#whumptober 2k19

[twofacedbelief]

Ao3 Links: WhumpTober series Local Cryptids Belief/Deception

Day 1: Shaky Hands Warnings: Some suicidal ideation

Two days. Two days of no sleep, two days of energy drinks and black coffee. He can’t remember when his body last got any solids. It’s his own fault, of course, because it’s always his own fault. It’s his own fault that he can’t sleep, his own fault that nightmares and sleep paralysis haunt him, his own fault that he has to push his body to the point of exhaustion just to get some rest.

He’s wandering through the streets on autopilot, not caring that a car could come driving towards him at any moment. It’s what… 1 am? 2 am? It’s late, so he doesn’t expect to be run over by a car. He would probably welcome it, with how his week has been going. Maybe he’ll just wander the streets the whole night, instead of trying to find somewhere to get his caffeine fix. He digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie as if that will warm them. The night air is cold, and he’s not dressed for it.

If a car doesn’t kill him, maybe pneumonia will. Except he doesn’t actually want to die.

There’s a lit shop that catches his attention. He can just barely make out the sign - Fluidi-Tea? They must sell coffee. Hoping that the shop is actually open and the lights weren’t just forgotten, he walks towards it. He can see a rainbow flag through the window, hanging on the wall. He stumbles a bit over his own feet in surprise and then walks faster. A gay-friendly coffee shop? That’s the first good thing to happen to this town.

Virgil pushes the door open. There’s no bell chime, which is just another point in favour of the coffee shop. Assuming the coffee tastes good, this is officially his new favourite place. Especially since it’s open at whatever ungodly hour it is, on a weeknight. He pushes his hood down to appear friendlier and stumble his way to the counter.

“What can I get you, babe?” the barista asks. Virgil takes a moment to take in their appearance.

Sunglasses hide the person’s eyes, but they have shoulder-length mauve hair and skin paler even than his own. They’re wearing a black leather jacket over a neon blue crop top with a geometric pattern, paired with black metallic spandex leggings. In short, they look absolutely gorgeous and his heart skips a beat. It might be because of the amount of caffeine in his bloodstream. His hands are shaking, where they’re hovering awkwardly over the counter. He thinks he might be in love if this is what love feels like.

“Babe?” the barista prompts. Virgil must have been staring. He blinks slowly and swallows.

“Uh… Marry me?” is what comes out of his mouth, and Virgil wants to smack himself, that was so stupid, why is he so stupid-

“Yeah, okay.”

Wait. What?

“Are you just humouring me because you think I’m drunk?” Virgil questions because he can’t help himself. This might be a hallucination because it’s too good to be true, and realistically that could happen considering he has been awake for two days.

“I mean, I want a ring if we’re doing this, but I’m saying yes.”

“Okay.”

“So, did you want a coffee or? It’s on the house.”

Virgil doesn’t completely know what’s going on, but he accepts the free black coffee. He doesn’t get the barista’s name, and he doesn’t give his own. When he gets home later, he crashes on his sofa for fifteen hours. But the next day, he will come back with a ring, and the barista will still want to marry him.

[number1120]

23: Blood Lost

*A gift for @10th-no-name-person

Lived

“Shh, shh, bitte, mien Leben,” his voice was soft as he leaned Henrik’s back against the wall. “I’ll find someone!--”

“N-nein,” he coughed, grasping Anti by the wrist. “Stay with me.” There were eight-feathered-knives sticking in his chest. One moment, he’s fighting one of Marvin’s shadows then the next Henrik was there, standing in shock. “Anthony, stay.” Blood trickled from the corner of his lips. “Please, stay?”

Anti bit his lip as he leaned his head against his. He cuffed his checks and shook his head. “No,” he mummered. “No; I can’t. I--”

“Yes, you can,” he breathed. He felt his heart soften and slow. The hour glass of his time was slipping through the cracks, and he could never get any of it back. He had a good life while it lasted. He had his daughter in his life. His brothers were together for once. His wife wanted to get back together. Even with the ups and downs, Henrik lived; he was alive and he loved it! 

“You can do” he breathed out, his eyes rolling in a heavy fog. He could feel the blood dripping from his chest and down his shirt. “You can live,” he grunted. There are so many things he wants to say to his brother. “You can live for me.” 

“And you’ll be with me, ja?” Anti shook him. “Right next to me!” Fat tears fell from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. 

One last look was his good bye.

[sassydefendorflower]

Whumptober Day 3: Delirium

Hiya! Here for Day 3! 

Fandom: DC, Grayson (Comics)

Character: Dick Grayson

This story is set during the Grayson run and almost all of the dialog comes directly from Grayson Issue #5. If you are not familiar with this issue no problem. Here is a short context: Dick Grayson is a Spy and is send (with some colleges) to retrieve something called the Heart. They figure out the Heart is inside a baby but not before crash landing and getting stranded in the desert without any way to contact their allies. They decide to walk to the next city which is 10 days by foot. Dick's colleges get left behind pretty quickly. It's only him and the baby. And they go on!

Have fun!

Masterlist

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(Read on AO3 <- it’s in Past Tense on there)

It’s Day 9. 

They - he - lost Helena on Day 3. Midnighter had called it quits two days ago.

It is only him now. Him and the baby, the heart, and the desert. 

The sun is only starting to rise and sweat already runs down his scorched body. Where the water comes from, he has no idea. 

It had been 36 hours since he drank the last of it. And seven days of inadequate water intake before that. If he doesn’t get some sort of fluids in him in the next few hours, his organs are going to fail. One after the other.

He will be dead before nightfall. 

But if he is dead, she is dead. And she is not dead.

The baby has to survive. 

And Grayson will make sure of that. 

Call it idiocracy or stubbornness or pure helpless heroics (and people do call it exactly that. People like M and Tiger and Helena. People without faith. No, people without the special kind of hope that had kept Dick running when he was eight and his parents died. How fortunate that Grayson is in the possession of exactly that kind of hope.)

He takes another step forward. How? He does not know. There are very few things he knows right now. He can make a list. It would be very short:

1. Keep walking

2. Keep the baby alive

3. Don’t die

4. Keep walking

That is about it.  

His boot catches on something. When he looks down, the only thing he sees is sand. So much sand. Sand that comes closer to his face at an alarming rate. 

It hurts when his face makes contact with the hostile ground. The baby is save against his chest. At least he hopes so. He must have slipped. 

Or maybe it is his mind that is slipping because the next thing he knows the sun has almost reached its highest point and Grayson is still on the ground slowly being eaten by dunes. 

He has to get a grip.

He has to save her.

The heart. 

Because what is humanity without its heart? What is he without it? Certainly not Dick Grayson. 

And boy does he try. Constantly. But it is easier to just be Grayson while scurrying the world as Agent 37. Nobody needs Dick here. 

Dick is at home between his brothers. Dick is Gotham, Blüdhaven, the Circus. Grayson is Spyral, Betrayal, and this desert he is not going to die in.

He just has to keep going. He is good at that.

It is a slow process, trying to get up again. His body wants to lean sideways, wants to become one with the sand but he won’t let it. 

He has to keep moving. So he does.

There is movement in his arms. The baby. Her intelligent brown eyes catch his. And again he knows, that he is doing this for her. The heart. The Baby. Human life. Hope. 

“So, okay, I get Bruce... Batman... Batman... out of the tree, right? But the trees are still coming after us, crawling and... and walking... and then... then there’s like this purple monster...”

His voice catches. He wants to cough, no, he wants to feel liquid run down his dried out throat. Just the idea of water makes his knees weak. 

But no.

He keeps walking. And talking.

Is it for the baby? Is it for him? Is it to make sure he can take another step?

Who knows.

“It’s huge and it’s got like four arms and teeth. And pink... pink triangle eyes all... coming together. And we’re running from it, and we have to swing on a tree across a ditch...”

Grayson remembers that dream. Of course he does, he wouldn’t tell her if he didn’t. But still, even a fake memory of him and Batman, something that never ever happened but could have, makes his heart ache.

He misses his mentor. His weird uncle-dad hybrid of a father figure. His home.

If he had any water left to spare, Grayson thinks he might cry. But he doesn’t. So he keeps talking:

“And we want the purple monster to follow us, to fall in the ditch. But it won’t come. And it starts throwing rocks. And if it doesn’t follow us we’re going to die.So I rush up to the edge. Right on the edge of the fall. And I... and I shout: Come on Big Boy! I am still waiting for you! And the monster gets mad. And he comes. And he falls.”

And so does he. Almost. He balances it out at the last moment. For a moment he just stops. Takes a deep breath. Would he have gotten up again if he fell right now? No, probably not.

The baby squirms again. He gave her the last of the baby formula this morning. The rest water is for her. He hopes it is enough. It has to be enough. He doesn’t know what to do if it isn’t. 

“It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright”

Somewhere along the way his soothing words dried up alongside the rest of him.

But he can still walk. Nothing is over yet.

He is still alive. And as long as he’s alive, she’s alive.

So he keeps walking.

“And we win. But then there were... rocks... rocks everywhere”

The desert is a giant expanse in front of him. All he can see is sand and the horribly blue sky. All he can feel is thirst. His vision is swimming... hah, swimming. What wouldn’t he give for a nice bath right about now?

But that was not what he was thinking about, was it?

No.

Keep walking. Keep talking.

“And a rock fell... it fell... on... it fell on me. And the night was... was ending... but it was all... all dark”

Nightfall came. 

“But you got... got to forget about the rocks, okay? Promise me that, to forget that”

Why was he even talking about the rocks? The rocks are unimportant. Walking is important. Keeping her alive is important. Not dying is important (but Grayson is no longer sure if he can keep that one).

“You’re too little. You don’t have to worry about the rocks.”

No, the rocks are unimportant.

Maybe he should stop talking about them?

“You only have to... you just remember. Sometimes you stand on the edge. And there’s a monster on the other side...”

Grayson falls. He doesn’t know if his legs just stopped or if his feet slipped but one moment he’s walking into the approaching night and the next he’s kneeling in the sand of a desert, the baby cradled against his chest.

“And you tell him... you just tell that monster: Come on... come on, Big Boy! I’m still waiting for you!”

It seems unnecessarily important to him to finish that story. But he does. 

His chest heaves with every breath he takes. There is darkness at the edge of his vision and he can’t be sure if its his slow death or the perfekt silkiness of a dessert night. He just knows that darkness is coming.

The baby, the heart, it starts fusing again. And he wants to reassure her, tell her everything is going to be fine, but his voice breaks before he even opens his mouth.

“Huh...”

There are no words left in him. He is all dried out. Literally and figuratively. Hah! Jason would be proud of him. So would Tim.

And he misses his family. God, does he miss them.

And in that moment Grayson breaks away and all that is left is Dick. Dick, dying, with a baby in his arms in a dessert without rescue in sight. Alone. 

It hurts to swallow, it had hurt for a while now, but he can’t ignore it any longer. Neither the nausea that has more to do with failing organs than it has with bad food. Or the lack there off. 

Grayson knew his chances but he looked at them coldly. Dick knows his chances and he knows that even if he is rescued now, they are still low.

He just wishes he could make sure the baby is safe. 

Scratch that. He wishes for his family, for coming home, for survival, for a bath and a gazillion liters of water. But most of all, he wishes for the Heart to be safe.

His callused hand trails along her small head. So fragile. So young. 

The only thing he can do now is hope.

It is night when he slips away. And it is morning, when he doesn’t wake up.

.

.

.

“Maram! Maram! Come bring the phone!”   

[queenofdenest]

Prompt: 8. stab wound Series: unofficial (and very outdated) whumptober 2k19 Fandom: Hetalia. Warnings/Tags: mild descriptions of injuries, blood, mentions of death Characters: APH Prus.sia, APH Liv.onia Pairings: PruLiv Summary: Johannes receives a wound, he ignores it. [part character study, prequel to prompt no 3. infection]

A/N: I love my OCs, I swear I do - just ignore the fact that they're often messed up and getting stabbed. Also, the more I write this ship, the more I just love it??? even though I know that they don't get a happy ending; I mean, I've written their ending, it's shitty. Anyway, I saw that this prompt was for someone getting stabbed and I knew I was going to stab Johannes so please enjoy this fic of him getting stabbed.

Additional notes at the bottom as always, and like always, they're pretty much longer than the actual fic, sorry about that.

_______________

→

It’s a searing pain, barely paid attention to as the fight wages on. An enemy soldier with a much longer arm span than him and a dagger, piercing pain, and then the human is dead and Johannes is pressing his right hand against the wound before turning back to the fight. Surely, somewhere back in his mind said, he would be healed before the end of the fight as he did with most of the injuries he received on the battlefield.

It didn’t though.

His skin was still bleeding as he surveyed the lands, sky blue eyes scanning around for his other half. He pressed his right hand against it once more, as if he was willing it to close; it may have lessened the blood, but it was still there, still hot and sticky against his hand; still a mess of torn skin and clothing. Pursed lips, narrowed eyes and he went back to his search for Gilbert.

Most nations would look to their soldiers first, but not him – he was an oddity in that sense, slightly detached from his people in a way he knew the others weren’t. His first focus after every fight was always Gilbert. The other nation was his most precious; the one person in all the lands that cared about him in such ways.

Pale skin and pale hair stood from the ground, a muttered Germanic word being shouted as he pushed a body off of him.

Johannes felt a smile on his face. He called out a yell for his men to gather themselves before he rushed over to his fellow nation. They always stayed behind after fights; it allowed them to have moments together – short stolen moments, but moments nonetheless.

The pain returned with a force though as Gilbert rushed to him. The feeling of the other’s hands wrapping around him was the only reason he didn’t collapse right then and there. The gasp that fell from his lips did so unwillingly, the noise nothing more than air being pushed between clenched teeth.

“You’re injured?” Gilbert asked, his voice breaking as if the idea of him being injured was such a terrifying thing.

“Barely a scratch,” He lied. “I’m just exhausted; these crusades have gone on for so long, I miss our beds.”

That was the truth. It felt like every day was just another long walk through places he hardly cared about, trying to either teach them the Word of God or force them to learn and though he found it an honor, he also found it exhausting. He wasn’t like Gilbert, who saw the Gospel of the Lord as the truth; Johannes had been alive for a time longer, his people wanderers – not his, not his, not his– and he had seen a countless amount of religions purport to be the True One.

Of course, none of that mattered as he moved a hand back to the wound when Gilbert moved to go check the men they traveled with. They were the most trusted of all the humans they traveled with; they were blessed with the knowledge of what Gilbert and Johannes was, and had, when they were first being introduced, promised to serve them as if they were personally serving God and his Son.

His wound had slowed to a steady trickle of blood, the skin stayed torn though on the side. It didn’t seem as if the dagger had been poisoned, and though he truly doubted it would be – a backwater town of pagans and blasphemers would not likely have poison – there was always the stray poisonous plants that they could turn into such things. He worried his lip between his teeth, watching with fear as his skin continued to not do what it was supposed to.

He had heard of injuries to nations causing temporary death. Several of the larger Germanic States had spoken about it whenever they passed each other during trading. Johannes had never experienced it. His only experience with death was his mother, and she had taken the body of what she called her husband out on a boat and sailed until she died in her grief against losing him.

She never came back. She represented the same people as he had. Why would he get to come back and not her?

Fear welled uncomfortably in his stomach. His hand pressed against the wound once again, this time harshly. He wanted it to hurt; to remind him he was alive.

“Johannes!” Gilbert’s voice warmed him, the stab wound in his side tossed to the side as he listened to the rest of the words. Few causalities (he didn’t care), the people subdued (again, he barely cared), and an area that wasn’t the woods where they could rest (the only important thing in there).

He nodded his head, making to move forward. The pain pulsed. He wanted to fall to the ground; he’d never done so before, but it felt like something one should do when they felt like what he felt like. But Johannes couldn’t. He was Livonia, he was a nation that never bowed when given the chances – his people might, but never him – falling to the ground would be tantamount to bowing.

An injury from a no named dead man felling him.

As if.

He moved again, the flesh in his stomach pulling as he did so. Red hot pain surged forwards, the wound all but screaming.

Johannes kept his mouth firmly shut as he continued his steps. He would never worry Gilbert like this, never. He’d dress the wound when he had a chance, hide it until it healed properly. Deep breath in, he thought to himself as he forced a smile on his face, making his way to the other nation. It’ll all be okay.

After all, he would be the King of this area soon enough. And kings were too strong to fall.

_______________

Additional Author's Notes: The dagger that stabbed him was poisoned, he's just overconfident that in such a fight as the one he was in, it'd be impossible for the villagers to have any kind of poison.

Anyway, here's a fic with as little basis in history as possible, though as always, I do point out that this time period - when Livonia was "Terra Mariana" - it was a period of constant struggle as the lands owned by the different groups; the Church, the Livonian Order, it's nobility which was mainly secular, fought for supremacy and that is one of the main reasons I have Johannes have such trouble reconciling who he is with his people; because he's being pulled in so many directions.

And since there is not alot of historical accuracy in this, almost everything is head-canons; mostly Johannes' "mother" nation who once represented the people he now does so. She is, as most people who have spent some time on my blog knows, one of the many language-slash-regional personifications that exist in my own personal head-canons [I swear one of these days I will write down my thought process on this - that day is not today, not by a long shot - but one day it will happen] and not really the former representation of Livonia. Instead, she represented the general area and left upon losing her lover. I'll one day tell that story, but honestly, I've been fleshing this shit out since I got into Hetalia and so that's like so many years of conflicting head-canons all with *some* basis in history fighting to be top dog so who knows when that'll ever be.

The biggest - and pretty sure only?? - historical bit is the fact that Livonia was apart of the religious crusades and holy shit was it fucked up. I think my favourite part of reading was about the Archbishop of Riga wanting to convert all the pagans so asked for a retinue of Teutonic Knights - because y'know gotta have that army of soliders for when the nasty little pagans don't agree with you??????????? [can i say what the actual fuck? or is that rude?] Honestly, just !!!!!!!

Anyway, another tidbit of historical information is that Livonia actually did want to be like ruler of the general area they were in - namely the Estonian and Latvian lands - because they were really prosperous lands. The capital of Estonia, Tallinn was once a very very important port city [or so I read somewhere, I think].

[arwenride]

AroAce Keith Masterpost

Valentine’s Day is a struggle for a lot of aromantic and asexual people out there, including me. So I’m making this compilation of my fics that feature aroace Keith in hopes of providing some comfort, or at the very least, distraction. 

Not Another Goddamn Love Story

Picking Up the Pieces

The Ace Arms of Voltron

Dented Armor (Dark)

Don’t Try to Fix Me (I’m Not Broken) (Dark)

If You See Something... (Dark)

Gentron Week 2k19: Two Can Keep a Secret

Gentron Week 2k19: Oh My God They Were Roommates

Gentron Week 2k19: Dressed to Impress

Whumptober 2k19: All the Same in Love and War

Discord Prompts: Heartache 

There’s also an AroAce Keith Zine! I had the honor of participating along with several other talented writers and artists. It’s FREE TO DOWNLOAD as a PDF and as a Heyzine. 

For more AroAce Keith content, check out @justheretobreakthings

[lildevyl]

for the egos ask game! 2, 4, and 21?

2) Which ego is your favorite, and why? Chase! Definitely Chase! IDK, why, but he's very relatable in many ways! I just love him! I know we don't have much to go on but I do love writing about him! And Marvin! I just haven't had the chance to sit down and get back into the game yet with the Egos! Still trying to figure out my own versions of them!

4) Which ego-centric video is your favorite? Ah man that's a tough one! There's Say Goodbye that I really love! I actually did like my own little Whumptober back in 2k19 (or was it 2020?) for that video! Another is of course is Kill JackSepticeye. Is that when Jack went into a coma or after? Was it a video from the future? Was the video a warning from Anti? Another one that is really cool but unfortunately at the time I think I was starting to experience burn out is, Don't Make Eye Contact the video that we got with Marvin! I just didn't get the chance to comb through it for any theories. I might actually do that here! Right now, I'm just trying to take one day at the time.

21) Do you have any WIPS about the egos? If so, what are you making? Oh hell yeah baby! I just need to sit down and go over everything!

There's Septicscape that I'm re-writing. I don't want to go into details so please don't ask, but I just need to re0write that story! It's not going where I want it to and a couple of the writers that were helping me out and said yes to guest staring in it, we . . . had a falling out. Again, please don't ask!

There's also the Untitle.exe that's a Swap!AU that I want to do with it! AntiSepticeye is an Anti-Hero in this one! AntiSepticeye is the Hero of Septic City! Jackieboy Man becomes the Villain (still trying to figure out a Villain name for him, b/c he winds up with Anti's powers, glitching, controlling electronics, blackouts). Marvin is the Time Traveler, so he's JJ and has JJ's powers. JJ is the Magician! He's the one that has the magic! Henrik von Schneeplestein is a Conspiracy Theorist Vloger! He has a YouTube Channel that goes on to explore and experiment with different Conspiracy Theories. Chase is the Good Doctor! And I know what your thinking who's the main Villain? Well, that's DarkSepticeye! Think of him as the Septics version of Darkiplier.

I also, have a couple of guest stars in there as well! @10th-no-name-person guests stars and I have it where she and Robin (Special Effects, Robin's a Superhero as well in this one!) were old partners in crime before Anti helped Robin out. And of course @weirdmixofweirdness is guesting staring too as Nora Weird!

I have a few other ideas that I want to do with the Egos and also maybe some crossover with the Dream SMP Fandom. Like a Superhero AU with them meeting together or something like that! But yeah! I have a ton of ideas! I just haven't had the chance to sit down and start writing them out yet!

I do miss the JSE Community! So, I'm going to try and maybe get back into it! Slowly but surely! But I do miss the Community and talking to you Fiends! Thanks for the ask!

HAPPY CREATING!

[doctordiscord123]

I think you putting your Tumblr stories on AO3 is a great idea! Maybe just put them under an AU or Tumblr request collection. Maybe put them under both labels like you did for Xmas 2k19 and the ego manor?

I was thinking of leaving requests where they are, or maybe adding them to the drabble book eventually, but like, all the Trauma AU fics, and the Animal AU ones and the Whumptober fics I did a while back, plus all the other random stuff I’ve done. Of course I’ll add the AUs to their own series, but yeah! Just to have something for everyone to read while I’m gone

[ao3feed-timdrake]

Replacement

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2puAARE

by Princess_of_the_Pen

Whumptober Day 2 - Explosion

Specifically, Tim was thinking about how’d he managed to do it again. He’d managed to go out and get himself into the exact situation Jason had been in. Well, maybe not the exact same but the components were all there. A rogue (this time Shiva instead of the Joker), a blunt object (a bo staff - his bo staff - instead of a crowbar), and a ticking bomb announcing just how long Tim had left on this earth. Even if the situation that put him here was different, enough was the same that people would notice. People would notice, and people would compare. It was as if Tim was destined to always be exactly where Jason was, leaving Tim to follow too big footprints his feet couldn’t fill, and Jason without a place to be.

Words: 1314, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Whumptober 2k19

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (Mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned)

Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Tim Drake is dying, Beaten nearly to death by Shiva with his own bo staff, And waiting for the bomb to go off and finish him, Hmmm.... beaten and then exploded..., sounds familiar?, Tim feels really guilty about this and a lot of stuff, Jason wouldn't wish this on his worse enemy, except the joker. The joker deserves it

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2puAARE

[ao3feed-narumitsu]

Just This Once

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MaZ2ir

by savegalkissy

[Whimptober day 3: Delirium]

Phoenix wakes up with a bad cold, and a daughter who needs to get to school. Thankfully, he can count on Miles.

Words: 1329, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth, Naruhodou Minuki | Trucy Wright

Relationships: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright

Additional Tags: whumptober 2019, Whumptober, Whump, Sickfic, edgeworth cares and doesnt know how to show it, Mutual Pining, Delirium, Seven Year Gap (Gyakuten Saiban), set whenever tbh, let edgeworth be trucy's dad 2k19, Mild Hurt/Comfort

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MaZ2ir This is an automatic feed of all new stories posted to the Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright tag on AO3. Because of that, it is not guaranteed that Miles and Phoenix are the main characters in the story, nor the only ship. Please verify content upon clicking through to AO3.

[ao3feed-wrightworth]

Just This Once

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MaZ2ir

by savegalkissy

[Whimptober day 3: Delirium]

Phoenix wakes up with a bad cold, and a daughter who needs to get to school. Thankfully, he can count on Miles.

Words: 1329, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth, Naruhodou Minuki | Trucy Wright

Relationships: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright

Additional Tags: whumptober 2019, Whumptober, Whump, Sickfic, edgeworth cares and doesnt know how to show it, Mutual Pining, Delirium, Seven Year Gap (Gyakuten Saiban), set whenever tbh, let edgeworth be trucy's dad 2k19

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MaZ2ir

[twofacedbelief]

Ao3 Links: WhumpTober series Local Cryptids Belief/Deception

Day 14: Tear-stained Warnings: Patton’s black-and-white thinking

Patton watches with a confused smile as Remus tackles Deceit and Virgil into a hug. He doesn’t understand why Deceit would have made them forget that he used to be one of them, used to be good. Why would anyone abandon that? And for what? Remus? That he’s no longer scared of the green creativity doesn’t mean that he has to like or even accept him; his younger self had had the right idea when he sent Remus away. The things that Remus makes Thomas think of are still bad even if Thomas is too good to act on them. The world was so much easier when you could sort things into good and bad. Deceit kept trying to blur that line and it infuriated him.

It had been so good when Virgil wanted nothing to do with the lying side, but with the reveal, something had changed, and Patton has no idea what because he can’t remember. It frustrates him to be left out like this, especially when it concerns the balance of good and bad in Thomas. At least he’s not alone in not knowing; Logan has no memories of the so-called Belief either. Had it only been King that recognized Deceit as such, he would have called it suspicious. He still thinks it’s strange, but Virgil remembers, and Roman… actually, he’s not sure what’s going on with the prince.

Roman has been sitting on the floor since King unfused, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes seemingly stuck on Deceit. The unfortunate group hug has ended, but Remus is clinging to Virgil, and Virgil and Deceit are quietly talking. Thomas is standing with them, probably getting filled in on what’s going on if he were to guess. Patton could interrupt, or continue theorising with Logan… or he could go question Roman. Being fused with Remus for so long couldn’t possibly have done him any good.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton says as he joins Roman on the floor. “You seem a bit floored by everything that’s going on.”

Roman snorts at the pun. It’s first now that Patton notices the redness lingering in his eyes, and how his cheeks have been stained by tears.

“What happened?” he asks softly, reaching out to wipe away tears that have already dried.

“I don’t know how to explain, padre,” Roman sighs. He hasn’t looked away from Deceit even once. “When we were King… We were a completely new person, with his own memories and emotions. And now I’m Roman, but I have those memories, and Remus’ memories, on top of my own. It’s confusing.”

“What’s confusing?”

“Feelings,” Roman complains, and finally turns away from Deceit to meet his eyes. Patton smiles patiently at him. “King loves him, and Remus loves him, and I don’t know what I feel. When he was just Deceit, it was easy to declare him a dark side, but now I have memories of who he was before, and there’s this feeling like he used to be important to me. Every time I try to remember what it was like after the split, there’s this feeling like I’ve forgotten someone and I just know that it must be Deceit. It’s like having a puzzle piece and not finding where it fits even if I know that it belongs.”

“Just because they love them, doesn’t mean that you have to.” Patton points out. It’s the only part of what Roman said that he really understood.

“And I don’t, because I don’t know who he is now, I just think I might know what he used to be,” Roman elaborates. “But I think I could. Love him, that is.”

[number1120]

24: Hidden Injury

*Trying something new*

He left.

He left again and again, over and over--and James was somehow okay with this. This was a game, after all. James would wait for him and his new story to tell; Jackie is always the creative one. He would come home, tell his story, and James would take it like candy on Halloween. James was fine with him going in and out of his life, but forgetting his birthday, dates, or just being there... James was hurting.

Of course, he never showed it to him. He never told him about the countless nights he cried himself to sleep. He never told Jackie that he felt uncomfortable when he holds his hand. He never said a word when he forced a smile across the dinner table or to let Jackie kiss his neck only to leave in the morning, not facing the aftermath. Of course, he kept it hidden from everyone because he didn’t want to be a burden for his dear friends. He didn’t want to be responsible for making them feel gloomy. James stayed the happy one instead because it’s his role, his part, to play on stage for everyone to see. He is a puppet for his own show. If he messes up or shows sadness, it’s his fault and he balls up in his own self-hate that Anti never makes. 

The stage is set, the parts given, and a puppet he acted.

Jackie came home, a new story came out of his mouth, and James forced a happy, forgiving smile to hide his anger. He only showed his compassionate smile and a gentle kiss. He wanted to show how broken and damaged he feels, but he wears a mask for his role, and he has to fulfill it. Jackie kissed him on the head, and it took everything in James not to push him away. They went to bed together and James had to let Jackie hold him. James... James doesn’t like it when people touch him.

At least Jackie’s happy, he thinks as he held a shaky breath. I can’t break that smile of his.

He stays silent and still as he listened to the broken glass in his mind, hurting inside, holding himself by his own strings. He has no master, the puppet, he has himself and the hurt tucked underneath, the pain no one ever seen. This, all of this, from the play to the stage to the acting to the pretending joy on his face, was his world. 

And the puppet plays it so well, so why leave?

He never left.

Puppet. A Happy Puppet. His Own Puppet.

@10th-no-name-person

****************

This is called me opening up through writing. My therapist wanted me to try this and see how everyone reacts to it. She says this is the best way of me dealing with my emotions because it’s hard for me to express them without feeling guilt. So, with that being said:

Asks are open.

[ao3feed-voltronlegendarydefender]

Whumptober 2k19 Collection

read it on the AO3 at Whumptober 2k19 Collection

by SilenceIsGolden15

The oneshot collection for Whumptober 2k19! (Sorry for the wall of tags a lot of stuff goes down in here).

Words: 1224, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: Keith (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Shiro (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Coran (Voltron), Krolia (Voltron), Keith's Wolf (Voltron), Kolivan (Voltron)

Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Krolia (Voltron), Keith & Kolivan (Voltron), Keith & Red Lion (Voltron), Hunk & Keith (Voltron), Allura & Keith (Voltron), Coran & Keith (Voltron)

Additional Tags: Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Aromantic Asexual Keith (Voltron), First Kiss, Bullying, Humiliation, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abandonment, Heat Stroke, Suicidal Thoughts, Child Neglect, Dehydration, Episode: s01e09 Crystal Venom, Blood, Stabbing, Delirium, Near Death Experiences, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Asphyxiation, Unconsciousness, Team as Family, Galra Keith (Voltron), Fantastic Racism, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Protective Krolia (Voltron), Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Telepathic Bond, Adrenaline, Hugs, Exhaustion, Post-Season/Series 02, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, Solitary Confinement, Claustrophobia, Self-Harm, Dissociation, Headaches & Migraines, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Attempted Sexual Assault, Mind Meld, Hostage Situations, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Clone, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Lonely Keith (Voltron), Burns, Infection, Fever, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Sick Keith (Voltron), Post-Episode: s06e05 The Black Paladins, Flashbacks, Forehead Kisses, Interrogation, Torture, Hypothermia, Hair-pulling, Poison, Monsters, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Hallucinations, Platonic Cuddling, Episode: s05e04 Kral Zera, Explosions, Broken Bones, Self-Hatred, Scars, Whipping, Stitches, Vomiting, Drowning, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Quantum Abyss (Voltron), Nightmares, Gunshot Wounds, Sacrifice

read it on the AO3 at Whumptober 2k19 Collection

[queenofdenest]

Prompt: 7. isolation Series: unofficial (and very outdated) whumptober 2k19 Fandom: Hetalia. Warnings/Tags: purple prose. dead dove do not eat: torture, mentions of non-consensual sexual interactions, referenced non-consensual drug use, psychiatric abuse, referenced suicide, mentions of physical beatings. historical (esque) hetalia. Characters: APH Est.onia. Pairings: n/a Summary: [sovi.et era] dissidents are not welcomed in the sov.iet u.nion.

A/N:THIS IS ONE OF MY DARKER FICS, I'M BEGGING YOU TO HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

DID YOU READ THEM?

PROMISE?

OKAY GO READ THEM AGAIN!!!

... I'M TRUSTING YOU NOW.

PROCEED.

Additional Author's Notes: Sorry for the very early & mid 2000's intro there, I just wanted to make sure you all knew what was being put in this fic. Further author notes at the bottom as always.

EXPLANATIONS OF THE WARNINGS: Just want to give a quick rundown of the warnings right here should you want it: estonia is being held in a punitive psychiatric hospital during the soviet union era for the crime of dissidence; there is no scene of torture or drug use or rape or suicide or physical beatings, they are all mentioned in his thoughts as he ruminates. suicide is mentioned in the first paragraph, torture and non-con drug use and psychiatric abuse is mentioned throughout, rape is implied in paragraph 12, 13, 22 & 23 (the last two just barely implied), physical beatings is mentioned in 12, 13, 22, 23, & 27. If any of this causes you any discomfort, please click off the fic, go to this video of callme.kevin being the cutest, and take care of yourselves!!! Anyway, onto the fic!!

The air was stale, the barred window didn’t open – the doctors had said they were terrified he’d jump to his death; as if death would be a freedom. Maybe if he were human like the others in the building, but no, he was immortal, left to live a life that wasn’t even really his own.

Eduard stared at the ceiling, trying to recount in his head how to say I hate you, go die, in all the languages he knew. Of course, he had started with his own language, the forbidden words falling silently from chapped lips over and over again until he had moved to Latvian, Lithuanian, Polish, Danish, Finnish, Swedish, German, Livonian – he had even spoken Russian as he did so, though he had spoken them louder, so the doctors would hear him as he shouted.

They loved hearing him speak Russian.

He abhorred speaking it.

He turned his head, facing the wall instead. It was empty. Blank. A brutalistic architecture meant to break down the spirit as the doctors with their drugs broke down the rest.

A door squeaked from somewhere down the hall. Empty footsteps minded their way downwards, stopping every few seconds to check in with the other patients – prisoners, Eduard thought.

(Estonia, he reminded himself, he is the nation of Estonia, the Republic of Estonia, not the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic, not a piece of the Soviet Union, not a political dissident who needed to be silenced in the eyes of the government)

There were no patients in the building, just unfortunate victims of a society that deemed them dangerous for disagreeing with the general idea of the state of the world; people forced to be pricked by little needles full of dizzying drugs and told they were insane when they were unable to handle it. He could handle it; at least, at the low dosages they started with he could.

Nation physiology was weird; often what would knock out a human wouldn’t work on them, leaving the doctors here to up the dosages to the dangerous amounts of oddly mind-boggling drugs he was already being forcibly injected with. He didn’t like it.

One of the drugs burned*, it felt as if his veins were on fire, coursing through him. He could barely cry with how hot he felt when it happened, barely curl himself into a ball and beg for release.

Eduard – Estonia – listened again for the footsteps.

He liked listening to them. They were better than the screams that echoed down the way, plus they warned him of the solider who’d visit at night. Bile rose in his throat. No, he thought, the man was long gone. He had been told that said solider was going back to whatever hellhole he had dragged his way up from, over a month – a week, a day? He wasn’t exactly sure, time had started to pass weird when they had found the right dosage level to give him – but still the thought of him left a sickening feeling in his gut.

He had bruises from where that man had beat him, had held him down by his throat.

All this because he had been caught with a pamphlet*.

Sure it was an illegal pamphlet; one that spoke of dissidence and social reforms, of the notion of freedom and what followed. And yes, it wasn’t the first time he had been caught with such writings; sometimes they were in Russian, sometimes they were in his own forbidden language, and sometimes whoever language he could get his hands on.

But none of that mattered. All that mattered – in the eyes of the Soviet Government – was that he had shown that he wasn’t going to be quiet in his capture, complacent in his own occupation, and as such, he had to be punished*.

He clenched his eyes shut at that thought. Of how he had been dragged from the manor that Russia and the other nations lived at, all to the sounds of the others absolute silence – this was never supposed to happen, governments had no right to punish a nation, it was an written rule* – and brought before whatever politician had decided his fate.

“Where did you get the pamphlet?” The politician had asked, “Give up the names and everything will be alright, yes?”

Behind him had stood the solider who had followed him to the first two psychiatric hospitals.

Estonia had kept his mouth shut.

The footsteps stopped in front of his door, pulling him from his thoughts. Not from any of the fear. In fact, his mind flashed back to the first psychiatric unit he was sent to and he failed at attempting to swallowed a bit of the fear that tried to force itself from his chest.

At first terrified of being sent to a Gulag, he had instead been blindfolded, driven around for what had felt like more than an hour, before being dragged through a building and deposited in an empty shower room. When they had ripped off his blindfold he could see that the tile had been a dirty off white, the silver of the open faucets covered in grime, and the sickening feeling in his gut had grown tenfold. They had shouted at him to undress – he was sure he had been sent to prison – before the guards had unclothed him, ripping fabric from him as they forced him under cold water.

They had taken their time to make every single part of it was as painful as possible, making sure that by time he had been deemed clean enough, he had bruises forming on his body, some of them barely covered by the outfit he was forced in.

Of course what had come afterwards was the true pain. Not even given the right of a (most likely false) declaration that he had gone insane, he had been tossed into a facility for those much like himself: dissidents.

There were criminals, ones who had done bad but had decided that being mental was better than a Gulag – they were not wrong –but in the end it really didn’t matter. If one wasn’t insane when they entered, they became so before they left.

More footsteps echoed down the hall. The bit of fear turned into a pit and Estonia waited with baited breath. Please just leave, he thought. He couldn’t stand the idea of more questions. He hated the drugs, he hated the people.

Estonia turned his head. He could, in his ears, feel the sound of his heart pounding. He knew what was coming. It was a vicious cycle. Half the time they left him locked in a room, the only interaction with the nurses who brought food and the doctors who questioned him and the guards that beat him – the other half, he was truly left alone, for days no one would show up and he’d feel sluggish by time they had decided to let him see another person.

He had been left by himself for a few days, left to stew and ride out the drugs forced down his throat the last questioning.

It was time for people now.

Bottom Author's Notes: You ever trigger yourself writing??? I did that when I wrote this. 😐 Welcome to my first ever dark fic in this fandom that I've shared! I hate it! No not really, I'm actually really proud of it. I just - sigh -

Psychiatric abuse was, imho, one of the worst parts of the Soviet Union (though it is still an ongoing issue in Russia). They "created" their own form of schizophrenia as a way to silence those who disagreed with them; they also all but tortured those who were placed in mental facilities, stripped them of all of their rights even after being released from said facilities (y'know, if the torture didn't kill them!) and all but treated them as subhuman. Some patients were mentally ill, some were criminals who figured it'd be better than the gulags, and a lot were those who disagreed with the soviet union because "only a crazy person who disagree with socialism". As someone with mental illness, including being a person who deals with schizophrenia, the idea of abusing your privilege as a doctor to forcibly detain and torture someone who disagrees with your political party is a terrifying and physically upsetting idea. I had originally tried a different way with this prompt, going for a little bit more soft torture and everything but I kept getting stuck with that and while doing personal research for a different fandom, I found all this information and I decided to use the definition of isolation that means less "solitary confinement" and more separated from society instead. This fic then got away with me, because the more I researched what mental facilities were like in Soviet Russia, the more I felt sick and the more I felt tears, and the more I wrote a very disjointed piece of fiction. Hopefully you all enjoyed.

Anywhoooooooo, sorry for coming back to the fandom only to drop a hot steaming pile of angst at everyone's door, I'll try to have something fluffy up in a couple days - honestly, I just need a palate cleanser after this. here's some prompt lists that i'm currently working on should anyone want to hit me up with a prompt from any of them: whumptober 2k19 | fictober 2k19 | fictober 2020 | whumptober 2020

some quick info:

One of the drugs burned*: Sulfozinum, caused a rise in body temperature and severe pain. Used in the Soviet Union for "treatment" of various things, it's been more than suggested that it was mostly used as punitive applications for those in the psychiatric prisons - I mean, hospitals, then any psychological benefit. Patients would also have muscle necrosis, immobility and fever.

All this because he had been caught with a pamphlet*.: A good amount of people placed in punitive psychiatric hospitals were those who wrote, spoke out, and held beliefs of social reforms or just said things that the sensitive as fuck Soviet government thought was in some way offensive.

he had to be punished*.: The Soviet Union was really insecure if nobody liked it and so was just threw everybody they could find who didn't like them in horrible places with horrible conditions and were just horrible. Again, fuck the soviet union and everyone who thought it was a good idea, it fucking sucked.

governments had no right to punish a nation, it was an written rule*: A personal headcanon of mine. I figure that nations don't particularly like it when their governments try to interfere in what they consider "nation business" and as such have it written somewhere that nations deal with nations no matter what.

[arwenride]

For the recovery prompt

[ao3feed-queliot]

And darling, where is my head?

by Tracy_Winter

Eliot is sure that Quentin is not real. Until he isn't.

Words: 938, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 15 of Matys Whumptober 2019

Fandoms: The Magicians (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Quentin Coldwater, Eliot Waugh

Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2019, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Tears, Tear Stained, Spoilers for Season 4, the magicians spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, unbury your gays 2k19, The whump happened in the show, i don't know what this is, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, No Beta We Die Like Men - Freeform

read it on the AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/21217070