#tw bedside vigil

[serickswrites]

When in Rome

Warnings: capture, public humiliation, torture, restraints, whipping, blood, unconsciousness, bedside vigil, defiant whumpee

"I can be a kind and benevolent ruler," Whumper said as they circled their captives. "I think you will find I am a much better ruler than your former monarch."

Caretaker hated listening to this. Hated that they were all in chains while Whumper and their traitorous band walked free. But worst of all, they hated watching Whumpee struggle in the chains that had been thrown on all of them.

"The only thing you are capable of is evil," Whumpee hissed.

"You could give me a chance, Whumpee. If you give me a chance, if you bow, the others will follow suit. So many subjects have already pledged their loyalty."

"I'd rather die." Whumpee thrust their chin out.

"Whumpee, you were your former ruler's most trusted warrior. If you bend knee, needless violence will be avoided. Surrender and pledge fealty or you shall suffer greatly." Whumper's kind, gentle tone began to fray. Their true nature slowly eating away at the facade that Caretaker knew they were putting up.

"Death first!"

"That can be arranged." Whumper said with a sigh. "Tie them to the pole in front of the castle," they ordered one of their minions. "And take the others with you. I want everyone to see what happens when you do not conform to my law and order. What happens if you defy me."

Whumpee struggled valiantly against the many hands that grabbed them. Caretaker tried on their part, too. But it was to no avail. Whumper had too many followers at hand to fight. The rest of their squad was hauled along with them to the castle square.

"Whumpee, Whumpee, whatever they are planning is far worse than surrendering," Caretaker tried to reason with Whumpee. They could not stand to watch Whumper butcher Whumpee.

Whumpee shook their head, drawing themself up to their full height, head held proud. "If we give in we are complacent with whatever atrocities Whumper commits. The people need to see that some one is willing to stand up in the face of evil."

"You will be killed, Whumpee. Please," Caretaker tried again.

"Then that is the price I pay. I will not bend knee to evil. I will stand strong. Perhaps my death will be what one person needs to realize they must fight. That they can fight."

Caretaker opened their mouth to reply, but Whumpee was pulled away as the group reached the central square. A tall post had been erected in the center atop a tall dais. Whumpee was hauled roughly up the steps and chained with their arms above their head, back to the crowd.

"Citizens, gather round," Whumper said as they climbed the steps of the dais, "and see what it means to refuse me." Whumper held a whip in their hand. Caretaker's mouth went dry.

"I am a benevolent ruler," Whumper said as a hush fell over the crowd, "and I will give you one more chance, Whumpee. Swear fealty and you will be spared."

"I will never bow to you. No matter how much you hurt me, I will never bow before you." Whumpee spat at Whumper, their contempt and intentions clear.

"So be it, then. We will start with ten lashes and see how you feel." Whumper raised their arm and brought the whip down across Whumpee's back. Whumpee's skin split and flowed from the wound.

But they did not cry out.

With each crack of the whip, Caretaker flinched. With each crack of the whip the fearful faces of the crowd became more apparent. And with each crack of the whip, Whumpee's blood flowed, but they did not cry out.

After the tenth crack, Whumper stopped. "Anything you wish to say, Whumpee?"

"Fuck you," Whumpee said weakly.

With a growl, Whumper raised the whip again. "Such insolence shall not be tolerated."

Caretaker lost count of how many times Whumper brought the whip down. They lost count of how long Whumper whipped Whumpee after Whumpee went limp in the chains as they slipped into unconsciousness. They lost count of how many times they begged for Whumpee's life. Because they could only see Whumpee's limp, bloody body slumped over at the whipping post.

"Throw them in the dungeon with the rest of their squad. Offer them no aid. See if that's enough to change their mind," Whumper said when they finally grew tired of whipping Whumpee.

Caretaker didn't fight as they were dragged to the castle's dungeon. They watched in horror as two men grabbed Whumpee by the arms and roughly dragged them along to the dungeon. Whumpee didn't so much as groan or raise their head as they were dragged along.

"Whumpee, please, say something," Caretaker said as they were all tossed in the dungeon.

Whumpee had landed in a heap and hadn't made a sound. "Whumpee, please," Caretaker tried again. They weren't sure where they could touch Whumpee without causing further injury. They lowered themself to the ground next to Whumpee.

Whumpee's eyes were closed, but they were alive. Caretaker could hear their short, pained breaths as they got close to Whumpee. "Someone bring me some water from that bucket." Caretaker ordered. "We need to clean their wounds."

Whumpee didn't wake the whole time the squad cleaned and dressed their wounds. They didn't wake as the squad tried to lay them in a comfortable position gently. And they didn't wake as Caretaker stroked their face and murmured soft words to them.

Caretaker sat in the dark dungeon hoping Whumpee would wake soon. They stroked Whumpee's sweat soaked hair. "Please, Whumpee. Don't do this. Please, just wake up. We can come up with a plan. Please, Whumpee. Don't make us watch you die, too."

But still, Whumpee did not wake.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[aceofwhump]

The Outsider (2002)

Montana sheep farmer Rebecca Yoder (Naomi Watts) offers sanctuary to an on-the-lam outlaw, Johnny Gault (Tim Daly), who is suffering from a gunshot wound. Yoder is a recent widow, and her decision to help the outsider doesn't sit well with her Quaker community. As a romance brews between her and Gault, it puts in jeopardy her standing among her devout neighbors. But when an evil rancher makes a play for the community's land, Gault's sharpshooting skills might prove his worth after all.

Gifset series masterlist

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 2

“Let me do this for you.” Sacrifice | Guilt | Caretaker turned whumpee

Whumpee was finally safe.

They weren't uninjured, of course. Their body looked small in their hospital bed, and what little of their skin that wasn't bandaged was either a sickly pale hue or dark with bruising. They were hurt and frail, but they were healing. They were finally safe.

It had only cost Caretaker everything.

Whumper had given them 72 hours. Three days to handle their affairs, three days to say goodbye, three days of freedom before they had to fulfill their end of the deal. Today was their last day before becoming Whumpee’s replacement.

Caretaker had decided to spend that final day with Whumpee. They couldn’t think of anything they wanted more.

Caretaker reached for Whumpee’s limp hands. Whumpee didn’t react. Caretaker wanted to see their eyes one more time, but knew it was for the best that Whumpee wasn’t awake. They would ask Caretaker to stay.

“I’m sorry,” Caretaker whispered into the silent room, thumb rubbing against Whumpee’s knuckles. “I know you wouldn’t want this.” It’d been the only way to save Whumpee. The only reason they were safe now was because Caretaker had agreed to take their place, and Caretaker knew that trying to avoid their end of the bargain would only jeopardize that. They wouldn’t take that risk.

They lifted Whumpee's hand to their lips, pressing a feather-soft kiss into their fingers. "Let me do this for you."

[em-writes-stuff]

bedside vigil + “i’m right here”

@whumpril day 11

warnings: hospital setting, iv, bullet wound

hero, villain, doctor

700 words (!!!!!)

part one here | part two here

---

Hero blinks awake, fluorescent lights nearly blinding her. Monitors beep steadily around her and something whirred every few seconds. She jerks up, supporting herself with her elbows. Next to her, five cups of coffee are on the bedside table and…so is Villain. 

His legs are drawn up to his chest and his chin rests on his knees. He’s snoring softly and for a second, Hero forgets who he is. She stares at him, eyes squinting under the harsh light and, maybe for the first time, she sees him. His beard is patchy with grey hairs and wrinkles are as plentiful as his scars. One of his eyebrows has a slit and she gets the impression he did that by himself. 

He opens his eyes, pulling back into the chair and stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “You’re awake.” 

She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her arm, “I’m awake.” 

“Let me get your doctor.” 

He stands up and grabs a few of the cups, rattling them before tossing them in the trash on his way out of the room. Hero closes her eyes for a second before opening them again and looking for her things. 

The door opens again and Villain walks in with a doctor in tow, she smiles and stands in front of the bed, “Hi, I’m Doctor. I’ve been taking care of you. Do you need to call anyone?” 

Shit. Sidekick’s probably worried sick right now. “How long have I been here?” 

“About seven hours. I expected you to wake up earlier but I guess you’ve been running overtime. Plus the infection wouldn’t help with anything.” 

“Infection?” 

“Yeah, that bullet wound? Whoever treated it didn’t do a very good job. There was still some metal lodged in the muscle. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Doctor says. 

Hero squints at her, “I treated it. I thought I got all of it out but I guess I missed some.” 

Doctor blinks in surprise and glances at Villain. He shakes his head. “Right,” she finally says, “Well then. You did a pretty good job for doing it yourself. I’d prefer next time you coming to me. Of course, it would be best if there wasn’t a next time.” 

Hero nods along, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Where’s my phone?” 

“All your things are in this bag,” Doctor says, pulling a bag out from seemingly nowhere and handing it to Hero. “Your phone should be in there with it.” 

“Actually…” Villain says, reaching behind him for the windowsill, “I took a look. I know, I know, lecture me later. It was ringing like crazy about an hour ago so I answered it. Sidekick’s on his way. He told me he’d be here as soon as he could be.” 

Doctor glares at him, “You know better.” 

“It’s fine, he probably did the best thing honestly. Sidekick has a habit of going nuclear when he can’t find me. Did my parents call?” she scrolls through her calls and sighs when she doesn’t see either of their names. “That’s good.” 

Villain and Doctor share another look and Hero clears her throat, “Well, I should probably get ready to go, do I need to stay?” 

Doctor sputters and blinks in surprise, “You should probably stay here at least for a few more hours. I just dug metal out of your leg and the infection’s still clearing up. I’d recommend just…” she guides Hero back onto the bed and covers her with the scratchy hospital blanket, “Resting for a while.” her pager beeps and she curses, “Damnit, I have to go. Villain, please keep her here until she can walk on that leg without limping.” 

He mock salutes and waves her out of the room with a gentle smile. 

Hero stares at him and frowns, “What now?” 

“I’m right here, and I won’t leave until you tell me to or Doctor makes me, so…it’s up to you.” 

She keeps her eyes trained on him, eyes narrowing the longer she stares until she finally sighs and falls back into the bed, “You can stay. I’m not explaining everything to Sidekick.” 

[dgct2]

Don't you go dying on me.

3.02 Capta Est

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 7)

part 1 TW: obsessive behavior

The days that followed were strange. Simon barely left her side, as if her attempt to escape had ignited a deeper need to keep her close. He wasn’t cruel, but his presence was inescapable.

She tested the boundaries whenever she could. Small acts of rebellion became her way of clawing back some sense of control. She refused to eat the meals he cooked, even when her stomach growled in protest. She ignored his attempts at conversation, retreating into silence. Once, she even threw a book he had brought her, the loud thud against the wall startling them both.

Simon didn’t respond with anger. Instead, his patience seemed endless, and that infuriated her more. When she lashed out, he remained calm, his quiet composure only fueling her frustration.

Despite herself, she began to notice the subtle signs of his vigilance. The way he checked the locks on the doors and windows multiple times a day. The way his gaze would dart to the shadows outside, his body tensing at the slightest noise. He was always on edge, always watching.

And yet, in the quiet moments, when his guard was down, she caught glimpses of something else. The way his hands lingered on hers when he passed her a cup of tea. The way he looked at her, as if she were the center of his universe. It was maddening, this strange, twisted tenderness.

Her own feelings confused her. She hated him, didn’t she? She hated what he had done, how he had taken her freedom. But there were moments when she felt something else. Something she shouldn't.

The dreams returned, more vivid than ever. The monster cradled her again, its touch both comforting and possessive. And when she woke, gasping, she found Simon sitting by her bedside, his expression filled with concern.

“Bad dream?” he asked, his voice soft.

She didn’t answer, her throat tight. Instead, she turned away, pulling the blanket up to her chin. But even as she tried to ignore him, she felt the warmth of his hand resting gently on her shoulder, grounding her in a way she didn’t want to admit.

The days bled into each other, and through it all, one question lingered in her mind:

What was she going to do next?

-

Neither of them mentioned the kiss in the woods. It lingered in the background, unspoken but impossible to ignore. She tried not to think about it, but it kept creeping back into her thoughts no matter how hard she tried.

The moment replayed itself incessantly, her thoughts spiraling into places she had no business going. The press of his lips on hers, the way his hands had held her as though she might slip away—it was maddening. She hated the way her skin prickled at the memory, the way her lips tingled as though still marked by his touch.

Worse, she began to imagine it—his mouth on hers again, softer this time, slower, exploring. In her mind, the kiss was different. Not an act of domination but something gentler. Her face burned whenever these thoughts crept in.

Simon, for his part, acted as though nothing had happened. But she caught him watching her, his gaze heavy, lingering on her lips when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

And then there was that moment.

It had been an ordinary evening—or as ordinary as life could be in this twisted captivity. She was seated on the couch, a book open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes. She was too aware of him, sitting in the chair across the room.

Suddenly, Simon stood abruptly, crossing the room towards her. Her pulse quickened, as he stopped in front of her, towering above her where she sat.

Her heart raced as he reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek before his fingers ghosted over her lips. The touch was feather-light, as though he wasn’t sure he had the right to linger. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Simon…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable, but there was something raw in his expression. His thumb hovered over her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before he pulled back, his hand dropping to his side like it had been burned.

“I—” he started, his voice rough, but he stopped himself.

She watched, stunned, as he turned on his heel and left the room without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with her thundering heartbeat and the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.

In the silence that followed, she pressed her fingers to her lips, her thoughts a chaotic mess. He’d left so suddenly, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had stayed…

No. She shook her head, closing her book with trembling hands. Whatever this was—whatever was happening between them—she couldn’t let it take root.

But as the hours dragged on, and the house grew quieter, she found herself imagining it again: Simon’s lips on hers, his hands cradling her face, and the aching intensity in his gaze when he touched her.

And for the first time, she wondered if she would stop him if it happened again.

-

She didn't stop him.

Her mind couldn’t stop returning to that kiss, to the way it had twisted everything, pulling her in when she least expected it.

She tried to focus, to ignore the way her thoughts kept drifting to him, to his presence, but every time she looked at him, she couldn’t help but feel the pull. It was maddening. She was trapped in her own mind, and Simon had a way of getting under her skin, making it impossible to think clearly.

That evening, she found herself sitting across from him in the living room. The silence stretched out before them, but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding it.

“The people after me,” she began, breaking the stillness. “Why are they doing this? What do they want?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if considering the question. His gaze never left her face.

“Hmm. Information like that comes with a price, love.”

Her patience was already thin, and his teasing tone only made her frustration bubble up. “Simon, this isn’t a game—”

“But it can be,” he interrupted, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Why don’t we play one? For every question you ask, I get something in return.”

Her eyes narrowed, but curiosity gnawed at her. “Like what?”

“Anything I want,” he replied. “Nothing unreasonable, of course. Just… incentives to keep me honest.”

She weighed his words, trying to decide whether to play along or not. There was something about his demeanor, the way he spoke with such confidence, that made it hard to refuse.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite her unease. “How about this: tell me who they are. Who wants me dead?”

“It’s not just about who they are, sweetheart. It’s about what you know. You’ve seen things, learned things that weren’t meant for your eyes. Things that could bring everything down if the wrong people found out. You’re dangerous to them.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “But that’s only part of it.”

She eyed him, wary but unwilling to back down now. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Sit next to me,” he smiled, his voice soft, but the command was clear.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s your request?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I need to be closer to you, love. I can’t work with this distance between us.”

With a sigh, her eyes flickered toward the empty space next to him. She stood slowly and moved to sit beside him, her body tense as she settled beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his presence.

Simon’s hand rested casually on the back of her cushion, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. He didn’t move them away, but kept them there, a silent claim. His eyes stayed locked on hers, as if waiting for her next move.

She sat stiffly next to him, trying to ignore the way his proximity seemed to affect her, how his hand behind her was a constant reminder that he was still there, close enough to touch.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to focus, her voice steady despite the tension. “Why do they care so much about what I know?”

Simon’s gaze never left her, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he took his time, as if weighing his answer carefully. “It’s not just about what you know,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “It’s about what you saw. During a mission a few months ago, you witnessed something. Information that could ruin careers, take down entire operations. You know what I'm talking about.”

He paused, letting that sink in, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’re a liability, sweetheart. But they don’t know what you’ve told anyone. They think you might spill it. And they can’t risk that.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications of his words.

Her voice was a little shaky as she spoke, but she pressed on. “And if I can’t get away from them, what do you plan on doing?”

Simon’s lips curled into a grim smile. His eyes darkened, the heat of his stare intensifying. “I’ll kill them all,” he said, his voice steady, almost too calm for the words. “Every single one of them, for even thinking about harming you. No one touches what’s mine. Not while I’m breathing.”

She looked at him, unable to find any trace of hesitation in his face. It was as though he meant every word with absolute certainty.

“And if I don’t play along?” she asked, her tone more challenging now.

Simon’s smirk never wavered. “You’ll play. Because I always get what I want.”

Then, as if the question had already been answered, he slid closer, his hand brushing against hers, pulling her into his orbit even more. She barely had a moment to process his last statement before he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Move a little closer,” he said. “Just a bit. I want to feel you next to me. That’s all.”

She stared at him for a moment, the command in his voice sending a jolt of electricity through her. She hesitated, but the pull of his presence was undeniable. Reluctantly, she shifted in her seat, inching closer to him. The movement felt like a surrender, but she refused to let him see how much it affected her. Her body was betraying her, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.

Her mind raced with a million thoughts, but one question burned brighter than the rest. The way he’d always been there, watching her from the shadows, the way he seemed to know her every move—there was something deeply unsettling about it.

“You never answered me. Why me? Why have you been stalking me all this time?”

Simon’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. But then his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

“You remember the first time you smiled at me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low, almost nostalgic.

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpectedness of his response. “What are you talking about?”

“That day,” he continued, ignoring her confusion. “Back on the base. You passed me in the hall, and you gave me that smile. Not like you smile at anyone else. It wasn’t fake, or polite. It was genuine. And in that moment, I knew—I was hooked.”

She blinked, the memory surfacing hazily in her mind. It was a small thing, something insignificant she had never given much thought to. A smile, a fleeting gesture in the midst of a hundred others. But to Simon, it seemed to have meant something far more profound.

“I’ve never been able to forget it,” he continued, his tone becoming almost tender. “That smile… it told me everything. You’re different from everyone else, and I needed to know why. That’s why I’ve watched you. That’s why I’m here.”

Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether to feel repelled or intrigued.

Before she could respond, Simon’s voice cut through her thoughts again, smooth as ever. “Now, for my request,” he said, his eyes gleaming with that familiar hunger. “I want you on my lap.”

Her eyes widened at the boldness of his words. “What?”

“I want you close,” he said simply, his voice unwavering. “You’re not going to make me ask twice, are you love?”

She hesitated, caught between the desire to argue and the strange pull she felt toward him. There was no way to ignore the way his words made her body react, the heat building between them with every passing second.

“You’ve asked for a lot already,” she said, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

Simon’s smile was slow, almost predatory, as he reached out, fingers brushing the side of her arm. “I know,” he murmured. “But this is the one I want the most.”

She stared at him, and, despite every instinct telling her to pull away, she couldn’t stop herself. She slid from her seat and settled onto his lap slowly.

Simon let out a satisfied breath as she settled against him, his hands immediately finding their place around her waist, pulling her closer. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the unspoken promise of what was yet to come.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against her ear, his voice thick with something entirely possessive.

She clenched her jaw, trying to maintain control, but it was getting harder to ignore the fact that, in this moment, she was entirely his.

She was on his lap, close to him in a way that made every nerve in her body buzz with tension. His hands were warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming, and she knew, deep down, that there was no escaping this. Not now. Not anymore.

Her thoughts swirled, and she found herself staring at him, trying to steady the rapid beating of her heart. It was as if she were standing on the edge of something, teetering between fear and fascination, between wanting to push him away and wanting to stay.

Finally, she managed to steady her voice, though it came out barely more than a whisper. “Are you ever going to let me go?”

Simon’s gaze darkened, his hands tightening on her waist as if she were already his. There was no hesitation in his answer.

“No,” he said simply, his voice low and final. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Her breath hitched at the intensity in his eyes, and before she could react, his lips crashed down onto hers. The kiss was nothing like the one in the woods, no, this was fierce, consuming, like he was claiming her in a way that left no room for doubt.

He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his hands threading into her hair, as if afraid she might slip away. His mouth moved against hers with an intensity that matched the storm of emotions raging inside her. She could feel the hunger, the obsession, and a part of her, despite everything, couldn’t pull away.

This was it. There was no going back now.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Her thoughts scattered, her world narrowed to the sensation of Simon’s lips on hers, his body against hers, his hands pressing her closer, possessively. She couldn’t think straight anymore. There was only the heat and the overwhelming pull of him.

Her hands, pressed against his chest in resistance, now moved up to his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt as if trying to anchor herself. Every inch of her body seemed to hum with electricity, her mind screaming to pull away, to push him off, but her body betrayed her.

He tasted like fire, like something dangerous, and she couldn’t help but kiss him back, her lips responding in a way that made her stomach tighten with desire. She hated that she wanted this, that her body was betraying her own anger.

Simon's hand slid down her back, pulling her closer, his grip tightening, and she gasped, suddenly aware of how close they were. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Simon pulled back, his lips brushing against her forehead, his breath coming in short bursts. She was breathless, dizzy from the kiss, from everything that was happening. Her pulse raced, and she realized that she was clinging to him as much as he was holding onto her.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a way that felt almost tender, but she could still sense the fire beneath it.

"You’re not getting away from me," he murmured.

She tried to push away, but he held her firmly, his hand at the small of her back, making it impossible to break free.

“I’m never letting you go,” he repeated.

Her heart was pounding, her mind a mess. She hated how vulnerable she felt in his arms, how his touch made her question everything. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but every time she looked at him, her mind betrayed her, her body aching with a longing she couldn’t explain.

He leaned in again, pressing his forehead to hers, and for a moment, there was silence, before he spoke again.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he said, his voice raw with need.

Her breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She hated that part of her wanted to say yes, to admit that, despite everything, she couldn’t deny the pull. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Go to hell,” she muttered, even as her body responded to his proximity.

Simon's lips curled into a smirk, as if he knew exactly what she was trying to hide. “I’ll take that as a yes, sweetheart.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing any hope she had of escaping the storm that had already taken hold of her.

PART 8

--------------------------------------------

so...what do we think?

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter

[catws-anniversary]

Today is exactly 10 years since the LA premiere of CA:TWS! As good a day as any to release all of our prompts so you can plan for the anniversary event.

Kicking off on March 26th, we'll be celebrating a decade of CA:TWS with 8 daily prompts to choose from, ranging from thematic prompts and quotes, to more general prompts and character-specific ones. These can be interpreted in any manner you choose and do not need to be linked to the daily theme.

As a reminder: this is an open event (see rules and FAQs - content does need to relate to CA:TWS), and the use of our daily prompts is entirely optional. They’re there to inspire, not to put up restrictions.

You can always contact us if you have any questions. We're so excited to see your creations!

MARCH 26 THEME: ON YOUR LEFT

The Smithsonian

First Meetings

Endurance

Mission

PTSD

"I'll put it on the list"

Favorite quote

MARCH 27 THEME: STEVE ROGERS

Camp Lehigh

Elevator

Motorcycle

Steve's list

Guilt

"It kind of feels personal"

Favorite Steve quote

MARCH 28 THEME: SHIELD

The Triskelion

Compromised

Surprise Visit

Neighbor

Weapons

"It's called compartmentalization"

Favorite scene

MARCH 29 THEME: NATASHA ROMANOFF

Mall

Disguise

Redemption

Matchmaking

Trust Issues

"Did I step on your moment?"

Favorite Natasha quote

MARCH 30 THEME: TWS CAST

Press Conference

Character Bleed

Photoshoot

Social Media

Stunts

"I'll take this one"

Favorite cast member

MARCH 31 THEME: SAM WILSON

Department of Veteran's Affairs

Partners

Soundtrack/Music

Wings

Missing Scenes

"I never said 'pilot'."

Favorite Sam quote

APRIL 1 THEME: HYDRA

Lemurian Star

Project Insight

Politics

STRIKE

Post-Credit Scenes

"Order comes through pain"

Favorite fight

APRIL 2 THEME: BUCKY BARNES

Bank

Metal Arm

Memories

Ghost Story

Revenge

"But I knew him"

Favorite Bucky quote

APRIL 3 THEME: CAP QUARTET

Washington DC

Breakfast

Bedside Vigil

Uniform

Found Family

"When do we start?"

Favorite duo

APRIL 4 THEME: TO THE END OF THE LINE

Helicarrier

1940s

Devotion

Identity Porn

Reunion

"Schoolyard and battlefield"

Favorite Stucky scene

Happy creating!

[serickswrites]

What Have You Done IV

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, unconsciousness, hospital, unclear character status, bedside vigil

Caretaker hadn't left Whumpee's side since the medical team had allowed Caretaker to come back to Whumpee's room. Hadn't left Whumpee's side and hadn't let go of Whumpee's cold hand.

Whumpee hadn't stirred. Hadn't moved. Gave no indication that they were aware of the world moving around them. The monitors beeped, the ventilator whirred and whooshed, all signs that Whumpee was still alive.

Barely.

No one would tell Caretaker when, or even if, Whumpee would wake up. Caretaker could barely stomach the thought that Whumpee might not wake up.

"Whumper's locked up. Can't hurt anyone ever again," Caretaker whispered as they rubbed Whumpee's limp fingers.

"Teammate Two won't ever see the light of day again either. Made sure of that myself."

The ventilator whirred and hissed. The only indicator that Whumpee was still with them. "I need you to wake up now, Whumpee," Caretaker said desperately. "Please, enough of this laying around. I need you to wake up."

Only the beeping of the monitors answered Caretaker. They were the only sounds that answered Caretaker any longer. "Please, please, come back to me, Whumpee. Come back to all of us."

Tags: @starliight-whump @whumptea @elizaisnotokay @bookworm7543 @candleshopmenace

@basica11ywhumped @fictagsys @addictedtowhump @whump-me @pretty-little-whump

@mefattortoise @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @st0rmm @xo7-parad0x @artisticdemon

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @painsthegame

@mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@whumpitywhumpwhump @amateurwordsmithwastaken @wonka-works @pepeniascat

[amethystarachnid]

Hiii, I'd like to request Winter Wonderland Date with tony, please please! Reader planning this cute date for him after he's back from a hard mission ❤️

CHRISTMAS DATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: After Tony came back from an hard mission you decide to pamper him for a bit, after all he deserves it. So you organize a little date that...ended up as a snowball fight somehow.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s late December, and the world outside your window is a perfect postcard of winter. Snow drifts lazily under the soft glow of streetlamps, frosting the trees and rooftops like icing on a cake. Inside the warmth of Tony’s penthouse, it’s a stark contrast: cozy, intimate, and filled with the faint hum of Jarvis’ quiet vigilance. You wake up before dawn, your mind already set on the plan you’ve been hatching since Tony returned from his mission last night—exhausted, bruised, and trying to hide just how much it had taken out of him.

He doesn’t say much when he’s hurting. You’ve come to understand that. Instead, he makes jokes that don’t quite land or buries himself in the workshop, tinkering as if he can solder away his weariness. But last night, after you coaxed him out of the suit, patched him up, and pulled him into bed, he finally let himself relax against you, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him. You stayed awake a while longer, watching his face, soft and peaceful in slumber, and you resolved then and there to make today about him. At least the morning—he’d insist on returning to work or starting another project in the afternoon, you’re sure of it.

Now, as the first hints of morning light begin to peek through the curtains, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can manage. Tony stirs slightly, his arm reaching instinctively for you, but he doesn’t wake. You smile to yourself and gently tuck the blanket around him before padding out of the room.

The kitchen is dim and serene, the kind of silence that makes you feel like the world is still holding its breath. You’ve become familiar with this space over the months—luxurious appliances gleaming in chrome, countertops that seem too perfect to actually cook on. But today, it’s not about gourmet meals or culinary experiments. Today, it’s about comfort.

You set a small pot on the stove, pouring in milk and a touch of cream, stirring gently as it warms. The rich aroma of melting chocolate fills the air as you add the cocoa, whisking until it’s velvety smooth. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of vanilla, and it’s perfect. You pull out a plate of cookies you baked the day before—soft, buttery, and just slightly crisp around the edges. Arranging everything on a tray, you add a small vase with a single sprig of holly for a festive touch. It’s simple, but you know Tony will appreciate the effort.

Balancing the tray carefully, you make your way back to the bedroom. Tony’s still sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world. His hair is a mess of dark, unruly curls, and his breathing is slow and even. For a moment, you just stand there, taking him in. He looks so vulnerable like this, so human, and your heart aches with the depth of your love for him.

“Tony,” you whisper softly, setting the tray on the bedside table. You sit on the edge of the bed and brush your fingers lightly over his hair. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’ve got something for you.��

He stirs, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes blink open, heavy-lidded and still clouded with sleep. When he sees you, a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough and warm.

“Morning,” you reply, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I brought you breakfast in bed. Thought you could use a little spoiling today.”

His eyes drift to the tray, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hot cocoa and cookies? Are you trying to win the Best Girlfriend Ever award?”

“Maybe,” you tease, handing him the mug. “Taste it first. Then decide if I’m worthy.”

He sits up slowly, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight, and you’re immediately by his side, fussing over the pillows to make him more comfortable. He chuckles softly, the sound low and affectionate. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Drink your cocoa,” you reply, ignoring the way your cheeks flush at his words.

Tony takes a cautious sip, his eyes widening slightly as the rich, chocolatey warmth spreads through him. “Damn, that’s good,” he says, shooting you an impressed look. “Seriously, where have you been hiding this talent?”

“I have my secrets,” you say with a grin, breaking off a piece of cookie and offering it to him. He accepts it with a playful nip at your fingers, making you laugh.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, sharing sips of cocoa and bites of cookies. Outside, the world begins to wake, but in this little bubble of warmth and love, it feels like time has slowed down just for you. Tony leans back against the headboard, his expression soft and content as he watches you.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he says after a moment, his voice tinged with gratitude. “But I’m glad you did.”

“You’ve been through so much lately,” you reply, reaching out to trace a finger along his jawline. “You deserve to be taken care of, Tony. Just for a little while. Let me do this for you.”

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you quip, but your smile is soft, your heart swelling at his words.

The morning drifts on in a haze of laughter and warmth, with Tony’s humor making a grand appearance. After finishing breakfast, he insists on recounting the mission with an exaggerated flair, turning the most mundane details into a theatrical saga.

“And then, after I heroically deactivated the bomb,” he says, gesturing dramatically, “I had to fight off twelve—no, fifteen ninjas! All armed with lasers. And, of course, my suit was running on three percent battery.”

“Fifteen ninjas?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “And lasers? Sounds totally plausible.”

“Hey, you weren’t there,” he counters, smirking. “I’m telling you, it was epic. You would have been swooning in the background, yelling, ‘Save me, Tony!’”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say dryly, throwing a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, laughing.

By lunchtime, the two of you are sprawled on the couch, the remnants of breakfast still sitting on the coffee table. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his head resting against yours. “So, what’s the plan for lunch?” he asks, his tone hopeful. “I’m assuming we’re not having cookies for round two.”

“Takeout?” you suggest. “I’m not in the mood to cook, and you’re not allowed to lift a finger today.”

“Takeout it is,” he agrees, reaching for his phone. After scrolling through a few options, he lands on Chinese food. “How about dumplings, noodles, and… oh, sweet and sour chicken? Classic.”

When the food arrives, there’s a knock at the door, and you’re the one who gets up to answer it. The delivery guy’s eyes go wide when he sees who the food is for. “Oh my God,” he says, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Tony lounging on the couch. “Is that… Tony Stark? Can I get a photo with him?”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping in front of the doorway to block his view. “He’s resting.”

“Resting?” Tony calls from the couch, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know, I’m engaging in a highly advanced relaxation protocol. It’s a critical part of my genius process.”

The delivery guy looks torn between disappointment and amusement, and you thank him quickly before shutting the door. “You’re insufferable,” you say, bringing the bags of food to the coffee table.

“Insufferably charming,” he corrects, sitting up to help unpack the containers. “Besides, I’m not above taking bribes. Maybe next time he shows up with extra dumplings, I’ll consider a selfie.”

Lunch is a leisurely affair, with Tony cracking jokes about everything from the fortune cookies to the absurd number of sauce packets. At one point, he grabs a pair of chopsticks and uses them to mime a kung fu routine, nearly knocking over a bowl of noodles in the process.

“You’re going to regret that when you’re hungry later,” you warn, rescuing the bowl just in time.

“True,” he admits, grinning. “But it was worth it for the laugh. Did you see that spin? I’m telling you, I’ve got moves.”

After lunch, Tony stretches out on the couch, pulling you down with him. “Alright, boss,” he says, his tone teasing. “What’s next on the itinerary? Another round of pampering? Maybe a foot rub?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply, though you’re smiling as you settle against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for a while, the two of you simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

“You know,” he says softly after a while, his voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Days like this… they remind me why I keep fighting. Why I keep putting the suit on, even when it feels like it’s too much.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, your voice just as soft.

“Because of you,” he says simply, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Because you make it all worth it.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “I love you, Tony Stark.”

He smiles, that familiar mix of arrogance and tenderness lighting up his face. “I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you counter, and he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. In that moment, as the snow falls softly outside and the world narrows to just the two of you, it feels like nothing else matters.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the two of you are still lounging on the couch, cocooned in the comfort of the penthouse. Outside, the snow continues to fall gently, blanketing the city in pristine white. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair as a cheesy holiday movie plays in the background. But as cozy as it is, a thought begins to creep into your mind: you’ve been cooped up indoors all day.

And while Tony deserves every second of pampering and rest, there’s something about the snow outside that calls to you.

You shift to look at him, a mischievous smile forming. “Tony,” you say, drawing out his name in a way that instantly makes him suspicious.

“What?” he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That tone usually precedes something that involves effort.”

You laugh, swatting his chest playfully. “We’ve been inside all day. Let’s go out for a walk. The park looks beautiful in the snow.”

“A walk?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “In the snow? Are you trying to give me frostbite?”

“Oh, come on,” you say, tugging at his hand. “You spend half your life in a suit flying through ice-cold skies. You can handle a little stroll. Plus, it’ll be fun! We’ll bundle up, get some fresh air, maybe even build a snowman.”

He groans dramatically, but you can see the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine,” he concedes, “but if I lose a toe, you’re carrying me back.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are stepping out into the crisp winter air, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats. The park is stunning, the snow covering the ground like a glittering quilt. Families are scattered around, children laughing as they build snowmen or sled down gentle slopes. The air smells of pine and winter, and your breath forms small clouds as you exhale.

Tony walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets. His usual swagger is slightly subdued by the weight of the snow boots he grudgingly put on, but his eyes are alert, taking in the scene around him. Despite his earlier protests, you can tell he’s enjoying himself.

“See?” you say, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Isn’t this nice?”

“It’s tolerable,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock indifference. “Though I think I should’ve brought the suit. Would’ve made the walk quicker.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

As you continue walking, the two of you pass a group of kids engaged in a full-blown snowball fight. One of them glances over and does a double take, their eyes widening in recognition.

“Hey!” the kid shouts. “Isn’t that Iron Man?”

Tony freezes for a moment before turning to you with a look of exaggerated horror. “They’ve spotted me,” he whispers. “My cover’s blown.”

You laugh, but before you can reply, a snowball whizzes through the air and splats against Tony’s shoulder. The kids burst into laughter, their faces lit with glee.

Tony looks down at his now-snow-covered coat, then back at the kids. “Oh, it’s on,” he declares, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow.

“Tony,” you warn, already laughing as he molds the snow into a perfect ball.

“What?” he says innocently, his hand twitching with barely restrained anticipation. “I’m just participating in a friendly local tradition.”

Before you can protest further, he hurls the snowball with unerring accuracy, hitting one of the kids squarely in the chest. The kid lets out a delighted shriek, and suddenly, you’re both in the middle of an impromptu snowball war.

Tony’s competitive streak comes out in full force as he dodges incoming snowballs with surprising agility, retaliating with precise shots that leave his opponents scrambling for cover. You can’t stop laughing, your cheeks aching from the cold and your own mirth as you join in, pelting Tony with snow whenever you get the chance.

“Traitor!” he cries dramatically when one of your snowballs catches him in the side.

“All’s fair in love and snowball fights,” you retort, ducking behind a tree as he launches a counterattack.

By now, a small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle, their faces a mix of astonishment and amusement. It’s not every day they get to see Tony Stark, billionaire genius and Avenger, rolling around in the snow like a kid.

One particularly brave onlooker calls out, “Hey, Stark! What happened to saving the world?”

Tony pauses, brushing snow off his coat with mock dignity. “World’s fine,” he says, grinning. “Today, I’m saving this park from a severe lack of fun.”

His comment earns a round of laughter and applause, and you shake your head, a fond smile on your lips. He may be ridiculous, but he’s your ridiculous.

After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, the two of you finally call a truce. Tony brushes the snow from his hair, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. You can’t remember the last time you saw him look so carefree.

“Happy now?” he asks as you both sit on a bench, catching your breath.

“Very,” you reply, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See? I told you this was a good idea.”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says, his voice warm with affection. “Otherwise, I’d be back in the penthouse with a hot toddy right now.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for this man who, despite his sarcasm and dramatics, has given you more happiness than you ever thought possible. “I love you too,” you say softly, and as the snow continues to fall around you, you know this is a moment you’ll cherish forever.

The snow-dusted park begins to empty as dusk falls, leaving you and Tony to meander through the winding paths. The twinkling lights of the nearby Christmas market catch your eye, and you tug at Tony’s arm excitedly.

“Let’s check it out!” you say, your voice full of anticipation.

He raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “A Christmas market? Are we talking handmade ornaments and hot cider? Because that sounds dangerously wholesome for me.”

“Exactly,” you reply, grinning. “You could use some wholesome holiday cheer.”

He sighs theatrically, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he lets you pull him along. “Fine. But if anyone tries to sell me a macramé reindeer, I’m blaming you.”

The market is alive with the spirit of the season: stalls adorned with garlands of holly and fairy lights, the air filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, and pine. Shoppers bustle about, their laughter mingling with the festive tunes of a nearby street performer. Tony, with his designer coat and slightly aloof demeanor, stands out among the crowd, but you can see his curiosity growing as you wander through the stalls.

You stop at a vendor selling hand-carved wooden ornaments, picking up a delicate snowflake. “Look at this,” you say, holding it up for him to see. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He examines it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Impressive craftsmanship,” he admits. “Though I could probably make one out of titanium that lights up and plays music.”

You laugh. “Sometimes simple is better.”

Tony hums noncommittally but pulls out his wallet and buys the snowflake anyway. “For the tree,” he says, handing it to you with a wink. “Consider it my contribution to holiday spirit.”

As you continue to explore, you sample hot cocoa from one stall and share a warm pretzel from another. Tony jokes about the absurdly large candy canes for sale and even lets you drag him to a booth where you try on silly Christmas hats. The vendors are visibly starstruck but do their best to act casual, which only amuses Tony further.

“I think they’re too scared to upsell me,” he whispers as you pass a stall selling scented candles. “Should I ask if they’ve got anything in the ‘cashmere and billionaire’ scent?”

By the time you’ve made a full circuit of the market, your cheeks are flushed from the cold, and your arms are laden with small treasures—a knitted scarf, a jar of homemade jam, and the snowflake ornament. Tony looks at you, his expression softening. “You’re glowing,” he says, brushing a stray snowflake from your hair. “I’d say this market has worked its magic on you.”

“It’s just nice,” you reply, leaning into him. “Being out here with you, enjoying the little things.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your chilled skin. “You know what would make it even better?” he asks, his voice taking on a mischievous edge.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

“Dinner,” he replies. “And I’m not talking about another round of takeout. Let’s do this properly.”

You blink, surprised. “Tony, it’s Christmas Eve. Every decent restaurant is probably booked solid.”

He smirks, his confidence radiating. “Sweetheart, I’m Tony Stark. Give me ten minutes.”

True to his word, less than ten minutes later, the two of you are stepping into the opulent warmth of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The maître d’ greets Tony with a mixture of awe and brisk professionalism, leading you to a secluded table near a grand fireplace. The room is elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the snowy cityscape, and the soft strains of a piano fill the air.

Tony pulls out your chair with a flourish, earning an amused look from you. “Look at you, all chivalrous,” you tease as you sit down.

“Don’t get used to it,” he quips, taking his seat across from you. “I’m only doing it to impress you.”

The server arrives promptly, presenting a leather-bound menu with a list of dishes so refined you feel like you’re reading poetry. Tony, of course, scans the menu with the ease of someone accustomed to such luxuries, but he pauses when he notices your hesitation.

“Anything catching your eye?” he asks, his tone gentle.

“I don’t even know what half of these things are,” you admit with a laugh. “But it all sounds amazing.”

He grins. “Then we’ll order a little bit of everything. Trust me, it’s the best way to do it.”

Over the next few hours, you’re treated to a culinary experience unlike any you’ve ever had. Plates of artfully arranged dishes arrive one after another: delicate scallops in a saffron-infused broth, a perfectly seared wagyu steak, and an impossibly light truffle risotto. Tony insists on sharing everything, leaning across the table to feed you bites of his favorites.

“Here,” he says, holding up a forkful of something that smells divine. “You have to try this. It’s like a symphony in your mouth.”

You laugh but let him feed you, the rich flavors exploding on your tongue. “Wow,” you say, your eyes widening. “Okay, you weren’t kidding.”

“Told you,” he says smugly, popping a bite into his own mouth. “I have impeccable taste—in food and in girlfriends.”

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows effortlessly, interspersed with Tony’s sharp wit and your teasing retorts. He tells stories about his escapades as Iron Man, carefully avoiding the grimmer details, and you share memories of past Christmases, painting a picture of simpler times.

When dessert arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé served with a side of spiced ice cream—Tony leans back in his chair, looking completely content. “You know,” he says, his gaze fixed on you, “I’ve been to a lot of places, eaten a lot of fancy meals, but this… This is one for the books.”

“Because of the food?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Because of you,” he replies, his voice soft. “You make everything better, even a stuffy place like this.”

Your cheeks warm, and you reach across the table to take his hand. “I could say the same about you,” you reply. “You make life… extraordinary.”

The two of you linger at the table long after the plates have been cleared, basking in the warmth of each other’s company. Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the city in a hushed serenity. It’s a perfect moment, one you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

When you finally step back out into the crisp night air, Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “So, what’s next?” he asks, his breath visible in the cold. “Midnight snow angels? Ice skating? Another snowball fight?”

You laugh, leaning into him as the two of you begin the walk back home. “Honestly? I’m happy just being with you.”

“Good answer,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The restaurant's warmth lingers on your skin as you and Tony step out into the brisk winter night. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, shimmering under the soft glow of the streetlights. Your breath puffs out in little clouds, but the cold is a welcome contrast to the decadent, cozy atmosphere of dinner.

Tony slides an arm around your shoulders as you walk down the quiet street. “So,” he says, his voice light, “what’s next on the agenda, oh master of Christmas cheer? Back to the penthouse for eggnog and a sappy movie?”

You glance up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “Not yet. I’ve got one more thing in mind.”

He groans, though it’s more for show than genuine annoyance. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” you reply with a grin, tugging at his hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The two of you wander toward the park again, now nearly deserted save for a few bundled-up couples strolling hand in hand. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots, and the world feels peaceful, like the city itself is holding its breath in anticipation of Christmas morning.

Finally, you reach a wide-open field, its pristine blanket of snow untouched. You stop in the center, looking up at the sky where stars peek out between the clouds.

“Perfect,” you say, your voice soft with satisfaction.

Tony looks around, then back at you with a curious tilt of his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are we doing here?”

You drop his hand and step back, grinning as you begin to lower yourself onto the snow. “Snow angels,” you announce, spreading your arms and legs.

Tony stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Snow angels? You dragged me out here in the freezing cold to roll around in the snow?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, scooping up a handful of snow and tossing it at his boots. “Come on, Stark. Don’t be a Scrooge.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh but slowly lowers himself onto the snow beside you, muttering under his breath. “If I ruin this coat, I’m sending the dry-cleaning bill to Santa.”

You laugh as he begins to move his arms and legs, though his motions are halfhearted at best. “You’re not even trying,” you tease, nudging him with your boot. “Put some effort into it!”

“This is maximum effort,” he deadpans, though a smile tugs at his lips. “I’m not built for snow-based frivolity.”

“Liar,” you retort. “You were all-in during that snowball fight earlier.”

“That was combat,” he counters. “This is arts and crafts.”

Despite his protests, he stays by your side until your snow angels are complete. You sit up, brushing snow from your coat, and survey your handiwork with pride. “Not bad,” you say, glancing at Tony’s less-than-perfect angel. “Yours has… character.”

“Thank you,” he replies dryly. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

You both lie back down on the snow, your heads close together, and gaze up at the stars. The clouds have parted slightly, revealing constellations that twinkle against the inky black sky. The air is still, save for the occasional whisper of the wind, and the world feels infinite and small all at once.

Tony breaks the silence first, his voice softer than usual. “You don’t get a lot of moments like this, you know. Just… quiet. Peace.”

You turn your head to look at him, your breath catching at the rare vulnerability in his expression. “That’s why we have to hold on to them,” you say gently. “Make them count.”

He smiles faintly, reaching for your hand. His palm is warm against yours despite the chill. “You’re good at that,” he says. “Making things count. Making me stop and just… be.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling. “Someone’s got to keep you grounded, Stark.”

“Good thing I found the best,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speaks, content to simply lie there beneath the stars, your breaths mingling in the cold air. The snow beneath you feels like a cocoon, insulating you from the rest of the world. You lose track of time, the universe above you an endless tapestry of light and possibility.

Then, a nearby church bell chimes, its deep, resonant sound echoing through the night. You sit up slightly, startled, and pull out your phone to check the time. The screen lights up, confirming what you already suspected.

“It’s midnight,” you say, turning to Tony with a wide smile. “Merry Christmas.”

He sits up too, brushing snow from his hair, and grins back at you. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Without another word, he leans in and kisses you, his lips warm against yours despite the cold. The world seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, frozen moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“This,” he says quietly, gesturing to the snow, the stars, and you, “is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

You smile, your cheeks flushing—not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming love you feel for the man in front of you. “Me too,” you reply. “And it’s only just beginning.”

Hand in hand, you walk back through the snowy park, the quiet joy of the moment carrying you all the way home.

[lefarte]

How would they take care of a sick friend?

Characters: Levi, Olivia, Daan, Pav

Some of these could be read as platonic

A/N: This is… entirely self indulgent because I myself am sick….😭 but also hey hii hello. This was very comforting for me. No one requested it, but I actually wrote this a long time ago in my notepad app before I even made this blog. I learned a lot about writing in this time so I’m sorry if the quality is a bit worse.

TWS: sickness (obviously)

Levi

Levi has been through this before. He’s been sick more times in his life than he’s been healthy at this point. He knows what to do. He talks you through it slowly and precisely, he holds you hair back when you throw up, he changes your blankets when they get covered in sweat… he would never make you feel gross or ashamed, no matter how bad it gets.

That said, his personality isn’t going to completely flip on itself just because you’re sick. He wants to help you, but he is naturally timid. It might be awkward for a while. He struggles to carry a conversation at the best of times. Much less when you are in so much pain…

And depending on how feverish you are, it might be scary to fall in and out of sleep and see him staring at you from across the room with his big ass eyes. (It’s not his fault, he’s just worried.)

I also imagine he’s the type of guy who gets sick when he sees other people sick. So he’ll be holding back his own nausea for until you’re asleep, or until you’re back on your feet. Until then he would be on high alert, even more vigilant than usual. If an enemy made it inside while you were vulnerable, he would never forgive himself. So he’d pull out all the stops, barricading the doors, covering the windows… (even if it’s not necessary and you’re in a safe place, like the train.)

Hope you don’t plan on going anywhere once you get up because he’s going to get sick too now 💔

—

Olivia

She’s going to be all over you. Of course she doesn’t want to be overbearing, but she really doesn’t want to see her friend in pain! And she can’t wait to impress you with her knowledge of botany. She has something for every symptom, an oil or lotion or extract. If she doesn’t have it, she will track it down!

She really loves the feeling of you depending on her. This is a rare opportunity for her to prove her skills to you, and to herself. And there is no one better to understand your pain than her! She knows the feeling of being trapped in bed rest, antsy and lonely, better than anyone else.

Olivia is determined not to let you feel that way. She cares about you. She wants you to get better! If you refuse her advice or try to pretend like you’re not sick, she will be dejected.

She will try to take you outside to look at the flowers and get some sunshine, and she explains every flower in detail. (She would be happy to do that anyway.) She even brings you little bugs, and if she’s lucky, a frog or a lizard!

Will share her comfort items with you. She has weighted blankets, lots of medicine, and heat pads!

She reads books to you, and her voice is so beautiful you’ll fall asleep.

—

Daan

He lowkey feels guilty for failing to take care of you

After everything he lost, you’re his treasure! He would give you the best bedside care you’ve ever imagined, you’d never want for anything. All the stops, backrubs, cuddles, cleaning your forehead with rags. He would even pull out some tricks from his old butler days and make you some yummy soup.

If you look at him with big sad eyes or god forbid he sees a single tear, he’s whipping out the Sylvian magic. You’d have to beg him not to.

He absolutely would give you kisses, doesn’t care a bit if he gets sick. “Nothing that an ibuprofen and some cigarettes can’t fix, my darling.”

He would straight up give you opium if you asked, there is literally no better partner if you’re easily sick or chronically ill. Your face would be covered in lipstick kisses by the time it’s over.

Immediately after he’s done, he would go back to being a sarcastic and calm guy. Perhaps a little shy?

—

Pav

“Have a beer, sweetheart.”

This is not… the best person to be stuck with in this scenario. Because of his experience in the war, his pain scale is a little screwy, so it would take a lot for him to be concerned.

He still sticks around you though. He’s loyal to a fault with his partner, I truly believe this, he’s protective and affectionate. He would not abandon you at your weakest, no no no no. That’d be cruel.

He holds your hair up when you throw up. He will draw you a bath or or give you cuddles! He’s definitely a bit more accomadating when you’re sick.

Pav doesn’t mind kissing you when you’re sick. He tells you he’s never been sick before, in his life. You’ve certainly never seen like it in front of you, but if he’s lying, it’s totally debateable. It could be that he does get sick, he’s good at hiding it. But knowing that, he’d still give you hundreds of kisses all over.

You have the honor of sharing snacks with him (greedy hoarding bastard). If you’re good.

[aswallowimprisoned]

Masterlist - Restless far from a Wine Dark Sea

Revealed to humankind after the breaking of a memory charm that had kept vampiric Merfolk hidden for the last 200 years, Nathaniel is the first mer in captivity. And while Nathaniel is very glad they think his injuries are too bad to risk torturing him for information, they seem to be able to take information even from his unconscious body

After writing this story on and off for 6 years, mediwhump May has finally given me the push to publish some of Nathaniel's story. I am posting the first 2 chapters for background, then the timelines are getting mixed up for Medwhump mer May

Tw medical whump, drugging, injury, fainting/unconscious, threat, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee , unethical medicine, semi-consensual medicine testing, religious whumpee, grey morality, self loathing, captivity, brainwashing, expectations of torture,interrogation, dehumanisation, death mentions, fawn response to trauma

≪ °❈° ≫

Prologue - On the Brink of Death

First chapter

Medwhump may prompts

These are snippets of Restless far from a Wine Dark sea, published wayyy before they should have been. Since publishing I have rearraged them all into their rough plot beats, so you can ignore the day numbers. Each snippet has a enough exposition to make sense as standalones for mediwhump mermay! I have

Post capture actively dying

Day 11 - Passing out

Day 18 - Alt prompt - exhaustion

Day 27 - Pain meds

Day 19 - Blood loss

Post-feeding getting better

Day 21 - Nausea

Day 3 - Hold my Hand

Settling in

Alt Prompt - Broken Bones

Alt prompt - Needles

Day 16 - Coma

Day 17 - Forced to stay awake

Day 23 - Resisting treatment

Day 9 - Alt prompt broken bones fuckin oops

Day 10 - Emergency surgery fuckin oops again

Semi consensual medical experimentation

Day 4 Sedation - Little Fogal

Day 24 - Not breathing

Day 7 - Unresponsive

Day 8 - A Shock

Day 5 - Stay with me

Day 15 - warmed blanket

Day 14 - Seizure

Pool era

Day 29 - discharged from long hospital stay

Day 30 - Mystery Illness

Various

Day 22 - Sirens - Alternative view of prologue

Day 26 - Oxygen mask Vignettes 

Day 6 - Doctor becomes Patient (not necessarily canon post captivity)

Alt prompt - Bedside vigil (not necessarily canon)

Day 12 - stabbed - in the golden age of piracy! (canon pre-RFWDS storyline)

Remember, if you enjoyed please leave a like and a comment, as I am unsure if I want to continue publishing, and will only put the effort in if I know someone is actually reading my stuff ^_^

[wondermilka]

The Forgotten Awakened

Pairing : Muichiro Tokito x Gn! Reader

(Y'all can decide whether this is platonic or romantic for you guys)

Sypnosis : Muichiro finally remembered your name.

TW, AI : Angst, wholesome ending, post swordsmith village arc, reader is around the same age as mui!

A/N : I just could not refuse myself to write for him after I watched the Swordsmith Village Arc. 😭😭 This ain't angst because Mui has been through enough 💪

!! NOT GENSHIN RELATED !!

Muichiro caught your attention from the moment he arrived at the mansion. Lady Akane had brought him when he was just 11 years old, wounded and bleeding. You were given the responsibility to care for him during that time.

"What happened to him?" you ask.

"Based on the situation I found him in, it seems they were likely ambushed by a demon during the night. He was fortunate to survive, but sadly, his brother didn't make it," Lady Amane responded.

"I understand. So, he's alone now," you muttered as you softly touched his hair.

"Not entirely. We're here for him," Lady Amane replies, trying to reassure you.

"What's his name?"

.

Muichiro, the Mist Pillar. He wasn’t much of a talker. Everyone who’s met him knew that. He always had a cold and distant demeanor, with an air of mystery surrounding him.

Despite his dull personality, you found yourself captivated by his presence.

Every day, you would care for the injured, ensuring their wounds were properly treated. That was your job as a helper of the mansion.

On numerous occasions, you found yourself assisting Muichiro after his battles, tending to his injuries and nursing him back to health.

Yet, each time you did, you couldn't help but notice Muichiro's forgetfulness when it came to remembering your name. You had to constantly introduce yourself each time he gives off a confused look whenever you approach him.

"it's Y/N. Don't forget next time okay?."

You believed that perhaps one day, your presence would make a lasting impact on the cold Mist Pillar.

Though it saddened you that Muichiro would forget your name constantly, you chose to let your feelings of affection grow.

News arrived that Muichiro had embarked on a journey to the swordsmith village. You worried for his safety, and found yourself longing for his return. You continued your duties, missing the familiar sight of Muichiro's cold but comforting presence.

You refused to leave Muichiro's side, keeping vigil by his bedside every day. You talked to him, sharing stories of your time together, desperately hoping that your words would reach him. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month. Your dedication never wavered.

Time passed, and finally, the day came when Muichiro returned to the mansion. However, he did not return unscathed. His injuries were severe, and he fell into a deep coma upon his arrival. You stuck by his side, tending him.

Your eyes widened and your heart leaped with joy as you entered the room. You approached him and held your breath, waiting for him to speak.

One early morning, as the sun cast its warm rays into the room, Muichiro stirred. His eyes fluttered open.

"Y/N," Muichiro whispered, his voice weak but filled with recognition.

A wave of disbelief washed over you. Muichiro had remembered your name. Your eyes welled up with tears of happiness as you embraced him gently.

"You remembered," You murmured, your voice filled with tenderness.

Muichiro's eyes met yours, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "How could I forget? he replied softly.

Your gentle presence brought warmth to Muichiro's life, and in turn, he learned to appreciate the beauty of love and friendship.

[chaotic-orphan]

Winter Whumperland: day??

Trapped // bedside vigil // used as bait

Comfort mistletoe

Guardian of Blood

I know it’s so late, but my exams are finally over and I can get back to writing!

Also the only thing keeping me sane was bloodborne so enjoy this heavily blood imbued story!

TW: blood (lots of it), loss, friend’s deathbed, graphic injury, graphic depictions of violence, self-harm esque depictions of violence, wrist cutting (not self harm but still graphic and possibly squidgy, it made me uncomfortable to write but it just made sense for the story), powerless whumpees, betrayal, mentions of death, mentions of burial

*~*~*~*~*

Hero sat at Friend’s bedside holding their clammy hand and rubbing soothing circles over it, mumbling a soft spell of soothing under their breath as they went. Villain walked in during it, going to the other side of the bed and taking the damp cloth from Friend’s forehead and taking it to the kitchen.

They came back a moment later, the cloth dripping with cold water and placed it back on Friend’s forehead. Villain sat down on their chair, glaring at Hero as they whispered their spell.

“It’s not helping,” said Villain with a huff.

Hero stopped the spell and looked up at Villain. “It might be we don’t know.”

“They have the blight, Hero, magic doesn’t work and you know it!”

Hero stood up, dropping Friend’s hand. “Well at least I’m doing something!”

“Something useless! Magic is what brought on the fucking blight and—”

“So what?! You give up just like that,” Hero yelled with a click of their fingers and the candles in the room flared taller, “and rely on failed human remedies for a magic fever?! What, are you going to pray to a mythic god now to save you too? Be my guest!”

“Maybe if you—” Villain said pointing a finger at Hero before freezing, narrowed eyes widening a fraction as they looked down at Friend.

“What?!” Hero barked, throwing their arm wide. Below them Friend moaned and Hero’s anger dissipated as they sat down again, grabbing Friend’s hand. Villain leaned down and wiped away Friend’s hair that stuck to their forehead back.

“Friend,” Villain whispered softly. “Hey.”

“Cah—” Friend mumbled then coughed, their ribs hollowing with their cheeks as they descended into a coughing fit. Villain reached for the cloth and smoothed it down Friend’s face, gently shushing them. After a few seconds it died down, and Friend blinked glazed glassy eyes up at Villain and smiled a watery smile. “Can I not get a mom—” cough “—moments peace with you two?”

“Friend,” Villain smiled shaking their head down at them.

“We’re not arguing, we’re just worrying,” Hero told Friend. Friend turned their head very slowly and smiled at Hero.

“You worry very loudly.”

Hero laughed at that, looking up and meeting Villain’s gaze who was also chuckling softly.

“How are you feeling?” Villain asked, feeling Friend’s forehead with the back of their hand and hissing, sharply pulling their hand back.

“I’m freezing,” Friend said softly, “but other than that dying has been peaceful.”

“You’re not dying,” Hero said, tightening their grip on Friend’s hand. “You’re not.”

Friend huffed out a laugh and asked, “can you name one person who lived from the blight, Hero?”

Hero’s lips quivered against their chin and sniffed, turning their head away to fight the tears that threatened to fall.

“We won’t let you,” Villain told Friend, voice determined. “You can’t die. We won’t let you. We’ll find a way!”

“Stronger covens than us have tried,” said Friend, voice hoarse. “They all failed.”

“We—”

“No we,” said Friend, taking their hand and pressing it gently on Villain’s wrist. They tightened their hold in Hero’s hand and smiled, squeezing both their hands reassuringly. “Me.”

Hero broke down when they felt their connection ignite like a tuning fork finding perfect pitch. Friend’s power was so weak, blipping in and out. Something dark clawing it back as Friend tried to send it out, something trying to snuff out their light. It was ravenous and monstrous and more vicious than anything Hero had ever felt and they cried.

Villain was shaking above them, slowly getting to their knees, mouth open slightly in a slightly shocked expression. This is the first time that Friend had let them feel what they were feeling. The first time and maybe the last time that they would all feel each other’s magic. That they would all feel whole.

“I want you to know that you both mean the world to me. If I could do it all over, I’d always find my way back to you. We are bonded for this life and the next, and I’ll always be here with you. Stop arguing. Stop fighting. Comfort each other, lean on each other.”

“Friend,” Villain blubbered, sniffing back emotion. “Please, please don’t leave us. Please!”

“I’ll hold on,” Friend told them kindly as they let their connection fade. “I’ll hold on until I can’t anymore. I just needed you to know.”

“We love you too,” Hero said wetly.

“More than anything,” Villain agreed.

“Bury me the proper way,” Friend said. “Burn me, let my soul go with the wind. Promise me.”

Villain descended into sobs, so Hero was the one who agreed. “We will, we promise.”

“Good,” Friend said with a soft breath. “Good. I’ll sleep again now, but I won’t go yet.”

Hero felt their energy slowly dwindle until they went limp again in Hero’s hold. Villain’s entire body was shaking, shoulders jerking up and down with the sharp movements. Hero got up from their seat and walked around the bed to Villain and wrapped their arms around them.

“I know, I know,” Hero whispered, rubbing Villain’s back as they turned and buried their face into Hero’s jumper, clawed fingers grasping at Hero’s back and pulling them in closer. Their movements desperate and weighed down with an awful kind of grief.

“We can’t just let them die, Hero,” Villain wailed into Hero’s chest. Hero held them tighter, tears of their own trailing down their cheeks as they looked at Friend’s chest rise shallowly.

“We won’t, Villain. We’ll find a way. We’ll do whatever we can. Whatever it takes. I promise.”

*~*~*~*~*

The next day Hero woke in Villain’s armchair beside the bed, a blanket had been draped over them as they slept. They smiled a little, drawing the blanket closer over their shoulder as they slowly opened their eyes. Friend’s chest still rose and fell. Hero got comfortable and drifted back to sleep.

The smell of coffee woke them up the second time that day. They stretched and let out a sigh feeling refreshed as the blanket fell from their shoulders pooling around their waist. Hero’s eyes went to Friend, their chest rising and falling and then they focused on the coffee.

They rose from the chair, discarding the blanket behind them and walked past Friend’s bed into the kitchen. Villain was standing at the counter, an old tome open in front of them, a steaming cup of coffee warming their hands.

There was another cup of steaming coffee at the end of the counter and Hero smiled, walking towards it and blowing on the black liquid to cool it.

“You’re awake,” said Villain dully, their arm moving robotically as they took a sip from their coffee and turned to face Hero. Villain hadn’t slept in a while, their eyes weighed down with tired bags gathering beneath them.

“Thank you for the blanket,” Hero said.

Villain’s eyes glistened as they met Hero’s. “I found it,” Villain said, swallowing another gulp of coffee.

Hero blinked. “Found what?”

“I found a way to stop the blight,” Villain said, their voice croaking. Hero put their coffee down on the counter.

“Don’t mess with me Villain.”

“I wouldn’t mess about this, Hero. I found— I found a way. We can save Friend.”

Hero didn’t dare let hope bloom in their chest. Not yet.

“Tell me everything.”

Villain hesitated. Hero frowned. “Villain?”

“It’s just— I need, it— it’s a blood spell,” said Villain and Hero nodded. They knew it was something bad. “Listen, Hero I know, but it’s not like your average blood spell, okay? There’s a reason why no one has used it to survive the blight.”

“Okay,” Hero nodded, crossing their arms over their chest. “What is it?”

“The spell requires sanguine blood.”

Hero swallowed the lump in their throat. “Sanguine blood.”

Villain nodded. “I know. If you don’t want to do it—”

“You’re sure it will save Friend?”

“It’s our best chance,” Villain said earnestly.

Hero ignored their gut, ignored the flash of their grandfather’s face telling them to never use their blood in magic. That it was different and they were just guardians of it, that it wasn’t their blood.

But it was.

It was Hero’s blood that Villain and Hero needed to save Friend. The same blood that ran through their veins.

Hero met Villain’s gaze again. “Let’s do it.”

Villain crossed the distance between them in a blink and wrapped Hero in their arms. They were taller than Hero, so Hero’s head hit a hard chest before they knew what was happening and then they wrapped their arms around Villain’s waist.

“Thank you, Hero. Thank you. Thank you.”

Hero just tightened their arms around Villain in reply.

This better work.

*~*~*~*~*

A few hours later Villain came back into Friend’s room and nodded at Hero, running a hand back through their hair.

“Everything’s ready.”

Hero swallowed hard, taking their hand from Friend’s, the soothing spell dying on their lips.

“Okay,” they said because there was nothing else to say. They had agreed to this. Friend needed to be better. Villain nodded and went back to the kitchen, Hero following slowly after. Their hands were shaking so they clasped them in front of them.

Villain was leaning over their black clay bowl of mixed herbs and other ingredients needed for the spell. They smiled encouraging at Hero.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Hero?”

Hero nodded.

“Hero,” Villain said again, and Hero met Villain’s gaze with wide eyes. Villain walked around the table and walked to where Hero lingered by the door. They put a hand on Hero’s cheek. “I need you to tell me you still want to do this. You don’t—“”

“Friend would do it for me,” Hero said, cutting Villain off.

Villain’s expression softened. “That’s not a yes, Hero.”

“Of course I want to do it.”

“Say it again.”

Hero swallowed again. Closed their eyes as they took a deep breath, then exhaled. When they opened their eyes again they were more focused.

“I want to do this, Villain. For Friend.”

“For Friend,” Villain said again. Then they placed a gentle kiss on Hero’s forehead.

Villain withdrew and Hero found themselves chasing their warmth but they caught themselves as Villain returned to the bowl and picked up their wicked looking knife. Made of bone and whittled sharper than a razor, the handle a fine smooth wood.

Hero forced their legs to move and walked over to Villain, standing beside them gazing down dazed into the bowl.

“Uh, I— I need—“”

Hero rolled up their sleeve and held out their arm. “Take what you need.”

Villain’s hand cupped the back of Hero’s and held it over the bowl. With a sharp movement Villain drew the knife over Hero’s palm. Hero hissed and tried to pull their hand back but Villain held their hand firm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Hero hissed.

It took a moment for the blood to appear, but when it did it streamed quickly down over Hero’s palm into the bowl below. Villain stared eagerly down into the bowl. Hero pulled their hand back once the stream had stopped but Villain frowned.

“What?” Hero asked, the blood having coagulated already.

Villain screwed their lips up. “I— it should have—“”

Hero frowned staring into the bowl.

“It didn’t work?”

Villain didn’t answer. Instead they turned and walked over to the counter where the book sat open on the page of the spell.

“It should have activated the ink.”

Hero blinked down at the bowl. “Yeah. It’s definitely not doing that. There’s barely a shimmer let alone a glow.”

“Maybe I did it wrong—“” Villain muttered.

Hero looked over their shoulder at Villain. “Or maybe we need more blood.”

“Hero—“”

“No. It’s okay,” said Hero already rolling up their other sleeve and grabbing the bone dagger. “It will hurt too much if we go over the same cut, so just use the other hand and go deeper this time.”

“Hero—“”

“Villain, trust me. How many times have we done spells and underestimated one aspect? It has to be the blood.”

Villain crossed to the table again, taking the knife in shaky hands. Hero looked up at them, smile encouraging and nodding. Villain licked their lips as they met Hero’s gaze before looking down quickly again and cupping their hand around Hero’s.

“Good and deep,” Hero said with a nod and Villain let out a breath. Then they sliced. Villain’s hand tightened on Hero’s again as they jerked their hand back and squeezed it, forcing the blood flow out faster.

“Are you—”

“I’m okay,” said Hero, biting their cheek to stop themselves from crying out. They watched the blood pump from their hand, more black than red. Hero remembered learning bright blood is light blood and they wanted to get sick at the colour streaming down their hand.

The pain melted away when the bowl below their hand ignited, glowing a dazzling maroon. Hero retracted their hand and Villain stopped them. Hero looked up at them in question as Villain wrapped a cloth around their palm before tying it off.

Hero didn’t say thank you. Instead they smiled at Villain when they finally released their hand.

“We should go as quick as possible,” Villain said, grabbing the bowl and walking quickly back into Friend’s room, Hero hot on their heels. “Hero would you light the candles and grab the knife from the kitchen?”

Hero clicked their fingers and the room flooded with light, every candle in the room igniting. Hero grabbed the bone knife and returned to see Villain scrawling strange symbols on Friend’s forehead, chest and hands.

“Good,” Villain said, putting the bowl down on the table beside Friend’s bed. “You stand the other side of the bed so the spell is balanced.”

Hero did as they were told and waited. They didn’t know the spell, if there were even any words at all.

“Hero, grab Friend’s hand.” Hero did so. Then Villain was reaching over the bed with an outstretched hand and Hero took theirs too. Hero and Villain held the knife between their palms.

Hero felt the connection sing between them, but there was something different about it. Something unusual. Hero put it down to the fact that they were using their own blood as a catalyst that made their heart lurch in their chest.

Villain started saying the spell and Hero felt their limbs lock into place. Even if they wanted to end it now they couldn’t. The flames around Friend’s bed burst into skinny pillars of flame as was natural with a spell of this nature. The doors slammed shut to the kitchen and the en-suite in Friend’s room.

That was the first pull Hero felt in their energy. They would have collapsed if it wasn’t for the spell keeping them in place.

“Villain—“” Hero called but Villain continued the spell.

There was a roaring in Hero’s ears like the wind was rushing through the house, through their clothes, through their hair like a thunderstorm. Everything seemed to go too fast, too loud, too violent.

Then the bone blade between Villain and Hero’s hand began to burn. Hero hissed in pain as the blade burned their hand as hot as an oven top and Hero screamed as it continued to get hotter and hotter and hotter.

“Villain! Stop!” Hero cried as their energy drained more and more until everything seemed to stop. The flames went back to normal. The wind stopped rushing. Hero’s hand stopped burning.

Then an almighty kick through their energy sent Hero and Villain back to the walls on either side of the room. Hero’s back hit the wall hard enough to knock the wind from their chest as they fell to the ground. Hero groaned, pushing themselves up to their knees. They cried out when their burned hand hit the wooden floor and sat back onto their knees, hissing.

Hero looked at their palm and saw a black symbol branded on it. A half circle, almost whole but fractured and cracked in places. Flames licking the sides of it like a half sun.

Hero glanced up to see Villain who was staring at Friend. Hero followed their gaze and froze in their spot. The bone blade was hovering red above Friend’s bed where Hero and Villain held it between their hands. Only now the red light almost engulfed the room, all the candles blew out and all that was left was the red bone.

Blood spurted from it like an fresh injury, a quick slice to the carotid artery, fountaining out and covering Friend’s bed in blood. Hero pushed themselves to their feet making their way towards Friend’s bed, but was stopped by an invisible wall two feet from Friend’s bed. Hero threw their hand forward but it couldn’t break the barrier, just bounced off.

They looked through and saw Villain doing the same thing from the other side, wide eyes panicking as they threw their shoulder against the barrier.

“Villain?!” Hero called and Villain met their gaze across the room. “What did you do?!”

Villain didn’t answer. Hero called out again, louder, more hysterical. “What did you do?!”

Hero watched as the blood started dripping from the bed onto the floor into a deep dark pool, spreading faster than it should have towards Hero. When the blood reached Hero’s feet it stopped moving. Hero stared down at it, heart hammering against their skull. They could feel the pulse in their throat.

Then a single strand of blood shot out of the pool like barbed wire and imbedded itself through Hero’s wound in their palm. Hero cried out as they were wrenched forward and fell through the barrier. The wire dragged Hero to their knees in the pool of blood by Friend’s bed before a second wire shot out of the pool and wrapped itself around Hero’s other hand.

Hero bit back a startled cry, biting their lips to stop themselves from making any sound. Villain was still pushing against the barrier, stuck on the other side. Screaming Hero’s name and Friend’s name, powerless to help either of them.

Hero closed their eyes and started mumbling a spell under their breath. They had only got two words out before a hand gripped their cheeks and yanked them forward.

It pulled hard on the wires in Hero’s palms and they cried out when they met two golden eyes. Hero froze.

This isn’t real.

This isn’t real.

The hand holding Hero’s cheeks in a merciless grip was attached to a man crouching on the end of Friend’s bed like a gargoyle. He tilted his head at Hero, then tilted Hero’s head with their hand to mimic him. Hero pulled at the barbed wire and grit their teeth to keep from crying out, glaring at the man from the blood.

“You made a mistake, little one,” the man cooed tightening their grip. “You should know that Sanguine blood is sacred. Holy. Surely you have heard the stories, hmm?”

Hero glared at the man remaining stubbornly silent. Then the man let go of Hero’s cheeks and Hero could sit back on their knees again, stretching their jaw and cheeks.

“What is the family motto?”

Hero said nothing. The corner of the man’s lips tugged up into a half smile. Then the blood started moving towards Friend and Hero’s heart leapt into their throat.

“Custos sanguinis!” Hero bit out.

The blood stopped flowing towards Friend and retreated back to the man.

“And what does that mean little one?”

Hero swallowed, something huge dawning on them. Something like terror and realisation all mixed into one and they suddenly felt so stupid for going against their instinct. Their family.

“It is not our blood,” Hero remembered their Grandfather say with urgency in his voice. “We are just guardians of it.”

“Guardians of the blood,” Hero said, their voice cracking weakly.

The man smiled and got off the bed, crouching down to Hero’s level. Two glinting golden eyes stared at Hero, so close, too close. Inhuman and wild.

“Whose blood?” The man asked quietly. Hero shook their head but the man didn’t let them. They reached a hand out and cupped a hand under Hero’s chin. “Answer me, child.”

Hero felt the cold grip of panic seize their throat. “It’s— it’s just a story,” Hero tried but seeing them there in front of Hero, Hero knew they were lying to themselves.

The man’s hand tightened, even though Hero knew he wasn’t really a man.

“Whose blood, child?” He asked, impeccably calm.

“The infernal one,” Hero whispered. The man smiled. The thing smiled showing his pointed canines. He let go of Hero’s chin and stood up letting out a long, luxurious sigh. Then he raised a hand and clicked his fingers and Villain fell through the barrier with a sharp cry. Their hands fell straight into the black blood.

“I haven’t heard that name in so long,” the infernal one said turning to face Villain. Villain was trying to pull their hands back but the blood stuck to them and pulled them back in. “I guess I have you to thank for freeing me.”

“We didn’t know,” Hero said, panic seizing their words, desperate for the demon to turn and face Hero again but he didn’t. His golden eyes were blazing down at Villain.

“I don’t know, child. I think one of you knew,” the man said, a smile in his voice. Hero didn’t care for it though, instead they looked at Villain’s face because surely… but the moment their eyes landed on Villain all they could see was guilt.

Hero couldn’t keep the accusation out of their voice: “You knew?!”

Villain didn’t look at Hero, instead they kept their gaze fixed on the demon. “Yeah. I knew, but it’s the only way to save Friend Hero! You said you’d do anything. Whatever it takes.”

“I like your ambition,” the demon said. “You want me to take away the blight.”

“Yes,” Villain huffed, emotion clogging their throat. “Please. I’m begging you.”

“Villain! Don—” Hero squeaked and then their voice was gone. They opened their mouth to scream but no sound came out. Hero pulled against the wire keeping them in place, trying to get their legs under them and wincing, screaming silent.

“What’ll you give me in return?”

“I freed you,” said Villain. “I was hoping—”

“Nothing is for nothing. The guardian could have told you that,” the demon said, looking over their shoulder at Hero with a wicked sharp grin. Hero grit their teeth and pulled at the wire, getting one of their feet under them until they were dragged back down to their knees. Wires wrapped tight around Hero’s thighs locking them in place. The demon didn’t take away Hero’s ability to cry and tears started streaming down their face. “What will you give me?”

“Anything,” Villain said without hesitation. “Please. Friend is the best of us. They don’t deserve to die. Please.”

The man reached down and put a hand on Villain’s head. Villain stilled, eyes finally crossing the room to Hero. Hero jerked forward but didn’t get far.

“A favour,” the demon said finally and Villain’s eyes flickered up. Hero’s heart lurched in their chest. That was the one thing that Hero’s grandfather had warned them about. Their struggles renewed but Villain didn’t notice, their attention was only on the demon.

“You’ll cure Friend of the blight?” Villain asked.

“They’ll be good as new.”

“I want them healthy, the way they were.”

“You’re not a fool,” the demon hummed. “You have my word. Your friend will be cured.”

“And I want them immune from the blight.”

The demon tilted their head. “Would you like to be immune as well?”

“If it’s not too much to ask.”

“And the guardian?” the demon asked. Hero stilled.

“All of us,” Villain said without hesitation.

“Alright. You have yourself a deal. Stand.”

The blood melted down Villain’s arms and they gingerly pulled their hands back. They glanced at Hero who shook their head. Villain’s expression fixed into an apologetic one.

“It’s the only way, Hero.”

The demon looked over their shoulder at Hero, lips quirked up. “Hero,” the demon said, as if testing how Hero’s name felt on their tongue. Hero glared at the demon, but they probably looked pathetic with their tear stained cheeks.

The demon turned to Villain again and grabbed their hand.

“What’re you—?” Villain asked, but by the time the words left their mouth the demon had already rolled up Villain’s sleeve and curved their fingers into talons befitting of a giant beast.

“Hey, wait— FUCK!” Villain cursed as the demon sliced down Villain’s inner arm, elbow to wrist and stopping in the middle of their palm. Four claw marks gushed deep, dark blood and Hero wanted desperately to look away but horror rooted them in place staring vacantly at Villain.

A river of blood spurted out of Villain’s wound and all colour drained from their face. They looked like they were about to faint and Hero’s heart lurched in their chest screaming Villain’s name.

“There we go, almost done,” the demon said, switching the blade to their other hand and cutting their own wrist. The demon held their wrist over Villain’s wound and let the blood drip slowly down into Villain’s veins. The moment the blood touched Villain’s the wound knitted itself back together with black veins.

Villain was ashen as the blood pumped from their wrist.

“Sssh, ssh, ssh. You’re doing so well, little one.”

After the demon ran their blood down Villain’s wound until it all stitched together again, the demon sliced their wrist again and dropped Villain’s hand. Villain stumbled back a step but the demon grabbed the back of Villain’s head and shoved their wrist against Villain’s mouth. Villain pushed back against it, but they were too weak to fight off the demon in their state.

The demon stepped closer to Villain as Villain tried to step back, shushing them all the while. “It’s almost over, once you ingest my blood the deal is sealed.”

Villain didn’t fight the demon anymore after that. They just accepted the words and went limp in the demon’s arms.

“Good,” the demon said, pulling their wrist away from Villain’s mouth. “Very good. You feel that connection Villain?”

Villain stumbled back. Then they gasped and grabbed their freshly healed arm as if it was in pain.

“Good,” the demon said. Villain looked up through pained eyes before their eyes rolled to the back of their head and they collapsed.

“VILLAIN!” Hero cried, their voice thick and raw as if they had been screaming for hours. The demon turned to face Hero again, golden eyes inquisitive.

“How unusual… I suppose I am over exerting myself on the first day of freedom, but still,” the man said, tilting his head at Hero. “You guardians always did intrigue me.”

“Why?” Hero asked, their voice coming out through shaky whispered breaths.

The man shrugged. “Because I can. Because Villain was desperate, and I am the only thing that could cure the blight. It is my disease after all.”

The shock must have shown on Hero’s face because the demon laughed. “Yes, oh yes. The price for locking me away, Hero. Didn’t any of your bloodline warn you against blood magic? Sanguine blood magic?”

“They were…” Hero said, swallowing hard. Their eyes flickering back to Villain’s body crumpled on the ground. “They were just bedtime stories, not histories.”

“Mmm,” the man hummed. The wires tightened around Hero’s thighs and they winced. “Tell me Hero do they feel real to you?”

“You promised you’d cure Friend,” Hero spat instead.

The demon smiled. “Oh I intend to, and don’t worry. They’re still alive for now. If I let them die then Villain doesn’t owe me a favour anymore and we both know I always cash in on my favours.”

“They didn’t know what they were agreeing to,” Hero pleaded. “Punish me instead, give me the favour.”

The man’s hand morphed into the beast claw if was to cut Villain’s. “If you want Hero I can make you a deal as well.”

“No,” Hero said. “Then you’ll just have us both.”

“So you are intelligent. Good.”

The demon clicked his fingers again and the wires melted away from Hero’s thighs and hands like water. Hero glanced up at the man, waiting for the trick but he didn’t seem bothered by Hero’s suspicion.

“I have been locked away for years, Hero,” the demon told them. “I would really love a cup of tea.”

*~*~*~*~*

Winter Whumperland #2

[geode-crystal]

Crystallllllll I have a whumpy question!

Out of all the whump tropes, which one is your favorite of all time? You can only choose one! ;)

-- @whumperofworlds

Aaaa hi @whumperofworlds ! Thank you for the whumpy question!

And it... is a rather difficult question lol. I really have tagged a bunch of different tropes as my favorite, haven't I?

I'm not 100% sure if it counts, but favorite trope has got to be the Bedside Vigil, or Unbroken Vigil as TVtropes calls it (hospital tw for the picture on the tvtropes page).

It's just... the equal parts pining and sheer support. Having a Caretaker that Will Not Move as long as Whumpee might need them is so hekkin soft and heartbreaking and just wonderful. There's just something so pure about the sheer amount of care and loyalty involved, I love it. And there are so many beautiful scenarios that can lead to a Vigil like that, magical or otherwise!

(but if that doesn't count then it's definitely Magical Exhaustion lol. Love me a good plop, especially if Caretaker is there to catch them!)

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 8 - Going into shock / Bedside vigils

TW: character death, hospice setting, stroke mention

@medwhumpmay

"Is she in any pain?"

"She's been sedated. Thank you so much for coming, we don't know if she'll last the night. Can we get you anything to drink, dear?"

"Um...a coffee, if that's okay. With milk and sugar."

"Of course. Have a seat, maybe talk to her if you like. I'll be right back."

Erick waited for the nurse's footsteps to die down, standing at the foot of the bed until the only sounds that were left were that of the monitors at the bedside, beeping softly. He knew the sounds all to well, but never really in this context. It had always been strangers sending signals through various wires to the machines, but this time it was her.

With a deep breath to settle his...various conflicting emotions, Erick quietly moved over to the chair by her bedside and sat down. He could tell she was sedated. She looked so peaceful compared to the last time he saw her — being rushed into the back of an ambulance after his best efforts to keep her alive. Apparently it had all been for nothing.

"I'm so sorry," Erick said quietly, reaching over and gently putting his hand on hers. It was already so cold, but then again she had always had cold hands. It was one of the many reasons she chose to settle in San Diego, according to her.

"Here's your coffee."

Erick looked up as the nurse returned. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but her hand felt a little bit warmer now as he switched hands so he could accept the coffee.

"Thanks," he said quietly, not wanting to disturb her too much.

"Were you close?" the nurse asked, "she never mentioned kids or grandkids."

Erick shrugged.

"I always thought we were close," he said, "she's my landlady— Well, my uncle's actually, but I moved in with him when I was fifteen. She was the grandma I never had."

Erick never considered Ethel old. Sure, she was past the retirement age, but she was never old old. He always helped her whenever he could, but when he and Fetch were out on a job for weeks on end, she could hold her own just as well. And when they were home, she would crack dirty jokes with Fetch, or slip Erick an extra cookie or some money for helping her out.

She knitted them sweaters, and while Erick held her yarn for her she would tell him stories about her youth. Each story was less believable than the other, from her late husband's gun that she still carried, to the sole reason she even owned any property in the first place being that it allowed her to launder money her husband stole.

She cooked for them, and even kept their apartment clean when they were on the road. He watched her wrestle her sandwich back from a seagul and eat it still, and he once drove her to an M.B.C.A. meeting just to watch her cuss out the entire board for not doing anything about the relentless littering in the neighbourhood because the city's sanitation workers tended to skip a trash pickup day or two due to poor scheduling.

Ethel made a lot of people's lives better, or much, much worse if she decided she didn't like them. Erick felt lucky to be on her good side, as her door had always been open for him whenever he needed a break from Fetch. They never discussed it out loud, but Erick suspected she had a much better idea of their real relationship than Fetch gave her credit for.

But everything changed when she suddenly collapsed the other day. She'd been complaining of a headache, and Fetch sent Erick to get her some water and an advil. He'd just grabbed a glass from her cabinet to pour some water in when Fetch yelled at him to call an ambulance. Erick rushed outside with his phone, tapping in the numbers and nearly freezing when he saw the worry on Fetch's face as he cradled their elderly neighbour.

"She's having a stroke!"

She was still rather awake by the time the ambulance arrived to pick her up, but by the end of the day they already recieved the call that she'd been transferred to hospice care. She had no next of kin listed, only her two tennants, so the hospital asked them to come over.

Fetch sent Erick ahead, he claimed he had to take care of some things first, but Erick suspected he just needed a moment to compose himself before being able to face her final moments. Appearing strong had always been much more important to Fetch, while Erick didn't care much if he would end up crying. Especially in front of Ethel. She'd never judged him before, why start now?

By the time he finished his coffee, the nurse checked in on them again, and Erick couldn't contain his curiosity.

"How...how does this usually go?" he asked.

The nurse offered a sympathetic smile.

"We keep her sedated," she said, "and when her vitals start dropping we...let her go."

"Because the stroke already killed her brain?" Erick asked, remembering Fetch's explanation after they heard back from the hospital.

"I'm afraid so," the nurse gently said, "there's nothing we can do for her, and her records indicated she didn't want to be kept on life support if there was no hope for recovery."

"...she'd hate to have people look after her without being able to do anything back," Erick said, "um...would it be okay to turn off the airconditioning in the room? Her hands are cold and she hates the feeling of cold hands. I-I know she's sedated but—"

"It's okay," the nurse cut in, "the thermostat is right over here, I'll turn it up by a couple degrees, okay?"

"Thanks," Erick said, trying to settle down a bit as he looked back at Ethel, "how long does it usually take?"

"It differs per patient, but she deteriorated fast earlier today," the nurse said, "she might not make it through the night, or she might stay like this for another week. If you or your uncle can't be here we can assign someone on the staff to sit with her instead, so we can be sure she won't be alone in her last moments."

"I wouldn't want her to be," Erick said, "I hope...I-I know it sounds terrible, but I hope we can let her go sooner rather than later."

"That's perfectly normal," the nurse assured him, "we don't want our loved ones to suffer too long before going to heaven."

Erick bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. Ethel used to joke they had a VIP-seat reserved for her in hell.

"I always thought she'd go down swinging, but just last week she said she still had a bone to pick with her husband," he said, "you always get what you want, don't you, Ethel?"

The nurse wasn't sure if she could laugh or not, when fortunately a distraction arrived in the shape of another visitor. Fetch politely inclined his head towards her as he stepped inside, stopping at the foot of Ethel's bed.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Her hands are cold," Erick said, "but the nurse already turned up the thermostat."

"That's kind of you," Fetch said.

"It's no problem," the nurse said, "can I get you anything to drink, sir?"

"A coffee, thanks— Black, please."

The nurse nodded and walked off. Fetch picked up the chair in the other corner of the room and took a seat on the other side of the bed, peering at Erick rather than Ethel.

"I asked Tito to track down whether she had a will of any kind," he said, "so we'll know how our living situation will turn out."

"...you're worried about your apartment right now?" Erick asked incredulously.

"I know what it sounds like," Fetch said, "but there's nothing else we can do for her, and it's something that has to be arranged anyway. A will might also tell us if she had any preferences for a funeral or cremation."

"How could you say that?" Erick asked, "in front of her?"

"She's already gone, kid," Fetch said, "but I get it if you need more time to accept that. That's why I sent you ahead while I took care of everything else. Someone has to sort it all out."

"Yeah, but couldn't you at least wait until she— Fuck she'd probably say you're right..."

"And she'd tell you off for swearing in a hospital," Fetch said.

"Oh my god, she would," Erick said, letting out a sound that sounded somewhere halfway between a laugh and a sob, "I don't want her to go, though."

"I know," Fetch just said, "do you want me to stay?"

Erick nodded, wiping at his eyes as he squeezed Ethel's hand again. Fetch just sat back in his chair, pulling a small notebook from his jacket pocket and beginning to scribble on a new page as they waited together, for the inevitable...

I'm sorry Ethel

The real whump is the Ethel stans having to read this :)

Masterlist Main account

Taglist for the dynamic duo: @lavndvrr

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱𝐼𝐼: 𝒞𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: addiction, relapse, cyberbullying I guess??

Summary: John and Vincent are falling into a routine. But they've gotten a bit too comfortable, and the Table has a new strategy that could lead to disaster.

Another night at the angel’s bedside.

Vincent didn’t fall asleep for hours. John could tell - he had already grown accustomed to his breathing. He allowed that little sound to transfix him in the darkness, almost inaudible beneath the music, but the loudest thing in the room to him. Measured, alert, changing pace now and then. What could he be thinking of? What memories and sorrows? At the foot of the bed, Dog whimpered in his sleep, dreaming of chasing something. Not long after, the Marquis’ breathing leveled out into softly cresting waves.

And then John had hours and hours to keep the vigil…to obsess, maybe, if he was being honest with himself. Vincent did desire him, in some way. It baffled him. And Vincent needed him in a way that made him sorry the man’s father was already dead. He felt the solid weight of the gun in his hand and knew, with a tiny rush of ecstasy, that he was doing something for Vincent even now. Goodness knows somebody should be doing something for him. John’s heart took up a perch in his throat the entire night, thrilling occasionally.

There was no nightmare this time, at least not that he could tell. Vincent slept through breakfast and John let him. They’d be fine with the food in the fridge. The less they risked going out, the better. And anyway, he needed it. A sliver of sunrise climbed over his pallid face in rosy, golden degrees and it occurred to John that Vincent had not seen sunlight all yesterday, apart from burning some papers outside and a short few minutes spent hiding behind the motel. He would not see sunlight today either.

John had to bring this to an end somehow. If it were himself in danger, he would have already sought half a dozen people’s help. But who would help him help Vincent? Winston? Caine? Sofia? The Director? No. No one. All of them wanted Vincent dead.

He tried. He texted Sofia, “I need a favor,” knowing that she’d be awake on the other side of the world. Her only reply was, “I know what’s going on. Don’t you dare.”

Better not to try the others.

If he could sleep, maybe he could think more clearly. He’d lied - the hour or so was not enough. His eyes were half closing when Vincent’s opened at noon.

“Finally a good rest.” He rolled over and grinned at John, his perfect combover tussled into soft spikes. He seemed to have woken up on the right side of the bed. “This will be the third day I have been with you.”

“Yeah.” John allowed their eyes to linger on each other longer than he should have. “Does that mean something?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just that my chest feels a little better today.” Something about the thought of Vincent feeling better under his care filled John’s body with helium, and it seemed very good that there was a ceiling above him to prevent him from floating straight through the atmosphere.

“I’m glad.” But there was still work to be done. Where he curled around one of the pillows, red had bled through onto the blue and white striped pillowcase. “…We should change the bandages again. Twice a day is good.”

Again, that long look held between them. He could swear Vincent tilted his head down just a fraction, to blink up at him from behind breathtaking eyelashes. “Oui.”

Everything was going to be so damn charged now, wasn’t it. Now that Vincent knew that John was…that he wanted…what did he want again?

He wanted to change his bandages, to make him “feel better” yet again. That much, he knew. They went to the bathroom and John moved very quickly this time. No lingering, and on Vincent’s part, no resisting. But the satisfaction of the act remained palpable.

There was some sense of normalcy forming, a routine. Eating together at the nightstand. Fighting over the remote control. It almost felt like it could last forever. Maybe, just as they had forgotten to keep running, the High Table would forget to chase them.

But they didn’t.

Only a few hours later, John was nodding off in the chair. The weather had turned dreary, and the sound of drumming rain against the window was only further lulling him towards sleep. Vincent tapped him on the shoulder and said, with deliberate casualness, “You can have the bed, if you want. When I’m not using it.”

“…Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, now wipe that look off your face and go to sleep. It’s distracting to watch you nod off and jump awake every couple of minutes.”

So John took the one non-bloodstained pillow and lay down, finally, in the warm nest of blankets that smelled like Vincent. There was a perfection to that mess of a moment. He let himself bask in it, and drifted away.

He should have known that to sleep in earnest was to leave Vincent alone, and that he was not, under any circumstances, ready to be left alone.

When he woke up, the room had darkened except for the fading blue of twilight. And it was far too quiet. “Vincent?”

There was no answer.

He checked the bathroom - no one, but clearly something had happened. There were paper cups and various toiletries thrown to the floor as if a whirlwind had passed through. A jolt of panic sent him straight to the window, checking for cars, but the parking lot held nothing particularly unusual, just the same vehicles that had been coming and going throughout their entire stay. Their own stolen BMW was still parked in its spot, untouched.

A light in the corner of the room caught John’s eye. The Marquis’ phone lay on the carpet with a cracked screen, still functional enough to light up with a notification. John snatched it up, and read what was clearly just one in a long stream of messages. They kept coming. And coming. From multiple numbers, seemingly every High Table member joining in a unanimous barrage.

“You cannot run. You have no one, Vincent. There is no one who cares about you.”

“Do you think John Wick will stand by you? What a laughable idea. He will kill you when this is over. He will kill you and take your place, because you are weak.”

“You can’t do this. You need it.” Need what?

“You were a fucking embarrassment to work with. Droning on and on in that horrible, thick French accent. Your English is terrible, and so is your German.”

“Your estate is being razed, Vinnie boy, with your stash inside it.”

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. A strung out serial killer playing emperor. Die.”

“I knew your father. He was a better man than you. Had some sense. If he were alive, he’d snuff you out himself.”

Those manipulative bastards. John felt the metal start to warp in his hand from how tight his grip had become, and stopped just short of crushing Vincent’s business phone into a pile of glass shards and fragmented microchips. He was shaking.

Shit.

A breath raked its way out of his lungs. “Why didn’t you wake me up, why? I could have helped you…” Dog whined at his feet, sensing distress.

Maybe the office, maybe someone saw something, maybe…

In another moment, he was out the door. A brief dash through the rain brought him reeling and dripping up to the front desk.

“Marjorie, could you please tell me - “

“Oh I meant to talk to you, Mr. Williams,” she broke in, calling him by the fake name he’d given that first day. “But you never came to breakfast.”

“I - What?”

“Yes.” She pocketed her bifocals and leaned forward conspiratorially across the counter, even though there was no one else in the lobby. “I wanted to let you know some people came around asking about you and your little friend yesterday. They seemed like bad news, so I sent ‘em on their way. But I thought you’d want to know.”

John’s brain was still racing. “…My little friend?”

“Don’t worry, I saw you sneak him in on the first night. Didn’t have the heart to stop you. The one who’s detoxing?”

Oh.

“No need to look so embarrassed honey, I see this all the time out here. I can spot it a mile away. People come up from Allentown, just looking for an out-of-the-way place. If you two need anything, you just let me know. Poor thing. He looked like a wreck last time I saw him, paranoid as hell, hiding in a bush. Can’t blame him, you know - with folks after him for…well, I won’t make you tell me that. Debts probably, god only knows. But if you need resources, I’ve got pamphlets for just about every rehab in the city, let me grab…”

The blue car. The blue car from last night had been outside.

“Now my sister went to this one back in her day, this tattoo is for her five-year mark, she’s been sober another ten since then, bless her heart.” She shoved a pamphlet into his hand.

“That’s lovely - “

“Well you know, it’s a passion of mine. People don’t understand, good folks get into this mess and can’t get out again. It makes trouble here at the motel sometimes when I let ‘em stay, but you know, I’d rather get a thousand noise disturbances than send somebody away and find out he died in some back alley. Anyway, you see the craziest things when you work with the rehab world, things you’d never believe. You and your friend are hardly the tip of the iceberg. I bet I even met a hitman once.” She finally took a breath, apparently just getting started.

“Marjorie, thank you so much. I need to go.”

“Yep, better ask him who they were, only don’t scare the poor dear. Good luck out there, sorry to keep you.” John was already out the door.

The blue car. The blue car. It was time for the blue car to cease to exist.

It was pulling out of the parking lot by the time he saw it. He switched directions and made a beeline for his own vehicle. On the way, he locked eyes with Vincent.

He was crossing the center of the parking lot, limping, his sopping wet figure blurred by layers of rain. They were maybe ten paces apart. Vincent froze.

John, on the other hand, did not even pause. “VINCENT! Get. Inside. And do not look at your phone, do you hear me? Do not look at your phone. I’m coming back.”

He didn’t wait long enough to see if Vincent obeyed. He was tearing out onto the main road after the person who’d seen the Marquis de Gramont, and fucked up his three day streak.

He held onto that pitifully rain blurred image of the Marquis and let hatred consume him. Hatred for everyone who had preyed on this sad little man, and twisted him up into what he was today. The dealers, his family, the Table. The god damn Table. Don’t touch him. Don’t fucking touch him.

He caught up to the car in minutes and rode its bumper, waiting for the right moment. Forest flashed past in the dusky purples of the fading light, the maples and birches of the Pennsylvania countryside rearing their branches against the wind of the gathering storm. Raindrops fell hard, already littering the road with torn off leaves.

And then the highway opened out onto a riverside cliff, and the gas pedal went to the floor, and his headlights slammed into its tail, the aftershock reverberating backward through his shoulders and through the shattering windshield that showered his face in glass.

He crawled out, tasting blood and airbag smoke, to lean over the mangled guardrail. The blue car smoldered dead on the boulders below, the river flowing through it. The BMW teetered on the ledge until something on its underbelly gave way and it followed after.

Well, that was done.

John tilted back his head into the rain, willing his breathing to return to normal. Lightning flickered over the ravine, smiting some distant sand to glass, and that image burned brilliantly in his mind’s eye: Vincent, blurred and beautiful.

Was he inside? Was he safe? The answer, of course, was sure to be no. John took one more steadying breath and started walking.

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