a problem that DOESN'T EXIST.

to the point that people are brigading the whumptober server with shit like this:

saying "everyone who participates in whumptober is a traitor, you should go participate in this other event with the exact same AI policy but more moral grandstanding about it" is silly. every single bit of this drama is silly.

in the end, please just be nice to people. we're ALL against the kind of AI that steals from creators. the whumptober mods are against AI, the AILWT mods are against AI, whumptober participants are against AI, AILWT participants are against AI. there is no mythical person out here trying to pass chatgpt work off as whumpfic. let's all just be civil with each other over this, yeah?

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 19 - Blood Trail

title: washed up

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: blood and violence

~

It was his own fault, really. His own fault that he didn’t check the durability on his elytra, that he hadn’t bothered to enchant them with Mending. How was his laziness more pressing than Mending?

So Etho had tumbled out of the sky, drifting where he could on his damaged wings, until he managed to crash into a tree and fall through its branches, where he landed on the ground just at the edge of a forest.

Etho groaned, pushed himself up onto his knees. His face stung from the lash of the branches against his cheeks, his entire body sore from the impact against the ground. He might have broken his right wrist, caught under his body. It was already swelling up, his hand practically useless.

He wiped his other hand across his face, grimaced when it came away bloody. A quick look down showed he was bleeding from a multitude of different scrapes on his body, his clothes torn here and there. None of them looked serious, or even all that deep, so that could have been a lot worse.

A wrist and some scrapes wasn’t the end of the world, but the dull pain coming from his ankle told him that wasn’t all. He shifted to sit, tugged down the sock of his right foot to check it.

Yep, it looked about the same as his wrist, already swelling up. Maybe broken, maybe badly sprained—either way, he wasn’t walking out of there.

It wasn’t too bad, he supposed. He could be in a lot worse of a situation. Sure, night was falling, but if he messaged the main chat for help, someone would come get him.

<Etho> hey anybody on-world and awake

<Docm77> Hello

<Cubfan135> I never sleep

<Tango> so not bdubs? haha

<Etho> my elytra broke far away… ://

<Tango> oh etho

<Cubfan135> no mending?

<Etho> I haven’t gotten around to it

<Docm77> how far away are you?

<Etho> idk pretty far out

<Etho> [COORDINATES]

<Tango> oh dude that’s forever away

<Etho> yup

<Cubfan135> needing some help?

<Etho> well I think I broke my ankle

<Cubfan135> oh nooo

<Docm77> no potions?

<Etho> nope

<Cubfan135> suiting up now

<Docm77> omw

<Etho> thanks guys haha

Etho set his communicator down in the grass, dug through his satchel. He usually carried a couple of bandages, so he could at least wrap the ankle, get it some support.

He did find an ace bandage, thankfully. He set one end against his ankle, started looping it around the arch of his foot and the joint of his ankle. He moved with practiced efficiency, pinning the loose end and pulling his sock and his shoe back up over it.

He tested it carefully, putting a bit of weight on that foot. Not too bad, but nothing that he thought he could reliably walk on.

A groan sounded from the treeline, and Etho’s head jerked up, scanning the trees for movement. Had the sun already set enough for monsters to spawn?

He wouldn’t be able to wield a sword all that well. He last practiced left-handed combat . . . two or three years ago, probably, on a consistent schedule, he just hadn’t needed it in so long. . . .

“This is why you stay on top of your skills, Etho,” he told himself. Maybe he could construct some sort of shelter? Or—

Another groan from the forest. He’d never been that fond of building, so he didn’t tend to carry that kind of stuff on him. Especially not when he was just flying out to find some unexplored cave, his pockets as empty as they could be. Sure, he had torches, but that wouldn’t be enough to fend off a horde of zombies.

He passed over a village not too long ago, didn’t he? If he could find a large enough stick to lean on, maybe he could make his way back toward it. Surely it wouldn’t be too far of a trek—he remembered seeing it just before he crashed.

Etho glanced back at the forest, the most likely place to find a stick. No sun filtered out through the thick canopy of trees, the darkness much deeper than it ought to have been, even at this late hour.

Yeah. That probably wasn’t going to happen.

He had to lean on his sword, then, and hope that it was enough. Luckily, the ground was dry enough that the tip shouldn’t just sink into the earth. Etho counted that as a blessing and started off, adjusting his left-handed grip on the hilt after each step, trying to find what worked best.

It wasn’t all that helpful, to be honest. The sword was just too short to work the way he wanted it to, and he would have preferred it on his other side. Just his luck that he happened to break the wrist and ankle of the same side of his body.

He probably should have wrapped his wrist, too, but he wasn’t in the habit of carrying more than one ace bandage, and he didn’t really have time. His arm shoved into his sleeveless coat, held in place by the halfway-zipped zipper, would have to do.

He should message the others, let them know that he was moving and heading toward a town, but when he reached for his communicator at his belt, he found the holster empty.

Uh-oh.

Etho turned (slowly, too slowly), spotted his communicator on the ground where he’d left it, ten feet behind him, resting in the grass.

Come on.

“Okay,” he breathed, staring at it. How long had it taken him to walk those couple of steps? Not too long, surely, mere minutes, but minutes were everything at sundown.

Should he risk it? Grab his communicator, or keep making his way toward the village?

It was more important to be able to update his friends, probably.

He tightened his hold on his sword, started to hobble back to his communicator. He tried to keep his uneven footsteps quiet, careful not to disturb any monsters in the woods, but the grass underfoot was dry and crunched, and his gait wasn’t particularly suited for quiet at the moment.

He made it to his communicator, though, and puzzled for a moment with the concept of picking it up. He could bend forward if he put his weight on his sword, but he wouldn’t be able to pick it up with his free hand. Not to mention, when he attempted to bend over, his back shot through with stiffening pain—deep tissue bruises from his fall, no doubt.

Right. How was he meant to do this?

He could crouch, he supposed. On one leg, though? Well, his right leg might not take much weight, but it could at least steady him. He would have to put his sword into its sheath, unable to hold it and unwilling to drop it.

He fumbled with it, awkwardly trying to work his sword into the sheath with his left hand. He managed to slide it in, though, and was about to crouch when he heard the snapping of underbrush.

Etho looked up, eyes trained on the dark woods. He scanned them, back and forth, and quickly identified the source of the movement—a bush, right up at the edge, trembling as something pushed its way through—

A rotting hand shoved aside the last branch, and a zombie stumbled out, arms reaching toward Etho.

Now, Etho didn’t usually have any problems dispatching zombies. A quick stab and slash, maybe a running jump, and they were down. One of the easier monsters to handle, honestly. Far easier than creepers or skeletons.

But this zombie was . . . different.

Etho had seen zombie villagers before. He’d always shuddered at their twisted features, their not-quite-right noises. He’d killed those as well, if they were too far gone to be restored.

This one was, quite notably, not too far gone.

It was a farmer, once. Its wide-brimmed hat protected it from the last rays of the sun, its blood-stained overalls not thick enough to save it from whatever zombie bit it, blood staining the jean. Gloves hung from its belt, one almost entirely slipped out, just a finger pinning it in place.

It wasn’t quite a zombie, though, not yet. Sure, its skin was splotched with green, its mouth hanging open to show rotting teeth. Its eyes were completely clouded over with white, its fingernails cracked and blackened. But something about it screamed human, something in the way it checked right and left before lurching toward Etho, something in its repetitive swallowing of saliva instead of letting it all drip down its chin.

This was a freshly-turned zombie villager. Its reflexes were likely to be quicker, its bites stronger. Usually, Etho would turn the thing back, but as proved earlier, of course he didn’t think to bring an Ender chest with him.

He didn’t want to kill it, though. It was just a farmer, maybe still conscious enough to recognize that something was wrong, and he hated to condemn it to death for not being able to defend itself against a monster—not when he should have been able to help it.

Ah, well. He cared more about surviving this encounter than feeling bad for a zombie.

“Whoa there, buddy,” Etho said, hopping back a bit on his uninjured foot. His communicator remained on the ground as he tried to get his sword back out, sweaty fingers pulling fruitlessly on the handle. “If you want to just hang tight for a minute, my friends are on their way. They can turn you back.”

He didn’t think that the zombie could understand him, but there wasn’t any harm in trying.

His sword came free—

The zombie lunged—

Etho missed. Etho missed, and the zombie reached for him—he did his best to twist away, but his good foot slipped out from under him. He hit the ground and swung back blindly with his sword, pulling himself away on his bad arm. His wrist buckled under him and he gasped, pain surging through it.

Before he could properly turn around and defend himself, the zombie was on top of him. Etho writhed, tried to shove it off, but before he could get any leverage, it was biting down on his upper left arm.

A pained noise escaped his clenched teeth as he felt his flesh break under the zombie’s teeth, fire spreading from the bite. Involuntarily, his fingers released the sword, letting it clatter to the ground beside him. He shoved back, managing to dislodge the zombie—but a glance down showed several of the teeth still stuck in his bloody flesh. Etho rolled onto his back, scooted backwards as quickly as he could.

The zombie threw itself at him again, and Etho had nothing to defend himself with—

It bit into his chest this time, and Etho kicked and kicked and beat at its head with his fist, grimacing as its soft head gave way partially under the heel of his palm. White-hot pain burst from his chest as its jaw clamped down on him—Etho’s arms spasmed, but he just forced himself to breathe through it and kept trying to push the zombie away.

Without warning, his broken ankle erupted in pain. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of it—the zombie was still on top of him, pulling away with a mouthful of flesh, blood dripping everywhere: how could it have grabbed his foot?

There was a hand wrapped around his bad ankle, and as the zombie pushed off of him, Etho saw it.

Another zombie villager, and this one was a teenage boy. It was a farmer as well, made clear by its jeans and straw hat, and Etho had a moment of staring at the two through tear-blurred eyes before he realized that they were probably father and son.

Then the son pulled, and Etho had a second realization.

He’d only seen this happen once. A villager reported missing from one of his villagers, that had been seen dragged away by multiple zombie villagers. Etho had ventured out in search and discovered an entire zombie villager family, feasting on the kidnapped villager.

These two were taking him to their family.

That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.

“Hey,” Etho gasped, trying to spot his communicator as they started to haltingly drag him toward the forest. “Hey, I don’t really appreciate this. I’ve got—things—”

There it was, glinting in the grass—he reached for it—

The farmer’s boot came down on it, the screen cracking and fizzing out.

Maybe it still worked?

Etho twisted around onto his stomach, gritting his teeth against the scream that tried to tear from his throat at the turn of his injured ankle. His efforts were wasted, anyhow; his communicator was already out of reach.

He kicked, grabbed the grass, tried his best to fight, but the father growled something like a warning and Etho let himself go limp. He just had to wait for an opportune moment.

They breached the treeline, and Etho groaned aloud when the branches and roots of the underbrush began to pull at his clothes, scraping his skin up even worse.

This was going to be fun.

-

“Uh-oh,” Cub said as they landed at the coordinates that Etho had sent. Doc made a noise of unease.

Before them was Etho’s communicator, a large crack splintering down the screen. His sword lay abandoned a couple of feet away.

More ominous than anything, however, was the clear sign of something heavy being dragged through the broken grass and into the woods, the trail dotted and smeared with darkness that shines in the light of Doc’s torch. Blood.

They looked at each other, a quick analysis of the situation passing between them.

No discussion was needed. They turned toward the forest and charged in.

Following the trail was easy—blood marred it, of course, but whatever had taken Etho had made sure to drag him through the worst of the underbrush, making a clear path all the way through. Cub kept one eye on the ground while Doc followed close behind, his mechanical eye whirring.

Then they heard a sound that chilled their very bones.

A scream, cut-off and choked, sounding from not too far within.

Without a word, Cub broke into a run. Doc followed right behind.

-

Etho was still pretty sure he could make it out of this alive.

They hadn’t reached the rest of the zombie family yet, and the two dragging him hadn’t shown any signs of tiring out, but Etho was just resourceful like that.

He’d managed to roll back onto his back (terrible for his elytra, which he just knew were getting as destroyed as his mask already was), and from there he had pulled his satchel onto his stomach and begun pawing through it, ignoring the quickly-failing mobility of his right arm and the pulsing pain and slow seeping of blood from his chest.

He had torches, a pickaxe repair kit, some basic redstone. Food. Some finer instruments for chiseling. Not much, but certainly enough.

His left-handed throw would be rough, but surely he could launch something at these guys. If he could catch the kid in the face with his chisel, it might loosen its grip enough for Etho to sit up, then swing the miniature sledgehammer at the leg of the father. That should shatter the bone, give Etho a moment to grab his pickaxe off his back and swing.

He grasped the chisel, rubbed it between his bloodstained fingers. He had this. He just needed to breathe, ignore all the pain, and. . . .

Before he could take aim, they broke into something of a clearing—still with heavy tree covering, but few obstructions.

Sitting in the clearing were three other zombie villagers: the farmer’s wife, a baby, and another son.

Oh, no. He’d better not have left this too late.

“I really don’t want to die,” Etho said, as casually as he can manage. “I know that’s kind of your thing, but—”

He threw.

That part worked, somehow. The boy dragging him let go as the chisel hit him square in the nose, stumbling back and covering his face.

The next part . . . didn’t. Etho tried to sit up, tried to swing the sledgehammer at the farmer, but his back seized up with all-encompassing pain, just as it had earlier. He was stuck on the ground, muscles jerking, he couldn’t sit up—

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Etho muttered frantically, doing anything he could to roll to his feet. He’d run on a broken ankle, he didn’t care anymore, but this was getting dangerous and he had to go.

He was too late, not even able to turn onto his stomach as the farmer’s hands closed around his right foot and twisted. Etho screamed, briefly, at the horrible jolt and drag of pain as he felt his bones crunching together—he shoved his forearm into his mouth to stifle the noise, tried to focus through his watering eyes.

He threw the sledgehammer—missed. Just his luck. And now the other zombies were stalking toward him, and the older son was back to it, reaching toward his other leg with his mouth open—

The father bit down on his foot, his teeth held at bay by Etho’s shoe. Etho jerked, tried and succeeded in kicking him in the teeth, despite the added pain to his ankle. The farmer dropped him, but the son had his other leg and bit down on his shin—it hurt, it hurt, and the little baby was crawling toward his face, green hands reaching for Etho’s eyes—

This was it. Etho was going to die here.

He had a good run, he supposed. Friends, laughs, some redstone contraptions. Looking back, he’d had more good times than bad times, and that had to mean something. He must have done something right, right?

He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, but he didn’t give up. He still tried to get away, still struggled and kicked and flung out. He still shoved the baby away.

But his energy was flagging, and soon enough, he would be nothing more than zombie food. The farmer’s wife, bent over him, tore into his stomach—the other son was gnawing on his shoulder—this was definitely it—

He’d never been this bone-chillingly terrified before, it washed over him like a tropical storm, he was dying—

Etho didn’t hear the thud and twang of the crossbow firing, nor did he see the bullet land, but he did see the wife zombie stumble away from him, landing hard on its back. He watched it, confused, his left hand coming up to uselessly try to staunch the bleeding from the gouge in his stomach.

This time, he did hear the whistle of an arrow, which buried itself in the older son’s throat and sent him crumpling to the ground, dropping Etho’s leg.

Etho looked back, over his shoulder and to the left, and there—

Cub, Cub drawing another arrow, Doc tossing a crossbow to the side and coming forward, sword already drawn.

Etho could have cried.

They had come for him. They were going to get him out of here.

The other zombies were taken out with relative ease (though Doc did splash a weakness potion on the baby and led it away to give it a slice of golden apple), and Cub was at Etho’s side in mere moments, light touches cataloging each wound.

Cub’s face had never looked so beautiful. And Doc’s.

He was going to survive.

“Hey,” Etho rasped, trying to smile. “Took you long enough.”

“Dude,” Cub shook his head. “We can’t leave you for one second.”

“Yeah, I’m a noob.” He felt a bit lightheaded. Probably the blood loss. “Got any . . . uh, potions?”

Cub clicked his tongue. “Yeah, but we’re gonna want to clean these out before you have anything. Which ankle did you hurt?”

“Uh, the right one. My wrist, too.”

Cub examined them both, his frown growing deeper and deeper. “You’ll probably want to get these checked out by a real doctor, off-world. I don’t wanna give you a potion if it isn’t set properly.”

“Whatever,” Etho said, biting his lip to keep his teeth from chattering. Now that the danger was over, he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. He watched as Cub uncapped a bottle of disinfectant, pouring some onto a piece of cloth and beginning to wipe down the wounds—it stung, of course it stung, he knew it would. Etho tried not to make too much noise.

“No head trauma?” Doc asked, approaching. Etho hummed, still gritting his teeth against the sting of the disinfectant.

“Don’t think so,” he said. “Don’t even remember hitting it on the fall.”

Doc knelt beside his head, took his face between his hands—surprisingly gentle, considering the cold metal of one of them. Etho’s mask was ripped to shreds by now, but Doc still straightened it as he stared into Etho’s eyes, his mechanical eye flashing.

After a moment, he smiled. “You can sleep, Etho. We’ve got you.”

Honestly? Sleep sounded really good.

So Etho fell asleep.

When he woke up, he was home, wounds bandaged and a soft glow coming from the lamp at his bedside.

He was safe.

He closed his eyes again and let sleep take him.