#whump forecast

[crazynancy1989]

Ship without mercy

(first try of a scene) "Peter, no!" Max sounded worried, "Please! You don't know, what they'll do with you!" Peter shook his head resolutely. "I do. And Pavel is too weak for it: he's completely haggard for he secretly shares everything with Lucie. Whatever they would do to him… Listen, Max, I'm more robust. And I can take a lot…" For a moment, Peter thought back to a time so long ago. All the thrashings back then… "I'm used to things, I can get through it. The only thing you have to do is stop Pavel from admitting that he stole the food!" Peter reached for his friend's hands through the iron-bars. They were cold as ice. There were tears in Max's eyes now. Peter looked at him insistently. "Promise me!" Max swallowed hard. "Okay - I promise." "Thank you. - Now go, before they discover you!" A final handshake, then Max disappeared into the dusky corridor. Peter sat back down on the floor, leant his back against the wall and took a deep breath. He was afraid. But he was ready.

[jamiesfootball]

From the muzzle fic for the Bad Things Happen Bingo whump prompt

Cw for people being held hostage at gunpoint

“I think you’ll find that our firm has outperformed with regards to our initial forecasts on your investments.”

This isn’t real. That’s what he can’t wrap his head around. He’s not arguing about management fees with his broker who sends him fancy gift baskets every Christmas while four people have him held hostage in a hotel room, because that would be absurd.

“We’ve been doing business for years, Roy. Whatever your problem is, I’m sure that we can fix it for you.”

Roy stares at one of the guns pointed at him. Sort of pointed at him. In the past hour, it seems like his captors have become incredibly bored with hearing about the success of Roy’s investment portfolios. “No, I don’t think you can.”

[whumpshaped]

Chapter 4: Emergency

Silence Masterlist

trigger warnings: institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as the default for pets, environmental whump, unwanted rescue, noncon undressing (to treat potential hypothermia), collar assumed to have been taken away forever, sick whumpee, morally dubious caretaker, past trauma, corruption

Rayan didn't bring up the doctor again, or the offer for Sil to join him in his house. Instead he brought it little pieces of the much dreaded inside, sweaters, blankets, warm drinks and soup, trying to coax it further out of its shell. He spent their limited time together talking to it, asking how it was feeling, in Sil’s words, ‘pretending it was a person’. At this point, Rayan was pretty certain that its owner was just an all around horrible person. In what world were pets undeserving of a few words of comfort? Well… in Sil’s world, apparently.

It had been easy to forget how cold it was really getting while bundled up in warm coats himself, thinking maybe slow and steady was eventually going to win the race. It had been easy to forget that time was very much of the essence, and one day, he woke up to white skies and snow-covered rooftops.

Rayan didn’t immediately register the implications of that. Once again, he was cosy under the blankets, with soft pyjamas and fuzzy socks on his feet. He was still stretching and rolling this way and that when suddenly, something clicked in his head. Sil.

He had never put on clothes quicker than he did that morning. He ran outside with his coat half open, racing to the dumpster that was now all white and icy - and behind it, there it was. Poor, shivering Sil, curled up into the tightest ball of misery and borrowed sweaters. It had made itself a little nest with all the fabric Rayan had previously brought it, but it did very little to keep out the winter chill.

“Oh, Sil…” He swallowed and looked around, cursing himself for being so careless. He should’ve been looking at the weather forecast religiously. He should’ve been more stern! He should’ve just brought Sil inside when it had begun to get so cold, instead of waiting around to gain its trust so fully. No, he was stupider than that - he was trying to wait until it asked to be let inside. Sil was never going to ask. He’d thought he was giving it space, but he was doing nothing but letting it turn into a betrayal-flavoured popsicle.

He scooped up the shivering thing into his arms carefully, his heart breaking further when Sil didn’t even have the energy to push him away. It groaned quietly, murmuring something that was most likely a protest, but other than that, it seemed to cling more than it was trying to get away.

Rayan walked all the way back to his home and set it down on the couch, biting his lip as he thought back to his first-aid classes and the fact that he was going to have to undress Sil. He had tried his best to respect its boundaries, but this just wasn’t the time to agonise over that. Maybe Sil would hate his guts forever, but god, he just wanted to make sure it would be around to do that.

He carefully removed all of its wet clothes, piling them on the floor. Upon reaching the collar, he hesitated. Sil had always been fiercely protective over it. He didn’t get it - he thought its owner was a bad person, someone deserving of their pet running away from them, but seeing Sil be so adamant on keeping it on, he didn’t know anymore. He’d tried to understand, but his questions only seemed to annoy the pet.

“You wanna take it away?”

“No, that’s not-”

“So stop asking. It’s none of your business whether I keep it on.”

He grabbed a clean towel and gently patted Sil down, then left the fluffy thing on top of it while he went to fetch some dry clothes. It felt strange to have a barely conscious pet on his couch, dressed in his own sweater and pants, but he couldn’t afford to just stand there and dissect the feeling. He ran back to the bedroom for extra blankets and draped those over it as well, just to be a hundred percent sure it wasn’t going to wake up to any sort of cold. Only then did he slip out the front door to retrieve the rest of the blankets from the snow, the ones he couldn’t immediately pick up along with Sil.

He considered calling emergency services. In truth, he barely had any idea what he was doing, only relying on something he’d learned in tenth grade along with his driver’s ed course. But he knew more about first-aid than Sil’s predicament. What if he was dooming it by calling them? Because honestly, nothing about this entire thing was adding up in his head.

First of all, how did the PPA not pick up on the abuse Sil had so clearly gone through? There were annual welfare checks for all the pets in Lezune, around the entire damn country, specifically to ensure that cases like this were prevented. But even if prevention failed, the PPA were supposed to pick up on bad situations and remove the pet immediately, revoke its owner’s licence, and make it as right as they possibly could. There was a chance that someone had inflicted all of these injuries upon the poor thing in less than the span of a year, before the first check-up was due, and Rayan actually hoped that was the case.

Because the other possibility was bribery. That was his first thought on the day that he’d met Sil, and while he’d tried to be understanding and go through the information he had with a clear head, he just kept coming back to the same conclusion. A regular owner would’ve long been jailed for severe neglect and abuse, but some people just had a way with… words. He supposed the money did most of the talking.

That would also explain why Sil hadn’t gone to the authorities to be checked into a shelter. Its chip would’ve been read, and its owner would’ve likely figured out a way to get it right back to the same abusive home it had escaped from, rendering all of its efforts useless.

Sil let out a pained moan, and Rayan was immediately by its side, kneeling next to the couch and waiting for any sort of request from the pet. “Sil? Uh, try not to freak out, okay? I brought you inside because of the cold, you’re in my living room. Do you need anything? A warm drink? Soup?”

“Where’s my collar…” it mumbled.

“Right next to us. Your clothes are here too. I’m gonna wash everything for you, okay?”

“No!” its eyes snapped open fully, and it turned to Rayan with the most panicked expression he’d ever seen. “No, n-no, please, I need it, please, don’t touch my clothes… please give back my collar, please…”

“Hey, hey, calm down-”

“I need it, it’s all I have, please, give it back!” Sil tried to push itself up, immediately failing with the weight of all those blankets on top of it. Rayan gently pushed it back down onto the couch, hushing it.

“I’ll give it back. I’ll give it back right now, okay? I’ll put it right next to you, but please, don’t put it back on. It’s all wet and dirty.”

“Just give it back,” it repeated brokenly, and Rayan quickly snatched it up from the floor and laid it right next to its face. Sil seemed to calm down considerably at that, scooting over so it could press its cheek against the leather. It closed its eyes again, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry I took it without asking,” Rayan said softly as he sat back down on the floor. “I was just trying to get all the wet stuff off of you, so you wouldn’t get sick.”

“Please don’t take my clothes…” It looked at Rayan pleadingly, and he just didn’t have the heart to say no. He could’ve - he easily could’ve. Sil was defenceless and weak, it couldn’t even get up from the couch without assistance. He could’ve taken those clothes and ripped them apart right in front of it if he wanted to. He pushed all the horrible, intrusive thoughts away, almost tearing up at the fact that its previous owner might’ve done quite similar things to it.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

Sil nodded in response, wincing as it tried to turn over and find a more comfortable position. Seeing that, a theory began to form in Rayan’s head as to why a runaway pet would just stay in one spot for weeks, aside from the free food. The constant walking and running it must’ve had to do was likely taking a toll on its battered body. That was probably why it had decided to put all its eggs in one Rayan-shaped basket… it didn’t have a choice anymore. Not with winter approaching.

He stayed right there until Sil drifted off, wondering how any pet could be so extremely loyal to an abusive owner. It was clearly so attached, Rayan couldn’t even imagine the emotional turmoil it must’ve caused it to run off. It must’ve been a life or death situation to push it over the edge. And for someone to take advantage of that devotion and love, that trust… He shook his head and got up, grabbing Sil’s clothes and bringing them to the closest possible radiator. Maybe they’d even fully dry by the time the pet woke up, and he could just place them back on the floor where they were without it noticing a single thing.

He tried to shake out the individual pieces as gently as he could so the sound wouldn’t wake Sil, but when he got to the pants, something fell out. Thankfully it landed on the carpet, so even though it seemed like a piece of metal, the noise was barely audible. He put the worn pair of slacks on the radiator and picked up the thing, realising with glee that it was a name tag. That was perfect! He could track who the owner was, he just had to read the-

Rayan deflated when he turned it around and saw that the engraving was too scratched up and faded to make out anything. He could see some digits of the facility number, and then a capital B… maybe that was supposed to be Sil’s name, then? It seemed too short to be its owner’s name. Plus, there was another name right under it, something that resembled his own much more closely. And lastly, maybe a phone number? He couldn’t even see the area code.

He sighed and put the trinket on top of the pants, so Sil could find it later; then he thought better of it and slipped it back into the pocket. He had the feeling Sil wouldn’t appreciate the fact that he’d tried to read it.

But didn’t it say that its owner refused to give it a name? So what was up with that pet name-looking row? Rayan walked back to the couch and sat down on the floor, pulling out his phone and looking up some of the biggest national news outlets, as well as some regional ones. Maybe someone had lost a pet recently. And maybe it was someone whose name fit perfectly into the blanks on that name tag.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert @pinkraindropsfell @project-xiii

[kpforpresident]

Clexaweek Day 6: workplace romance 🌱

Plant shop AU. Or, an AU of an AU. 

collab with @thecrimsonknight, the link to the beautiful moodboard that they made is here.

It had been raining all day. Fat streams of rainwater poured off of the dark green eve that sagged defeatedly under the sheer weight of rain, the tinny plink plink plink of drops hitting the metallic gutter echoing under the door frame as they soared through the humid mid-July air. Puddles splashed merrily under harried car wheels as they rushed by the street corner where Lexa’s cozy shop sat, hunched figures under black umbrellas milling about the street corners as people hastily tried to get from their point A to point B relatively dry. A city that sat nestled in the PNW, Polis was no stranger to wet, gray days or foggy cool mornings. However, this summer had been particularly rainy, long weather forecasts of dreary little clouds sitting like sullen soldiers on Lexa’s weather app no matter how often she refreshed and hoped for a crack of sunshine in the little line of weather emojis. 

Lexa fidgeted impatiently on her stool, hands clasping and unclasping in front of her and she fought the urge to reach out and straighten the spool of twine that sat primly next to her favorite gardening shears. Chancing one more glance at the slim gold watch that sat clasped around her left wrist, she sighed as she gave up and straightened from her boredom-induced slump, feeling her spine pop slightly as she unfolded from the rickety little stool to standing. 

This chick has two more minutes, and then I’m locking the door and going home to watch trash TV and eat dollar ramen noodles, Lexa thought absentmindedly as she drummed her fingers on the battered workbench, watching the secondhand slowly tick towards 4:02. This is the last fucking time you hire one of Raven’s friends- just because she’s Anya’s girlfriend doesn’t mean that you have to let this weird ass best friend nepotism stand- remember what happened when you hired Octavia’s brother to build shelving? That was an entire shitshow… Lexa snarked internally as she wandered through the rows of cut flowers, straightening a wilting tulip as her eyes darted against her will again towards the door and the unrelenting deluge outside. Blurry figures continued to rush by, heads toward the ground, shoulders hunched as they all moved in a coordinated, practiced dance borne of many, many rainy days. 

A whole sixty seconds goes by as she stares silently at the thin hand, finally letting her mouth slip into a frown when her expectant gaze darts towards the door to see….no one. Lexa finally let her shoulders slump minutely, hands dropping from where she had been fussing with an all-green bouquet arrangement. Turning the trimmed piece of eucalyptus over and over in her fingers, Lexa turned to the back of the shop and prepared to grab her coat and trudge home once again, mentally preparing for the soggy walk three blocks home to her small albeit cozy apartment. 

As she twisted the eucalyptus branch over again in her fingers, she heard the cheery tinker of her door chime, followed by the door flinging open. Lexa was turning around, warm customer service smile plastered onto her face as the human embodiment of a tsunami bounded through the glass door. 

Lexa felt the smile fall in abject horror off of her stunned face as the same whirlwind promptly swept into the shop and managed to place their foot perfectly into a plate-sized puddle just beside the door mat, arms and legs pinwheeling spectacularly as her feet skidded out from under her. 

She hit the ground with a loud whump, followed by a soft oof as the girl sat up slowly, painfully. Colorful swear words poured from her lips unceasingly as Lexa watched her flex various body parts with increasing confidence among finding the movements absent of pain, clearly going through an inventory of all of her working limbs post- tumble.  

Lexa crouched down hesitantly, trying her best to gather the pile of cream-colored papers that had flown from her hands like feathers from a split pillow as the stranger had crashed to the floor of her shop. Sheath of papers finally gathered into a messy stack, Lexa looked up, mouth opening involuntarily as she accidentally locked gazes with the bluest set of eyes she’d ever encountered. 

“I- you- you wouldn’t happen to be Clarke, would you?” Lexa managed to croak out after a long moment, where the stranger- Clarke- slowly staggered to her feet with a small wince, free hand rubbing where her hip had made contact with the concrete floor as she nodded in confirmation. Clarke’s other hand tentatively extended to take the stack of what Lexa now realized were art sketches, a small smile breaking across her face like the sun after a rainstorm as their fingers brushed slightly. Lexa absently mirrored her expression, eyes widening slightly as she did so. She flexed her hand as she retreated to behind the workbench, managing to settle onto her stool without looking like too much of a dunce. 

Raven, in typical menace fashion, had neglected to mention that her artist friend that Lexa had hired to paint a mural on the blank back wall of her studio, was shockingly, jaw droppingly attractive. Not that Lexa should’ve been surprised. Raven, with her warm brown eyes, flawless skin, and shimmering black hair, could’ve walked straight out of a playboy version of a Mechanics Monthly, even covered in car oil and grease as she usually was when she came home from work from the small shop she owned with Lincoln just outside of Polis. Lincoln’s fiance Octavia was similarly stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a muscular figure, dark eyes cunning and softened by a perfect pouting mouth. Lincoln clearly felt similarly, his gaze becoming soft and dreamy when Octavia would stride into the shop in her free time, a gym bag slung over her shoulder on her way home from the boxing studio that she co-owned with Anya. 

Lexa shouldn’t have been shocked that Clarke looked like a Botachelli angel, curves enclosed perfectly in a dark wash pair of jeans, a faded t-shirt slouching perfectly on her shorter frame, but still she floundered for words as the bright cerulean gaze met hers expectantly, Clarke hobbling forward to spread her cache of doodles across Lexa’s desk. Lexa tried not to drool obnoxiously as a pair of worn Doc Martens came into view at the bottom of her field of vision. 

Sappho, give me strength, Lexa thinks frantically, heart beating a tempo against her ribcage as her fingers tap the wooden desk nonsensically, desperately, as a wave of sweet perfume engulfs her when Clarke shifts slightly to tuck a graphite pencil behind her ear, shimmering waves of blonde hair tumbling out from a harried braid. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Clarke blurts out apologetically, tracing her finger over a smudge of charcoal in the lower corner of the topmost sketch. Lexa was already shaking her head before her brain engaged, dismissing Clarke’s wavered apology before it had fully passed her lips. 

“It’s totally fine, Clarke” Lexa soothes as she darted her gaze down to appraise the charcoal lines that Clarke had spread as a silent offering in front of her, sentence petering off slowly as she leaned closer to appreciate the drawings. ‘“These- these are amazing, Raven mentioned that you left your pre-med track to go to art school downtown after your dad died?” 

Clarke nods silently, chewing on a rose colored lip as her thumb smoothed over a sketch of an apple blossom, a feathery fern bending effortlessly in the background. Lexa notes the slight tension in her shoulders at the mention of her father and steers the conversation to safer waters, hair falling out of its tired bun as she bends over the drawings to examine them in more detail. She’s so entranced by the sketches she doesn’t see Clarke’s gaze trace over her figure, lingering on how Lexa’s lips purse in thought as she traces a reverent finger over a very realistic tulip bud. 

“I mean, I love them all,” Lexa concludes helplessly as she runs a thoughtful hand through her hair, chancing a glance up at Clarke, who happens to be gazing at Lexa from her higher vantage point at the same time. “I would love for you to paint any of them on the wall, I’d love to just let you go wild. I’m happy to pay for whatever paint you need on top of your base rate for your time, I know it’s a big wall.”

Lexa can feel her cheeks go crimson as they lock eyes again, standing awkwardly to gesture uselessly at the large white wall that borders the back of her store, decorated only by a small floral fridge on the far right side. 

“I- do you like italian food?” Clarke blurts out from somewhere behind her shoulder, Lexa turning incredulously to be met with a twin set of flaming pink cheeks. “Can I buy you dinner, and we can sketch out the mural? Is that ok? Is that breaking some sort of client contractor rule? Because I already swore to Rae that I wouldn’t fuck this up, because Anya’s essentially your sister and all–” 

“I’d love to get dinner with you, Clarke.” 

///

Four months later when Clarke finally puts the finishing touches on the mural, they celebrate with takeout Italian food and champagne on the floor of the little flower shop.

[petes-neckarrow]

The Accident

Summary: How exactly did Jordan O’Malley bite it? Here’s his story…

Notes: very first Ghosts fic! Happy to see it be whump lololol.

Warning ⚠️ graphic depictions of injury ⚠️

—————

Rain. 

Wet. 

Driving. 

Skidding. 

Flying. 

Falling. 

Pain. 

Falling. 

Tumbling. 

Panting. 

Pain. 

Gasping.

Pain. 

Walking. 

Pain. 

Stumbling. 

Pain. 

Crawling. 

PAIN. 

Jordan groaned as he hauled himself through the muddy ground with his right hand and pushed with his left, his legs having collapsed from underneath him ten yards back. 

The branch jutting out of his stomach caught on a rock poking from the ground and shifted. He could only grit his teeth and keep moving as new sparks of pain bloomed throughout the wound. A trickle of blood oozed from his mouth and stained pale, trembling lips. 

He knew riding his bike would be a bad idea, especially without his helmet. He’d known that ever since he’d bought the damn thing. 

But it was just so freeing to feel the wind blow through his hair, whipping his jacket around as he sped through abandoned country roads.

Jordan had been doing that a lot lately. Late night biking, that is. So much so that he practically knew all the small roads he drove on like the back of his hand, and the properties surrounding them. 

He did it for a reason, of course. Work, family drama… It all piled up day after day, exhausting him. 

The night-drives to clear his mind were getting more and more consistent until it simply became part of his everyday routine. Go to work at one of his four part-time jobs, ignore the phone calls from his parents, eat dinner at the tiny house he was renting from his dad’s old friend, take the motorcycle out for a spin, go to sleep on the air mattress.

Tonight was no different. But the rain was a surprise. It wasn’t anywhere in the forecast for today, he’d made sure it wasn’t before leaving. Jordan had made a big mistake when he kept driving, even as the rain fell harder and harder.

And now he was paying the price dearly for not turning back. 

Everything hurt. It all hurt so goddamn much. Jordan thought he knew pain when the neighbor’s dog bit him in the leg in third grade, or when Brad Cunningham shot his foot in sophomore year of high school, or even when accidentally injected his t-shot in the wrong spot a year ago. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.

Jordan’s earbuds, still miraculously connected to his iPod touch, continued blasting music uselessly. How they hadn’t fallen out yet was a mystery. “-I don’t think you trust. In. My. Self-righteous suicide-”

‘Yeah, that’s really nice to listen to while dying.’ He sarcastically thought to himself. His side ached from being dragged through bumpy rocks and poking twigs. But he still went on. There was a small, tiny sliver of hope in him that he could make it. If he could just keep going.

In the distance, a single light shone from the window of a large mansion. He knew there was an old lady that lived there, partly because he’d consistently driven donuts with his bike in her large circular driveway, forcing her to chase him away every time with the threat of calling the police. He hoped Mrs. Woodstone didn’t hold too strong a grudge that she’d turn him away when he ended up on her doorstep, clinging to life by his fingertips.

That is if he could even make it to the driveway, much less her porch. Jordan could feel his arm muscles spasming, getting weaker and weaker with each desperate pull from the right and push from the left.

Until finally, the moment he reached the edge of the driveway, his arms gave out on him. 

No longer could he drag himself towards safety. 

Jordan was utterly screwed. If his weak heart could beat any harder, it’d be racing from the panic taking hold of him. 

He was going to die. He was going to die and he hadn’t even done the things he’d wanted to do in life.

He’d never be able to buy a Nintendo switch, never visit Ireland, never get a chance to try wagyu, never join an orchestra. 

So many tasks left undone, so many dreams broken. All because of a stupid decision.

‘So this is how the great Jordan O’Malley dies.’ He thought as his eyes went foggy and his ears filled with the sound of silence. That definitely wasn’t a good sign, no longer being able to hear the rain he knew was still relentlessly falling. 

‘Death by impalement. Could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t something dumb, like slipping in the tub.’ Jordan couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh that quickly turned to coughing, choking on his own blood.

As he lay on his side, covered in mud streaks and dead plant matter, all he could think of was how he was happy to die wearing his binder. At least he would look somewhat like himself in the afterlife, if there was one.

—————

Notes: song mentioned in fic: Chop Suey by System of a Down

ao3 link

[tragedyinblue]

BBU Community Days, #13

@bbu-on-the-side

{Day 13} Safety

The follow up to part 5. Have a little comfort, folks. (with a bit more emotional whump first)

CW: "it" as a pronoun, institutionalized slavery, PTSD response, reference to potential abuse, fear of abandonment, mention of homelessness

——————————————————

6. Just the Box

They’d planned to visit a few more of Ms. Abbie’s usual haunts, but when the forecasted rainstorm arrived two hours early, they discovered her umbrella was only large enough for one. By the time they made it back, Chase was soaked to the skin. 

“Go on up and get changed,” she ordered, grocery bags dripping in her grip. “I’ll put this stuff away and get a kettle going.” 

The pet obeyed, scampering up the steps. Although it shivered as the fabric peeled away from its clammy skin, its chattering teeth beamed with pride. It’d insisted that Ms. Abbie use the umbrella. A lesser Pet might’ve given in to her request and let her share it, but because Chase didn’t, she was safe, healthy, and dry. It had done well. 

Eventually Chase padded downstairs, warm again in a soft, faded red shirt—long sleeve—and a pair of gray sweatpants with “ARMY” printed down one thigh in big, blocky letters. Ms. Abbie said that her late husband’s clothes belonged to Pet now, but it didn’t entertain such a strange idea. After all, Pets did not own anything.

Its mistress called out from the kitchen. “Hello?”

Chase’s stomach dropped as the self-satisfaction it felt a moment before vanished in an instant. Had she been calling for it this whole time?

‘How deplorable.’

The pet raced to the kitchen, skidding to a halt and kneeling just beyond the threshold, head bowed. “Yes, Ms. Abbie?”

Instead of the glowering expression it expected to find, her back was turned away from it, a cordless phone pinched between her ear and shoulder as her wrinkled hands busied themselves at the stove. She hadn’t heard Chase at all.

“Hi Jeffrey! So nice to hear your voice. How’s the family?... Good, glad to hear it! Listen, I’m calling to request a pickup for a large item, please,” she said, pausing while the man spoke indistinctly on the other end. “No, not a donation this time. It was delivered to me a few days ago and I just want it out of my house. When can you… Tomorrow morning?”

Chase had crawled backward out of the kitchen before it realized it’d even moved, its mind finally catching up to what its body already knew: it was going back to the facility.

Voices cracked like whips in its ears as its breathing quickened to shallow pants. What right did it have to be upset? It only had itself to blame for mistaking Ms. Abbie’s generosity for acceptance. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with it in the first place; of course she was going to send it back! Thinking otherwise was just a fantasy it’d been stupid enough to believe. 

It wouldn’t matter if any of that was noted in its file. The bottom line was simple: C47 failed to serve its mistress properly… and bad things happened to Pets that failed. 

When the kettle’s shrill whistle broke the pet’s trance, its eyes found the open wooden box jutting out from the other side of the wall, looking completely harmless. Inviting, almost. Perhaps Ms. Abbie would order it to sleep there tonight in preparation for shipment. It shivered, a whine escaping its throat as a forbidden thought flitted through its mind: it would have liked to sleep in the soft bed upstairs one more time.

——————————————————-

“Tomorrow morning?” Abigail repeated with surprise, nearly spilling the scoop of pale brown powder in her hand. “So soon?”

Jeffrey laughed kindly. “For you? Absolutely. We can have a crew there at 8am to get rid of that box.” 

Abigail squinted at the calendar on the other side of the small kitchen as the kettle pitched from sizzle to screech. “I… Yes, I think that will work! Thank you, dear!” she yelled before ending the call.

Her hands trembled only slightly as she prepared two mugs of Ovaltine and a plate of crackers with a wistful sigh. The last time she’d made two servings at once George was still alive. It warmed her heart to do it again.

“Chase, dear?” she called over the slight lump in her throat. “Soup’s on. Come and get it.”

Instead of the hurried footsteps she’d come to expect—the sound strangely reminiscent of soldiers scrambling to attention—Chase shuffled into the kitchen, his expression haunted. Abigail recognized that look.

Her old instincts kicked in, assessing him for injuries, though she guessed she wouldn’t find any fresh ones. Something had changed within the last fifteen minutes. She just didn’t know what. 

“Are you alright?” she probed, setting the steaming mugs onto the table. 

The boy’s mouth twisted in a rictus. “Yes, Mistress Abbie. It’s well and g-grateful for your concern.” 

Damn. He was still partially elsewhere, but she could work with that. “Let’s take a few breaths. Can you do that with me?”

“Y-Yes, Ms. Abbie.”

In stuttered rhythm, his chest expanded and shrunk mechanically with hers until it had mostly evened out. 

“Good, Chase. Very good,” she praised.

He blinked rapidly at that, most of the remaining haze seeming to clear. That was a good sign, if disconcerting.

“I’m going to sit down at the table now,” Abigail said. “Please join me. There is a hot drink waiting for you when you’re ready.” 

Abigail sipped hers quietly, closing her eyes as the liquid soothed her from the inside out. When she opened them, Chase was sitting beside her, fingers wrapped tightly around his mug.

“Welcome back, dear.” 

His gaze flicked up to meet hers guiltily. “This pet is sorry for being so troublesome, Ms. Abbie. It should have been taking care of you, not the other way around. P-Please punish it as you see fit.”

Abigail scoffed, hating the way it made him flinch. 

“Nonsense,” she said softly. “I’ve seen young men like you react similarly. It’s nothing you can control. Just… if you’re feeling fine enough later I’d like to know what prompted your reaction so we can avoid it.”

His eyes flicked from his drink to the open archway so quickly she almost missed it. Following his line of sight, she spied the WRU crate at the end of the hall. Hmm.

“It’ll be nice to have that ugly box gone. Some friends of mine are coming tomorrow to get it,” she said, focusing on his reaction rather than the fact that she no longer remembered what time Jeffrey’s crew would arrive. “If you’d rather keep it I’ll ask them to move it elsewhere instead.”

Chase’s brows furrowed. “Just the box, Ms. Abbie?” he asked slowly.

“I’m sorry?”

He gulped before trying again, his voice hoarse. “You’re only getting rid of the box?”

Oh. 

The idea that she could throw someone away was so appalling that it hadn’t even crossed Abigail’s mind, though she knew it wasn’t completely uncommon; she’d seen more than a few strays huddled in alleys over the years. It was all too easy to imagine Chase among them.

Schooling her expression like the nurse she was, Abigail smiled, leaning forward to pat Chase’s shaking hand. 

“Yes, dear. Just the box.”

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @octopus-reactivated @dislexiher @whumpzone

Ping me or reply if you'd like to be added to the taglist. I'd rather know for sure than add folks who reblog. Thank you! 💙

[daniwib]

Consider: Madney discussing wedding plans that keep reminding them of emergencies.

Consider: Bobby wanting to tell the team about a weather forecast and being unable to.

Consider: Chimney, in a moment of intense pain and terrifying trauma, being told about Yosemite and said he was going to take his daughter there.

Manifest: Season 7 premiere with 118 firefam road trip to Yosemite for camping shenanigans and location Madney wedding, complete with weather or geographical related emergency, drama and whump.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

AilessWhumptober 23 - 17 Heat stroke

Near Unbreakable 2/2

Part 1 here !

In which Badass Lady realizes how serious her situation is, and it's not gonna get better any soon. However...

tw: heat stroke, lady whump, locked in a small space, fainting, glass shards, gun (very brief mention)

***

She shook herself. Okay, fine, it was a greenhouse. So what ? She was going to be a little hot until the sunset, that was all. All she had to do – all she was able to do- was taking it easy. If she wasn’t moving too much and taking sips of water from time to time, it was going to be fine. She could take it.

She took her phone and tried to distract herself with letter games. Soon enough, she realized that the characters seemed blurred and the puzzles harder than usual, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep on. Not doing anything was worse and it was impossible to sleep with the heat.

A little later, Whumper came in the garden to check on her. He saluted her with a glass full of ice cubes, finished his drink in a gulp, and left something in the grass by the door. When he was gone, she stepped closer to see what it was. He had printed for her the weather forecast for the afternoon. It was going to be 40°C – or, if you’d rather, 103°F.

Despite the scorching sun, she felt her hair raising on the back of the neck. Okay, fine: she could not take it. If it was going to be this hot outside, this wasn’t a question of stoically enduring a little heat. It was a question of how the hell she was going to survive inside, where it was likely to get much, much hotter.

She crouched and examined the door. As far as she could judge, it was made of stainless steel. She wouldn’t be able to break it.

Well then. Time to make a little property damage. Her combat boots would protect her from the shards. She stood up and kicked the transparent walls as hard as she could. The glass...cracked. She blinked.

The hell ? It would have sent a man to a hospital !

She kicked again, again, and again, and at least she was able to make a hole near the door. Her hand, wrapped in a scarf she’d been sure she would not need – thanks Mediator, again - went through the aperture and tried to grab the lock. You needed a key to open it. She stared for a moment, her heart beating too fast in her chest. For a minute, she couldn’t decide if she was overwhelmed by panic or anger.

She didn’t hesitate long.

Her feet hit the glass with a strength that would have killed a human. She was furious. She was mad at the bastard who had sent her in a death trap, but she was almost as mad at herself for willfully walking in, for not listening to Leader when he’d warned her, for mocking Mediator when he’d tried to take care of her. She’d be damned if she was going to let herself burn without a fight. Her phone was still on the floor, but she ignored it. Calling the police or 911 would have put the mission at risk. No way. So she kicked and she kicked.

When she stopped, on the verge of fainting, there was several holes in the glass panel. Which was...better than nothing. It created a draft, and the air from outside seemed almost fresh compared to the greenhouse from hell. It was still far from enough to let her out.

She took a breather, drinking small sips, rationing her water. The frame was made of aluminum extrusions, and it was even harder to break than this damn glass – what was it made of, anyway ? So even if she did shatter the whole panel, she wasn’t sure she could fit in the aperture. This was her best plan, though - mostly because it was her only one.

Her lids were very heavy, but she shook herself. If she felt asleep, she wasn’t sure she would wake up. Wrapping her hands in the scarf again, she tried to break little shards to connect the holes she had made. It was getting hotter. She heard herself pant as if it was another person near her. Her throat hurt, like someone was gently squeezing it. It was getting harder to think, too – but that didn’t matter because her work demanded little intellectual effort. She looked at the hour on her phone, realized how early it was, and cried a little. Then she wiped out her tears, scolded herself for losing water this way, and kicked the glass again.

This time she made significant progress. Apart from little shards, the panel was gone for good. She had now an opening which was forty centimeters wide and one meter long, more or less. A mirthless laugh escaped her lips. Mediator could have fit in without difficulty. Leader might have made it, as some of her teammates. Nearly everyone, expect for her. On the other hand, that meant she could easily reach out the objects from outside.

The wheelbarrow, for example.

A satisfyingly short time later, a second glass panel was gone from the world and some aluminum extrusions looked more curved. She took a deep breath, put her bag outside, and tried to pass through. She didn’t wipe the sweat off her forehead �� it’d been a while since she’d stopped sweating. It was not easy to try to fit in. She winced as several shards brushed her skin, and twisting to avoid the aluminum rods made her stomach curl with pain. Once she was finished, she bent in two to fight a fit of nausea.

But she was out. Wonderfully, gloriously, she was out. Her first thought was to find the bastard to make him pay. Her second thought was she wouldn’t be able to make it. She had one or two minutes before fainting. Her bag in one hand, she limped to a tree, laid under it, and collapsed for good.

Whumper did not get out before several hours, because of the heat. Anxious to know if Second-in-command was still alive, he trotted to the greenhouse and stopped right in his tracks when he realized its state. After considering to run in the other direction as far as he could (and possibly never stop, ever), his pulse slowed down when he peeked at the unconscious woman by the tree. Judging by her expression and the spots of red on her skin, she was in pain.

“You have to admit I didn’t touch a hair on your head,” he told her. “You kinda brought this on yourself.”

After examining her for a few minutes, a smirk appeared on his face.

“You know, it’s not right to sleep outside like this, sweetheart,” he cooed. “You need to cover up.”

He entered in the house and went out with an armful of blankets. Wool blankets, fur blankets, polyester blankets – the kind of fabric that kept you warm and toasty during even the coldest of winters. He dumped them all on her, making sure that none of the layers let any draft in. She did not react, apart from a very low moan of agony and a shudder that did not free her from anything. He smiled.

“Can’t wait to watch the end of this,” he whispered.

“My thoughts exactly.”

He froze. A gun clicked behind him. He looked at the sky and groaned.

“Ah. Right. Sunset.”

*

Back to Whump/Horror Masterlist.

[granny-griffin]

hello tumblr today’s mental forecast is blorbo rotation with a chance of whump hurt/comfort and tomorrow?? the same

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (23 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

CHAPTER 23 NOTE: A million thanks to @cocohook38 for acting as this story's savior and rescuing us from a plot hole!! Your attentive reading and detailed comments came just in time to edit this chapter and salvage the ending! Phew, that was a close one! ;)

THANK YOU, MY WONDERFUL FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💓🫶🏼💓

***

Killian was no True Love expert, but almost everyone in the realm knew the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. So the surprising thing wasn’t the way his fever dreams wove together scenes of his upcoming reunion and painful fantasies of rainbow shockwaves bursting forth from a kiss placed tenderly on Alice’s forehead. Nor even that he had retained enough awareness through the relapses to realize that these were the attempts of a beleaguered mind to make a connection despite a sometimes-tenuous grasp on reality. The surprise, once he was well enough to recognize it, came from the fact that this potential method of breaking the curse wasn’t his immediate thought when he had first learned of Mandible’s potion. That oversight he had to blame on the fog of his recovery… but the length of time he’d buried the question behind mundane exchanges with the healers was due only to his fear of being disappointed yet again.

***

“You really need to improve upon this method of delivery,” said Killian wryly, nearly a week later, as he watched Mandible score his inner arm with the too-familiar stone blade. Damn healer was running out of intact areas of skin to cut in order to introduce his anti-infection paste.

“I am sorry,” Mandible replied, laying aside his knife and preparing to cover the burning slashes with another of those ubiquitous sticky leaves. “Bite wounds are particularly dangerous; those caused by the filthy mouths of the Less even more so. I dare not take any chances.”

“Understood,” sighed Killian. “It's more a nuisance than anything else, though I suppose gangrene would be worse.”

“Take heart,” said Mandible as he spread the last edge of the leaf across Killian's forearm. “You are nearly at the point where this will no longer be necessary.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that, mate. Lately it’s been feeling like I’ll never leave this place.” 

“You have made great progress just within the last pawful of days. Your visit with your daughter will be upon you sooner than you think.”

Such a powerful surge of desperate longing washed over Killian at the thought that it nearly convinced him he could climb the tower right then, distance and ailments be damned. Clutching reason, he wrestled back the impatience. He had to heal first, and nothing could hurry that. 

“And then…” he said slowly, “on our only good day in nearly a year…” 

He did not want to continue. It would almost be easier to cling to his delusional hope for a few more weeks… if it weren’t for the fact that he had a young soul to protect. His devastation, should it come to pass, could not be her burden. 

“You mentioned True Love, Mandible, and you’ve given us a way to be together again… I don’t expect you to accurately judge our bond, not knowing just how much we’d sacrifice for each other, but… surely there’s at least a small chance…?”

Killian trailed off, pleadingly searching the owlish eyes of his monkey ally. Mandible set aside his herbs and edged closer, resting both paws upon Killian’s shoulder. 

“All I have been witness to in the short time you’ve been among us… I can imagine no deeper love. It would give me the greatest joy to pronounce such a thing possible.” Once again, Mandible’s visible regret forecast his upcoming answer, and Killian could not watch the clouds of sorrow roll across his friend’s face. He looked away as the healer continued to speak. “I should have anticipated this hope. I am truly sorry for my carelessness. Laden… by shielding your heart from the curse’s impacts, the potion’s barrier also imprisons the magic of True Love--a cruel but necessary side effect. I’m afraid it must be a temporary reprieve and no more.”

Thwarted at every turn. Killian should have been growing used to it by now. Allowing himself a single bitter sigh, he nodded once. It was still better than nothing, and he could probably talk himself into being grateful. Eventually.

Mandible seemed about to say something else, but he hesitated, smoothing the edge of another bandage that was beginning to come loose. Then, almost timidly, he spoke up.

“The potion reached maturity this morning. Perhaps it would lift your spirits to see it?”

Killian gave him a sad smile. “I would like that, thank you.”

The healer leapt from the bed and disappeared from view. Killian closed his eyes to wait, battling resentment towards a universe determined to conspire against him and his undeserving daughter. Yes, he would now have a painfully short visit with her--or maybe a few, depending on the attributes of the potion--but then what? A brutal farewell, and back to a lifetime of lonely, fruitless searching? Praying to somehow find True Love elsewhere as the endless struggle continued to take its toll upon him? He may have the fortitude to persevere now, but what about five years from now? Ten? Just how long could he keep this up before crumbling beneath the weight of despair?

A slight rustling at his shoulder alerted him to Mandible’s return. Killian opened his eyes to see a small vial clutched in ash-colored paws. As Mandible presented the result of so many days’ labor, his ears drooped fractionally in an apparent wince. 

“It is not difficult to imagine the many paths your mind is laying out before you with this potion,” he said, gently turning the vessel to allow a better view. “But I must set you upon the correct one and warn you not to deviate.”

“I’m listening…” said Killian cautiously, his every remaining hope balanced on a dagger’s edge. Mandible kept him there, suspended, while he went off on a seemingly unrelated tangent.

“I did not dare speak of this before now, lest I affect your mind’s role in your recovery, but when I saw the signs of the Mire Dragon venom upon your flesh that first day, I was convinced you would not survive. Certainly no member of either clan would have stood a chance, nor would the average Torn victim, to my knowledge. Even with the assistance of the Teardrop Vine. Yet even through the worst of its effects, through the bleeding and pain and fever, you continued to fight.”

Killian studied the vial as he listened. He wasn’t particularly surprised by the revelation; there had definitely been moments lying here when he could feel himself slipping away. Mandible was only confirming what he had already suspected.

“Your resistance, Laden, is what ultimately led me to the idea for this potion. The Fossa Flower has properties very similar to the venom, and it would have been too strong for anyone else to consume in this fashion. But you have demonstrated that you can withstand its rigors.” 

Killian met Mandible’s gaze, skeptical eyebrow raised. Was the healer hinting at unpleasant side effects? Not that it truly mattered; nothing short of certain death would deter him from using it.

“However…” continued the monkey. “Because its ingredients are so carefully balanced between effectiveness and safety, I must advise you to use it all at one time. Saving a portion may result in incomplete protection against the curse, and the remnants would gradually lose potency anyway.” 

As Killian registered the sympathy in his friend’s eyes, he again marveled at the surprising perceptiveness accompanying Mandible’s depth of knowledge, rivaling that of any human expert in the sciences. It was no wonder that folklore had developed around these monkey clans, obscure though they may be.

“I can only give you my honest advice,” said Mandible. “I cannot stop you from testing my theories despite the dangers. I certainly understand the temptation and do not know for sure what I would do in your place.”

Killian contained his frustration behind a feigned serenity. “It’s all right, mate; I trust your counsel. Even a single visit with my daughter is more than I could have dreamed of a month ago. Thank you for clarifying the boundaries.”

“As I have said before, I wish I could do more for you and will continue to work on the problem even after you have taken your leave of us.”

“Thank you, Mandible; that is most kind of you.”

Well, the limits had been set, and Killian did not dare stray beyond them and risk derailing his only chance at a visit with Alice. Despite his disappointment, it was a small relief to have most of his questions answered. But the revelation of the venom’s role in all of this did raise a new possibility…

“Just how similar is the dragon venom? Any chance of creating an equivalent potion in the future, using venom instead of the extinct flower?”

Mandible managed to look thoughtful, skeptical, and frightened all at once. “That is a question I will need time to consider. But not a very practical one, if we are honest with ourselves.”

“Not to worry, mate; it’s just a thought. Perhaps a future quest for this dragon-slaying Champion, should he ever find the strength to one day navigate the Stone Forest again, unhindered and on his own terms.”

The healer monkey relaxed noticeably, fur settling back into its usual charming fuzz. “You are always welcome, and no nets will be necessary the next time.”

“That’s a relief,” Killian retorted dryly. “Let’s try and forgo the Warrior Ants as well. Unless you’ve already beheaded them to extinction…”

“Their population will recover… eventually.”

***

Cautiously, Killian followed Mandible out of the healer's corner of the cave and toward the main living area. He’d been receptive to the monkey’s suggestion of finally getting up and moving around a little, knowing that the faster he regained his independence, the sooner he could see Alice again. As predicted, the activity intensified his pain, and it felt as if one wrong move would split his wounds wide open yet again, but it wasn't exactly his first time trying to get on with life while feeling like complete bilge water. He did not lose his balance as he’d feared, and he felt stronger than he had since before this whole misadventure had started. He wouldn’t deceive himself into thinking he could make it all the way to the tower yet, but it was definitely a step in a positive direction. 

It was fairly quiet that day; likely a large contingent of warriors were out fishing or whatever it was they needed to do to provide for their clan. In spite of his injuries, it felt good to be stretching his legs and seeing something other than the little alcove that had been his only scenery while recuperating. 

Just past the goat pen, Killian spotted Blackbeard, wearing a bored expression as he lounged, hands and feet still chained to the wall. Their eyes met, and immediately Blackbeard’s apathy was replaced with the customary scorn. 

“Blow me down, if it isn't Captain Codfish, returned from the grave. I had given you up for shark bait ages ago.” 

Killian hobbled closer. He knew he should ignore the goading but could not resist the opportunity to return fire.

“Blackbeard,” he growled. “I see you haven’t been eaten yet. That's a shame.” 

Blackbeard snorted. “Not a chance. These little buggers love me.”

Killian looked pointedly at his chained limbs and what appeared to be a gag hanging loosely around his neck. “Clearly.” 

He wasn't particularly interested in wasting his limited energy in pointless conversation, and he turned to continue on his way. Blackbeard's false congeniality promptly disappeared as he snarled after him,

“Hook! Whatever treasure you receive from these rats, you owe me half. I researched the legend; I saved you from the quarry and brought you here. If you have any honor at all, you'll realize that we are full partners in this. Hook! Do you hear me?”

His language became less polite as he realized he was being ignored. Not long afterwards, the target of his fire switched from Killian to the monkeys attempting to secure the gag back in place, and soon, the invectives gave way to muffled wrath. 

At the cave entrance up ahead, where gentle sunlight formed an inviting pool in the dust, Killian could see Puzzle and a number of other young ones wrestling and pouncing on one another, having a grand old time as they were supervised by some older relations. As soon as the princess spotted her Torn rescuer, she leapt off of her cousin's shoulders and raced to Killian's feet. She stared up at him with wide, adoring eyes as the remaining younglings also gathered around. The urge to crouch down and address her at something closer to eye level was not quite strong enough to overcome the instinctual avoidance of pain. But he did send a warm smile in her direction. 

“Your Highness. It's lovely to see you again.” He glanced at each of her friends in turn. “But there's no need to interrupt your game on my account.” 

“Actually,” said Mandible, peering back the way they had come, “she has something to give to you. Don't you, Princess?” 

Bursting with excited energy, Puzzle leapt halfway up Killian’s leg before vaulting off and racing into the depths of the cave.

“Perhaps you would like to take a seat,” suggested Mandible. He led Killian and his entourage over to a flat-topped rock near the cave wall. Killian lowered himself down with only the bare minimum of sound effects, though it did take several moments before he finally caught his breath. By that time, he could see Puzzle returning with her father in tow. Favor carried a cloth-wrapped parcel in his long prehensile tail. 

An impressive, acrobatic hurdle carried Puzzle to Killian's side; her father joined them soon after. With an impatient grunt, Puzzle began to tug at the gift. 

“Be careful, child,” scolded Favor, albeit gently. He allowed her to take hold of one edge of the parcel, but he kept one paw on it as well as his daughter proudly presented it to her new friend. 

“Thank you, love.” Killian carefully rested the item on his lap. Puzzle was quivering with excitement, tiny squeaks sounding as she hopped in place. Her companions all stood on their back legs, respecting their leader’s space but desperate to be the first to see what had gotten their playmate so riled up.

Killian slipped a barely functional finger beneath one edge of the cloth, then thought better of it and grinned down at Puzzle. “Would you do the honors, Princess?”

In a flash, the little monkey had severed the cord securing the wrapping, and just as quickly, she peeled back both flaps of hide to reveal its contents.

“It's…” Killian blinked in astonishment. “It's my mirror.” 

He reverently flipped it over, revealing completely smooth glass, not one single scratch marring its surface. “You repaired it...?”

“And restored its enchantment,” confirmed Mandible. Blinking back tears, Killian met the eyes of each monkey watching him. 

“Thank you, I... truly, it means more than you know.”

Reacting to the complex emotions in his voice, Puzzle gently nudged his bandaged hand with her nose, prompting him to stroke the top of her silken head. 

“Was this your idea, love? So that I can see my Alice again?”

Puzzle just leaned a little harder into his hand, soaking up the affection. And the beings more likely responsible were content to allow her the credit. 

“Would you like to test it out and make sure it works?” suggested Favor, and Killian could only nod as excitement and anxiety warred within his poisoned heart. He used the sleeve covering his stump to swipe at his eyes, cleared his throat, and adjusted the mirror to center his reflection as required. Then, in a tremulous voice, he called, 

“Starfish? Alice, love, are you there?”

Silence. Killian’s eager anticipation quickly transformed into unreasonable terror as a hundred unlikely scenarios formed an instant, ghastly vignette of death and dismemberment in his mind. Alice must have fallen and broken her neck, or a bad storm had come and toppled that cursed tower with her inside, or her magical supplies had run out and she’d starved to death, or the hearth had caught fire while highwaymen were sneaking inside during the middle of the storm as the escaped Dark One giggled his approval…

A wild tumble of an image accompanied a clattering decrescendo, bits and pieces of a haste-driven wreck settling into place under a breathless young voice.

“Papa? Papa, is it really you?”

“Alice,” laugh-sobbed Killian. Head spinning with relief, chest prickling, he struggled to balance the mirror on badly shaking arms. “Gods, it's so good to see you,” he said, even though most of what he could see was an indistinct blur. At the same time, he heard Alice say, 

“I was so worried about you! Your image sort of… broke apart, and I couldn't call you back no matter how hard I tried; I was afraid I'd never see you again!”

Irrational guilt clawed at Killian’s insides at the note of vulnerability in her tone. “I'm so sorry, love; Blackbeard broke the mirror right in the middle of our last conversation. Some friends of mine have only just finished repairing it. But even if they couldn't, Starfish… you know I would never rest until I found another way to see you. You believe that, don't you?” 

Worry still clouded Alice's eyes, but she gave him a brave smile. “Yes, Papa.” Her gaze roamed his image, pausing on the bandages and bruising still apparent on his throat. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, I’m fine. It’s nothing a little rest won’t fix.” 

She was less easily convinced by bravado these days, and he could tell that she wasn’t entirely reassured by it. But then she caught sight of a furry face peeking above the lower rim of the frame, and her eyes lit up. “Aww, is that a little monkey?” 

Killian tilted the mirror to bring more of the subject in question into view. “Alice, this is Princess Puzzle; her father, Favor; and Mandible... the friends I mentioned before.” 

“I love them!” Alice cooed, not even questioning their names, or their ability to repair magic mirrors. “They’re so adorable!” 

“Favor. Princess. This is my daughter, Alice.” 

Placing one paw on the mirror’s handle, Puzzle tilted her head comically, and Alice's delighted giggles accomplished more towards Killian's recovery than weeks under the healers’ care. 

“Yes, I see a strong resemblance,” Favor said politely. As Killian smiled his thanks at the clan leader, Alice remembered her manners, somehow unsurprised by the fact that her father seemed to be able to understand the unintelligible chatter of his simian friends.

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I should very much like to come visit you one day, if I can.” 

Killian had been debating with himself: tell Alice of Mandible’s potion, or keep the visit a surprise? He’d been imagining the moment when he would appear above that damned windowsill, the look in her eyes when she recognized him, being knocked over in a fierce hug long overdue. It would be fun to surprise her, but would it also be a bit cruel? He wanted to respect her privacy, and some warning would give her the chance to prepare. It would also give her something to look forward to, which was a scarce commodity these days.

Above all, Killian hated it when she lost herself dwelling on her ongoing imprisonment, in moments just like these. 

He had to tell her. 

Killian tilted the mirror back toward himself. “Alice, love… what would you think about having me come visit you for a day?”

Cautious, excited hope warred with fear. “But... what about the curse? I couldn't bear it if you were hurt, Papa.” 

“It's okay,” he assured her. “These clever creatures have come up with a way to temporarily suppress it. We can be together again, for a whole day. Just as if the curse never existed.” He grinned at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can hardly wait.”

Alice's chin trembled, and he could see the shimmer of a tear tracking down her cheek. He empathized. There was no way she had missed the ‘single day’ stipulation, and they were both already feeling the pain of that goodbye. She would be lamenting her circumstances, limited existence in the tower and horrific curse alike, and asking the fates the same questions ever-present in Killian’s own mind. But, in true Alice Jones form, she grasped the single thread of happiness offered, returned his grin and bounced once in her seat, rattling the remnants of whatever it was she had knocked over in her earlier scramble to reach the mirror. “I can't wait either! I have so much to show you! And when we make supper, you won’t even have to get the spices for me; I can do it on my own now, without even standing on a chair!”

Killian affected an air of skeptical disbelief, squashing a pang at the reminder of how much time had already been lost. “You must be joking. Even the Island Vanilla?”

“If I stand on tiptoes.” Laughing at his exaggerated doubt, she got to her feet. “Watch; I’ll show you right now!”

Another loud clatter nearly drowned out her words, and she froze, a hint of guilt crossing her face before she became the picture of innocence. “Erm, when did you say you were coming?”

Killian stole a glance at Mandible, then answered,

“Probably not for another few weeks, Starfish. I’ll call again when I’m close.”

She nodded and returned carefully to her chair. “Are you very far away?”

“Only physically, love.”

“It almost feels… how will I know this is real? What if I’m only dreaming this conversation?”

Alice looked so concerned that Killian had to restrain himself from the completely useless urge to brush the hair back from her image’s face. 

“Then you call me. Anytime, day or night. I’ll keep this mirror to hand at all times, I promise.”

“And be more careful with it this time?” Alice smirked, and Killian chuckled ruefully.

“Aye. That too.”

By this time, Puzzle had slipped away to resume her game, with Favor close behind, and only Mandible remained to keep an eye on his patient. Alice seemed to sense Killian’s flagging stamina and flashed him a wistful smile.

“I wish you were here now.”

“As do I.” He watched her reflection for a moment, memorizing once again the image he kept always in his heart. “I love you, Alice. More than all the stars in the sky.”

“I love you too, Papa. More than the whole entire universe!”

“Oh, surely not as much as all that,” he teased. “Even near-perfect former pirate captains must have some limit to their worth.”

“I don’t know about all the others. But my papa doesn’t. If there are universes beyond ours, then I would love you even more than that.”

Aching heart so full he could hardly stand it, Killian relented. “Likewise, darling. To the end of time. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

Alice must have been similarly overcome, for she only nodded. And though Killian wished he could keep the connection going forever, he knew he needed rest if he were to tackle the journey home anytime soon.

“Goodbye, Starfish.”

“Bye, Papa. Please thank all of your monkey friends for me.”

“I will. Most definitely.”

Satisfied, Alice gave him a small wave, which he responded to with a nod and as warm a smile as he could muster. Then he carefully turned the mirror over in his lap, severing its link, and wrapped it gently in its goatskin packaging.

“You must be very proud of her,” Mandible commented, and Killian forced his answer through a sizable lump in his throat.

“Aye. She is incredible, despite my influence.”

The healer came near and offered to carry the mirror, which Killian allowed with only the slightest hesitation. He wouldn’t put it past Alice to call back in five minutes, holding him to his word and checking on the reality of the conversation they’d just had. But he certainly didn’t trust it to his bandaged hand at present. 

With the mirror safely in Mandible’s care, Killian got up slowly, groaning and looking forward to a nap. And as it turned out, despite his slow pace and the length of time it took to get settled back into his alcove, Alice managed to hold off on the expected call back until the mirror was once again squarely in Killian’s possession.

[starboy-whump]

an absolute Situation last Wednesday for my Whump Enjoyer Self.

was starting my walk (about a half hour) home from college when, looking down at my shirt, I noticed that I had managed to stain the front with red chalk dust. It had already been drizzling a bit, so the red stain, in a rough oval shape with a few blots scattered around it, was well set into the light green fabric. I'd pulled an all-nighter the previous night (who the FUCK. gives 50 PAGES OF READING on the 2ND WEEK OF THE SEMESTER) so I was already feeling peaky, lightheaded, and exhausted, as well as really sore from a bunch of heavy lifting in Stagecraft on Tuesday. All in all, I was beat to shit and ready to go home, crawl into bed and Think Whumpy Thoughts all evening. So, seeing the perfectly-harmless-irl, clearly-just-chalk red stain across my lower abdomen gave me absolute shrimp emotions.

and then. it got better. I knew the temperatures were forecasted to drop that night, but even before I left campus I noticed that it was getting bitter and (in a rarity for my area) starting to spit rain. what I did NOT expect was for the temperature to drop so quickly that my hands went numb as I walked home, at the same time as a torrent of freezing rain and wind swept in.

so I'm walking home for a half hour, the cold and rains soaking my Dean Winchester Cosplay-Accurate Leather Coat (also a regular winter coat for me- actually warm when layered right, I just didnt bother that day bc I thought it would stay warm out), hair slicked to my forehead, rubbing my hands to keep them from going numb, with a massive red stain on my shirt.

like?????

okay????? whump daydreams come to life much????

anyway, 100% treated myself to some self-indulgent whump rp with my spn hunter's kit props (note to self: get better first-aid prop stuff??? tf??? cmon man you're slacking on this) when I did get back.

.....I do not understand why this is how my brain works......

[ao3feed-sidlink]

Breathe

Breathe

by godtier1

When Sidon asks Link to take a trip together, Link is all too happy to oblige in the interest of spending some quality time with his closest friend. However, he doesn’t foresee the dangers in the forecast, and when Sidon’s life is on the line he will be forced to face his own feelings about what their relationship truly means to him.

Words: 3441, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Sidon (Legend of Zelda), Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda (Legend of Zelda)

Relationships: Link/Sidon (Legend of Zelda)

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Misunderstandings, Blood and Injury, Happy Ending

From https://ift.tt/O7Pj6bd https://archiveofourown.org/works/47562496

[themculibrary]

Angst (2) Masterlist

part one

and you needed someone to show you the way (ao3) - SailorChibi bucky/steve/tony T, 24k

Summary: Tony knows what the team really thinks of him. It's a delicate balance: they tolerate him because of his money and his toys, and he gets to stay on the team and fight with them. He's okay with that. So long as he hides the fact that Steve's and Bucky's names are written on his skin in the most embarrassing act of one-sided love affection ever, everything will be fine.

It just figures that a fantastically stupid villain, a kidnapping plot and a video camera will bring Tony's well-kept secret out into the open.

deception, fear and redemption (ao3) - Anchanee pepper/tony, loki/tony, clint/natasha, loki/pepper/tony E, 121k

Summary: “My brother claims, that you Man of Iron, forced yourself on him during your time alone in these rooms and that you sired his offspring.”

“What?”

diamonds do not equal love (but they sure mean something) (ao3) - AngeNoir OT6 E, 22k

Summary: Tony’s still not always sure how they all fell out like this. Well, okay, it isn’t like he’s completely clueless, he’s always very aware of sex, in all its forms and manipulations, going on around him and with him.

But Tony had to be blind not to notice the trinkets that Steve and Bruce were sporting.

In a world where omegas are given courting gifts of jewelry when alphas or betas or other omegas want to have sex with them, the media, the newspapers, and talk show hosts always make dismissive and disgusted remarks about how Tony Stark sleeps with so many people and yet refuses to wear any of their jewelry in public. Self-centered and arrogant, some say, while others whisper that, with his wealth, Tony really shouldn’t be asking for gifts in the first place. Even with all the speculation about how rich and how decadent Tony’s jewelry collection must be, however, no one’s ever seen it.

Because Tony… Tony doesn’t have a collection at all.

Dissonance (ao3) - stuckybarnes peter/wade M, 121k

Summary: Wherein Deadpool is reluctantly hired to protect Peter Parker from an organization out to hunt him, with varying success on both ends and quite a lot of feelings, revelations, and identity crises.

Drowning in Demons (And Learning to Breathe) (ao3) - ariverofthings, PS_NoThanks pepper/tony T, 244k

Summary: The oh-so-overdone HYDRA Peter trope that literally no one asked for, but we delivered anyway. Featuring shameless Peter whump, way too much angst to be healthy, and a bucketload of Irondad and Spiderson fluff.

Endgame (ao3) - YunaYamiMouto tony/stephen T, 196k

Summary: The rouge Avengers are pardoned under the influence of King T'Challa and it is up to Tony to 'welcome' them back. But as he and his new team are at the private airport, an unexpected fight breaks loose and the fate of the whole universe is changed when a wizard places himself as Tony Stark's protector.

feeling hot, hot hot (ao3) - turtle_bean T, 5k

Summary: "Good morning, Peter. It is currently 9:24 in the morning. Today's forecast has a low of 80 degrees and a high of 102."

--

or, peter's family has had five years without him. that isn't something he can just walk off, quite literally.

Five people who discover Peters autism diagnosis (ao3) - Dorthea G, 4k

Summary: “Hey, man.” Peter greets as softly as he can, his voice sounding like a broken and hollow. Yet the volume is blown out of proportion. “That was scary” he comments, but really, he means that this is scary. Hearing everything. The heartbeat of every Avenger, every breath, every step, every car and plane, and muscle tightening and relaxing as normal human function continues.

“You’re done, all right?” Mr. Stark says sternly above him. Peter wants to agree and almost nods. Then thinks better of it. If he’s down… weak and small, injured, overwhelmed, will Mr. Stark then ever talk to him again? He fights it.

Mr. Stark takes off, leaving the argument there. Peter doesn’t have a choice in the matter. The vibrations echo through his arms, as the suit flies away. Peter wants to cry.

Or…

Five people who discover Peters autism diagnosis, and the one who already knew.

I missed you (ao3) - DarkKitty1208 tony/stephen G, 4k

Summary: What he pulled out was nothing close to his expectations. A single piece of cloth, likely ripped off of Stephen’s ridiculous wizard get-up, but it wasn’t just that. Blood splattered and seeped into it, a unique blend of the blue in his robes with a heavy tint of red, the smell coming out of it leaving him sick to the stomach.

Proprietary Information (ao3) - notlucy steve/bucky E, 85k

Summary: Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Return Me Home (ao3) - Alia_JuneBug E, 88k

Summary: Aunt May is dead. One drunk driver and Peter Parker is officially alone in life.

He's too numb to be anything other than resigned when he's placed in a Catholic Home for Boys. And he's not Catholic, but he's pretty sure the Fathers aren't supposed to be as cruel as the ones that run this home.

It's in this hell that Peter befriends the other boys in the care, including one Harley Keener, a sarcastic southener who shares an affinity for science. And so it's not even Peter's fault that he starts to teach the other boys how to code. They asked him to. And so what if the first thing they do is hack into Tony Stark's website. They aren't going to change anything.

Tony Stark is not a father. He never will be a father, and the sooner Pepper admits that the better they all will be.

However on a search for a new design to highlight at one of his charity galas, he stumbles across this random kid's old science project. Some dorky teen named Peter Parker. So naturally he just wants to talk to the kid. That's it. Nothing more.

smash that like button (ao3) - turtle_bean mj/peter T, 12k

Summary: Footsteps thud softly through the various speakers and Tony stiffens. Someone’s coming.

Right on cue, something is shoved into the frame by a pair of gloved hands; it hits the ground with a loud thud and an unpleasant cracking noise. No, not something, Tony realizes, as they plant their hands on the ground and push themselves up. Someone.

The body groans and turns to face the camera, and Tony stumbles backward, clutching his hand to his heart as if to steady it.

Not someone. Peter.

--

or, peter's identity is revealed during a live broadcast of his torture.

Survivors of the Wreck of Time (ao3) - amethyst-noir (Arbonne) tony/stephen T, 16k

Summary: Stephen had been in love with Tony Stark for so long, and through so many different timelines, that the feeling had become a fixed part of his being, something that was just there, fully intertwined with his very soul. Something that was treasured, something that gave him strength and comfort when he needed it, something he held close to his heart without even consciously being aware of it.

(Sometimes a timeline has to bend and twist to make things that are supposed to be happen.)

The Best Revenge (ao3) - SailorChibi T, 24k

Summary: Stephen Strange saves Tony from freezing to death in Siberia. That one action changes everything, much to the horror of one Steve Rogers.

The Crack in My Voice (ao3) - HappyJuicyfruit M, 26k

Summary: Peter didn’t know what else to say, “I don’t want to go in there, May.”

May sighed, brushed his hair off his forehand with a shaking hand. “I know that it’s weird. I know you came back from the Snap and I had a whole new life, I had a whole new husband, but it will be okay, Peter. It will just take some more time. You’ll get used to it eventually, I promise.”

Then she left, she walked inside and barely waited for him at the door.

“May, please,” Peter followed after her into the elevator. “Maybe we could- maybe we could go somewhere where they can get you some help too. Maybe Mr. Stark can-”

“Peter, we have talked about Tony Stark,” May turned on him, her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going anywhere near that man, I made myself very clear.”

Peter sucked in a breath. “But May-”

The elevators doors dinged open, and May walked out. She didn’t look back again. She walked into the apartment, into the kitchen, and into a bottle of wine.

these scars haunt me (ao3) - awesome_goddess_of_mischief tony/t’challa M, 11k

Summary: When Wakanda entered the world, new soulmate bonds were discovered. One of which between their king and an American omega. It isn’t until the omega arrives that they realise how badly he has been treated…

“All T'challa knew, was that if his omega had been happy and healthy there wouldn’t be a need for apologies.”

the sound of your voice (ao3) - avintagekiss24 steve/bucky, steve/sam E, 18k

Summary: The memory starts to fade away as the fog in Bucky’s brain starts to dissipate. He grunts softly as his body pains start to break through his subconscious. He rolls his head slowly as he swallows, more pain ripping through him at the feeling of his dry, scratchy throat. He tries to open his eyes, but the blinding light from above makes him slam them shut again. He goes to sit up, but his body gives up, not finding the strength.

took my love, took it down (ao3) - LaughsAtThunder steve/bucky E, 31k

Summary: The problem, Bucky thinks now that he has most of his memories back, is that his whole entire world has always revolved around Steve Rogers. Steve has been always been half of Bucky’s identity. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ wingman. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ teammate. And now, well, now Steve had other people to fill those positions. And of course, of course he’d always been a little bit in love with Steve. So when he overhears Steve telling Natasha that he’s finally found someone he’d like to date, someone with similar life experience, Bucky clings blindly to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Steve is talking about him.

war, children (ao3) - Nonymos steve/bucky E, 106k

Summary: After Bucky was released from the hospital, it only took him a couple of weeks to give up on himself. Difficult to believe in any kind of future when the simple act of staying alive was almost too big an effort.

Out the frosted window, across the street, there was a tiny homeless guy burrowing under an awning.

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood (ao3) - xxx_cat_xxx T, 13k

Summary: The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t.

While Tony embarks on a painful and frustrating recovery, he wrestles with the fear that he’s no longer capable of caring for his family. Meanwhile, Peter tries to find his place in a world that just doesn’t feel like his own anymore.

[physsting]

A Cruel Prank

CW: Exposure, environmental whump, unnamed whumpee, whumpee death (fade to black, left ambiguous)

1k words, lemme know if anything else needs tagged! Written for @amonthofwhump 's March Whump-a-Thon!

Whumpee zipped up his pants and started the couple minute trek back to the campsite from the bathrooms. It was his first real camping trip -- the one night ones as a kid that ended with no fire and a lot of swearing didn't count -- and he was a little surprised at who he was taking it with. This group of kids practically ruled his college. Their parents bought the salaries for half the professors and skated through their classes with ease. Whumpee, well, he was on a scholarship he'd earned in Science Olympiads.

He really couldn't believe his luck. He'd come up to their table in the lunch hall expecting to be laughed off, and instead they'd invited him on a trip! Sure, it'd been a little awkward so far, they'd talked over him a lot, but he was certain things would turn around today.

The campsite was quiet when Whumpee returned. He'd left Friend making coffee on the fire, but now the fire was kicked out and Friend nowhere to be seen. No matter, she probably also ran to the bathroom. A different bathroom that the one he'd just been at. He looked around for the lighter but couldn't find it, and figured she must have set it in her tent to keep it dry. He'd simply wait next to the fire in his pajamas for her or someone to come out. Everything was normal.

"Hey, Whumpee! How's it going?" Friend laughed on the other line. Other laughing voices were quickly stifled in the background.

Several minutes later, Friend hadn't returned. No one in any of the other tents had stirred either. Whumpee had pulled out his phone and began playing games on it, not worrying about the battery. He wasn't a picture person anyway. It did allow him to count up the time. 10 minutes…then 20…then 30… and still no one had come.

Whumpee got up and circled the tents, looking inside for the outlines of sleeping forms. There weren't any. Whumpee's heart sank, memories of being left behind on field trips flooding his brain. He pulled out his phone again and dialed a number. It rang several times before someone picked up.

"Um, not great. Where are you guys?"

"Chill out dude! We just ran into town for a few things, we should be back in a couple hours."

"Hours?"

"You'll be fine! Get close to nature!" Friend laughed. Whumpee spluttered.

"You can't just leave me-"

"Woops, sorry, bad connection, gotta go!"

The phone clicked off. Whumpee stared down at it in his hand. He could yell. He could scream. He could drop kick it into the woods. Instead he tucked it into his pocket and went to get dressed.

The sun rose into the sky and there was no sign of Friend's Jeep. The area was remote, with no other campers nearby. Whumpee played on his phone until the battery reached 20%. He sighed and tucked it into his pocket. The chargers were all run off of the car's battery. He took a walk around the grounds of the campsite and eventually sat down to wait by the campfire again.

The sun began to travel down the sky and the temperature began to dip. Clouds formed, dark and angry. Whumpee hugged his coat around himself and pulled out his phone.

"Are you coming back yet?"

"Pssh, we're almost ready to head back, don't get your pants in a twist."

"Its getting cold up here, I think it might snow."

"It's not supposed to snow today, don't be a baby, Whumpee." Friend clicked off the line without saying goodbye and Whumpee stared angrily down at his phone again. 10%.

Despite the forecast not calling for snow, all of the others had taken their winter coats with them. The firestarter was in the back of the jeep with the wood. Whumpee sat down next to the dead fire and pulled his coat tighter around him. Big flakes of snow began to fall. Whumpee retreated inside his shitty $30 tent he'd bought just for the trip.

It was fine. It was fine. The others would be coming back soon, he'd be pissed at them, and they'd all go back home and he'd never talk to them again. No need to call anybody. He began to shiver and pulled out his phone again.

"Are you guys almost here?"

"No, we're still two hours out. The roads got real bad out of nowhere."

"Two hours? It's really cold up here!"

"We can't be there any faster, Whumpee!"

Whumpee clicked off the phone and nearly threw it in frustration. It was on 7%. He stared at it for a second, thumb nearly on the emergency dial button, before putting it away. Two hours wasn't a lot. It would suck, but he'd survive. No need to bother anyone from emergency services about a stupid, stupid prank.

A couple minutes later, Whumpee was shivering violently. His teeth were chattering. The tent was doing little to keep the wind out. His toes were long since numb in his sneakers and his fingers down to the second knuckle were going the same way. He pulled out his phone and hit the emergency dial button.

"Thank you for calling kssshhh what is the khsss of your emergency?" The operator chirped through a cloud of static. Whumpee cursed not getting the roaming package.

"I'm - I'm stuck on the mountain, my friends left me."

"Please rep - ksshh, you sai- ksssh- 're stuck?"

"Yes! Yes I'm on the mountain, I can't get down and its really cold!"

"Underst- ksssssh - we have - kssh - cation but - ksssh - take -kssssh- pter - kssh- hours to get - kssh- you."

"What?"

"It'll take - kssh - rs to get -kssssh, but hold - kssssssh - coming."

Whumpee's phone shut down. He stared at it for a several seconds before hurling it against the side of the tent. A couple hours either way. Whumpee started to panic. He'd never make it, he'd never make hours. Maybe the helicopter would be able to save him once they got here, but how specific was the location? How long would it take them to get him to a hospital? How long until he died?

His breaths came out in rapid huffs. He wanted to scream and cry and tear everything apart, his shitty tent with his two shitty blankets and his shitty coat and shitty phone that couldn't hold a goddamn charge. He unzipped the tent and dove outside.

He immediately regretted it, all of the warmth trapped by the tent immediately dissipated and the wind sapped all of the residual warmth from his core. He let out a guttural cry and went back inside the tent. It was freezing but at least it wasn't windy. He curled up and pulled the blanket tight over him, hoping for a swift rescue.

His shaking began to subside, which he hoped was a good sign but knew was bad. He was so tired. His head seemed magnetized to the ground, every push to get up met with an equal force pulling him down. He couldn't fall asleep. He knew people who fell asleep in the cold never woke up. But he was so tired.

Tears streaming silently down his cheeks, without even the energy to sob, he said his goodbyes to his family and finally slipped into the warm void of sleep.

A couple minutes later, the sound of helicopter blades beat against the sides of the mountains.

[razrgrl]

It’s called a “Sugar Snow.”

I first read about "sugar snow" in Little House in the Big Woods. There the information sat for decades... until I heard it again a couple of days ago while I was chatting with the guy who does handyman stuff for me sometimes.

"Did you hear about the snow coming?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sounds like it's going to be a doozy."

"Should be a good sugar snow," he said.

Aa weather forecaster named Ellen had a lovely little definition: A sugar snow is "a heavy, spring snow that insulates the bases of the sugar maple trees from the deep freeze of winter while simultaneously keeping the forest cool enough to prevent early leafing."

That means more maple syrup!

The maple syrup event announcements have been happening for a little over a week now so the local "sugaring" is under way. The days are in the 40s and the nights are in the 20s. This storm is give me, in town, about 10 inches today. Those people "at elevation" (like the ski resorts) are looking to see about two feet of heavy, wet snow out of this storm.

This part of New England has pretty much shut down for the day (though I have to keep working as long as the Internet connection holds out). Most of the businesses in town have put up notices that they are opening late, or not at all. I don't expect to get mail today. As many people as can are just holing up in their houses today and letting the snowplows get on with it.

As long as the power holds out, it should be a lovely day for staring out the window.

The most exciting part so far has been hearing the avalanche come off my New England-angled pitched roof. It's a gentle swooshing sound like fabric moving across a piece of unpolished wood (only really big)... and then a huge WHUMP when the snow hits the ground.

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

All of This Turbulence Wasn't Forecasted

by Brainfullofstatic

It was more than kindness, however, that kept Vi by Caitlyn’s side; the former was lost, caught between two warring worlds in a manner that could not be rectified. She had no home in Zaun, where Silco’s old goons would stop at nothing to fetch the pride of her head on a spike. Aside from Caitlyn, she was valued as a tool rather than a human, of no use when her fists weren’t swinging in Piltover’s favour. Though Vi had found a role, a purpose, it was not one she felt desire or even pride for; no, it was a role she’d shouldered out of necessity, no matter her personal feelings about the matter. She’d let go of the childish wish for a family long gone and resigned herself to avenging the integrity of Caitlyn’s, no matter how it pained her. Perhaps, between the two of them, Vi was the one who’d lost herself the most.

Words: 5005, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Whump, Vi Whump (League of Legends), Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Vi Needs Therapy (League of Legends), Vi Needs a Break (League of Legends), all of those tags apply my poor baby, Caitlyn Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Soft Vi (League of Legends), Soft Caitlyn (League of Legends), POV Caitlyn (League of Legends), tics, Tourette's Syndrome, Anxious tics, I wish there were more tags for tics that aren't tourette's :(, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Spoilers, Season 2 spoilers, You Have Been Warned, Jinx haunts this fic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Caitlyn and Vi are in Love (League of Legends), Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fairly minor but its there, Nightmares, Minor Character Death

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’