#we're all suffering this Whumptober

[silentgravesdontexist]

At Love's Mercy

Ah, this is just an explanation to how the soulmate thing works. Totally not lazy writing to just explain here than through my work. Ack—

Portgas D. Ace × GN!Reader

A blessing has been bestowed by the gods long before the nations have waged wars amongst themselves. Though, many have considered this as both a blessing and a curse. Kingdoms and nations alike have fallen and risen because of such a thing. People all over the world have rejoiced and despaired over it—

The String of Fate.

Yes, such is the strength of a single string connecting two people's fate. A delicate thing and yet the severity of its meaning could only be seen as either a cruel joke by the gods or the salvation given by them. Wherein only the bound souls can see it.

"What exaggeration!" One might say, but the truth written upon history states otherwise.

To be bound by this string means that armies have waged war amongst allies for their beloved. It is to drive a kingdom to its ruin to hold their other half. And it is to twist one's own morals to please the other.

Madness and passion is what it is.

But as they say, there is beauty even in the most obscure of things.

Though, that is not all that there is. Within the dangers of it all— lies a certain vantage. Whoever shall be bound by this string shall love the other. A profounding and complex kind of affection. It guarantees to be loved unconditionally. That the weight of your love for another will be reciprcated in equal.

They say that once they have found their soulmate, they were all that they saw. Should their life have been filled with nothing but hate; they will love. No matter how unworthy they deem themselves as; they will be loved.

And perhaps, that is also what has driven people mad.

It is known that there three stages to its progression:

1.) The Phantom String - wherein two people are within a certain range from each other. The string shall manifest as semi-translucent tied at the base of their pinky finger. It will lead them to the general direction of the other end.

It is important to note that in this stage: a choice will be given. Should one not be ready to face their soulmate, they may leave the range. The string will disappear. However, it shall appear once more when they are within range again.

2.) The White String - occurs when the two people are at a fair distance to each other. The string will manifest more visibly and have a silk white color to it. At this stage, it will guide the one to the exact location of the other. The string will be permanently attached to the pinky finger.

3.) The Red String - eye contact has been established. The moment their eyes meet, the first phase of the stage shall begin.

Phase I: Blood Flow - it will look as if a person's blood flows from their finger and stains the string red. This will occur on both ends. The color will continue to dye the string until it meets at the middle and fuses.

Note that the duration for the phase varies. At times, it will only be a matter of seconds. Sometimes, it may take a month. There are no known variables that affects the speed of this phase.

Phase II: Blood Bound - the string has turned completely red. The fate of the two souls are bound to each other by this point. It simply means that they are now one. If the other dies, so shall they.

A grave question must be asked: What happens if the other person dies before or during the progression?

The answer is simple: The other will continue to live. However, there are two cases for the answer.

If the progression has not started, the other person will not be affected whatsoever. The worst that will happen to them is that they will never have another soulmate. There is only one soulmate for a person's lifetime.

Now, the problem lies within that if the death occurs during the progression.

When that happens, there will be a grave consequence. Although, yes, they will still live. But they will experience this an excruicating kind of pain for as long as they live.

Many have described it as the inexplicable emptiness within their chest and the inability to truly feel. A kind of severity that has driven many to kill themselves. Choosing death as a much easier option than to live through the pain until they die.

The more late the stage is, the more severe the consequence.

.

.

.

The King wants you dead.

What a noble and foolish knight you are to walk towards your own end.

The new articles all over the kingdom will have it. Their most beloved knight, died in the frontlines after sacricing theirselves for the kingdom. What an honorable death. How the people will adore you.

Every day, you are dragged to the very front of the war. To boost the soldier's morale, they say. But everyone knew the real reason for it.

You were the King's loyal dog.

But you came to know too much. That's why you need to die. For the sake of the crown and for the people. It was for the greater good.

And yet, despite having a guilotine hanging over your head— that wasn't what you feared the most, was it? It was that damned string you barely noticed now wrapped around your pinky finger.

Of all the cruel jokes of the world, it simply had to point towards the enemy's base camp.

It was bloodshed, day after day. You could barely managed to stay alive at the end of the day. And now the gods have told you that the person you will share your fate with is on the otherside of the battlefield?

A knight disowned by the crown.

Now, damned to share a fate with the enemy.

Taglist: @ofoceansandtombsanew @captainportgasdace @lynndt-chocolate @that-student-that-has-homework @kora-vevi @acesdiary

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober 2024 Day 13 (ALT): My Hero

Now on AO3!

TAGS: @gala1981 @whumptober-archive @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @rebelxwriter @expressionless-fr

@fourwingedsnake @whumble-beeee @whumpninja @kingxlinkwrites

CWS: blood, beaten up, whumpee x caretaker, male whumpee, male caretaker, multiple whumpers, slight strong language.

FANDOM: Final Fantasy I

A/N: N/A

I only own Drusus and Keme. Everything else belongs to Square Enix.

ENJOY!

_____

Familial curse / Multiple whumpees / "Death will do us part / ALT: No-holds-barred beatdown

Keme giggled gleefully as he walked down the streets of Cornelia, a bag slung over his shoulder. It was a special day for himself and for his husband, Drusus; their fifth anniversary. And Keme wanted to surprise his sweet beloved with a special gift, along with ingredients to make his beloved's favorite vegetable stew. He was so happy and grateful that he met Drusus; he had a love at first sight with the monk, and while Drusus was hesitant in opening his heart to the thief, Drusus grew to fall in love with him as well, and they began dating.

Keme never forgot that night. How Drusus brought him to a hill to see the blue moon that appeared once every year. How they stared at it. Then Drusus' proposal. Keme was in near tears when his lover proposed to him, and he accepted it happily. He was so lucky to know his Drussy, and they were happy together ever since.

Keme hummed a familiar tune as he walked down the street, a bounce in his step. He heard laughter nearby, but he didn't bother looking. Surely there was some guys—

He heard a familiar cry, along with a sickening crack. Keme froze, his eyes wide in fear, before he turned to see what was going on.

In the alleyway, were three filthy men, all bent down to a figure that was on the ground. They punched and kicked the figure, spitting out insults along with growls to give up their Gil.

One man took the person by the hair, pulling them up to face him. The man spat on their face, to which they coughed.

"You gonna give it up or what?" The man growled.

"Fuck off." A deep gruff voice growled back.

Keme nearly dropped his bag then, as his eyes grew wider.

Oh Cosmos. That's Drusus.

Another sickening crack, and Keme cringed when he heard his beloved screaming. His nose was likely broken then, and Drusus was then thrown back on the ground.

The three men continued to beat him; kicks and punches met Drusus' body as he curled up into a ball to defend himself. Keme knew that his husband was strong, but with three men who were possibly armed, he couldn't just leave him there.

He glared, gritting his teeth as he dropped his bag, as he approached the three men beating his beloved. How dare they hurt his husband. How dare they make him suffer. Drusus was a sweet, gentle man who did nothing wrong. These men would pay.

When he was close enough, Keme tapped one man on the shoulder. The man stopped his flurry of punches and kicks before turning to Keme.

Without warning, Keme landed a powerful punch aimed at his nose, breaking it. Blood spurted, and he cried out in pain as he staggered back.

"What the hell?!" Another man cried, as he and the other two turned to face the furious thief. Upon seeing Keme and their friend holding his bleeding nose, they stepped back in shock.

"Oh," Keme sneered, "you can dish it, but can't take it?"

The man with the bleeding nose glared at him, hatred in his eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!" He yelled, "We're in the middle of robbing some dumbass!"

"First off," Keme growled, pulling out his knife, "he's not a dumbass. Second off, that is my husband you're messing with."

The three men, upon seeing the knife, stepped further back, all of their eyes wide in shock.

Drusus was the most shocked of them all, as he watched the scene happening in front of him. Worry etched in his mind. What if these guys hurt Keme trying to defend him? He tried to stand, but gritted his teeth in pain as he fell back on the ground.

"Y-you're scrawny!" One man cried, "How can you take us all on?! We'll squash you flat, no problem!"

Keme sighed, an unimpressed look on his face, before he held up another hand. Chanting under his breath, a small Fire spell appeared in his palm, casting a warm glow in the dark alleyway.

The three men, realizing that they were outmatched, ran to the back of the alleyway, climbed over the fence, and disappeared into the shadows. Fear was etched on all of their faces as they fled.

"Yeah, you better run!" Keme yelled, his glare intense as the spell in his hand dissipated. Pocketing the knife, Keme overheard his beloved groaning in pain. His glare softened into a concerned look, as he knelt down to help Drusus on his feet. Seeing the bruises and cuts littering his body made the thief flinch. Drusus didn't deserve all this.

"You okay?" Keme asked, worry laced in his voice.

Drusus merely nodded, and he glanced down at a bag on the ground that Keme failed to notice. The monk cursed under his breath and he bent down to pick it up. The bag was filthy, and Keme could hear something inside—it sounded like glass that was broken into pieces.

Drusus looked inside his bag, and he gritted his teeth as he cursed again.

"Babe?" Keme questioned.

"Your gift…" Drusus muttered, his voice filled with sadness.

Keme pursed his lips, glancing in the bag out of curiosity. Inside were the remains of a golden dagger, its blade shattered. The handle was the only thing that was left unbroken.

"They…" Drusus whispered, his voice cracking, "they thought I was rich because I bought this for you… and they tried to steal my money…"

Keme could see a single tear fall down his face, and his heart shattered into pieces. He hated to see his husband cry—it was something he didn't want to see.

Frowning, Keme took Drusus' hand and squeezed it. "Love… it's not your fault."

"I'm sorry…" Drusus sniffled. "I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary, and it…"

"It's okay," Keme whispered, pulling Drusus into a hug. Hearing his beloved's heartbeat as he snuggled in Drusus' chest, he continued, "it's not your fault at all. Those guys were the ones at fault. They wanted Gil, and they thought you were their best target. Besides…" He released Drusus, wiping away a small drop of blood from his cheek, "I'm just glad that you're okay after that."

Drusus gulped away a sob, as he smiled slightly at his beloved's words. Even though Drusus was hurt, at least he had Keme by his side.

"Love…" Drusus whispered, pulling Keme into another hug. "Thank you. For this and for everything. You're my hero."

"Aw, babe, you'd do the same for me!"

Despite that situation, both Drusus and Keme enjoyed their fifth anniversary of love and devotion. They both knew that they would have each other's backs, and would protect each other if needed.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

WRITING UPDATE ✍️✍️✍️

Hello! No new Muscle Memory chapter today (my apologies) but here is some of what I've been working on today!

Gonna keep updates here to keep myself accountable and for anyone who is interested to know what's up :)

A snippet from my latest chapter of Things We're All Too Young To Know:

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, buddy.” Buck promises, wiping a tear off Christopher’s cheek with his thumb. “Y-you did the exact right thing. You called me. You got help. That was so brave and so smart.”

Buck has a feeling that if Christopher had called a family member, this might have gone very differently for Eddie. 

Christopher sniffles. “Dad said if anything terrible ever happened, it’s your job to take care of me. So I thought…”

Buck’s heart stutters. Christopher knows. Christopher knows and he thought… He thought the same thing Buck had thought… And well, of course he did. Of course he’d been afraid that… Christopher knows better than either Buck or Eddie. He knows that parents die. 

Buck shifts so he can lean forward and hug Christopher. 

“It’s my job to take care of both of you, okay?” Buck says. “And I will. I-I always will.”

“Promise?”

Buck takes a moment to think before deciding on his next move. 

Then, carefully, he offers Christopher his pinkie. 

“I promise.”

A snippet from my upcoming chapter (chapter five) of Muscle Memory:

Being pulled over without a proper license or registration has made Buck hyper-aware of a lot more that could go wrong in his life right now. 

If he gets hurt in some freak accident - you know, like a lightning strike, tsunami, revenge bombing, or hell, even choking on a piece of bread - he probably doesn’t have health insurance. He literally can’t put himself in danger. Can’t put himself in harm’s way. Because he might, what, be thrown out from the hospital? Left to suffer and die? God, he hasn’t had to worry about this in  years. 

His passport is fucked. 

His gym membership pass is fucked. 

His library card is fucked.

Everything is fucked. 

And Bobby doesn’t care about him. 

And, finally, a snippet from my upcoming Whumptober probject:

“What are you doing up?” Is the first thing Eddie says the moment he walks through the door. 

Buck rises from his spot on the couch. 

“No, no,” Eddie snaps his fingers. “Sit.”

“Not a dog,” Buck says, crossing the room to get to him. “You okay?”

Eddie sighs. “My shoulder is killing me. Bothered the old wound. Otherwise, I’m good.”

Buck leans forward and kisses his forehead. Eddie wraps his arms around his waist, pulls him close, and sinks his forehead into Buck’s shoulder. 

“I hated it,” Buck whispers into his hair. “Watching you fall on the news. Not being there with you. I hated it.”

[i-prefer-base-twelve]

AI-Less Whumptober - Isolation

This is one continuous story. Intro | Drugging (Tendi)

BOIMLER

Boimler unfolded himself very carefully, waiting for stabs of pain to tell him where he'd been cruelly impaled by random debris. But somehow no stabs came, and eventually he found himself standing, wobbly and with pounding heart, but upright. He ached all over, and was covered in sweat and dust. But if that was the worst of it? He was a lucky, lucky man.

He squinted into the flickering dimness--they were down to emergency lighting--at the remnants of the conference room. The chairs had been reduced to rubble, but the big table stood stalwart and undefeated. It deserved a commendation. If he hadn't been under there, he'd probably be--

"Aaah!""

The hull was gone.

Where before there had been a wall of beautiful floor to ceiling viewports, there was now… nothing. A ragged ring of exposed wires and struts, framing the endless starry abyss. The only thing keeping Boimler's bodily fluids on the right side of his body was an emergency forcefield. He stared at it, frozen, open-mouthed, watching pieces of debris establish their own little orbits around the Cerritos. Oh sure, he'd been out in space dozens of times before, but that had always been from the safety of an EV suit. Who knows if the ship had power to sustain that forefield.

A piece of decking flew straight towards him. He shrieked and threw up his hands, but it bounced off the forcefield and went careening away. Boimler slowly lowered his hands, turned away from the breach, and tapped his badge to start recording a mission log. Mission logs were a great way to calm and order one's thoughts.

"Ensign's log, stardate… I don't remember. I'll look at the timestamp later. We were en route to Calagai V when the Cerritos collided with-- or was attacked by-- I don't know what happened. One minute, we were warping along, everyone just doing their jobs, and then Cap'n Freeman shouted to brace for impact. We're damaged, but life support is at least minimally functional. At least, it is here in the conference room. We've suffered a hull breach… at least this one, here in the conference room…"

What WAS the ship's status?

"Oh god." His stomach dropped. "Is the bridge crew ok? Computer!"

No response.

"Ok, that's not necessarily a sign of catastrophic failure," he mumbled to himself, "The comms are probably just… completely overloaded right now. Everyone is probably trying to make a status report at once." He shouldn't call the bridge, they needed all the bandwidth they could get. But he really needed the status OF the bridge…

"Boimler to Rutherford."

Silence. Either comms were down… or Rutherford was. Boimler swallowed and slapped his badge again, harder.

"BOIMLER TO RUTHERFORD. Boimler to Mariner. Boimler to Tendi! Boimler to anyone! Can anybody hear me?!"

Silence.

He had to get out of here.

Starfleet emergency training had taught him that before attempting to open a door, one should always ascertain if the next room is on fire or exposed to the vaccuum of space. Since his badge was useless, he hurried to the terminal on the wall and thumbed it on. Or, tried to. The screen stayed dark, no matter how hard he tapped it.

Boimler fought the growing pit of dread in his stomach. This damage could be localized. He could walk out of the conference room and back into a fully lit, fully connected, normal temperature hallway.

Oh, hey. It was cold in here. Was it getting colder?

He HAD to get out of here. Even if he had no idea what was on the other side of that door. He'd just have to pull the manual release and hope for the best.

Crouching down, he popped the little panel and pulled the lever. The doors parted slowly, jerkily, making unsettling crunching noises as they went. They opened about a foot before giving up.

"No sudden deadly outrush of air, so, that's good." But the hallway beyond the doors was just as dark as the conference room. Dark… and silent. Not even the red alert klaxon. The realization hit him like one of Mariner's suckerpunches.

A LOT of systems have to go down before the alert klaxons fail.

Boimler noted this all this in his log. Then he took a deep, deep breath, let it all the way out, and started trying to squeeze through the doors.

[kaesaaurelia]

archival conditions

For @whumptober day 15, using the prompts “suppressed suffering," "I'm fine," and the lyric prompt, "I don’t need you to help me I can handle things myself."

Continued from Day 5, wherein Aziraphale returns to Earth, hoping some allies he’s contacted will be able to help him, has a big fight with some archangels, and is horribly injured leaping in front of Crowley, who wasn’t supposed to be there, and Day 8, wherein one of Aziraphale's angelic allies (and an old enemy of Crowley's) rushes in to distract the Metatron while Crowley scrambles to save a horribly wounded Aziraphale, and the three of them manage to get away from the archangels in the Bentley.

Crowley was about to ask Cerviel why he was in Crowley's car when Cerviel leaned over, said "Oh wow, he looks like shit," and teleported himself to the back seat. Crowley watched in the rearview mirror (and nearly ran into a building) as Cerviel began to heal Aziraphale's wound. "Thanks for the ride."

"I didn't offer," said Crowley. Cerviel might be helping Aziraphale but he couldn't pretend this other angel wasn't dangerous. He'd heard rumors that Cerviel kept a water pistol full of holy water behind the counter of his deli, and had a collection of apotropaic antiquities unmatched by any museum. And now he had Michael's spear, which apparently had some particular significance to it, and was within easy reach of her sword. "Last time we met you tried to discorporate me, sso forgive me if I'm not particularly friendly."

"You discorporated me," Cerviel pointed out, although he sounded awfully cheerful about it.

"You discorporated Aziraphale!" said Crowley.

"Which was an accident," Cerviel reminded him, "because I was definitely aiming for you. Anyway, I'm healing him now. Are we good?"

"I'm not good," Crowley said.

"Not metaphysically, come on, I know you know what I mean," said Cerviel.

Crowley's heart nearly stopped as Aziraphale said, very weakly, "Oh, stop fighting, both of you. We're all on the same side."

He wanted to ask Aziraphale so many things, but not with this other angel here. He didn't want to be on the same side as anyone but Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had chosen Heaven first, and then apparently a bunch of other angels, and he hadn't wanted to see Crowley, only then he had wanted to see Crowley, and see his eyes, and. And. Several traffic lights exploded as he blew past them, which was a little cathartic, at least.

He realized he didn't know where he was going, so he'd defaulted to heading to the bookshop. Which was where Aziraphale had wanted him to go in the first place, so it wasn't as though Aziraphale hadn't wanted to see him, he just... hadn't wanted Crowley's help. Or something.

Crowley shook his head to clear his mind and tried to pretend his tears away as he drove to the bookshop.

--

Aziraphale was only hazily aware of the wild swerves the Bentley made. They were almost comforting, as was Crowley's occasional needling of Cerviel, but he was in such pain. The wound in his chest somehow hurt more, rather than less, and there was another wound, shallower but searing. Had Michael nicked him with her sword?

In his mind's eye he saw Michael's collapse, and her subsequent flight as the Metatron and the other archangels turned on her, like Actaeon in fear of his own hounds, and he fell headlong into a nightmare, one which swerved back and forth in time as much as the Bentley was doing in space. He was fighting angels over the plans for life on Earth -- no, he was fighting demons and trying not to hit Crowley -- he was in a bathtub in Hell asking for a rubber duck -- he was in a furnace in Hell pleading to be released in a language only he spoke -- he was being stabbed by War on a grubby street corner -- he was in the Blitz and guiltily, giddily in love -- he was in the lift to Heaven -- he was fleeing down the escalator to Earth....

He did not wake from it until he heard the car door open.

"...thought you didn't get on?" Crowley was asking.

"Eh, we made up in '42, too much going on not to," Cerviel said.

"Ah," said Crowley; it was a remarkably diplomatic syllable coming from him. Somebody undid his seatbelt -- since when had the Bentley had seatbelts? -- and tried to carry him, and Aziraphale realized he was going to have to actually be awake for this, and so he wrenched his eyes open and struggled to his feet, though it took a minor miracle to do so. "I can walk," he said.

"Can you?" said Crowley, although the person in front of him didn't resolve into Crowley in his swimming vision for another moment.

"Shit, he looks awful," came another voice -- that would be Vehuel, probably; she was another Principality, who had been a friend of Crowley's until she had nearly killed him in the War in Heaven. (Crowley had reconciled with her about a hundred years ago, which was why Aziraphale was not doing his best to leap between the two of them, but he had to remind himself forcefully that that had already happened, that he had in fact called upon her specifically because she was good with evacuations and had good reasons to hold a grudge against Heaven.)

Some of his terror must have shown, even so. "Come on, angel," said Crowley, "between the three of us I really don't think you have to walk." His arm was around Aziraphale's waist, and Aziraphale found himself in the wildly irrational dilemma of wanting to collapse into Crowley's arms and being worried he might bleed all over Crowley as surely as he had the Bentley. Crowley was already cross with him, and --

"Come on," Crowley repeated, making the choice for him with a slight shift in weight. "Oof."

"I'm sorry to be such trouble," Aziraphale tried to say, although it came out a bit mushed together.

"Ugh, he's apologizing," said Crowley, as if he would never ask for such a thing, much less make up a silly dance for the purpose. "Hold the door for me, will you? And come in with me so you can heal him? Because I can't."

Vehuel and Cerviel had a brief argument over... something to do with whether Moroni and Nisroc could be trusted to go door to door to evacuate humans without... administering personality tests? (Or maybe he was hallucinating again, because none of that made any sense -- for one, Nisroc was a demon, and had been dead for ages.) It didn't matter; eventually, from the sound of it, Vehuel accompanied Crowley into the bookshop.

"Do you want me to carry him?" she asked.

"I'm fine," said Crowley.

"You have noodle arms and also you've been crying."

"Shut up. I have not."

"I mean I can't help much with the crying but I can with the noodle arms," said Vehuel.

"I've got miracles, fuck physics," snapped Crowley. "Save your miracles for the healing."

"Fine, fine."

"Thought you and Cerviel didn't get on, though?"

She sighed. "I mean, he has his moments, but by the '70s I think he figured out I wasn't Principality of Boston, and after I got out there in 2001 I just thought, fuck it, can't hold this grudge forever, and I pretended like we were friends because otherwise it would be awkward, and I... think we might be actual friends now? Anyway, I have so many other, better grudges."

"Ah," said Crowley -- again, very diplomatically. "Which grudges?"

She launched into a tirade about various Mayors Daley, which Aziraphale was very glad he had no obligation to pay attention to, and which he knew Crowley wasn't paying attention to at all, even though he'd been the one to ask. She paused only to offer to take Aziraphale's feet as they went up the stairs, and Crowley refused, and that was that.

Aziraphale had been rescued by Crowley a great many times, but he had never been carried bodily up a narrow flight of spiral stairs by Crowley, and while he appreciated how safe he felt, the jolting made his head hurt, and by the time they got to the top, he rather regretted his architectural choices. It probably would have been worse with someone else carrying his feet, though, so there was that.

"Angel, where's the bedroom?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale lifted his head blearily from where it had been resting against Crowley's shoulder, looked around dizzily, saw that they had finally reached the top of the dreadful, dreadful stairs, and waved his hand vaguely, and they were off again, and shortly he found himself being put down onto his own soft bed, which he only really ever used to read in. "I'm fine, really," he insisted.

"The hell you are," said Vehuel. She examined his wounds while Crowley stood over him making pained noises that he didn't really appreciate, but Vehuel's miraculous healing helped him a lot, and he found he was strong enough to sit up properly, and he could even look at things properly, because everything had stopped spinning like an out-of-control carousel.

"There really is no need for all this fuss," Aziraphale said, but now that he could see properly, he could tell that Crowley and Vehuel wore nearly identical expressions of disbelief.

"You got impaled by Michael's spear!" Crowley snapped. "You are not fine!"

"It's not as bad as all that," insisted Aziraphale.

"You really are a bad liar," said Vehuel. "Also what's this other wound from?" She poked at the slice across his chest, and he winced. "Sorry. I guess at least it's not bleeding?"

"What? What other wound?" Crowley demanded.

Michael falling. The Metatron kicking her aside. Actaeon's hounds. "Nothing," said Aziraphale.

"Michael swung her sword at him," said Crowley, "but I thought it didn't connect."

"Oh," said Vehuel, sounding extremely unhappy about something.

"That's a bad 'oh,'" said Crowley.

"Excuse us for a sec," Vehuel said, and she took Crowley just outside the doorway and explained something in low enough tones that Aziraphale couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Oh," said Crowley, sounding as though someone had just punched him in the stomach. "Um. It's in the car, I think. If you want it. Cerviel has the spear."

"Fuck, I'm not touching that thing again, I saw what it did to you," she said. "The sword's worse."

"You're both being very rude, you know," said Aziraphale.

They both ignored him, continuing to converse in hushed tones, but then Crowley hissed something urgent at Vehuel, and she apparently decided to retreat.

"Look, I'd better get back outside before Nisroc comes back," she said. "I thought they had some kind of East Coast-West Coast thing but apparently it's a Jerusalem-Babylon thing, which is worse."

"Yeah, probably," said Crowley.

"If I think of anything I'll let you know," said Vehuel. And she was gone.

Crowley slunk back into the room, looking at Aziraphale as if he might pop out of existence at any moment. Which, Aziraphale supposed, might be true for all he knew.

In which case, he had priorities.

Crowley sat down on the bed next to him, but Aziraphale was trying to find the specific inside pocket he needed. "Angel, what are you doing?"

"Looking for the book," said Aziraphale. "Oh, where is it --"

"Forget about the book," said Crowley, "you're more important than --"

"I am not," said Aziraphale. He found it. "Aha!" And, triumphantly, he withdrew the Book of Life from his coat, and handed it to Crowley, whose eyes were wide as saucers now.

"Is this. Angel. You didn't," said Crowley.

"They weren't even keeping it in proper archival conditions, Crowley!"

Crowley frowned down at the book. "Don't think they've got bookworms in Heaven, angel. Unless they've been very good bookworms, I suppose."

"It's not that, it's all the light," said Aziraphale. "And no climate control. No security, either. It was disgraceful."

Crowley had been holding back a smile, and that finally coaxed it out. "You're ssuch a basstard," he said admiringly.

"You must keep it safe," said Aziraphale. "If anything happens to me --"

"Nothing's going to happen to you," said Crowley, fiercely.

Arguably it already had. "I don't think you should tell the others about it," said Aziraphale. "There's too much power in it. I don't even know if I can be trusted with it."

"And you're giving it to me?" Crowley asked.

"I trust you at least as much as I do myself," said Aziraphale. "Perhaps not about the archival conditions," he admitted, "but you've a better moral compass than Heaven."

He had expected a vocal objection to this, not the pained, barely audible intake of breath Crowley made.

"Now, what is this about Michael's sword?"

"Ah. Well." Crowley looked away. "Er. Might be... might be a few things." He did not meet Aziraphale's eye.

"And those are?" Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley winced. "You might be, er. Falling? But this has only ever happened once before, so --"

"What do you mean?" Aziraphale asked. "Plenty of angels have Fallen. You were one of them."

"Yeah, I was," said Crowley. "But only one fallen angel was Supreme Archangel when he Fell. And that wassss. An entirely different processs. Ssso we don't really know, er. The hazards?"

It took Aziraphale longer than he would have liked to put this together. "Ah."

"Sso. You might not. It might not be good," said Crowley, now looking entirely away from Aziraphale. "I mean, of course it won't be good, it'sss not -- it'sss -- but it won't be -- I mean -- hopefully you won't die? Look," he said, his voice shaking, "look, at least you've got someone here who can help you through it. I sssaw what happened with Lucsssifer, and, and I'm sure it'll be fine, and." He trailed off. "I mean. It hasss to be, doesn't it?"

He was trying so hard to be some comfort, the poor dear, and all Aziraphale wanted to do was to tell him everything would be all right. But Aziraphale had no idea if it would, and he was a terrible liar. So instead, wincing at the pain of movement, he reached out and took Crowley's hand. "Stay with me?" he asked.

Crowley looked at him, finally -- startled at first, then serious. "Of courssse," he said.

[flufftober]

TWO MORE WEEKS TO GO 🥳

Yes, we're very excited!! We can't wait to see all your wonderful creations 😍

Also, another shoutout to other wonderful October events:

@whumptober and @angstober once again have such amazing prompts and I wouldn't mind seeing our prompts melted together - let those characters suffer before they get all the fluff 😏

But if you'd rather give your characters a double or even triple dose of fluff, don't forget about cozytober and @raven-cincaide-words' Sweet and Spooky Halloween Prompts 💕

If you know of any other events, especially now during October, please let us know so we can spread some love for them as well 🥰

And now: back to being productive - if you see this, go and work on one of your entries for at least twenty minutes 😇 Happy Creating 💚

🍂 🍃 Hello and welcome to our fourth annual Flufftober 🍂 🍃

We’re so excited to be back and have you here once again!

As always, let’s fill the month of October with as much fluff as possible 🥰 for that to happen, you can either use our 31 regular prompts or enjoy a little challenge 😏

Below the cut, you'll find all our rules, posting info, and all the prompts in writing. If you have any more questions, please feel free to send us an ask.

And now, for the challenge...

Prompt Extras

We love to see how many of you get inspired by our prompts every year - be it by the original list or the Prompt Extras. Once again we're offering you that option and you're more than welcome to replace prompts from the original list if they don't work for you for whatever reason - no explanation needed.

As has become tradition, we offer you last year's top five fan favorites (as voted in the end survey). In addition to that, we also offer a little challenge: five angsty prompts for you to turn fluffy!

If you don't want to replace any prompt from the original list but still love the additional ones - or you simply want to challenge yourself even further - you can also mix them all together!

So in whichever way you use these Prompt Extras, have fun with them and go wild 💚

We hope you like these prompts, and now

Happy Creating 🥳

Standard Blog Rules & FAQ

(Due to previous asks, we made sure to add more points to this section - while they're not new rules, they're newer to this list, so you'll find them colored green)

No inc*st or p*dophilia - we can’t keep you from writing it or creating art for it but it won’t be reblogged. No inc*st: This rule does not apply to distant cousins and such, as you might find in the LotR fandom (or basically in all of European Monarchy). The line we draw is at direct blood relations (siblings, parents, kids) and/or legal guardianship. No p*dophilia: This rule does not rule out fandoms that feature teenagers such as Harry Potter, Heartstoppers, Hunger Games, etc. It also doesn't mean you can't write about their time together as teenagers! It's aimed at ships in which one is a minor and the other is not - but since even that has grey areas, the rule is this: if you keep it SFW, all is good and allowed, we don't care; if it turns NSFW, be mindful of the legalities of the world/society/times your characters live in.

No hate or ship bashing - we’re all different and we all love different things. As long as it doesn’t go against rule #1, it’s allowed.

Tag correctly! Trigger warnings (including cheating!), ships, ratings, (pure) smut, etc - it’s all fine as long as you tag it.

There’s absolutely no word count restriction, write as little or as much as you like.

In regards to art, anything goes: drawings, paintings, collages, mood boards, gif sets, videos, playlists… the sky’s the limit (though not really…). If you would like to create a podfic, the fic you're using does not have to be new - your creation will be new!

You can mix and mash different mediums however you like, be it within one prompt or on different days.

While we can’t force you to write fluff or create fluffy art, please try to keep in mind that this is a fluff event 😉 that, of course, doesn't mean you can't combine it with angsty/whumpy prompts - hurt/comfort is absolutely welcome!

You can start creating as soon as you see this - but please refrain from posting before the respective day.

If you post early, we will schedule your post for the correct day; if you use multiple prompts in one creation, we will post on the earliest day you used.

You can participate on as many days as you like, even if it’s just one; you can also create multiple entries for the same day.

You can replace as many original prompts as you like with our prompt extras; you can also combine them with the original prompts or create for them in addition, that's completely up to you.

It’s okay to write one story/a series for all the prompts.

You do not have to stick to one character, ship, or even one fandom - switch as often as you like to or even write for multiple ships for one day.

The ship does not have to be a romantic one! Friendship and family feels are more than welcome (but this is not a way to get around rule #1!)

Original works as well as OCs in fandoms are welcome! But please make sure to mark these clearly, either in the tags or the post itself. We're not familiar with all fandoms (though we're definitely learning a lot!), so we're not always sure what might be an OC and what might be such an unknown side character not even Google can find them...

Reader insert fics (for example "character x reader") as well as RPFs are absolutely allowed.

Other languages are also welcome - just make sure to clearly mark the day and fandom so that we can still easily reblog.

This event can be combined with other events as long as the other event allows it.

Late entries are always welcome, even if it is months or years later.

All fandoms and ships are welcome - fanon and canon - as long as they’re of age (in case you want to add smut) and not related.

Posting

Posting to tumblr

Please use the tag #flufftober2024 Please make sure there is NO SPACE between flufftober and 2024! We will NOT be checking the other tag this year!

Since tags are sometimes wonky, make sure to also mention us with @flufftober in your post

We will try to catch them all, but please don't be mad if we miss a post or if it gets reblogged a bit late

If you're absolutely certain a post has slipped past us, feel free to send an ask with the link to your post

To make reblogging easier for us, make sure to add the following tags: #flufftober2024 #day [xy] #[fandom] #[ship and/or main character(s)]

If you're using a prompt extra tag it as #alt [number]

Posting to ao3

You can add your creation to the collection Flufftober 2024 (either as flufftober2024 or as flufftober_2024)

Late entries are always welcome, on tumblr as well as the ao3 collection! Neither will close - but like always, reblogs will become less regular the more months have passed...

Prompts

1. Lost Pet Meet Cute

2. “Left. Other left!”

3. Favorite Scent

4. Market Day

5. Acorn, Chestnut, Pine Cone

6. Mistaken Identity

7. Hoodie Weather

8. Chopping & Piling Wood

9. “Don’t do that!” - “But…”

10. Bet, Game, Contest

11. Ingredients & Spells

12. “This is spooky.” - “Really?”

13. Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

14. Fantasy AU/Mundane AU

15. “What are you wearing?” - “It’s laundry day!”

16. Yes, No, Maybe

17. Only One Bed

18. Bewitched

19. Yarn

20. Paw

21. Bonfire

22. Heirloom

23. Stormy Night

24. Comfort Food

25. Haunted House

26. “I can’t find it.”

27. Afternoon Stroll

28. Lucky Charm

29. Time Capsule

30. “Forever?”

31. Make a Wish

Prompt Extras

Last Year's Favorites

Alt 1: “I’ve got you”

Alt 2: Rainy Day

Alt 3: “Wait you love me?” - “I always have”

Alt 4: “I hate it” - “No, you don’t”

Alt 5: Porch Swing

Challenge "Make it Fluffy!"

Alt 6: Gravestone

Alt 7: Getting Revenge

Alt 8: Written but never sent

Alt 9: Suddenly Severed Communication

Alt 10: Rejected, Betrayed, Exiled, Left Behind

[elentary]

Stupidity hurts (people around them) - Nyariewen - Good Omens (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Stupidity hurts (people around them)

Nyariewen

Summary:

Whumptober No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight.”

Aziraphale is escorting a stealth party but someone is too dumb to live. The angel suffer due that.

Thanks someone a demon was nearby

Notes:

Whumptober No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight.”

Well, we're all in.

Super late but I'm soooooo tired

Guess who forgot to post this here? (Me, always me)

[writerartistdreamer]

Title: This is my goodbye

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

(The story can also be found on AO3!)

Posting Day: 24

Prompt Day 24: Goodbye Note

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin

Summary: Belle leaves behind a letter for Rumplestiltskin to read and mull over right before she leaves the Dark Castle.

This letter was found after Belle's banishment from the Dark Castle, in a pristine envelope, on the mahogany table in the Great Hall. Tears stained the paper on which the letter was written and more tears fell upon it when it was finally opened and read by the recipient.

Rumplestiltskin,

I hate you. I hate you so much, I hate your voice, I hate your smile, I hate the way you look at me each and every time as I walk in the Great Hall. I hate how you take your tea with three sugar cubes and a splash of milk, I hate how you comfort me at night, I hate how you offer me your hand whenever I sit down or stand up or go up or down the stairs and I hate how you sit there and talk to me about your damned dealings. I hate you, I hate that I keep thinking about you and, worst of all, I hate that I love you. Damned be Heaven, Hell and Earth itself, for every inch of my damned heart is yours, Rumplestiltskin, yet you won't have it. My heart beats for you, I call your name day and night and long for the touch of your damned hands, I sit around staring at you, admiring you, hoping, wishing, praying that you may get a little closer to me. I love you and I hate every bit of myself for it, you damned, stupid man.

I wanted to offer you my heart on a silver tray, I laid it all out for you, you absolute moron, and you stomped on it so cruelly. You stomped on it, you battered and shattered my heart and for that I may never forgive you. I may never forgive how you so cruelly screamed in my face, how you simply could not believe me when I shared the truth of my feelings for you and I can no longer be in your presence. Your cowardice put a stop to it all and now it causes me to lose nights and lose tears and lose all semblance of myself, of light and hope and...gods, I cannot gather my thoughts, for you scrambled it all without a second thought. You threw it all away, threw away your chance at happiness, completely gave up on the possibility that someone may love you or may wish to help you and simply be by your side. So now I have to leave. I do not wish to leave, I do not want to leave my home behind, yet you forcefully pushed me away with such coldness, you froze your heart to then turn mine into stone and break it, turning it into unrecognizable rubble. I must leave, must go far away from here, were perhaps I may find healing, or suffer for the rest of eternity over something that never was and never could be. I now find myself belonging nowhere, to nobody, and I have to go...perhaps to find a new sense of belonging.

This is my goodbye. My final goodbye. You're not part of my story, I am not part of your grand scheme, we're parts that can never fit, the wrong pieces that were forcefully stuck together with cement and still broke. Goodbye, Rumplestiltskin.

~Belle French

[boowhumps]

Whumptober 2023

Day 19

(@whumptober)

By - B.W

⚠TW⚠

~ Swearing

~ Mentions of Death

~ Mentions of SA

~ Mentions of Abuse

Enjoy!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Roses..

Probably the most known and loved kind of flowers..

They come in a variety of colors..

Red..

Pink..

Yellow..

...

White.

Oh.. How I love white roses..

Devoid of color, simple yet alluring..

Bright as the light you follow when death arrives..

A symbol of..

Purity..

Innocence..

Angel-like..

When a white rose rises from the ground, it's a sight..

It's tended to..

Taken care of..

With the hope that one day it'll grow to be the perfect flower..

As it grows, so does the distance between it and purpose.

In a field of flowers, the white rose lies among the other, colorful roses. Slowly, the colorful ones are picked out..

No one really looks at a white rose a second time..

So it begins to wilt..

Slowly giving way to extinction, unaware of why things are this way.

Then the rose will be given care again.. and it'll thrive, again.

Then abandonment.

Then purpose.

Over and over again.

No one notices when the petal begin to fall to the floor

They turn to nothingness once they fall..

Then, the flower dies.

Finally they're noticed.

But now it's too late..

Unbeknownst to you all, I am the white rose here..

And you only notice me when my petals are stained red..

__

Silence.

The halls are quiet.

Too quiet..

Amne's footsteps are the only sound. The rhythmical sound of her boot heels clicking on the floor are another.

No one is here.

Gone. As if they never were here.

But I know.

They want me back-

No.. not me.. not Amne..

Karyme.

They want Karyme back.

The name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth when you say it.

A name associated with agitation, death, violence, abuse, assault.

It's unfamiliar to me now.

Amne.

A replacement. Anme was deprived from Amnesia.. A mask to don, to blend in..

And if it wasn't for.. him..

There would be no Amne.

Amne wasn't ever real. Just an act. Just a title to hide behind.

It failed.

I became what I most feared..

..you know, there's a reason we're the Sain-Santos.

The Sain part stands for our lack of instability, and our ability to control ourselves..

The Santos part stands for our good values.. our way of being seen as angels..

..that couldn't be farther than the truth..

We're unstable.

Unpredictable.

Unlovable.

Unwanted.

..we are not made to be human..

We were destined for greater things..

We exist to bring chaos..

Destruction..

Suffering..

Misfortune..

We will never know the difference between accepted love and unwanted love.

We'll never drop the guns..

We will rise up, taking every generation with us..

That's why we're here..

Well..

I'm here for more.

Revenge.

Power.

Control.

Happiness.

Things I've come to yearn for.

So close, yet so far away..

You can't let your death be in vain.

That is not the Sain-Santos way.

Sometimes.. blood must be spilt.

People must be broken.

Love must be destroyed.

If you die, they might care..

But what if they didn't.?

There's so many 'what if's', but sometimes there is no 'If.'

"Sometimes.. you just do.." Amne whispers.

The axe swings back.

And it goes forward.

Admist a pool of someone else's blood, there is a new leader.

The one that rose from the ashes.. and shows no mercy..

The one who was left for dead and came back in her true form..

The one who gave it all up.. just for revenge.

David is dead.

Briar is dead.

Brenden is dead.

Silva..

Silva.. is dead.

...

L̴̢̥̞͚̫̠̰̳͍̹͎̠̲̺̳͛̾͌̆́̂̒͗̓͝ͅO̸̙͙̺̰͚͎̙͔̦͇͗̒̋͛̄͐̓̽̄͛́͂̀̑̕ͅͅͅ️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅG̶̨̛̼̹̮͚̻͔̘̣͉͈͚̏̈́̿̅̀̏̀͌͒̀̐̇́͘L̴̢̥̞͚̫̠̰̳͍̹͎̠̲̺̳͛̾͌̆́̂̒͗̓͝ͅI̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍V̶̨̹̞͔͑̅͂͐Ě̵̢̧̛̦̼̜̲͕͕͍̤̙͉͓́̅͒̽̍̐͋͜͝Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝M̴̨̦͓̰̌͆̉̃̄͆͜ͅ️N̴̟̬̠̣͍̹̜̠̘̮͎̥̜̳̖̋͋͛̆́̂̀̅̓̕ͅͅĚ̵̢̧̛̦̼̜̲͕͕͍̤̙͉͓́̅͒̽̍̐͋͜͝️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍Ą̵̘̥͉̘͖̱̥̺̿̀̈̒̂̅̀̅̈́̓̏͊͘͝

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[flydotnet]

How Not to Handle an Illness At School 101

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Day 15 was always going to be MatsuYoshi, I knew that, considering those two are professionals at pulling the "I'm fine (isn't actually fine)" spiel, to a nauseating degree considering how few times Yoshiko appears yet has managed to pull it off screen for months. Also, you know I had to do it to 'em.

What I hadn't planned on was setting this in an HSAU flashback fic. Truth be told, it's not purely out of serendipity: it's also due to some very emotional reasons linked to a recnnt terrorist attack that targeted a former school of mine. I originally had a whole-ass wall of text about it, but at the end of the day… this fic isn't a memorial, it's just a silly AU funky soccer manga fanfiction, and I don't want to take away from that. This fic is motivated by a will for this school I truly care so much about not just be a place of tragedy and I want it to be seen as such.

My thoughts and prayers to the victims, their loves ones, and current students and staff of Gambetta High. Shout-out to my profs at Carnot.

So, uhm, yes, the funny fanfiction about HSAU Hikaru and Yoshiko being who they are! Can't forget about the original stake at hand! They're in their second year of prep class, there.

In terms of HSAU Lore, this fic somehow introduces both Jeanne Mouchon, one of Hikaru and Yoshiko's former classmate, and Mr Moinot, who was mentioned in… I don't remember, actually. I think it was either We All Gotta Start Somewhere or the first chapter of "Promotion to Parent". Most likely the former. Anyway, he's 'karu and Yoshi's old lit prof! And absolutely not an OC I already have who's also kind of maybe based on my own former lit prof.

Also, slight reminder of culture and stuff: grades are given out 20, some students have scholarships as in they get money to do studies because they're otherwise dirt-poor, and we're in France.

It's a little half-baked, but I didn't get a lot of time to work on it, so it'll have to do for now. I may go back and edit it later.

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

How Not to Handle an Illness At School 101

aka: Pinmontagne, Or The Reason Why "Febris" and "February" Share a Latin Root

Summary: People don't always think it through before they try to push through illnesses. Or: asking a nineteen-year-old to have clear-cut priorities may be a lot to ask, sometimes.

Fandom: It's your friendly neighbourhood French high school AU (actually it's Captain Tsubasa, but very, very removed)

Word Count: 1.7K words

AO3 version available here.

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

It’s only seven in the morning and Jeanne is already silently telling him he’s a big-ass idiot, in that way only her can do.

“What?” He asks, still mixing in the cheap cocoa powder into his bowl of just as cheap warm milk.

“What, what?” She asks back, an eyebrow corked. “Be more precise, man. I don’t speak Pinmontagne as far as I know.”

She’s absolutely trying to get a reaction out of him – which he will not grant her.

“You’re lookin’ at me funny. What’s your problem with me?”

She immediately cringes.

“Geese Louise, you’re so snappy today! Tho I guess I asked for it.” She regains a serious expression, perhaps too serious. “You look a bit, uh… bad. God, uh, I don’t know how I phrased it when I emailed FM about that, but you look like that.”

The laugh he tries to level at her accusation turns into a coughing fit.

“You’re not accusing me of having pneumonia now?” He still tells her. “Cuz that’s what Moinot had back then, no?”

Her expression doesn’t get lighter and he hates that oh so very much.

“Maybe not pneumonia, but like, dude, you sound like shit.” She frowns. “You’re not gonna attend class like that, right?”

He clears his throat before he can talk again. His voice is already a shitshow, better not wake any suspicions among his classmates now.

“It’s just some stupid cold that won’t go away. Tryin’ to get excused outta class sounds like a much bigger chore.”

“I mean… Yeah, you’re right, but like…” Her eyes grow wide. “Wait, didn’t you have an oral with Moinot today?”

“Yeah, I do.” He coughs again, shit. “What did you pick for yours?”

“Oh, I chose Notre-Dame de Paris, that seemed – hey, don’t change the topic!!”

He shrugs.

“Same, actually.” His nose’s starting to get too clogged for oxygen’s good faith. “I, uh, don’t jive with Ernaux much. Not in text commentary at least.”

“I don’t think you should jive with any author today, dude.”

“My scholarship doesn’t say the same.”

“Just… Go to a doctor, dude, or Yoshiko’s gonna get on your case. You wouldn’t worry her, right?”

“Fuck you,” he replies with a chuckle.

“I was being serious, y’know.”

He sighs, his chest wheezing as he does. Maybe the Moinot comparison wasn’t that inaccurate…

“I’ll be fine.”

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

“I tell you, I’m fine,” he tells his girlfriend for the third time today. To say geography class hasn’t even started – not just that, the prof isn’t even here yet.

Still, he knows it’s just bravado because, yeah, his scholarship doesn’t handle missed classes well, and he needs it. And, also, worrying her is a crime… even if he isn’t sure of his modus operandi anymore. It does sound like it’s doing the opposite thing it should be doing.

“But, Hikaru… You’ve been sick for the past week. It doesn’t seem to have gotten better either…”

“Colds can be like that, y’know” he replies with as much of a smile as he can muster. “But are you fine, Yoshiko? You’ve not been catching it from me, right…?”

She smothers a sneeze in the crook of her sweater.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine,” she replies in a manner eerily similar to him, only starting to smile again now. “I’ll go to bed earlier than usual and take some medicine. You should try and rest in the dorms when you can.”

“With our schedule that’s gonna be hard to do, but like, I don’t think I need it anyway. I’ll manage.”

“If you ever feel like you need help, get some, okay? I’m really worried for you.”

He leans against the wall, suddenly aware of how uncomfortably wet his hair is. Maybe it’s more obvious than he thought that he feels like shit.

“I’ll make sure to let you know, at least.”

It’s a lie, the only kind he’s capable of and they both know it, but before she can protest, Mr Beaubonnet has finally arrived, and class is bound to begin soon.

He doesn’t hold her hand – just because he doesn’t want her to catch the plague, dear God. Yet he watches her hand try to reach for his, even sitting in class.

His lungs aren’t the only thing that hurts, today.

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

By the time noon comes around, Hikaru isn’t even sure of how he’s still on both his feet, waiting in the cafeteria crew. The fact he’s sandwiched between Jeanne and Yoshiko helps, he imagines, not to let himself look as bad as he feels. Ironic, for someone who otherwise doesn’t give two fucks about appearances, let alone “looking right”.

He usually doesn’t even care about queue speeds, especially on Wednesdays where it’s just the four prep class rosters and their profs; but today, it’s long. Painfully slow. He wants his bed and maybe a hug from Yoshiko. Okay, he definitely wants the hug from Yoshiko, but that’s beside the point, he always wants one.

When they finally sit down, he can’t hide the relief on his face, just like they can’t hide the fact they’re worried as shit about the crap he’s trying to pull off – cut him some slack, the scholarship won’t like it if he skips over it.

Also, Yoshiko’s coughing, and that can’t be good.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks her, still twirling with the idea of ingesting food.

“It’s nothing,” she says before blowing her nose. “You should focus on yourself, Hikaru. You need the care more than I do.”

“I’m fine, I told you.” It’s starting to sound like a farce, and it shows, because both Jeanne and Yoshiko are utterly unconvinced.

“Hikaru, dude, you can barely speak,” the former replies first. “I dunno how you’re planning on survivin’ English, let alone an entire oral with fuckin’ Moinot. That guy’s gonna wring you dry of words like he always does.”

“You dun need to remind me of my last grades with him, thanks.”

“Actually, I will! You got a 6 on your first oral, which was somehow worse than my 7. Then, on your specialty oral, you got a 9, but like, can’t blame ya, Banny can’t have explained how that was supposed to go without going on four tangents in a row. And ya got a 11 on your latest one, but it was a damn close call.” She puts down her fork. “All that to say, on a good day, you’ve got trouble dealin’ with his shit, and now you want to do that while you’re literally cookin’? Dude, you’re insane.”

“I’d rather die than lose my scholarship.”

“I’m… pretty sure medical reasons would excuse you,” Yoshiko replies. “Please, Hikaru, you’re swaying on your feet, you shouldn’t be here…”

He rubs his temples, his throat hurting just as much, but no solution comes to him.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Just, lemme handle this and I’ll go see a doctor after class.” Or tomorrow.

“I don’t think you’ll find any by the time you’ll be outta there.”

“I’ll find one.”

Oh, he won’t, but he sure can try.

“You’re so fucking stupid, man,” Jeanne adds.

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

The topic quickly changes to bitching about English class.

So, uh, fun thing about running a high fever: he can’t read text anymore. No matter what he tries, letters just start swimming before his eyes. Not that he’s actually been able to understand whatever the hell Hugo was trying to say about that rat hole or some shit – who knows, not him, that’s for sure.

And that’s a big issue, because right now, he’s in front of his own prof, and he has no idea where to fucking begin.

“I, uh, gimme two seconds, please,” he coughs out, already realizing this is going nowhere.

He swaps paper sheets around, rubs his eyes and tries focusing – but aside from the absolute urge to hug his girlfriend and find peace with his bed, there’s nothing coming up. Nothing makes sense. He almost doesn’t know where he is and he’s losing grip on if his thoughts are staying inside or if he may be spewing them out.

“Do you need help with anything?” The prof asks in a voice too kind not to be suspicious.

Or maybe it’s normal? Uh…

“I don’t need you to help with things, I can handle things myself.”

He shuffles his papers around again, and this time, he actually gets tricked by the coughing fit. It lasts entirely too long, and he’s spent by the time it ends; but watch him rise back to his hands because that oral won’t do itself.

Mr Moinot looks entirely displeased with the shitshow this has been so far, in such a manner that, when he opens his mouth, Hikaru is ready to endure a verbal beating—

“You should go back home, Hikaru.”

Dread fills his every pore anyway.

“W-wha’?!”

“You are very clearly ill. Be honest, did you even understand the text?”

He’s way too exhausted to lie. He doesn’t even like lying to begin with, do you expect him to do so when he’s down the gutter?

“No, sir, I really didn’t get it. I don’t even know what it’s about.”

It hurts so much, at this point, to speak that he can’t not cough every time he opens it, God.

“I can’t evaluate you fairly in those conditions,” Mr Moinot replies. “Let’s postpone it to when you feel better, okay? The class is small enough, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“O-okay.” The shame is almost overwhelming. “Sorry about that, sir.”

“It’s fine. I know a thing or two about pushing through an illness.” He sighs. “Now, call someone to get you. I’m not letting you go home on your own.”

Oh, it must be that bad – of course it is, you idiot, you’re hotter than a furnace and barely able to piece reality together. Even walking to his dorm room sounds like a chore. As such, in silence, he grabs his phone, scrolls to the one contact whose picture he cannot mistake for anything else, and calls.

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

It isn’t pneumonia, but it’s damn close; so close Yoshiko has decided, actually, he was going to live at her place until he can drive himself home.

It’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t a dream come true.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Whumptober: Day 8

Ahh, I knew you heathens wouldn't be able to resist nightmares! You walked right into my trap! Our MC suffers from nightmares, and their Companion is presented with quite the dilemma as a result.

No worries, we're all heathens here >:)

Unfamiliar surroundings, exhaustion, and pain make a terrible combination for MC's psych, and nightmares plague their mind. Already on edge, their companion is caught completely unprepared. After all, they had never seen this side of MC. Not to mention their cries could very well attract unwanted attention. Discovery would only lead to death or captivity.

*50/50 chance of MC either shouting loudly or gasping sharply when they wake.

Whumptober: Day 7

The results are in, and it looks like they've chosen to get some rest, with MC's companion standing guard.

Part 1

I believe I'll create a new post each week, that way the thread of reblogs doesn't get so long :)

Searching for supplies so soon is risky and they're both exhausted, so MC's companion insists that they try to rest in the meantime. Not to worry, they'll keep watch for any potential threats. Hopefully the night will be uneventful.

[one-piece-aus]

Hello! For the whumptober prompts, could I request 17 with either Sanji or Law (your choice).

Thanks, love!

Of course anon! I decided to choose Law since I already did a Whumptober for Sanji which you can read here :3

Whumptober Day 17

Law x Mermaid Reader + Platonic Bepo

TW: Mention of "Human" Trafficking, Kidnapping, and Harassment, as well as graphic description and blood.

"Stay back!" You barked at the pirates, pointing a spear at them. "I may be in a critical state but don't think for a second I'll be an easy target."

"Calm down, we're not going harm you-"

"Lies! That or you humans are going to sell me!"

It happened once before to you, you were kidnapped, sold, and harassed by your owners for three years. You just now escaped but you didn't get out scot-free. Your arms had deep cuts drawing blood, the sides of your ribs were severely bruised and broken, and your tail was damage so you weren't able to properly swim. That's right, you are a mermaid, an injured one, but a free one and that's all that mattered to you. You weren't going to let anyone take away from freedom again.

"I know your filthy kind!" You growled, venom dripping from your tone. Well, it was actually blood dripping out of your mouth. You were on the brink of dying, but you'd rather accept your fatality instead of being taken alive.

"Boss, maybe she'll let us help her if she sees Bepo," one with the penguin hat suggested, looking at the tall one who had a white hat with black spots and was standing in front of you.

"Hmm..." The captain- er boss- backed up from you then gestured for someone to come over. "Bepo-ya, come here."

Your grip tightened around your spear, expecting a human with great strength to approach. Pirates were known for their threats and intimidating ways, but you weren't going to let them scare you into submission. You prepared yourself to attack as "Bepo" came over.

"Yes, captain?" To your surprise, a big polar walked out, asking his captain what the man needed him for. Wait, this was a mink! What is a mink doing here with the humans?

"You there! Mink! If you're being held captive by these pirates I'll kill them for you!" You told the bear.

"Who's this captain?" Bepo asked hiding behind the tall man. "She's scary."

"Calm down, Bepo-ya." The captain patted the mink's head. "She's just a terrified mermaid that doesn't seem to trust humans. We can't help her state if she's frightened of us, do you think you can calm her down?"

"Anything for you captain." Bepo slowly got out from behind his captain and moved towards you.

"Don't come any closer!" You pointed the spear at him.

"I'm sorry," the bear apologized, bowing his head like a puppy being scolded.

"You're going to give up just like that?!" You questioned dumbfounded. Bepo kept his head lowered in shame, you couldn't bear the sight of something so adorable whimper. "No, I'm sorry, I-"

You vomited a good amount of blood in front of you. You were shaking and becoming weaker now that your hostile adrenaline disappeared, you barely stay upright. You lowered your spear, leaning on it for support.

"Her condition is getting worse!" the captain yelled the obvious, rushing towards you.

"Stay back..." you uttered, spitting out more blood.

"I'm a doctor, a can help you," the tall man stated, standing close to you but far enough so that you couldn't punch him.

"Let captain treat you," Bepo pleaded, putting a paw on your shoulder. You looked into the polar bear's eyes, they were overflowing with worry. With his signs of concern for you, you let yourself go limp, trusting the mink's judgement.

Law came and caught you just as you fell. He picked you up bridal style, then turned to the others. "Let's get her back to the ship, she's suffering from extreme hemorrhage."

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

Three months have passed since then, you were now on an island called Dressrosa. You heard the tale of how Law assisted the Strawhats in saving this kingdom. You knew the strawhats were good people, they did save Fishman island, and Jinbei joined their crew. So if Law helped them, did that mean he was also a good person?

Well, Law did save your life, and he let you stay in his submarine until you got better. Somehow, you allowed the man to be close to you, maybe it was because you felt safe in his presence, but whatever the case was, you've now fallen for him.

"How are you today, [Y/n]?" Law asked, strolling to your side.

"I'm fine," you replied turning your head in the opposite direction where he stood. You were embarrassed that he appeared just as you thought of your feelings for the captain. You couldn't come to terms with it, even if you did, you doubted Law was looking for love. He never looked at anyone in that way, especially not a mermaid.

Yet as your mind clouded with these thoughts, you were unaware of the longing gaze Law gave you.

"A beri for your thoughts." Law nudged your side, wanting to know why you were so deep in thought.

"It's nothing, just enjoying the view," you lied to him.

"You usually smile when you're enjoying a view," Law called your bluff.

"Well, I'm just wondering when the day will come when all merfolk and fishfolk can enjoy the same view..." A half-truth, that wasn't on your mind currently but you have had the thought pass through your mind multiple times since you've been staying with heart pirates. You sighed, now having this floating around in your head, and you began walking away.

Law let you go on your own, thinking you needed time on your own and not wanting to intrude any further. He knew you didn't like humans, and it took you a while to trust him. He didn't blame you, yet he wished things were different, that humans could accept merfolk and fishfolk because then you might accept humans. Then you might accept his confession, but things weren't that way, so he kept his mouth shut.

[faytelumos]

Whumptober '22, Day 2

cw: violence, mention of cannibalism

---

Terms:

Karbi: an ethnicity in the west of the empire

Thæli: an until-recently isolated ethnicity north of the empire

Usevuth/Useveu: a reptile of human-level intelligence that stands on four legs and is five to nine feet tall at the head

---

By the time Narak's head stopped spinning, it was evening. He regained his senses silently, remaining slack on the rough wooden floor of the cage until he'd gauged the threat levels of those around him. All eight of them were in a cage, being jostled and bumped along the road they were being dragged down. There were only two other Thæli; everyone else in the cage was Karbi. The memory was muddy, but he was sure now they'd been taken from the battlefield.

Once he was sure it was safe enough, he gathered his limbs beneath himself and sat up. He stayed hunched forward, slumped, staying small and unthreatening as he scanned the area around the cage.

There were several tall, scaled heads around them. At least ten. There was another cage, with another set of resistance fighters behind them. Narak kept his eyes hidden under his black hair, next looking to the humans. His eyes fell on one in particular.

His hands were trembling. The quality of his skin was… off. He threw a glance at the cage Narak was in, and there was a very familiar look in his eyes that made Narak's guts churn.

He had to get everyone out of here.

He looked quickly across the others in his cage. Despite all of them being fighters, there were no warriors. The cage was particularly populated with the young and timid fighters, the ones with softer muscles and smoother skin. He wondered faintly how he'd made it into the group. Perhaps his long layers had hidden enough of the scars.

There were no warriors here, but there was another hunter. He was pacing one side of the cage, his eyes hard as he looked at the red and orange faces alongside the wagons. Thæli, and by the look of his jaw and the thinness of his nose, he was an Easterner.

Narak flicked his hand out low, along the wood, beneath the line of sight of the Useveu. The hunter caught the motion precisely as he anticipated, and he made direct eye contact with the man.

The other hunter looked away, and so did he. He pulled his legs in, hugging them tighter to his chest. The other hunter paced thrice more, then stepped over and sat down beside Narak, putting his back against Narak's right arm. It made the pain in his skin worse, but he didn't shy away.

"They're going to eat us," Narak said very quietly. He didn't want anyone else to hear, especially not the Useveu with their wolfishly sensitive ears. The other hunter nodded. "We need to get everyone away," Narak breathed, resting his chin on his knees.

"There're no weaknesses in the cage," the Easterner muttered. "And we're hopelessly outnumbered." Narak nodded his head subtly.

"We'll have to wait until they open the cage, then," he whispered. He glanced around for perked ears or watchful eyes. "I'll draw their attention if you can get the others away."

"What about the rest?" the Easterner muttered. Narak looked mournfully to the wagon behind them. Each cage had what must have been a lock. He couldn't remember how those came free.

"You won't have time."

The two of them were silent for a moment. The Easterner's weight jostled against his arm, and it made his skin ache and sting. But he couldn't shift too much and risk drawing attention to them. He had to suffer through.

"When you leave," Narak uttered, "you must get as many as possible to safety. But you cannot be caught." The Easterner turned his head slightly, but Narak couldn't see his face. "They're going to need you afterwards." Narak looked down at the wood.

"One of them is injured," the other hunter whispered. Narak reached up and scratched his ear, turning his head to look at the corner he hadn't closely observed. The person in question was the other Thæli, a younger Westerner, and she was holding one of her legs.

"I'll tend to her," Narak uttered gravely, curling tighter into himself. The other hunter nodded subtly. "Do not let them catch you."

"I understand," the other hunter whispered miserably.

The ride went on into the night. Narak and the other hunter quietly made their way around the cage, telling the others to be ready to run once Narak provided a distraction. Narak asked the injured one to sit with him by the door, so he could best help her escape.

At last, torchlights came into view. Everyone in the cage was tense, and only the hunters were able to hide it with any reasonable success. As they were pulled into the camp, Narak's hands started to shake. He took slow, silent breaths.

Many more faces pressed up to the bars, peeking in at them, hungry eyes roaming over them as the cage at last came to a stop. Narak held down the nausea, the intense stinging in his fingers and up his right arm. A man came to the door, pushing something into the lock and twisting until it clanked open. He was already yelling at them to stand as he pulled the door open. Narak climbed to his feet along with the others, his palms sweating. He kept his head down, helping the young Westerner step out of the cage.

They were closely guarded by many Useveu, all standing two and three heads taller than Narak. Their rust-stained armor was dim in the firelight. Narak looked side to side, carefully hiding glances behind him. His heart shook his body with each beat, and he counted footfalls until all of them had stepped out of the cage.

He reached forward, gripping the young Westerner's head and yanking with all his focus, shattering her neck and letting her fall in a heap.

He lunged to the nearest Usevuth as there were gasps and cries, kicking high with his heel and hitting their neck in the soft line where their arteries were grouped. The monster fell like a rock and he bolted headlong away from the cage.

He didn't dare to throw a glance back to see how the others were doing — he couldn't risk their safety by drawing attention to them. He needed to keep all eyes, and so he howled his fiercest war cry and lunged at a nearby human, throwing a powerful punch into their jaw. They spun and collapsed, and he could hear the clinking and rustling of armor, he could feel the pounding of Usevuth feet.

He spun, aiming blind, and delivered a heel kick to a striking beast, hardly breaking stride. It stumbled, tripping the monster behind it, and Narak turned to his other side, but didn't have time to do anything about the enemies stacking up around him.

He stumbled when a spear was plunged through his shoulder.

He'd hardly caught his footing when a pair of fangs sunk into his forearm.

He planted his feet and punched the beast hard in the eye, but it glared up at him with pure hatred and lifted him up off of the ground. He gasped, buckling, the spear twisting as his arm was pulled, and he heard himself howl in pain as his ribs were twisted against the wood. The beast dropped him then, and he wasn't able to catch himself with the spear in the way.

He scrambled to his hands and knees, surrounded on all sides by Useveu and humans, his body already going painfully numb where the agony kept him from thinking. They didn't stop him from standing, from wobbling to his feet as his left arm went slack and he struggled to draw a breath. They were waiting. They wanted to see the venom work on him. They wanted to see him suffer.

He couldn't let them get distracted.

Against every drop of his soul, against every instinct telling him to bow and be small and let them have their fun, he sneered into the gathered.

"I've suffered worse," he growled.

[writerartistdreamer]

Title: His light in the darkness

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

Hello and welcome to my next Whumptober story! Can't believe we're about halfway through! I hope you'll enjoy reading this fic, let me know what you think. You can also read it on AO3. Enjoy!

Posting Day: 15

Prompts Day 15: Suppressed Suffering, "I'm fine"

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Characters: Rumplestiltskin, Belle

Summary: When Rumplestiltskin finds himself suffering, being pulled away by the voices in his head and drowning in his grief and sorrows, Belle is there to lift him up and try to get through to him.

The first time Belle saw Rumplestiltskin unwell, his thoughts, along with the voices in his head getting the better of him, she stayed in the doorway of the Great Hall for a litttle while. She could clearly tell he wasn't fully present, could tell how such outright sadness was almost swallowing him whole, dragging him away into the depths of Tartarus. The girl approached with silent steps, coming to his side, while the man did not notice her presence and could not even bring himself to acknowledge her, darkness clinging to his every atom. Her hand hesitated before it rested against his shoulder, but her touch had not been acknowledged in any manner. "Rumplestiltskin...what's happened? Are you alright?", Belle asked, growing more and more worried with every second that passed.

Only when the sound of her voice had made itself heard, did Rumplestiltskin react, instantly pushing her away and shoving himself farther away from the little maid in his stool. "Just fine, dearie, now leave me alone before I turn you into a toad", he replied, brooding and grumpy and so deeply angry and upset, his civility was thrown out the window.

"Rumple, you seem to be upset, I just want to know if there's anything I could possibly do to-" Belle tried to intervene and explain herself, yet the man had no patience and not enough warmth within him to even light a candle.

"I said I'm fine, dearie, now LEAVE", the sorcerer warned her, darkness taking over his gaze, a sign of the Dark One being more present than Rumplestiltskin the man could be. Before anything else could happen, he snapped and sent the little maid away, poofing her away to her bedchambers to be left alone.

Belle huffed when she found herself standing in the middle of her room, almost falling back against her bed. She could see he was hurting, pain reaching into his very core and getting the best of him, yet she had no idea how to soothe him. How could you soothe someone who couldn't be helped, who was drowning in an amalgation of voices that were pulling him into the dark? She knew he was not an ordinary man, could notice his suffering ran deep and, as much as he tried to suppress it, it was getting the better of him. The girl saddened at the thought that he had been alone for so long, his loneliness seemed only natural to him, which led to him not being able to let anyone share his grief and his pain, not being able to let it out. The woman headed towards the kitchen and brewed a pot of fresh herbal tea, then brought the tray of tea with his chipped cup filled to the brim and a plate of treats, which she left without a word on the table in the Great Hall.

Only when Belle left the room did Rumplestiltskin stand up from his stool, having heard the sound of the tray being placed on the table, and noticed a steaming cup of tea, with a pot and a plate of tarts resting next to it. Under the cup of tea, he found a small note, written in what could only be the little maid's elegant handwriting, stating "I will be here if you wish to talk or simply find comfort in someone's presence", feeling a pang in the shriveled up coal in his chest he called a heart. He sat on the table and silently picked up his teacup and a tart, letting it all soothe him, if only for a second, and trying to keep the voices at bay.

Later that day, he managed to get up from where he stood and walk up to the library, the thought of his little maid beckoning him like a siren call into her lair. He found her in her armchair, reading a new book she had chosen from the shelves of her new library and simply took a seat by her side, sorrow still clinging to him, yet not wishing to be alone. Belle took notice of his presence, her eyes widening for a moment, which was then followed by a small smile and a hand reaching out for his. Neither of them spoke a word to one another, yet Rumplestiltskin knew he would not be criticized and could be open about his emotions, a novelty in his centuries of living alone, frightening those he dealt with and being taunted by enemies at every corner. Somehow, she as not frightened, had not let herself be pushed away by what she saw when he found him drowning in his internal suffering and offered him something to hold on to, a glimmer of hope that he tried not to let falter away.

Without another word, Belle had flipped to the beginning of her book and began to read out loud for the two of them. Perhaps a story could help distract Rumple for a little while and even let go of his pain by being taken away to a different realm, a different world entirely from the one around him or the one in his head. Surprised, the man turned around to see the girl had returned to the beginning of the story she was in the middle of when he found her, only for him to be able to hear and understand everything that was taking place within the pages of the book, offering him a gateway into her own realms and adventures. He was taken aback by her kindness, by her attempts to soothe the beast of a man that he was, and relaxed in his armchair, letting her voice drag him away from the darkness that took ahold of him and into the light.

The next few times Rumplestiltskin began to drown into the pits of Tartarus, dragged by the voices of the Dark Ones and stabbed in the heart by the absolute grief and sorrow he was feeling, Belle walked in with a freshly brewed pot of tea, a plate of treats and a new book in hand. The two walked over to the settee, sitting next to one another and she began to read out loud, a hand reaching out for the other as their universes came together to form one. Not a single word spoken, just a nod of understanding, a reassuring smile, a new story to be told and two souls constantly finding and reaching for one another, darkness and light in outright harmony.

[flufftober]

FRENEMY ALERT

Hey everyone 🤗

We all know that suffering and comfort go very well together, like a warm blanket and some cuddles in front of a cozy fire. We believe that some of you are planning to include both in your works. 😇 So in case you haven’t found the right inspiration for your angst and whump or are just an event hoarder (we don’t judge!) - we wanted to make you aware of our FRENEMIES over at @whumptober2021​.

Just like us, they allow cross-event participation and would happily see some Fluff and Whump combined. (Loose interpretation of what they said you say? DETAILS! We say: LOVE). And who are we to judge? We all know that this is the best kind of Whump - combined with lots of love and comfort and fluff. 🥰

It’s no secret that Whumptober has been around for years (decades? who knows) and that we're the side-character, the new frenemy on the show. But we're just happy to get closer to them... even if that means to be bound to a chair 😏 So go, add some fluff to their angst, bind and soothe those angsty wounds, and give them all a hug... whumpers certainly need it!

~ your mods

PS: A big thanks to the mods of Whumptober for their creative and hilarious shout-out for us 😂😘 we couldn't help but reciprocate in kind. This feels like the start of a wonderful friendship... ehm, pardon me, frenemy-ship, of course 😉 ... and who doesn't love a good frenemies-to-lovers story, right?