#will i write more of this? it's possible! i really should be doing whumptober though...

[syncope-syndrome]

— Everything You Know

"Unhand that civilian, Villain!"

This isn't the first time you've used some variation of that phrase. This isn't even the first time you've heard that phrase this week, which makes you wonder about how — or if — The League of Heroes communicate with each other.

The look on Villain's face is almost worth it, however, as they set down their half-empty cup and regard the blue-clad hero with an expression of utter contempt. lips curled into a patronizing sneer.

"Tell me, dear Blue..." Villain says, sweeping a hand over the table laid out between them. "Does this... anything about this... look like a kidnapping to you?"

You can see Blue's brow furrow as they take in the scene before them in full — the cups of tea set out in delicate porcelain saucers, the half-eaten charcuterie board, the Villain's loyal hound curled up at your feet, the lack of restraints on your arms. "What... What is this?"

"It's tea." Villain raises their own cup as if to emphasize. "Customary to serve to a visiting friend, in case the League is unfamiliar with hospitality."

"A... friend?" Blue's baffled gaze turns to you instead. The uniform shields their face, but it does nothing against the heat of their stare. Blue makes a sputtering sound, gesturing a hand weakly towards Villain. "Do you... Do you know who this is?"

"We've been friends since we were children, Blue," Villain explains, lowering their cup only to fill it again. Steam curls up and caresses their cheek before it vanishes, and the teapot is set down again with an elegant clink against the glass table. "They're so rarely in town, and given they're here for such a tragic reason, I felt it best to invite them over and provide a bit of succor."

Blue's arms fold across their chest. "What reason?" Villain's mouth opens, and Blue raises a hand to silence them. "I want to hear it from them, thank you."

"A cousin's funeral," you say quietly. "They were... killed, suddenly. I came to help get their affairs in order." Shock still coursed through you when you spoke the words out loud. Yellow hadn't asked, simply turning away with a judgmental scoff, and Red hadn't asked before they'd tried to attack Villain over the kidnapping that wasn't happening. Your family, even as they started to converge to attend, was disquietingly close-lipped about discussing their own emotions, so this is unfortunately, the first you felt able to speak about it.

Villain's gaze is sympathetic. "So, as you can see," they say to Blue curtly. "I'd prefer you and your silly little heroics did not interrupt someone's grieving. Again, mind you."

You see Blue's shoulders rise and fall with the heavy breath they take. "Forgive me," they begin. "But can I ask how?"

"No you can not." Villain cuts you off before you can reply. "You can, however, see yourself out. If you're too dull to remember how to properly exit my facilities, Henchman is more than willing to escort you."

"No, Villain, it's okay —" You speak just as Henchman manifests themselves behind Blue. "They're... My cousin worked for the local news... apparently they were reporting on an incident within the city, and... they couldn't get out of the way as some debris came down." You can still see the footage clear as day, even though you could never stomach watching it again. Their panicked waving as they tried to tell the camera person to run, their hand reaching out to shove them to the ground and to safety... their scream, and the camera panning over to the wreckage they were buried under...

"Journalist?" Blue says, and you look up at the sound of your cousin's name in surprise. "Yes, we know them. ...You... have our condolences." Blue's body language is suddenly tense, posture as rigid as stone. They give a final curt nod to you and Villain, hands clasped tight behind their back, and retreat just as swiftly as they came. It's so abrupt you start to rise to go after them, but Villain stops you with a flick of their wrist and a murmur of dissent. "Henchman," Villain calls to their ever-loyal butler. "See after them. My friend and I would like to continue our visit in peace." Henchman sweeps into an elegant bow and departs, leaving just you, Villain, and an unspeakable weight in the air.

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

TW: mild/implications of torture, kidnapping

Villain does not let you leave empty-handed. Their parting gift is a dagger, engraved with gorgeous silver filagree that hides a paralytic toxin inside. You try to refuse it, but they insist, something about having a feeling you'll need it during your stay here. And you do, almost immediately. But you're overwhelmed before you can even think to reach for it.

Your poor defense — or, more charitably, their impressive offense — brings you here, in the center of a cold, dark room, strapped far too tight into a rickety dining chair. Blood oozes from your nose, and bruises ache with every shiver that runs through you. Your vision's blurred from a repeated assault, hitting you again, and again, and again, always with the same questions, always expecting a different answer. "I really don't think they know anything," says an unfamiliar voice from the shadows. Another snarls at them to shut up, a red-gloved hand fisting itself into your shirt and dragging you closer with a yelp. You stare at the big, black eye covers in their bright red mask as the hand shakes you again, hard, rubbing the rough hempen bindings against your already sore skin.

"Don't act fucking dumb, Civilian," says Red, as Green sighs in the background. Yellow simply stares, arms folded tight across their torso, saying nothing as Red continues their assault. "You said so yourself! Villain's your friend! What the fuck do you know about them?"

"I don't —" you try to say, but Red's hand comes down and slaps you across the face again. A fresh wave of blood bubbles from your nose and falls into your gasping mouth, coating your tongue in the taste of iron. "I can do this all day, Civilian," Red sneers. "You're going to tell us everything and anything you know about Villain. I don't give a shit for your little innocent act, you're fucking friends with a literal supervillain!"

But it's not an act. Villain moved away to Metropolis after graduation, and you'd barely kept in touch until they'd had the grace to reach out to you. You didn't know what they had been up to in the years since then, too busy eking out an existence in Beachfront City to keep up with almost anyone, let alone them. You'd bought their story of being a military arms dealer and researcher, understood their unusual requests for how they'd bring you to their abode, tactfully ignored the armored car and tinted windows and the near unnecessary amount of security upon arriving... but that was it. This was your only exposure to their so-called villainy — someone who'd been so kind to invite you to their home, and let you cry on their shoulder over a terrible grief.

And these so-called heroes were... hurting you, for that.

"Red," calls a voice from the doorway. Your head snaps up despite the hurt at the sound of it, at the heavy thud of their footsteps against the tiled floor. You don't need them to step into the light to know who they are, but they do, looming over you and a snarling Red. "Stand down."

"Fuck you, Blue," Red pushes you away from them, whirling on their companion and jabbing a bloodied finger into their chest. "This was your idea in the first place!"

"I know." Blue steps around them to stare you down, and you see their head move as they look you over, taking in your pathetic form. Your skin crawls with betrayal and fear, your hurt multiplying at the news that it was them — not Red, nor Yellow — who decided to treat you this way.

"But you don't know when to change tactics, Red," Blue says coldly, kneeling down to meet your eyes. "I do. And I know we're not going to get anywhere if we don't use the best weapon we have against them." Oh God. Your body starts to shake, your eyes squeezing shut in preparation for anything they might throw at you. A superpower? A knife? A syringe? A hostage that they'll threaten unless you talk? Your mind scrambles to think of who they could have possibly taken when Blue's voice cuts through your panic, sharper than any blade they could have taken to you.

"Villain was responsible for the building collapse that killed your cousin. They killed Journalist. Along with hundreds of others. That's the kind of person you're protecting."

"I'm not protecting them..." you whisper, tears spilling out of your eyes from shock. You strain against your bindings, not caring about how raw your wrists are. "I don't — know a-anything, I don't know! I've said that! W-Why are you doing this?"

"Alright," Green says suddenly, stepping forward now to pull Blue away. "Alright, that's enough. Think of what Vi's going to say to this —"

"Justifiable restraint of a rumored enemy to the state," Blue rattles off, yanking themselves out of Green's grasp. There's nothing save for your sobs, your mind trying and failing to wrap itself around the idea of someone you thought you knew so well, someone you'd been through so much with, causing so much harm to others. You and Villain had never had the easiest lives, but... you'd vowed to fight that hurt, to end that cycle. What had happened to them while they were gone...?

"F-Fine..." you choke out. Guilt surges through you at the thought of even remotely betraying your old friend, but Red's started to advance again and if Villain is really the person the League says they are... then even you can't justify letting them go on. "I-I was just a childhood friend. That's it. But i-if you stop, I'll talk. Just — stop, stop this, please."

"And what use is that information going to be to us..." Yellow speaks up for the first time all evening, only for Blue to cut them off with a raised hand. You can hear the smile in their voice when they address you again, and it makes you nauseous.

"I knew you would cooperate," Blue says, their voice suddenly, sickeningly kind. "Tell us everything you know."

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #1

A/N: Wow! Hard to believe we're already back to October, it feels like Whumptober 2023 was just a few months ago. This piece is a little shorter and less complete than a lot of my fills have been in the past, which is something you might see more of this month. I'm really wanting to avoid burnout this year, and am also trying to break through some of my perfection paralysis. So that means writing what I can and not being too hard on myself! (:

xxx search party

When trying to enlist the aid of local authorities, it's always a toss-up whether they're going to help willingly or circle their wagons. In small towns like this one, it tends to be the latter. More often than not, they see federal agents as nothing more than government lackeys, over-reaching and meddling in things they couldn't possibly understand. So Scully was a little surprised that Sheriff Walters readily agreed to form a search party to comb the hilly woods at the edge of town.

Perhaps she shouldn't be, though, considering one of his deputies is the reason they don't know where in the hundred acres of forest Mulder is.

He was doing his job, Scully reminds herself. The young officer had just been following his training; she can hardly blame him for that.

Her mind flashes back to that scene, hours ago now though it somehow feels like it's only been a few minutes and also an eternity.

"Where is Agent Mulder?" Her voice, raised to a raw shout as she stands with her weapon raised, hoping that she won't have to use it because doing so could mean losing him. Losing Mulder.

"Agent Scully?" The young deputy, calling out to her as he enters the house. She ignores him.

"Tell me where he is!"

The man, appearing to lose some of his resolve. Looking like he might actually relent.

"Okay. But I have something for you first."

The deputy, rounding the corner just as the man is reaching for something behind his back.

"Freeze!"

And the man. The man just keeps reaching, and Scully turns to the deputy with wide, desperate eyes, but by the time she yells, "Don't!" his finger is already tightening on the trigger. A crack. Blood blooming across the man's chest, and even as she rushes forward and puts her hands over the wound to try and stop the bleeding, to try and get an answer out of him, she knows it won't do any good. The deputy was a damn good shot.

"Agent Scully?"

Scully startles, pulled from the memory, and looks up at the sheriff. "Yes?"

"I was just saying that we've been at it several hours now with no luck and, well. Maybe we should wrap this up for now, get some rest, then make a plan and come back at it--"

"We keep looking," Scully interrupts. "It's already getting cold out here and the temperature is only going to keep dropping. Mulder isn't dressed for the weather. If we wait, it could be too late. We keep looking."

Sheriff Walters's face pinches into a slightly pained-looking expression, but he just nods. "Yes, ma'am."

She hates this. She hates how Mulder always seems to find danger, or else it finds him. She hates the seething anger that simmers no matter how much she tells herself the deputy didn't have a choice. She hates how scared she is, and more than anything else she hates the doubt that sits heavily at the back of her mind.

The sound of distant shouts makes her heart rate spike, and she looks up sharply, hope and fear mingling as she starts moving toward the noise.

"What's going on?" she asks an officer as she gets closer.

"I'm not sure, exactly, but I think one of the dogs found something. Could be--"

Scully doesn't let him finish before she's breaking into a sprint, crashing through the undergrowth. There are several officers crowded in one spot. Heads turn as Scully approaches, and the officers part to let her through.

Her heart sinks.

"Oh, god, Mulder."

He's lying at the base of a large tree, bound at the wrists and ankles, his arms behind his back. There's dirt and blood on his too-pale face. Scully is on her knees in a second, two fingers pressed to his neck. His skin is cool to the touch, and his pulse, when she finds it, is fast. But he's alive. He's alive.

"Somebody come get these ropes off of him," she commands. Nobody moves, and she turns. "Come on!" Then, quieter, "It's okay, Mulder. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay."

xxx

[willows-adventures-in-words]

I've been inspired. By the Twenty-one Pilots Meshup video. This is just one scene out of a handful I have/have planned to write for this idea. Don't know if it'll ever turn into a full story but it's a fun project I've been working on.

Whumptober prompts 10: Blow To The Head slurred words | passing out from pain | “I can't think straight” word count: 1,917

~-~-~

Layne rested with his head down on the table, in his arms. He should be working but, really, he was just too tired to. Nightmares and memories continue to plague his nights and last night wasn't any different. The sound of papers rustling told him that Tony was still hard at work. It still surprises him that he had taken every piece of research their kidnapper had. More paper rustling. “Wait...” Layne lifted his head and looked over. Tony was comparing a few sheets, one of which was the notes he's been taking. “Wait, so then...” He started tapping his finger on the table as he stared at the paper, forehead crinkled in thought.

After watching him for a moment, Layne asked, “What is it?” Tony stopped and looked over. “What did you find?”

“I think...” He glanced back down at the paper. “I think I figured out how to remove the plugs.”

“Do it.”

Startled, he looked back at him. “What?”

“Tony. I trust you. If you know how to get this thing out,” he said as he pointed to the electrical plug in his neck. “Then do it. Please.”

“Well I...” Turning his attention back down at the paper in his hand, he paused. Then, when he finally looked back at Layne, he said, “I'm going to need to get a few things.”

When Tony left to pick up the things he needed, Layne felt a bit restless. The tiredness he felt earlier was gone at the prospect of getting the plug in his neck removed. He picked up his scarf and, after wrapping it mostly around his neck, walked around the studio. It's been almost a full month since Tony saved them. Layne hadn't even considered the possibility that it could be removed without winding up in the hospital. He wondered if Eli was going to check himself into one though; since he'd mentioned thinking of doing so in the group message early this week. Considering where his was located, Layne couldn't blame him if he did.

How long until Tony gets back? How long was he gone for? Layne checked his phone. It's only been ten minutes. He didn't even know what he had to pick up. Was he going home or to a store? That would determine how long he would be gone for. Should he call him? Layne sighed and set his phone down on the table they were seated at earlier. Then his eyes caught sight of the folders underneath Tony's laptop. That's where he kept the research from... He stared at them. Part of him wanted to look. Then suddenly he took a sharp breath and shook his head as the memories started to creep forward. Layne picked up his phone again and leaned against the table, then proceeded to look through pictures and texts and anything he could think of to distract himself.

It didn't feel like much longer before Tony came back. He set down the bag he carried on the table and sighed. Layne looked back at him and straightened his posture. His friend looked over at him. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” There was no hesitation from Layne when he told him yes. “... Okay, go lock up the studio. We'll have to close up early today.” Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he headed off to lock up and shut off most of the lights. By the time he got back Tony had gotten a couple stools to set his things on and he was looking at one of his sheets of notes.

“Are we doing this here?”

“We might as well,” Tony told him without looking up from his paper. Layne stepped over, purposely not looking over at what was on the stools, and pulled off the scarf. He'd decided he didn't want to know what it was that Tony had. After sitting back down in his chair, Layne turned and draped the scarf over the back of the chair next to him. “Okay. If you're ready.”

“Yeah. More than ready.” He could feel his heart beat as his nerves spiked. It was impossible not to be a little nervous, he reassured himself. But he trusted Tony. He'd been digging and going through those research papers in every free moment he'd seen him have. Layne was sure this was why he'd been so focused on them. To find a way to help them. To remove the electrical plu-

~~~

“-yne? Come on, please be okay.”

As Layne's senses came back to him, he slowly cracked his eyes open and realized he was slumped over on the table. “I think I'm gonna be sick,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes again, fighting back the queasiness. There was a pain in his neck. It felt like his nerve-ends were on fire.

Layne listened to the sound of his friends footsteps. The mini fridge open. Close. His footsteps came back. “Please don't throw up on the table. That's not going to end well for either of us.” He heard him say as something was set down on the table.

“Just don't make me move and we'll be good.”

Tony let out a huff. “I brought you a water. For when you think you can manage to get up.” Layne felt a cold, damp, cloth get laid on his neck. The coolness from the cloth felt calming as it dulled the pain. “Don't rush it though.” Tony said this softly. Layne let out a sigh as Tony stepped away.

It was nearly ten minutes before Layne opened his eyes and, lifting his hand, rested it on the cloth that was on his neck. It was still a bit cool. “... Did you get it out?” He was a little nervous what the answer would be.

“Yeah.” His tone came off as a little surprised. In hindsight, insisting that Tony remove the plug might not have been the best idea. Considering he only just thought he figured it out. Off of research notes. Slowly, Layne moved to sit up. His right hand still holding the cloth to his neck. “How are you feeling?”

“I don't think I'm going to throw up anymore.” It was other things now though. “Feeling a little tipsy turvy though.” And apparently, he spoke too soon. Bringing up his other arm, he rested his forehead against his palm. “Never mind. Still queasy.”

Then Tony was at his side. He opened the water bottle for him. “Here. Maybe it'll help.” It took him a minute before he slowly, warily, removed his hand from his neck and reached for the bottle. The cloth, as a result, slid and rested on his shoulder. Tony picked it up. The first thing Layne noticed about the cloth was that it was one of the spare hand towels they had in the bathroom here at the studio. “I'll get you a clean towel. Yell for me if you need something.” With a mumbled yeah from Layne, Tony stepped away. It was then that it registered to Layne that the red spots on the towel was blood.

He refrained himself from touching his neck. That definitely wouldn't be a good idea. Lifting his head slightly, he went to try to drink some of the water. Though the movement caused the pain to come back full force without the calming, the numbing, feeling from the coolness of the cloth. It might help but he couldn't do it. Layne pushed the water bottle aside as he slowly laid his head back down on the table, resting against his left arm. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on anything but the pain and nausea.

Before long he felt the cool cloth returned. He let out a sigh, relieved at the comfort it gave him. Tony rested a hand gently on his head. “Just rest. Okay?” Layne, without moving anything except his right hand, gave him a thumbs-up. He had no plans on moving at the moment anyway.

Just hearing Tony moving around him calmed him. He just focused on the sound of his steps. And any type of noise he made. Like opening the mini-fridge. Rustling of papers. Clicking keys on a keyboard. … Talking on the phone. Did he fall asleep? Layne went to move, but the dull throbbing pain in his neck made him stop. Tony was sitting across from him at the table. “He hasn't been sleeping?” For some reason the first thought Layne had was that he was being talked about. “He was tired when he came in today. I could tell he was out of it. I guess, for better or worse, at least he's resting now.”

He was definitely being talked about. “I'm right here,” Layne mumbled.

“I don't know.” Tony lightly rested a hand on his head as he continued his conversation. “Yes?” Then Tony gave a light laugh and Layne wondered who he was talking to. His friend ruffled his curls just a little as he said in the phone, “I'm sure he already knows. But yeah, I'll tell him,” then pulled his hand back. “Good night Cyndi.”

Cyndi? Layne blinked his eyes open, much more awake now that he heard his wife's name. “Did Cyndi call?” A light headache started in his temples.

“I called her,” Tony spoke. “It's pretty late.”

“What time is it?”

There was a pause. He was probably checking the time. “Nine o' three.” Nine?! “You've been asleep for about three hours.”

Layne moved his hand to the now warm towel on his neck and started to sit up. The pain got worse but he tried to ignore it, though it was impossible to do. “I have to get home...”

“You're in no condition to drive,” Tony told him as he got up. “Besides, I already told Cyndi that you were staying at my place tonight.” He made it halfway to sitting upright before he braced himself with his left hand against the table. The steady rhythm of pain in his temples and neck is bordering on unbearable. “Take it easy,” Tony said as he rested a hand on his shoulder. He gently coaxed Layne to move his hand from his neck and took the towel when he did. “I want you to either lay your head down or don't move. Preferably both. I'm going to cool this down for you.”

The pain prevented him from having a cohesive thought process. Lay down. He just... just, needed to lay down. Moving his hand from the table, his only brace, he felt himself wobble slightly. Was he going to pass out? “Layne!?” Tony's voice sounded distant. Layne blinked slowly not quite focused. The back of Tony's hand went to his forehead. “Okay that's not goo-”

~~~

His senses came back, briefly. There was the coolness. Draped over the back of his neck. Head resting back on the table. Tony's hurried steps.

Outside. He was being carried on Tony's back. There was a cool breeze. His lips parted with the intent to speak.

He could feel the motion of the car. Tony was saying something next to him. It didn't register what he was saying.

[librathefangirl]

i need to know about all of these fics NOW (no pressure take your time ofc ofc)

Wrath of a Captain

Moment of Rest (a Decade Too Late)

Hitmen!Demon bros AU

Galand exposes Meliodas' demon secret

How to Demon (Yes, Captain, This is Really Necessary)

Meliodas and the Kids AU #1

also never realized how silly i name my documents till now 😭😭😭‼️‼️‼️

Ahh hearing you excited about all these is making me excited to write them again (hoping to get back to writing more soon - october was a mess and a half :( but I have 2 whumptober fics that I almost finished that should maybe might be posted soon?)

Okay so...

Wrath of a Captain

Fun fact about this one is that it was one of (possibly the) first nnt fic ideas I wrote down when I first got into the fandom. Tho in what - 1-1,5 years? - I've still barely started writing it (oops). But not for lack of interest! I'm still excited about this one, I just haven't been able to specify the scenario enough to start writing (I keep getting distracted by other fic ideas lol).

To summarize the idea in three words: Protective Captain Meliodas.

And here's a rough summary I wrote for myself:

The Seven Deadly sins were a well-known force only fools would take lightly. Though faced with a captain that was small and short, and seemed the complete opposite of wrath itself, it was easy to underestimate him. But just because the captain didn't get angry, didn't mean he never got close. Especially if one were foolish enough to dare attack his team.

A Moment of Rest (a Decade Too Late)

This is a fic I started this summer and then kinda forgot about (oh the art of finishing a fic before moving on to the next one). It takes place after the Capital of the Dead arc and deals with the aftermath of Sins being split-up for 10 years from King's perspective. Now, I can't remember, if it originally was supposed to be "Meliodas was alone for 10 years" angst or "Meliodas was alone for 10 years and demons don't do well in isolation" angst, but it's probably gonna end up being the second one now. Which means the rest of the Sins, while not knowing Meliodas' full story, knows he is a demon and how these past 10 years would have affected him because of it.

Here's a little sneak peek:

The princess had already retired into the Boar Hat, while Ban had simply settled for grabbing Meliodas and sprawling out on the ground. He wasn’t sleeping. His ease was a facade at best. King knew that he too was plagued by these past ten years, and the guilt they brought. It had never been supposed to go this far… Meliodas seemed dazed. A state hopefully only brought forth by the lull of sleep slowly claiming him. He wasn’t quite asleep yet though. To an outsider he might have seemed to be, but King knew him better. His guard was still firmly up, although slowly but surely being picked apart by Ban’s hand repeatedly running through his hair. Meliodas was curled up tighter than he normally would, yet at the same time more relaxed than King had seen him since before they were framed. His head was neatly tucked on top of Ban’s chest. Ear over his heart, no doubt. He’d always had a particular fondness of that, their captain. Easily soothed by the beat of a heart – by the beat of their hearts at least.

Hitmen!Demon bros AU

Oooh this one. thiiiis one! I'm still mostly in the planning stage for this one, but I can't wait until I get to share the full thing with you all. Like the name suggests, it's a modern (possibly slight futuristic) AU where the DK raised his sons as hitmen. It's gonna be a multichapter fic (probably my longest wip yet) and there will be lots of demon bros angst!

Fun fact, while the I had thought about this AU a bit, I wasn't necessarily planning on writing it at first. Then my mind provided me with this super angsty demon bros scene and an awful chapter cliffhanger, and well, now I'm invested. I need to know how this story ends. (If this sounds familiar, I did mention this once before).

Anyway, I have written the first 300-something words, setting up the angst before a jump back in time, so here's a sneak peek:

Perhaps one of the most defining moments in Meliodas’ life happened on January 29th the year he was turning 26. The day Meliodas found himself on a rooftop staring down his own little brother, a raised gun in both their hands aimed at each other. The only sound was the falling rain as the world itself seemed to hold its breath waiting for who would make the first move. At that moment, Meliodas had thought he had known exactly how the day would end. He had known it in the calculating part of his mind that he never could quite shut off, and had felt it in his heart that seemed to break every time he saw his little brother. He had thought he knew what would happen. He had been wrong. Everybody has a choice, but sometimes it doesn’t matter what you chose.

Galand exposes Meliodas' demon secret

Now this one I've shared a bit about before - partly to complain about my (still going strong) habit of stopping my writing in the middle of a sentence. Sadly, I haven't really made any progress since then. Mostly because I can't remember where tf the story was supposed to go (did I even have a plan?? I found the story aka the snippet of writing in a school notebook I hadn't used for months, so who knows).

Anyway! What I do know is that Galand fucks everything up on purpose, and is the one to reveal Meliodas' demon secret to the rest of the Sins. How the story continues from there, well, I'll figure that out eventually. For now, the last part of the fic looks like this:

It had all started with a confrontation with one of the Ten Commandments. Galand of Truth. He hadn’t even seemed to be looking for a fight – not in that moment anyway – King had noticed. He’d just been there to stir up trouble. Always playing games as usual¸ Meliodas had said. Well, games or not, Galand really had caused trouble. The demon had been quick to pick up on the rest of the Seven Deadly Sins’ surprise that Meliodas seemed to know him personally, and then deduced...DEDUCED WHAT??

How to Demon (Yes, Captain, This is Really Necessary)

This is actually a request/fic idea I got from a reader on ao3. It's also mostly still in the planning stage, having taken a backseat to my Febuwhump fic. But the idea is basically Melin giving a lesson on demons to the Sins with the (reluctant) aid of Meliodas. Or in other words, Merlin is sick of being (almost) the only one who knows how to keep Mel alive and will make it everybody's probably whether they want to or not. It'll also take place in the same AU as The Heat of the Storm (which means more of my demon thermoregulation, yay! - oh, actually, sidenote: I'm working on a post about that hc).

So, we'll have random demon lore/headcanons/stuff, some humor, and, of course, angst (probably more angst than should come from this otherwise humorous idea).

Meliodas and the Kids AU #1

The first of (at least) three fics taking place in the Meliodas and the Kids AU (aka Meliodas Adopts the Sins). In this AU, instead of the Sins becoming knights together way down the line, Meliodas ends up adopting/taking them in as kids* over the years.

Now, I use the term kids loosely here since neither King nor Gowther will actually be kids in the normal sense. But Gowther will be on his own for the first time and also still new to the world, and King, well, I still got some ideas for his relationship with Mel (and also, he is still significantly younger than Mel, so I say he still counts as his kid).

This first fic will consist of six chapters (one for each "kid"), exploring how Meliodas ended up taking them all in, and the dynamics of this mismatched little family (mostly the kids relationships' with Mel).

(Also Elizabeth is probably gonna be dead-dead in this AU).

Here's a sneak peek from the first (Merlin's) chapter:

When you find yourself stuck in time, it’s good to set up some rules for yourself, unless you want to lose yourself to madness. Meliodas didn’t have the luxury for madness. Madness was not going to solve anything. He would still be stuck here, unaging and undying, without an end in sight. Submitting to madness would also be admitting that the only purpose his life had left was suffering. An eternity alone in the human realm as a punishment for his crimes against the Demon King. His father was a huge asshole, okay? Meliodas was not about to give him the satisfaction of watching him break. So, he made some rules. The most important one was: do not get attached. [some other stuff not included in this sneak peek] Do not get attached. It was simple and important – and Meliodas had broken the rule before he had even made it.

(also I love your wip titles XD and will definitely send an ask for some ramblings of your own - but that will have to wait, I've got an 8am lecture in less than 7 hours and need to get some sleep, so Imma put a to be continued on the wip talk for now)

WIP Tag/Ask Game!

[catsandgoodbooks]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @bleue-flora (I am sorry it took so long it's been like a month I was procrastinating)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22, because my brain hates to stay focused on one idea at a time and I just have to make everything worse. I've got a lot more half-formed ideas and three-paragraph beginnings of fanfiction too <3

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

124,920 - that's...a lot. And it's only been about a year, so yay!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Dream SMP. I'm lurking in a couple other fandoms (mostly the Locked Tomb and Dragon Age), but I haven't written anything for those yet.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Off the Planned Course

Not that surprising because it's one of the fics I've been writing the longest, is the longest of my actual stories (so not counting Whumptober stuff), and it also has the most people reading it (I blame including the Syndicate for that). It's probably my favorite too, so the validation is really nice (even if I keep getting writer-blocked by it).

2. Unfortunate Circumstances

Also one of the long ones, so it makes sense that it's on this list. Also, literally the second Dream SMP fic idea I ever had, so it's great that it's still going.

3. Easier Said Than Done

This one I kind of feel bad about - I decided to change a few details a while ago and I'm still not done with editing the old stuff so I can start on new chapters, so I really haven't been writing much for it recently (i.e in the past six months). Maybe this will get me to work on it again but I wouldn't hold out hope. It's not abandoned, but it's still basically on hiatus.

4. Shared Scars

I really like this one, but I didn't really expect anyone would read it because it was just a random AU with no basis in canon about two side characters, y'know? It's just really fun to write.

5. Dive Deep Into The Dark

This one is the one that surprised me, because it's just a collection of Whumptober oneshots that I wrote in like an hour each. But, hey, apparently people liked that, so yay?

5. Do you reply to comments? Why or why not?

Whenever I can, because they're taking the time out of their day to read my stuff and going the extra step of leaving a comment, and because I just like talking about my stories and stuff <3

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay, this and the next question are kind of difficult because I am allergic to finishing anything, ever, and that means I have to stick to oneshots, but I'd say either everything I've ever written for a Whumptober prompt (because those are all terrible, basically) or Old Habits Die Hard (Old Reliances Die Harder) because it's an angsty canon-compliant (ish) oneshot where nothing is resolved and everything is just terrible. In my longer fics, I don't really plan for tragic endings, because the ending should be happy even if the journey there wasn't, or else the whole things sad and there's not really any point.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, only oneshots count for this, so I'd probably say burn the scorecards, balance out the scales, because the ending is hopeful and probably the best possible outcome via rivals duo.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not really, which is great. The most I ever get is a confused comment or someone making assumptions, and that's all fine.

9. Do you write smut?

No, and I don't plan to.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No, but I have some ideas I might write that involve crossovers and I might write them eventually.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, I have not <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but I would like to in the future.

14. What‘s your all-time favorite ship?

Drunz, for sure. It's the ship that really got me into the fandom and I've always liked that sort of toxic codependence even though they're terrible for each other.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

All of them? Well, besides that, I'd probably have to say Off the Planned Course, because, although I really love it, I have no idea how to end that thing or when.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Absolutely no idea, maybe internal monologues? It's hard to evaluate your own writing.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. 100% dialogue. I get in my head about if it sounds natural or if anyone would ever say that or if I'm writing a character right and then it turns about clunky because I'm too busy worrying about it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't have a problem with it, but you should provide translations in that situation so the readers have context and know what's going on.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dream SMP

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Probably Off the Planned Course, there are some chapters were I was just having the time of my life writing that thing even if they were immediately followed by two months of struggle.

Not tagging anyone because it's been ages and I'm bad at doing anything quickly so yeah. Also, it's my birthday today and time is really fucking weird <3

[welikeclownsinthishouse]

This is the first Whumptober (@ailesswhumptober) I will be participating in and I'll try to write for as many days as possible! All my fics will be published to AO3, my handle there is EverySnowflakeIsDifferent. :)

Day one: Sick

When Ben first woke up with a sore throat and a small headache he ignored it the same way he ignored his nose clogging up every time he lay down.

He ignored the nausea that followed only a few days later as well, not wanting to stop his search just because his body decided to quit on him all of a sudden. It worked, in his opinion at least, the symptoms might have been annoying but they weren't interrupting anything.

A few days later the nausea turned from mildly inconvenient to unbearable however and his mild headache turned into a splitting one, making it impossible to read, talk, or even see without wanting to squeeze his eyes shut and to never open them again. He couldn't even try to force himself to read about the possible locations of Payback, his vision blurring and his body rebelling every time he tried.

What made everything even worse than it already was, was that he hadn't been sick since he first took compound V all these years ago, he hadn't even had a sniffle since then, never even a light headache. He knew that his sudden illness had to be a result of what happened in Russia, that his body apparently wasn't strong enough to deal with a small little virus now.

He couldn't do anything about it though, he couldn't stop his body from feeling this way just like he couldn't stop the Russians from fucking up his body in the first place.

He couldn't even go rob a pharmacy or even try and find a hospital to steal from considering he couldn't even really move anymore; his limbs ached and every single movement, no matter how small, caused a burst of nausea and pain to shoot right through him, rendering him almost completely immobile.

That's why he'd been lying on the bathroom floor for the last few hours unmoving and completely exhausted, his skin hot and sweaty. The dirty tiles underneath him gave him a little reprieve at least, providing a small amount of comfort as they cooled him down somewhat, even if the shivering was getting annoying.

He could feel another bout of nausea welling up within him as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, and he couldn't help but groan as he maneuvered his aching body into an upright position, his head pounding with the movement.

Ben trembled when he leaned over the toilet and bile rose in his throat, the smell of cold vomit that lingered didn't do anything to help the nausea that took over in the slightest.

He threw up not long after he grabbed the toilet seat in a tight grip, using it as leverage, to keep himself upright. The seat made a soft cracking noise but Ben didn't care, not really; as soon as he could he would leave this place anyway.

He could feel his throat burn and his stomach constrict while he cursed himself for not being stronger than this; he really should be stronger, he shouldn't even have gotten sick in the first place.

He should be out right now, getting his revenge on payback and instead, he was sitting in a dingy bathroom, throwing up the only food he had been able to keep down since this whole nausea bit started.

He could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes, from the vomiting only of course, and angrily wiped them away while his other hand stayed curled around the toilet seat.

He was already weak enough, he wouldn't start crying now just because he got a little sick. This was nothing compared to the shit the Russians did to him, this was nothing compared to what happened in the war either.

Ben retched a few more times, his body feeling empty and aching, before he slowly lowered himself back into a lying position, his body protesting even more than before.

He could still taste the bile on his tongue and his throat felt even worse than it did before but he decided to ignore that the same way he had ignored everything else. After finally getting himself into a somewhat comfortable position, or as comfortable as possible at least, he relaxed and started to blankly stare at the ceiling once again.

He really hoped he would get over this quickly and that this was a one-time thing, he didn't even want to think about the possibility of him getting sick like this more often. How much time it would take from him, what it would mean for him. He was supposed to be a supe, supes don't get sick so what would-

Swallowing the new bout of bile that rose in his throat as his thoughts started spiraling he closed his eyes, ignoring the fresh tears that started running down his face before he forced himself to fall asleep, to stop thinking about something that would never even happen.

He hoped he would feel better once he woke up, that all of this would be over as quickly as it came. He couldn't afford to stay like this any longer, to be as useless as he was right now. He really needed to get a grip on himself but that could wait for when he woke up.

[the-hidden-writer]

Hide and Seek

Whumptober 2024 - Day 1

Guess what I decided to take part in! I'll do my best to complete the month but I'm going to have to write as I go since I only actually remembered it was a thing today. Starting off with an original piece based on my dnd campaign!

Prompt: Search Party / Panic Attack Fandom: Original (dnd campaign) Character(s): Rex Winterfall Words: 1,251 CW: panic attack, implied suicide idealisation, implied death AO3 Link: [Here!]

Hide and Seek

He can’t breathe.

He’s on the ground, wearing a fucking bearskin like a suit, and he can’t breathe.

Attempting to make as little movement as possible, he shifts his posture so that his head pokes out from underneath the skinned animal to allow him to take a shaky lungful of air. He makes a silent prayer that none of the guards (three of them, to his knowledge) noticed the wriggling of the large rug. It didn’t sound like there was anyone else in this room anyway. For now, at least.

A distant, muffled shout reaches his ears. “This room’s clear!”

Then another. “Kitchen is too!”

A third. “He must have moved. Have we checked the master bedroom again?”

“On it!” calls out a very non-distant voice, whose cry is soon followed by steady footsteps. A nearby floorboard creaks dangerously, a sound that feels as if it's reverberating straight through him, too. The guard has entered the room. A fourth. Shit. He must have miscounted.

Despite having just wrestled with a dead bear for air, he takes in one big breath before clenching his windpipe tightly shut and pulling his head further under the fur. As long as he doesn’t move a muscle, he should be fine. Hiding happens to be one of the greatest skills he possesses. He’s had a lifetime of experience. 

He can hear the guard searching the room. The squeak of the wardrobe, the rustle of bedsheets, the clicking of footsteps getting louder-

Oh no.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites onto his tongue, suppressing a scream when he feels the pressure on his back. A heavy pressure that, thankfully, only lasts a few moments before the guard appears to move on. He feels the tense air leave his lungs like a deflating balloon. That was… painful. But he’s dealt with worse and it seems like they still haven’t discovered him.

“Sorry, Mr Bear,” he hears, and has to suppress a snort.

That’s when the stupidity of the situation hits him. He’s lying on his front under, practically in, a giant bearskin rug in the master bedroom of a stranger’s mansion, being pursued for a crime he didn’t commit. 

Well. A crime he was about to commit as a consequence of having to flee his home because of a crime he didn’t commit. He knows it isn’t his fault, not really. He’s just the victim of a hell of a lot of unfortunate circumstances. So he really doesn’t understand the guilt that he feels bubbling to the surface.

He took this job because he and his family had been displaced. They needed some income and jobs don’t come easily to fugitives. So when he caught wind of a search for someone stealthy for a theft with a hefty reward, he decided to offer his services, being good at hiding and all. What he would give to turn back the clock on that decision now that he knows it was a set-up.

It was a set-up. And he, the former detective, fell for it.

His chest feels tight. Maybe the guard’s foot broke something.

He can’t think of a more laughable position to be in. It’s so pathetic. What kind of example is he setting for his daughter? How could he ever begin to explain to her that her father is both simultaneously guilty and not-guilty, and has spent nearly his whole life on the run, simply because of bad luck? He doesn’t want to imagine the look on her face but the image springs forth anyway. He wants to physically shake it away, but can’t risk the movement.

The bearskin begins to feel very constricting, as if it hadn’t been before. The fur feels rough and prickly against his own clammy skin. It doesn’t tickle, though he does start to feel aware of every strand that brushes against him, like individual needles. It starts to feel painful to be under it. To be in it.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware that he’s lying in a corpse.

Every coherent thought flies out of his brain. He’s hiding in a corpse.

A corpse of an innocent creature.

A corpse.

A corpse. Like his sister. Like their friends. Like his workers, so many workers, all taken out just to get to him. Corpses. Dead.

He can’t breathe, no matter how hard he tries. He’s actively trying, now, to breathe. It doesn’t feel like it’s working. He might be making noise. It’s hard to tell over the sound of his heart thundering in his chest, over the blood rushing in his ears.

He doesn’t care anymore. If he stays like this, he’ll die. He’s sure of it.

He wrestles himself out of the bear, this time with no qualm about the amount of movement or noise it almost definitely makes. He just needs to get out.

He’s left there, panting in the middle of the room, his eyes wide and senses going crazy. He’s alone in here. That’s one blessing at least.

He stares down at the bear as he struggles to reclaim himself. When alive, the beast must have been massive. He can envision it: a predator that was top of the food chain, a master of the natural world, hunted down and reduced to a rug. A decoration for people to step all over. A corpse.

The surge of empathy he feels is alien and concerning.

This whole situation is absurd, he realises once sense starts to return to him. Yes, he’s good at hiding, but he’s never wanted to. It's never been by choice. He’s just been forced to hide by those various unfortunate circumstances. Those circumstances that have never really been his fault. This feels like another one.

What might happen if he doesn’t hide, this time? If he walks out of here with his head held high? Would that be the right thing to do? Would it make his daughter proud?

As the panic of escaping the bear subsides, so does his energy and any adrenaline he’d had. He’s tired. Twenty years he’s spent like this, hiding from something or other. Twenty years too long. He’s so, so tired.

With one last soulful look at the bear by his feet, he drags himself out of the bedroom.

The four guards in the hallway feel like they should be a surprise, but they aren’t. There isn’t really any strength left in him to feel surprised.

“He’s there!”

“Now!”

“Wait- is everyone ready?”

They’re young. They look practically like teenagers. He tuts quietly. If he was their boss, he would never send them out on a dangerous recapture mission at such a young age. That same image of his daughter comes back to mind. It's then that he knows that there's no chance he'll lay a finger against them.

They’re also standing in a line, the guards. The hallway isn’t particularly wide. Nowhere to run if he tried, not counting the enclosed bedroom. The one with the bear he’d just shared a private moment with. There’s already one too many corpses in that room, he thinks glumly.

Then it hits him. He’s not sure if it’s because of the thought of the bear corpse or the sight of gleaming axes in the guards’ hands, but he feels his heart stop all the same.

He’s cornered.

He’s going to die.

“Please.” It’s barely a whisper.

The guards seem to have gathered themselves, each with their axe raised and poised to throw.

“Now?”

“Now!”

He distantly hopes that no-one ever wears his skin.

Thanks for reading!

[tired-of-being-nice]

weird westerners

HELLO!! i have New Guys :3 don't worry i have not forsaken my old guys. there's just More of them now

basic worldbuilding summary: weird anachronistic fantasy/sci-fi version of the american west that's like somewhere between Cowboy Times and Mad Max but with the vibes of the space age. if that's anything. aesthetically it's a lot worldbuilding wise it's kind of nothing. it's just fucking weird okay. anyway. point is. four guys were in an Incident, died, and were brought back to life by (possibly different?) forces, and now they're kind of stuck together, like it or not.

characters and writings under the cut (cw for body horror: multiple eyes, visible (drawn) blood), and plant horror(?)

(picrews are pre & post resurrections)

zenith "zeni" (ze/them)

yes they do have blue hair. and pronouns. its actually more of a black to blue gradient but the picrew doesnt allow for that :(

unofficial leader of the group by virtue of Having The Car

doesn't really know how they feel about this. not sure they should be trusted with responsibility

kind of a bastard <3 very snappy and quick to anger, but good in a crisis (also partially why ze's the leader)

being resurrected gave zem some weird abilities and ze may or may not be Communing with whatever it was that resurrected zem in zer sleep?

dawn (they/she)

little mormon boy dies and comes back from the dead and immediately has a crisis of both faith and gender, more at 11

the most aggressively Not Wanting To Be Here out of all of them

wasn't friends with any of these people beforehand and most certainly isn't now

feels Really Weird about coming back from the dead. like really really weird about it. doesn't like to think or talk about it ever, if possible

because of this they don't know if they got any abilities in the resurrection

eve (they/it/dea)

didn't exactly...get resurrected? they're a ghost now.

varying levels of tangible from moment to moment. they're not very good at controlling it but get better over time

pretty quiet, especially compared to the rest, and tends to retreat from the situation when things get contentious and...fade into the background (now literally!)

can phase through objects when intangible and possibly possess people, though it hasn't tried

rosa (she/her)

got resurrected especially weird. plant body horror moment

really doesn't like this. sympathetic to dawn over both feeling Fucked Up about it

occasionally tries to play peacemaker between dawn and zenith, but pretty quickly decides that's not the best idea and tries to stay out of it and help smooth things over once they've cooled down

despite her numerous Complexes probably the best at interacting with other people normally out of all of them. as long as they don't freak out about the whole plant zombie thing that is

chronological story masterlist:

snowed in (#1)

trust issues (#2, whumptober day 2)

death do us part (#3, whumptober 13)

don't split the party! (zeni and dawn get kidnapped oh no)

"we had a good run" (#4, whumptober 17)

nameless (#5, whumptober 18)

"it's not your fault" (#6, whumptober 20)

and my nightmares will have nightmares every night (#7, whumptober 26)

denial (#8, whumptober 28)

recovery (#9, whumptober 30)

[starryybrained]

(Regarding prev tags) See here’s where I’m getting stuck with things

I want to make something Complete and Real. And i want it Immediately

The problem is that is not achievable like. Ever????

With still art it’s easy to do, i can SEE my progress and roughly know where Im going or want to go or estimate how long things are going to take. Art is easy and fast and pleasing

Writing is harder. Im exceptionally good at writing short, one-shot style stories but the problem is that i want More to sink my teeth into. A complete series, a book, something full and all encompassing you know. Writing is a bit paradoxical in that its my go to for days i just cant draw but it’s also horrible because i want to make Big Things and can’t get them together

Oh and animation is A WHOLEEEE NOTHER BEAST

however filming shit? Uhhhh not a problem i guess. It’s just more fun

I also keep limiting myself in medium because to me i have only Two options: draw (animating is Not A Reality to my brain often even though i want to do it so fucking bad) or write (it Must be something long and impressive because that is The Ultimate Goal.)

But im just shit at planning !!!!

So then im locking myself in box after box trying to make something that will make me happy and also possibly garner attention or a positive reaction from others (Not Fun, Tiring)

The problem is that i need structure somehow but also i hate structure. I need to be unique and clever and Right the first fucking time. I need to break the structure and be so goddamn special and when i KNOW the structure and have practiced it before - like for essays - i can crunch that shit like nobody’s business but noooo i dont WANT to learn the structure

And then you have to wonder is this really making any of this fun for myself

BUT THEN!! Heres one of the kickers! I’ve found that i work better when im either already having fun OR if im detached from the project and treating it like its work!!

And then you have to wonder if its really going to be your personal beloved project if you hold it at arms length and lie to yourself and pretend its a commission but its like you know you need the pressure to get it done the threat of a deadline just the imagined sense of someone will be MAD at you!! So get to fucking work !

Part of the reason why i finished whumptober was because i was putting the pressure on myself and absolutely FLOORING IT in desperation to get a spot on the completionists list

And like. That was incredible. But also it took the piss out of me and im still kind of reeling from it

And so here i am like. If i have enough wips to pass around like im in an unholy blunt rotation with myself ill be happy right? But then some of them never make it past infancy because the places they come from either arent true to me or theyre not interesting enough to go back to and then i have to turn them to scraps and refeed them to my brain

Anyway yeah i might write about an evil scientist idk. Maybe i should be as freakishly self indulgent as i can who knows. Idk im just having thoughts after reading some really crazy shit i never posted

What if i made another wip. What if . What ifffffffff.

[savebatsfromscratch]

A Few Too Many Leagues Under

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42287670

-

Summary: Gray is training with Takiza, but it hurts a bit more than it probably should.

-

Notes: Gray angst,,,. Yes I’m basic. Yes I hate Takiza. Of course I’m going to put Shark Wars in the Whumptober series, that would be hilarious.  

I’m vaguely uncomfortable with writing torture so I took the theme and general torture idea and used that as inspiration.   

Also, don’t ask how I saw ‘waterboarding’ and immediately wanted a fic about sharks. I don’t know either. 

Shar-kata is the magical powers that exist in Shark Wars by the way, if you weren’t familiar. (They insist it’s not magic but yes it is.)

Cws and Tws: Light torture, self doubt, insults based on weight, unhealthy student teacher relationship (not in a ship way though lol, I’m not brave enough to write that yet.)

Words: 836

Prompt: POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS | Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

-

Chapter text (under the cut):

Gray felt his fins shaking as he strained his Shar-kata powers. He knew that Takiza was pushing him far too hard, but the way the little betta fish twirled so effortlessly, his fins wavering like the prettiest greenie, made something in the back of Gray’s mind wonder if he was not quite enough. He struggled with the boulder, faltering and slowing in the current as the speed bonus of his magic flickered out. 

He knew that if he let his belly touch the ground, or if he lost control and smashed into the coral spires that rose up on all sides, Takiza would punish him. He could already hear his taunting voice in his mind, tsk tsking as he effortlessly changed the current to spin Gray around and around and around. Gray strained once more, barely avoiding the giant arms of a particularly huge coral spire as the boulder dragged him closer and closer to the sand.

He couldn’t restart his Shar-kata speed now, not now that all of his focus was going into getting as far as possible. Takiza, still at his side despite his tiny frilly fins, seemed emotionless, gliding like nothing wrong was happening as he forced a much younger fin to suffer as ‘training’.

Yes, Gray was a megalodon, and Takiza was a betta fish, but this really was much too large of a boulder for even a megalodon like Gray to carry. (And, as he was dragged towards the seabed, he wondered if Takiza was doing it on purpose.)

But the chase was over. As the boulder tapped against the ground, sinking a urchin spine into the sand and holding Gray in place, sand bloomed up and into his gills. Just as expected, Takiza twirled into his view, his multicolored fins a ‘red flag’ wavering in the current. 

“What do you think you are?” Takiza said, his voice deprived of humor as he used his Shar-kata to untie the greenie from Gray, releasing the boulder into the sand, “A pup on its first hunting trip?” 

Gray gnashed his teeth together in anger, but he fought to suppress it, knowing that Takiza would punish him even more if he fought back. “Well no, I-” he started, but was quickly cut off by a high pitched tsk tsk tsk from Takiza.

“It doesn’t matter what you think you are,” Takiza said, circling Gray as he began to twirl the current around them, kicking up sand and small stones to pelt Gray with, “You are so utterly useless as a student that you may as well be a tuna!” he swam a bit closer to gray and tapped his stomach with a fin, “Fitting, given that you seem to like them so much.”

Immediately, the insult shocked him. (And the small stone hitting him square in the gills didn’t help matters.) Gray was accustomed to being insulted for his weight by sharks that thought he was just another great white (if he was he would be rather large), but Takiza knew that he was a megalodon. He knew that there was no way to change how thick his tail was, or how round his belly was. It was just the way that such sharks were built!

But the insult also hurt. Gray found himself beginning to rotate slightly and he fought to regain control. He had trouble not taking such things to heart, not when it had been hammered into him for so long that it was true, even when it wasn’t.

Takiza tsk tsk tsked again and he sped up the current slightly, causing Gray to tilt onto his side. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you could just do your assignment,” Takiza said, as if such a punishment made any sense in the first place, “It’s just a couple hundred tail strokes,” he said, emphasizing ‘hundred’ by flipping Gray upside down for a moment, “Lochlan had no trouble with it.”

Gray couldn’t fight back as Takiza began to roll him over and over again, but by Tyro did he want to just… eat the little monster. Yes, it was wrong to eat sentient creatures (especially sentient creatures who could kill you from the inside), but he was willing to make an exception just this once.

He was so dizzy, and the constant spinning made it hard to breathe (and even harder to see). But Takiza did it anyway. Tortured his ‘dumber’ students just because he could. Used punishments rather than positive reinforcement for what reason? Because he found it easier? Gray bit back a scream. 

The worst part of all of this was that it was required. He needed to be enduring this, for the sake of the whole Big Blue! It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t some other shark do this?! Clearly there were plenty of sharks more fit to the job, if the mysterious “Lochlan” was any indication, so why couldn’t they do this? Why couldn’t anyone but Gray do this? 

So, still spinning, he let his body go limp.

End of chapter notes: I hope y'all like Shark Wars because there's more coming.

[astriiformes]

New Year’s Resolutions are always dubiously helpful for me, but it is a good time for reflection, so here is an organization of things that are not quite “resolutions,” but possible goals for me nonetheless:

Writing:

Last year I made a post expressing how excited I was that I had started working on fic again in earnest, and modestly expressed the hope that I could match it and write at least 25k of fic in 2021. Turns out that I instead managed to publish 84,582 words of fic, marking my most productive writing year.... ever. 

What I am taking away from that: Fandom challenges & events are great motivators for me. The bulk of that published fic is from Whumptober and my Fandom Trumps Hate piece, and Whumptober in particular was a fantastic test of my skills & gave me some ideas for larger stories

What I would like to do in 2022: Keep that momentum! I love writing and posting fic so much and even though it’s hard it’s been great for me! That said, 2021 was also the year of not working on existing projects and instead posting new ones. Part of that was a new special interest developing in August, but in 2022 I want to return to my LotR longfic and BttF stories I’ve had percolating for ages, alongside new TOH stuff and finishing my FTH story/hopefully taking on a new one

(Additionally: I want to look more at non-fanfic writing projects. Thinking more seriously about original fiction or academic/freelance publishing seems like something worth doing if my writing ability is really returning so strongly, after struggling with it for so long)

Cosplay:

I only finished one cosplay in 2021, but Hunter’s Golden Guard outfit is far and away the most complicated one I’ve ever made and proof that I really have launched into a new sort of... echelon of ability

What I am taking away from that: I can in fact learn new skills without too much angst, and I do have some really solid problem-solving creating abilities (throwing together a mask to go with my Percy cosplay at 3am the night before wearing it again also proved this). It is absolutely worth tackling the projects I have been putting off because I think my abilities aren’t good enough. (Also, I really love the hobby and should invest in it)

What I would like to do in 2022: Finish at least one new cosplay from scratch. I also might like to fix up or remake parts of some others, but I want to tackle something completely new and finish it before the end of the year. Raine, most likely, but I also kind of want to look seriously at starting Fjord or Caduceus finally after worrying that they’d be “too hard” for me for a while now. Also, maybe look into doing a real photoshoot at some point because my costume(s) actually look good!

Music:

I struggled with this one this year and got very imposter syndrome-y about my abilities as a musician. Not so many successes. But I did write multiple original songs, which is a new one for me, and play one concert at the local con this summer, and at the very end of the year, before I injured my hand, was actually trying to regularly practice again!

What I am taking away from that: I know what I am insecure about and should tackle that as well as try to actually keep that practicing momentum. Also, I am a better lyricist/songwriter than I think probably

What I would like to do in 2022: Figure out regular practicing methods that work for me. Write at least a few more songs. There is a very decent chance that 2022 might end up being our album year -- work towards that. I think I need to share my music more to feel better about it, because I am my own worst critic so.... do that. On tumblr or on streams or even at more concerts if they’re possible. Also, if it’s possible, I really want to play in an ensemble by the end of the year. That probably means thinking about an audition, which terrifies me, but... I should try to bite that bullet. Maybe.

Of course there are other things I want to work on, but I think my school/mental health/interpersonal goals are a very different beast, to be handled differently. Mostly I wanted to look at three of the hobbies I invested in most this year in various ways & that made me happy (or sometimes did, at least), beacause oh boy were they one of the things that carried me through this last year, and I’d like for them to keep doing that. Creating is really important to me. I want to keep and get even better at creating.

[homerforsure]

2021 fic year in review

tagged by @oatflatwhite and @nogamediaz Thanks pals!

completed works: 15 

total word count: 181825 (how in the actual...)

fandoms i've written in: 9-1-1

looking back, did you write more than you'd expected this year?: Lol. Prior to this, the last writing I really did was a handful of Walking Dead fics in 2012 and like one or two The Force Awakens fics? (None of which were great). So I think it’s safe to say that I had no plans to write this year or possibly ever?

what's your favourite story of the year? I... hmm. I’m going to say get me through the night; make me feel alright. It’s my first one, right? It’s the start of all this and it always gives me the warm fuzzies when people like it. 

did you take any writing risks this year? Can writing be the risk? Posting things? Being perceived? 

do you have any fanfic or profic goals for next year? *glances at stack of increasingly threatening notes that have been slipped under my door just saying Hockey AU* 

Also, I’m going to finish my Long Way Home series too. It’s only going to cover season 4 so I think I can do it. Probably should stop taking like 3 months between installments though. 

most popular story of the year? carry my heart home to you

story most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: I mean I think I understand where everything is landing on my “sort by kudos” list. Slightly surprised by but I called from the dark and you picked up the phone but maybe not really? Because I posted it just before the season started and it instantly became irrelevant.   

most fun story to write: I had a lot of fun with the Christmas fic (Here where we should be; kiss me, it’s christmas). And I had a blast doing whumptober

most unintentionally telling story: I don’t know? I mean they all have parts of me in them. Gosh, now I’m wondering what I’ve revealed without realizing it. 

biggest disappointment: I really... God, I started this year having not written regularly since college. Every single minute has been a delightful surprise. I didn’t have enough expectations to be disappointed. 

biggest surprise: Everything. I didn’t think I would write, I didn’t think I would try to write a series, I didn’t think I’d be writing sex, I didn’t think I could write whump. Every day is a new adventure!

Work-wise, I knew In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply was going to be a tough sell (yes, please enjoy this 20k Covid fic where everyone is sad). But it seems like every comment on it is just the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me and I really truly did not expect that.  

favourite part of fandom this year: Having one! I’ve literally never successfully used the internet to meet and interact with people before? So it’s been both surreal and wonderful. 

I’m sure I’ve missed people posting and I know there’s more than one of these going around so please feel free to disregard, but I’ll tag: @queerpanikkar @thekristen999 @evanbucxley @mellaithwen

[thepartyresponsible]

Hey, could you perhaps label the chapters with their prompt? I find myself rereading your previous and now whumptober works and I don't have the chapter memorized :(

I do think, in general, you should just post the prompts separate no matter how short they are. It's puts off a lot of people to see the wall of tags, and your works are well built enough to stand alone! That's more my opinion though!

hi, anon! thanks for the advice! i think you're right about these fics doing better as standalones. i received a few similar asks last year, and i want to explain why i post whumptober the way i do.

before tumblr banned explicit content, i posted whumptober/spooky season here. usually, when i post something on ao3, it's complete. i might write a sequel, but i won't introduce new characters or decide what i really wanted was more vampires. tumblr was more of a sandbox, more of a "this is what i have now, but who knows what it'll look like when i'm done."

when tumblr stopped being an option, i lost my rehearsal space, but i don't actually consider any of the whumptober fics to be complete. two of the fics from last year have been expanded and re-posted as standalones. two or three from this year probably will, as well. ao3 has a much wider audience and a much longer memory, so i'm not entirely comfortable posting these on ao3, but it's what i have.

it's breakfast time for me, so here's a bakery metaphor: when i post a standalone on ao3, i've made a cake for a party. it's as fancy as i can make it, i've spent as much time on it as i'm going to spend, and i want as many people as possible to see it and try it. whumptober is a tin of a cookies i've made for my friends. these cookies aren't perfect, there's some weird stuff in there, and i've tried a few recipes that i won't try again, but they're gifts i've made for people i like. i am not prepared for the whole of ao3 to descend on these cookies and tell me they hate raisins and i should've added more nutmeg. it's my favorite month. i'm trying to have a good time. i like not having to spend time arguing with myself over titles and summaries. i like the smaller audience of people who already know they like what i write. i like checking in multiple times (sometimes daily!) with the same people.

so i won't be posting these as separate fics, but i've never thought of including the prompts in chapter titles. that's a great idea. i'll do that going forward. i'm certainly not trying to make it difficult for you to track down a fic you like. i'm just trying to find a way to get all these weird, spooky, whumpy, works-in-progress cookies to my friends.

[authorofemotion]

Claire!

Because I know you are huge(at least in my eyes) especially with your whump blog and I know you post original content...

What advice would you give for new blogs/authors for writing original content? I'm thinking about writing some but I think I want to grow my blog before I do. You don't have to answer but I'm always looking for advice to better myself and my writing.

Love you!

hi athena!! I don’t know if i’m going to be the best person to give advice (this blog has ~150 followers and my fandom sideblog has about 30. but my whump blog is doing pretty well!) but I can absolutely try!! Since it got pretty long, I’m putting it under the cut :)

(also this is entirely unrelated but for some reason I’m able to type stuff inside your ask which is whacky. i didn’t do it though lol)

Growth takes time!! I started my blog almost three years ago and I’ve built most of my following in the last year and a half. Hitting your stride takes time and trial and error no matter what, so be aware that even when it doesn’t seem like it, you ARE making progress!!

MAKE FRIENDS!! Seriously, finding your people can help you so much (and you’ve already been doing a great job with that! again, I only made my friends within the last year and a half).

Another great thing to do would be to make an introduction post and tag your favorite content creators! Intro posts go around a lot and that will get people familiar with you and give you a face in the community.

Also, to become familiar to various people, reblog writing you like and RANT IN THE TAGS I SWEAR IT HELPS SO MUCH!! Artists (writers included) don’t get nearly as much interaction as they should simply bc people have stopped reblogging stuff. So a reblog is amazing—but if you put a sentence or two (or a whole paragraph if inclined) in the tags about what you loved, I promise the author will LOVE YOU and almost definitely check out your blog. Sending asks is also really good!

Try to post (at least semi-) regularly. I’m a bad example because my online presence ranges from posting multiple things a day to not writing for three months. BUT! I always see a boost in followers every time I post something new, and, again, if people see your url often enough, they’ll check out your blog and may drop a follow!

TAG TAG TAG TAG TAG!!!! Use AS MANY relevant tags as possible when you post, because people follow tags of things they like to see, and posts that use those tags then show up on their dash, and your content is exposed to new people!

Participate in community events! Yet again, I’m a terrible example of this because I. haven’t yet. However! Events like Whumptober, Whumpmas in July, Summer of Whump (There are non-whump ones Im just painfully oblivious to them) will get you exposed to more people too! You don’t have to do every prompt, lots of people will see your work because they follow the event tags, and the hosting blog will reblog it for their followers too!

Write what you want to! My self-indulgent posts that I think most people won’t like because it appeals to me specifically do really really well a lot of the time! You aren’t alone in really liking the tropes you like, so there 100% will be an audience for what you want to write, you just have to find it.

If you want to write with OCs, write a few things with well-known characters (fanfic) or generic characters (hero/villain, etc) first or alongside it. Being introduced to someone’s blog solely with OCs can be intimidating bc instead of focusing on the writing you’re like “who are you people???” but if you write other things alongside it, people will be introduced to your writing, then may decide to check out your OCs (also if you have them make an intro post for your ocs. it’s really fun)

If a prompt inspires you, fill it in with a reblog!

Also remember (I know from experience) more people will like your posts than reblog. more people will read your posts than will like. not everyone who goes through your blog and reads everything you have will like the posts, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have that audience!

uhhh that’s about all I have. it’s all pretty generic advice but I hope it helps!! LOVE YOU <333

[supersilversleuth]

To Kill, To Die, or, To Live by SuperSilverSpy

Fandoms:DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, I have used these tags so much lately, I could probably write them in my sleep, Hurt No Comfort, maybe? - Freeform, I don’t remember writing any comfort…, Hurt, Angst, Jason Todd is a good bro, usually, sometimes?, idk - Freeform, he wants to be a good bro in this fic, Possession, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Whumptober 2021, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson

Summary:

Red Hood showed up in the Batcave after helping out with a quick op one night. Everyone seemed to be looking at him with distrust and suspicion, even though he’d just helped them out. Everyone except Dick, of course, who offered him a tight smile, but whose expression was otherwise unreadable.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

OR Jason wakes up one morning, and there’s a voice in his head screaming for the death of one Dick Grayson

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Published: 2021-10-04 Completed:2021-10-04 Words: 3091 Chapters: 3/3

Chapter One: To Kill

It happened out of the blue one day.

Jason woke in a cold sweat, but he didn’t immediately sit up in bed. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He just stared up at his ceiling, a single thought running through his head, a single emotion coursing through his veins.

Dick Grayson must die.

Distantly, a part of him felt appalled at the notion, but most of him was running with it. Anger clouded his mind but it was unlike any he’d ever felt before. It was different, colder somehow, not like the usual searing heat of pit madness.

He heard a new voice in his head spewing insults about the Golden Boy left and right. Some felt familiar, as if taken from Jason’s own mind. Most of them were new, and he did his best to ignore the most unsavory ones.

He didn’t actually hate Dickface, did he? N—

Jason sat up, and began preparing for the day ahead of him. Put bread in the toaster, remember the meetings he has with several of his informants— Dick Grayson deserves to die— now that didn’t sound right…what was he thinking about again? Put butter on the toast when it’s done, start eating, think about that case that’s been stumping him lately— take Nightwing hostage —what was that? He does have a pretty busy nightlife… Do the morning’s dishes, brush his teeth, get dressed. He had a drug ring to bust tonight, that’s right. Some scumbags needed a little visit from the esteemed crime lord Red Hood— kill them all— what? N—

Jason went through the rest of his day in a haze. He met with some informants, gave food to some people on the streets. He got everything done quickly and efficiently, he even managed to make time to buy groceries. With every interaction, he acted just like he normally would. His movements were comfortable, voice at just the right level to suit each situation. People seemed easily swayed by him, to do as he asked. And yet...he felt detached somehow, as if watching through someone else’s eyes—someone who acted exactly like him.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it though, couldn’t open his mouth and say something out of character, or just talk to himself when no one was in sight. Distantly, a part of him felt alarmed, something was just off.

Still, he made it through the day just fine. Whatever had been bothering him earlier that morning seemed to fade, and he started to feel as if nothing had changed. And nothing had, right? He didn’t remember anything different between today and yesterday…

Night came, and the Red Hood went out to save the day, or at least crash some a**hats’ day, he wasn’t picky. Everything went to plan too, which made him elated. The bats could say all they wanted about him, but no one could deny his clear skill and competency.

Everything was going well, the drug traffickers were all passed out on the ground and Jason was getting ready to call the police, when it happened.

His thumb withdrew from the call button, burner phone slipping back into his pocket. His hands went instead to his guns, and he felt his body turning, moving towards the unconscious bodies of some of the worst that he’d taken down. Kill. Kill. Kill. Chanted that new voice in his head. Kill them all, they deserve it. Just like Dick Grayson.

What? N—No, that didn’t make sense. Why was—Why was his hand still moving? What was his finger doing on the trigger? Jason didn’t understand. I don’t want to kill them, he thought. He pushed against that voice, that—that presence in his head.

It pushed back .

Jason was left scrambling internally, as he watched his own arm lift and aim. A body lay on the ground, motionless where splashes of crimson decorated the floor.

Jason felt as if he’d been booted out of his own body, like his actions weren’t his to control anymore. He felt sick, but no bile would rise in his throat. No feeling would stir in his stomach. He didn’t understand.

Two bodies, on the ground, it was like he was seeing double, than triple, then several many more. He started to lose count. At one point, he noticed there was a knife in his hand, that his face was twisted in an expression of satisfaction. His hands were covered in blood, and so were his pants. He’d have a hard time washing that out, Jason realized distantly. Death here, death there, death death everywhere, said the voice in his head. He knew he was feeling things, actual emotions. But they didn’t really seem to be there . They were foreign, unfamiliar, not his own. Jason could think of all the synonyms he knew to describe just how out of place the anger and the bloodlust and the malicious satisfaction felt. How out of place he himself felt. Kicked out of his own mind, out of control of his own body.

Even with past experiences in mind control and mind-twisting pits of torture, this still was like nothing he had ever felt before.

—

Jason didn’t know what day it was, what was happening, he just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t seem to keep track . It had been like this ever since the massacre, since he’d fought and lost the battle in his own mind.

Red Hood showed up in the Batcave after helping out with a quick op one night. Everyone seemed to be looking at him with distrust and suspicion, even though he’d just helped them out. Everyone except Dick, of course, who offered him a tight smile, but whose expression was otherwise unreadable.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

“Those drug traffickers on Monday,” began the big bat himself. Jason’s hand waved as if to wipe it all away. “Lay off it, B. I promise it wasn’t me, alright? I left before whoever murdered them all showed up.” The Replacement was frowning at him, and the Demon brat was scowling his way as well. Bruce thinned his lips, looking at him in that insufferable judgmental way he had. Jason felt himself scoffing, “I don’t owe you fools anything. ”

Please, he thought, this isn’t me. Please, I know it sounds like me but I swear it isn’t. His body went straight for his motorcycle, hopping on and driving away with the squealing of tires.

There are TWO POSSIBLE ENDINGS, the first one is Major Character Death, the second is “everybody lives”

Read the next chapter for tragedy, read the chapter after that for somewhat happy ending

Chapter Two: To Die

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“I’m fine.” Jason’s voice growled. “And I didn’t kill those people. So there’s nothing for you to report back to ol’ daddy bats up there on his high horse.” Dick scowled briefly, but then his expression smoothed. “I’m not here to spy on you, Jay. And I know it wasn’t you who killed those people.” His brother looked at him steadily, right in the eyes. No! Dick, you have to get away from me, he wants to kill y —

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

For a moment, Jason panicked. But whoever it was in his head let up quite a bit, and Jason suddenly felt lighter than air. It was like the first taste of water after days in the desert. Like he could finally breathe after an eternity of going without.

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“It…it seems to have left me.” Jason said, voice trembling in awe as he flexed his fingers. It’d been so long…

—

Dick smiled down at his brother.

“It’s okay, Jay.” He said, “It must’ve fled when it realized I knew it was there.”

“How…how did you know, anyways?” Jason asked.

“I just…I had a feeling. You were acting off, and that look in your eye…”

“Thanks, Dick,” his little brother replied, but then his voice changed, sounding almost…fearful? “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He asked, straining his ears, “I don’t—”

There was a loud roar and the sound of large, stomping feet. Dick frantically looked around, noticing as shadows creeped in from underneath the door. The air was charged with magic, power flowing throughout the room.

“It’s back,” whispered Jason, clutching Dick’s arm, “we should run.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, as if in a daze, “let’s go.”

It seemed so surreal, the supernatural monsters bursting through the door. Dick wasn’t sure what surprised him so much about it, he dealt with this kind of thing every other day. It’s just…

“Dickie,” said Jason, pulling him towards the window. “Snap out of it, they’re gaining on us.”

He shook his head, looking back—and yeah, the strange magical creatures were right behind them.

Jason jumped through the window, Dick following closely behind. They fired their grappling guns, arriving on the roof opposite in what felt like the blink of an eye.

“Hurry,” said a voice and—oh, it was Jason. It was coming out of Jason’s mouth, right? It must be Jason’s. “We should go that way.”

Dick looked his little brother in the eyes, grounding himself there, before following Jason’s lead as they ran across rooftops.

Dick felt like he was doing everything underwater, but it was…nice. Pretty great actually. He barely even noticed the burn in his legs, or how the monsters chasing them had odd-looking shadows.

Each time he looked back, all he saw was claws and teeth. Masses of fur and strange golden markings.

They paused for breath a few blocks away.

Dick wondered at Jason’s plan. It felt like there was something he should be doing…“Jay? What should we do? Where do we go?”

“That thing in my head seemed afraid of tall places…”

“The—The Wayne Enterprises building.” Dick replied almost immediately.

“Of course,” said Jason, bumping him with his shoulder, “How about a race?”

Dick grinned back at him, “Sure, why not.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins, and for a moment, he almost forgot about the monsters chasing them.

Jason nodded to him, and then they took off, running and jumping, grappling all across the city, heading for the tallest building around. Dick pressed himself to go faster, run harder, jump stronger .

He could see Jason out of the corner of his eye, also going considerably fast.

Jason wasn’t the only one Dick noticed, he also spotted several of them on Jason’s tail. The monsters seemed to move just as fast as they did. He could only hope his little brother could go fast enough to outrun them.

Dick reached the WE building first, skidding to a stop on the roof. Jason arrived soon after.

The monsters gathered a roof away, preparing to jump.

“I—I don’t understand, I thought you said they wouldn't follow us up here.” Dick looked at Jason, searching for answers in his expression.

His little brother’s features were soft, his eyes glittered with something strange and otherworldly. His voice was smooth and heavy with something familiar… “It’s okay, I have a plan, but there’s no time. Dick, do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, Little Wing.”

Darkness creeped up along the edges of the building, sliding onto the roof. Claws scraped against the ground, glowing gold eyes began to surround them. There was a single opening, a small bit of edge that had nothing on it.

Jason smiled, grabbing Dick’s grapple gun. And then pushed him off the roof.

Dick Grayson fell over 1,000 feet to the ground, all the while believing his brother would catch him.

Above, on the roof of Wayne Tower, Jason Todd’s eyes flashed gold.

Chapter Three: To Live

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“I’m fine.” Jason’s voice growled. “And I didn’t kill those people. So there’s nothing for you to report back to ol’ daddy bats up there on his high horse.” Dick scowled briefly, but then his expression smoothed. “I’m not here to spy on you, Jay. And I know it wasn’t you who killed those people.” His brother looked at him steadily, right in the eyes. No! Dick, you have to get away from me, he wants to kill y —

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

For a moment, Jason panicked. But whoever it was in his head let up quite a bit, and Jason suddenly felt lighter than air. It was like the first taste of water after days in the desert. Like he could finally breathe after an eternity of going without.

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “This thing is here to test me Jay, I didn’t have a choice. I know you didn’t either, and I am so, so sorry for that Little Wing. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly the presence was back, the voice along with it. Jason could feel his consciousness collapsing back, dissociating once again. He vaguely registered as one of his hidden daggers was swiftly drawn, and pressed harshly against Dick’s neck.

“Do you trust me?” asked Jason’s voice, a smirk spread across his face.

The question was meant to be mocking, but Dick answered seriously, “Of course, I know you’re still in there, Jay. I trust you.”

—

They stood on the roof of the WE building. Whoever was controlling Jason had used his strength to give Dick a good beating, and sent a picture of the aftermath to the bats. It was only a matter of time before they showed.

“One as special as Dick Grayson, must be able to trust at least one member of his family. Jason Todd is least likely to accept this trust, which makes my job so much easier. I look forward to his death,” said Jason’s voice while they waited.

Dick, all tied up, sporting a black eye and what were likely bruised ribs—grinned like a maniac. “I recognized your presence, didn’t I? I could tell there was something off with him, you nasty little f***er. You may think you chose your victim well, but you’re making a big mistake—Jay will pull through for me, and you will be torn away as if it were nothing.”

Wow, Dick just sounded so—so confident in Jason’s ability to do whatever it was he was supposed to do. Jason wasn’t sure he’d be able to overpower this thing, let alone destroy it.

“The rest of your so-called family will arrive any minute now, will you weep at their demise?”

Dick scowled, “The rules that you are bound to state that you can’t kill any of my loved ones before me.”

“I may not be able to kill them, but I’ve been doing this awhile, and I know all the loopholes to this little game.”

Behind them, the bats touched down on the roof. Jason felt himself turn to face them. It seemed that Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Steph all showed up for the party.

“Here to save your favorite Golden child?”

“What do you want?” Demanded Bruce, stoic as ever.

They never cared about you , none of them do. Hissed the voice in his head. Nobody trusts you

Nobody trusts you , Jason thought back at it, you murderous lying b****** .

It chuckled, ah, but it is not my face I’m wearing. It’s your's.

Outloud, Jason’s voice addressed the bats, “This is the price you pay for not trusting me, for letting Dick down. You didn’t even notice there was something different about him, did you? You didn’t even notice when Jason Todd was no longer Jason Todd.”

Bruce and Dick were the only ones who didn’t look confused at the words. Dick, because he seemed to know what was going on, and Bruce, because he was, well, Bruce. Batman’s face was as stoic as ever.

Jason felt his face twist into something surely ugly and murderous-looking.

Power surged through him, coming from seemingly nowhere. But Jason could feel it at his fingertips, being pushed into him and pulled out, he had no control over its course. The air around him became charged with magic, and then the bats were engulfed in a bright, golden light.

A moment later, Jason's eyes opened to find that all four of them were frozen in various positions and turned into a shiny golden color, standing still like statues.

The look of horror on Dick’s face hurt to look at, when Jason felt himself turn back to the man.

Quickly, Dick’s expression turned to that of anger, “What did you do to them?” he seethed. “Turn them back!”

“It’s too late, Dick Grayson. Once you are dead, your family will remain this way forever.”

Jason’s arms reached out, grabbing Dick and picking him up.

His feet took him to the edge of the roof, holding Dick out over the ground far, far below.

“J—Jay, listen to me, you can fight this. I know you can. You’re still in there, I believe in you.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Jason watched as he dropped his brother over the edge.

Time seemed to stop.

No! He thought, pushing back as hard as he could against that malicious presence in his mind. Jason pictured Dick’s face, looking at him sincerely, a bead of blood forming where Jason’s own knife grazed his throat. “I trust you ,” he’d said.

Jason followed him over the edge before he even knew what he was doing. Shooting out his grapple instinctively, cutting through the air rapidly as he fell.

This is going to hurt , he thought, as he set himself on a collision course with Dick, but I think we’ll live.

[the-13th-rose]

Whumptober 2021 Day 5 - Misunderstanding

Universe: Currently unnamed horror crossover

Characters: Annie (oc), The Miner (My Bloody Valentine)

Content warnings: Broken bones, vomit (character is briefly said to have thrown up, but it isn’t addressed again)

All of my writing is intended for a teen audience or older, unless otherwise stated! My writing often contains violence, strong language, and/or horror, so please use your head and don’t read my work if you think you might be triggered by it.

Summary: Annie is a young woman cursed to be eternally pursued by Hunters, various fictional slashers that come from the media Annie has seen in the past. She’s sick of the cycle, and unbeknownst to her, so is one of the Hunters, who she’s led to an abandoned factory. The Hunter, however, doesn’t speak, and Annie isn’t willing to pay attention to his attempts at forming a truce, still fully convinced he’s trying to kill her.

Word count: 2,261

Oh, Annie. Unfortunate Annie, whose mother unwittingly crossed a witch in her youth. Yes, a witch who saw fit to curse not the “crosser” herself, but her future firstborn instead. It was a wicked curse, designed not to go into effect until the firstborn reached her 18th year, so that she could become fully accustomed to a fear-free existence before having it ripped away from her. And the effects of the curse? To spend eternity pursued by monstrous Hunters. Annie found herself unable to die at all unless by the hand of a Hunter, and upon meeting her end at the hands of one, she would awaken in the morning of that same day, forced to re-do the events of the day. On days when a Hunter pursues her, Annie would have to survive its attempts to kill her until the break of the next day, or be forced to continue repeating the day until she managed to survive the encounter. This was Annie’s fate. To never truly know peace, for death to never be a release.

So, understandably, Annie had no patience for these Hunters anymore. She’d taken to a more proactive approach to survival, opting to fight back against the Hunters instead of simply running away or hiding. She wasn’t always successful in besting the Hunters, but her infinite re-dos allowed her to train and improve. By now, she’d become quite adept at fighting off and defeating the Hunters that pursued her. In fact, it had resulted in them leaving her alone for longer periods of time than before. Unfortunately, it had also forced them to get craftier. Annie and the Hunters were locked in a seemingly infinite arms race.

When one of the Hunters decided he’d had enough of the endless cycle as well, he saw befriending the cursed girl as his best option for a chance to break it, and finally stop being tethered to the curse. Unfortunately, he just so happened to be selectively mute, which would no doubt make explaining himself to Annie quite difficult.

Fleeing a pursuing Hunter Annie had designated “The Miner”, she soon found herself in the middle of an abandoned factory. As strange as it might seem, Annie had deliberately fled to this location, in the hopes of having an advantage over the Miner. Since he typically attacked with wide swings of his pickaxe, narrow corridors and paths surrounded by broken-down machinery would surely impede his attempts to attack her.

Panting, Annie paused in the middle of the old work floor. “Man, don’t you guys ever get tired?” She called out to the approaching Miner. “Seriously, though, how do you manage to make keeping up with someone for multiple city blocks look so effortless?”

The Miner stopped in the middle of the floor, mere feet away from Annie. Now that she looked closer, Annie noticed that he actually did appear somewhat winded, slouching a bit and breathing a little heavily through his gas mask.

“Guess you’re only as immortal as me, huh?” Annie quipped. She placed her hands on her hips and tried to make herself appear dangerous. “Well come on, take your best shot! I’m fucking tired, man. I want to go home and sleep, already!”

The Miner shook his head, which confused Annie a little. “...No?” Annie huffed. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Why would you follow me this far if you’re not trying to kill me?”

The Miner took a few steps closer to Annie, which she responded to by backing away and reaching for her survival knife, concealed in her pants pocket. Against a pickaxe, it wouldn’t do much good, but that’s what the tight corridors were for. She just had to make sure she led him into them. It didn’t really register to Annie that the Miner had his signature weapon still upon his belt, rather than holding it out, ready to attack.

What is your deal? Annie wondered, squinting angrily at the Hunter. Oh well. Doesn’t matter. I just have to keep you from giving me a re-do. “Hey, if you’re not going to leave me alone, then keep following me. I want to show you something,” she said to the Hunter, as she walked backwards towards the stairs leading up to an overhead walkway.

The Miner was no fool. At this point, he could tell Annie was trying to trick him. All the same, he had a goal in mind, and whatever half-baked trick Annie had up her sleeve wasn’t going to make him give up and turn away. So, still keeping his hands free of his weapon, a gesture he hoped she’d notice, he followed Annie as she slowly led him onto the walkway.

“That’s right…,” Annie encouraged the Hunter. “Right this way…”

The Miner followed her to the overhead walkway. They were both quite a distance from the factory floor now, surely far enough to cause serious injury if either of them were to fall.

“Miner, I brought paper, so you can talk to me for once,” Annie spoke up at last, rummaging in her pockets. “Get closer so I can give it to you. I can’t just throw it at you, that’d be rude. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get close if I didn’t trust you, right? That just doesn’t make sense.”

The Miner tilted his head at her words, but admittedly, the idea of being able to actually explain himself to her was too enticing. Sure, it could be a trick, but if need be, he could defend himself. Surely against someone like Annie. And so the Miner walked forward, closer and closer to Annie, until he was right in front of her. He held out one hand, waiting for the paper to be placed into his hand.

Annie rifled through her pocket for a moment, and then, when she thought his guard was at its lowest, she swung outward towards him with her survival knife.

The Miner lunged back, stumbling backwards at first, but quickly catching his footing. As he backed away from her rather reckless knife-swinging, he reached for his pickaxe and held it out in front of Annie to block her knife strikes.

“Come on, you’re just gonna play defense this time?!” Annie snapped, fury burning in her eyes. “What happened to swinging your pick through my face? Into my chest? You could knock me off this walkway, easy! Why won’t you try?! You’re being so weird!!!”

The Miner didn’t change his strategy, merely continuing to step backwards as Annie advanced towards him.

“Come on! I don’t want to be the only one on offense, here! It feels weird!”

Lunging towards him, Annie got in a lucky strike and her knife scraped across the Miner’s fingers. In reacting to this, he dropped his pickaxe onto the floor of the walkway. The weight of the impact must have knocked something loose in the rusted, worn metal, because in the next moment, the panel he stood on fell out from underneath him.

Annie had a split-second of expecting him to hang there in the air for a moment like they do in cartoons. Instead, he fell through instantly. The impact noise his body made against the factory floor made her wince, despite her intentions of harming him.

Annie peered over the walkway’s railing to the floor below.

The Miner was crumpled against the floor, splayed out on his back. His legs were bent horribly out of their proper positions. Even from 20 feet above, she could tell they were totally wrecked. This Hunter wasn’t going anywhere now. At least, not any faster than he could drag himself.

Annie looked behind her, knowing she couldn’t leave the walkway the same way the Miner had. She didn’t want to stay up there, either, considering that the rest of the walkway could easily be just as fragile. So she slowly turned around and gingerly, yet quickly, made her way towards the stairs at the other end of the walkway.

The Miner came back to his senses, having been momentarily dazed by the fall. He tried to sit up, propping his body up with his arms. The pickaxe that had sent him plummeting in the first place was lying a good few feet away. When he tried to move towards it, however, he was met with a wave of sharp agony shooting through his legs. Out of impulse, he let out a scream. He turned to inspect the state of his legs, and...was met with disgustingly wrong angles and a small spot of white through a new hole in his pant leg. Recognizing this as bone, he cried out in shock and frantically lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth.

Annie heard him retch as she reached the bottom of the steps without incident. She lingered by the bottom of the steps for a moment, unsure if she should get near him to finish him off, despite him not looking like he could possibly put up a fight at this point. She walked over to him as he replaced the gas mask and the noise-amplified breaths resumed, heavy and fast.

“...” Annie kept the hilt of the knife gripped tightly in her hand. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” She called out to him. “Maybe that’ll finally teach you to leave me alone, next time you come back. Why don’t you tell your Hunter buddies about this, get them off my back too, huh?”

Annie raised her knife as she stood beside him, poised for the perfect final stab. But as she looked over him, noticed his body language, and watched him flinch away from her final blow, shutting his eyes, which she was only just now seeing underneath the lenses of his mask. And her grip faltered, until she wound up dropping the knife altogether. “Dammit,” she swore, stamping her foot against the floor in frustration. “I really thought I’d be able to do it this time….I’m not really a killer, am I?”

The Miner shook his head, before slouching over and trying to pull his legs along with him. Merely touching them caused him to throw his head back in pain.

“...I guess this would be more of a mercy thing than self-defense at this point, huh?” Annie muttered, mostly thinking out loud. “...Yeah, so I led you here with the intention of killing you as a way to send a message. But I guess I’m kind of pathetic. At least when you’re pathetic, too. Now I can’t do it.”

“...I also didn’t really have paper.”

At this, the Miner shot her a glare, but quickly returned to flinching over his wounds.

“...I can’t believe I’m saying this but...sorry.” Annie muttered, running her hand through her hair. “...You really were just defending. You totally could have killed me back there, but you didn’t, so...dammit, maybe I misjudged you. At least this time, anyway. Because, like, you have killed me before.”

The Miner shrugged half-heartedly, leaning back on his arms and staring at the ceiling, every now and then squeezing his eyes shut and hissing through his mask.

Annie pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. “...11:30 pm?” She slipped it back into her pocket. “Didn’t feel that late…” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve only got to survive for 30 more minutes. She eyed the knife at her feet, and the pickaxe lying a little ways away. “...Do you need a weapon to...reset?” It felt incredibly awkward to ask, but he did seem to be in horrible pain.

The Miner shook his head, gesturing first to his legs, and then to Annie’s phone. The answer seemed clear.

“...You guys reset at midnight?” Annie guessed, to which the Miner weakly nodded. “...Still, 30 minutes is a long time with something that bad. Are you sure--?”

The Miner shook his head, and started pulling at his clothes, trying to tear off a strip of fabric.

“...Oh. I guess I can try to patch you up for now.” Annie replied, turning around to search for a first aid kit or some kind of fabric to turn into makeshift bandages. “...My clothes are cleaner,” she muttered, picking up the knife and carefully cutting strips from the hem of her shirt. “There’s not much, it probably won’t really help, but…” She started gingerly wrapping the strips around his legs.

He gave a loud, sudden cry when she touched his legs, and screamed at her attempts to set the bones. It was horribly amateur. Annie clearly didn’t really know what she was doing, but it was better than her trying to kill him again, he figured.

“Um…” Annie would have to admit it didn’t look very good at all. “Well...it’s only 20-something more minutes,” she tried to reassure him.

The Miner groaned, leaning back on his arms again.

“...Sorry, again, for being too dense to realize you weren’t trying to kill me this time…,” Annie sighed. “I’m just so sick of all this. Was...was that what you were trying to tell me? That you’re sick of this, too, and you want to form a truce?”

He threw his hands down against the floor in frustration, then nodded.

“...Guess I’m not as good at reading people as I thought. Well, at least you get to reset after all this. If you really mean it, I’m willing to forget about all the times you killed me...you gonna forget about the whole ‘breaking your legs’ thing?”

The Miner sighed, but nodded slowly and held out a hand for Annie to take.

“Alright. We’ll shake on it.”