#ailesswhumptober

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Left Behind

ai-less whumptober day 19- left behind/why wasn't I enough fandom- dp x dc TW- abandonment Summary- The Fenton parents leave their kids at the Gotham Public Library

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist part 1 of TFR

Barbara was working the closing shift at the library. She was putting some books away when she overheard a conversation.

“Do you know when mom and dad are going to pick us up?” said what sounded like a teenage boy.

“No, I– Oh, wait they just messaged me.” said what Barbara thought was a slightly older teen girl.

Silence.

“Jazz?

“They left.”

“What?”

“Someone posted about a possible sighting in Metropolis. They said they’ll be there for a few days.”

There was more silence. Barbara stayed quiet.

“So, they left us behind.”

“Yeah.”

“Again.”

“...Yeah.”

Barbara closed her eyes, thinking of Tim and how he had been left home alone so much. And these kids… their parents had abandoned them too.

“Well at least we’re not helpless.”

“I hate them.”

“Jazz–”

“No, Danny. I hate them. They’re supposed to be our parents. They’re supposed to take care of us.”

“I know. They always chose something else over us. Why aren’t we enough, Jazz?”

“I don’t know.” she sniffled.

“Jazz, hey, look at me. We’ll be okay.”

“I'm sorry, Danny. I'm just so tired.”

“I am too.”

Barbara was about to speak up when they continued.

“At least i have a credit card this time so it won’t be like the time they forgot is in Bridgton.”

“Yeah, that sucked. We were lucky we were able to sneak onto that semi.”

“Well, tonight we can get a hotel room and then get bus tickets tomorrow.

“I could just... you know. Do my thing.”

“I guess, but we should at least get a hotel for tonight. I don’t want to try traveling while you’re exhausted.”

“That’s fair. But–”

Barbara finally decided she should make her presence known. She cleared her throat as she made her way around the bookshelf.

The two teens startle. They looked like siblings. The girl was a redhead with teal eyes, and the boy had black hair and blue eyes.

“Hello, I’m Barbara. I work here at the library. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” she paused as the siblings glanced at each other, the boy reaching over to grab his sister’s arm. 

“What do you mean?” asked the girl, Jazz, if Barbara was correct.

“You need a place to stay tonight? It’ll be hard to find a good hotel at this hour. I’ve got an extra bedroom at my apartment, and you’re welcome to stay the night. You won’t owe me anything.”

“Why?” asked the boy, Danny.”

Barbara considered for a moment. “I have a friend who went through a similar situation as you guys, so I’m familiar with what it's like to have your parents be too busy. And you wouldn’t be the first kids I've let stay the night. I can help you find bus tickets in the morning. I’m familiar with most of the routes and can let you know which ones are the safest and quickest.”

The girl glanced at her brother, who stared at Barbara. There was a moment where his eyes seemed to glow and Barabar felt as if he were really looking at her. She suppressed a shudder at the intense feeling. 

Then he turned to his sister and nodded.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’m Jazz and this is Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I have to finish locking up so I’ll meet you by the door.”

They nodded and started gathering their stuff.

Barbara went to finish the rest of the closing shift duties. 

She also had a call to make.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 19 #left behind #why wasn't I enough #Danny fenton #jazz fenton #barbara gordon #let Jazz break down #fanfic #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover

[topguncortez]

The Beauty fell for The Beast || Whumptober Day 20 - R. Wheeler

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: Rip has no idea what John saw in you to keep you at the ranch, but he quickly finds out that it's got nothing to do with how you cowboy

word count: 2.2k

@ailesswhumptober prompt: mutilation

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of scars and injuries, cursing, slight sexism

Rip wasn’t sure what John saw in you. Apparently, you had been picked up on the side of the road by Beth, literally shaking in your boots out in the rain. Somehow she worked her magic on John and agreed to let you earn your keep to stay on the ranch. You were weak, you were quiet, you were. .  . well, you were just you. You stuck out on the ranch like a sore thumb amongst the foul-mouthed, loud, adrenaline-fueled cowboys who walked around with their heads held high. You looked like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. 

“She’s weak, she’s slower than the rest,” John had barely been at the bunkhouse for an hour before Rip started in on his spiel on why you should get fired, “I have to tackle half her workload plus mine-” 

“Looks like you need to teach her,” John said, sipping his coffee casually. John had a soft spot for strays, it was clear by the misfits that he had on his ranch. He knew good and well that you were the weaker link, having watched you struggle to keep up with the rest of the cowboys. But it wasn’t very often that his daughter begged him for a chance. Begged him to give you a chance. You didn’t have to say the reason why you were standing on the side of the highway in the rain, John could tell by one look at you. 

“But sir-” Rip argued. 

John looked over his shoulder at him, “Make her take the lead with pushing the cattle to the north pasture.” Rip’s jaw dropped as John clapped him on the shoulder before sauntering off towards his truck. 

You hadn’t expected anyone to stop that night. All you wanted to do was get as far away from that house, from him, as you possibly could. You didn’t get very far in your car, breaking down only a mile outside of town. You knew that you couldn’t just sit there, he’d certainly find you. So, you ditched the car, leaving your phone in it, and took off walking. It was raining so hard that night, you could hardly see ten feet in front of you. Every passing semi and truck on the road made you jump, praying that you wouldn’t become roadkill. You just wanted to get away. Wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. That’s when a blacked-out SUV slowed to a stop beside you and a woman with a scar on her face rolled down the window. 

“Are you fucking insane?!” She yelled. The moment you turned to look at her, her hard facial features softened. She clenched her jaw and looked towards her driver, before reaching over and opening the car door, “Get in. And if you think about killing me, I’ll haunt your fucking ass until you die.” 

Beth had been the literal angel sent straight from hell. She had given you a place to stay, taking you to the bunkhouse and making all the men in there shake in their boots. She had given you fresh clothes and some toiletries, giving you a bunk with another female, Teeter, who reminded you a lot of your mother. 

“You’ll stay here, got it?” Beth said, and you knew better than to argue with her, “Run out on me and I’ll kill you,” You nodded your head. She then looked at Teeter, “Rip doesn’t find out about this until after I talk to my dad.” 

“I’ll hide ‘er,” Teeter nodded. 

Beth nodded and looked back at you, her heart cracking in her chest a bit, “Get some sleep kid.” 

Teeter had tried her best to ward Rip off, keeping him away from the bunkhouse that first morning, but there was no hiding the loud screams of terror that came from inside. Rip pushed away from Teeter, storming into the bunkhouse to find you, a small frail thing shaking and crying while Kolby and Ryan stood utterly confused. 

“What the fuck is that?” Rip seethed as he pointed at you. 

“Fresh blood!” Ryan smiled, while you were holding your knees to your chest and sobbing. You raised your head gently and looked into the warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. He clenched his jaw tightly, looking away from you, “Get her fed and saddled up. We got work to do,” Rip paused and turned back towards you, “And do something about the screaming shit. Gonna scare the fucking horses.” 

You got to work quickly, not knowing a single thing about being a cowboy. Hell, you couldn’t even remember the last time you rode a horse. But thankfully, Teeter and Kolby took you under their wings, almost as if they were your proxy parents. Ryan fell into the spot of being the older, annoying brother that you wished you had. The three of them looked after you and made sure that you were doing alright, eating well, and getting your workload done. The only thing the three of them could not stop was the nightmares. 

It was like clockwork, every single night. The same dream would plague you, the feel of his rough hands on your body, slamming your head against the wall, threatening to kill you, holding his hands tightly on your throat while black spots filled your vision.  You would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, sending the whole bunkhouse into a frenzy. Teeter would quickly jump down from her bunk, crawling into yours and holding you tightly, while Kolby made his way over. He’d always make sure that you were okay when there really wasn’t anything physical happening. Teeter would lay in your bed until you were asleep and then would crawl back into hers for the last few hours of shut eye. 

It wasn’t until about two weeks into your working on the ranch that you had another run-in with Rip. 

“You’re waking the bunkhouse,” He said gruffly. You looked down at your boots, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes, “My cowboys look like they haven’t had a solid night’s rest in weeks. I would fucking fire you if I could but. . .” You looked up at him, heart in your ears. You couldn’t get fired. You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Rip pinched his nose and sighed, “I can’t cause for some reason, John thinks your worth a shit.” 

“But you don’t?” You said softly. Rip had to hide his stunned expression cause he was starting to think you don’t actually talk. 

“No, I don’t,” Rip nodded, “So pack your shit and follow me.” 

“I-I. . . I have nowhere to go,” You weren’t sure why you had to say that, but it felt like if Rip was going to tell you to disappear, you might as well try to plead your case. 

Rip sighed, “Pack you shit. . . You’re coming to stay with me.” 

You had been staying in Rip’s house for the past two weeks, and you hadn’t woken up screaming at all. Yes, you still had the same recurring nightmare, but it wasn’t so terrifying that it had you screaming in the dark. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but there was something about knowing that Rip was under the same roof that helped you sleep easily. You had seen the way that Rip jumped to stop a fight between Kolby and some rowdy ranch hand at the bar. 

Rip had a soft spot for you, whether he liked to admit it or not. It made his chest hurt when he heard you whimpering and crying in your sleep from down the hall. He tried his best to ignore it the first night, but it got to the point that he couldn’t just lay in his comfortable bed, while you were fighting with something in your sleep on the couch. So, Rip found his way to the living room, gingerly lifting your head and laying it on his thigh. He would stroke your hair until you were back into a deep sleep. And then, he’d turn around and leave before your alarm sounded, going to the bunkhouse and telling John that he should fire you. 

— — —

There was one thing that you loved about being away from the city, and that was the calm serene mornings. Watching the sun poke its light rays through the dark night. Seeing the purples and reds fade into bright blue skies. You hadn’t been on the Yellowstone ranch long, but you already fell in love with the sunrises. It was getting a bit colder out, as the sweltering summer was fading into the brisk fall. The leaves turn from green to vibrant reds and yellows. You felt calm out here. You felt in control. You knew you were needed down at the bunkhouse, but you didn’t care at this moment. Not after what you faced last night. 

Rip was grumbling as he walked towards the stables, taking note of all the ranch hands walking around, seeing that you were nowhere to be found. You hadn’t come home last night after saying you were going into town with Ryan, Teeter, and Kolby. Rip hadn’t bothered to get your number, which he was starting to regret. He cursed himself for being worried about you, knowing you were a full-grown woman. But you were also a woman who looked to be scared of their own shadow. 

“Carter!” Rip yelled as the young boy was walking out of the stables, “Why aren’t you saddled up?” 

Carter paused for a moment, huffing up the heavy saddle in his arms, “I got a late start. I’m sorry Rip.” 

Rip cursed under his breath as he watched Carter continue to struggle with his saddle, “God didn’t add extra daylight to Tuesday, Carter,” Rip rolled his eyes at the boy, who started to break into a jog, “Where’s the other Kid?” 

“Still in the barn,” Carter nodded his head towards the white building, “She just got there.” 

When he spotted you, resting your head against your house, Rip’s blood was boiling, “Do we just show up whenever the fuck we want to now? Where the hell have you-” You slowly lifted your head and turned to face Rip. 

His jaw clenched shut tightly. His anger was now directed off of you and towards whoever the fuck bashed your face in. Your right eye was swollen shut, an ugly cut above your eyebrow. You had what looked like handmarks around your neck, and your nose was clearly broken. 

“Who did this?” Rip seethed. 

You shrugged, “It doesn't matter.” You grabbed your horse’s reins, going to walk out to the ring, but Rip grabbed your arm. 

“That wasn’t up for an argument,” He spoke lowly, “Who did that to your face?” 

You gulped and looked up at Rip, “My husband.” 

It took all the willpower in Rip’s body to hold back the shocked expression. Why hadn’t you said you were married? Is that why you ran away? Well, clearly it was why you ran away, but how long had this been going on? Did he not know where you went? Was he looking for you?

But none of that mattered to Rip. All Rip wanted to know was, “Where is he?” 

“I. . .” You closed your eyes and shook your head, “Dead.” 

Rip didn’t ask any more questions, releasing your arm and running a hand down his bearded face. He looked over his shoulder, taking in a quick glance of his surroundings, before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the stall. 

“Listen,” Rip whispered, “You’re gonna tell me where you left him and then you’re gonna go back to the house and stay there. I’ll handle this.” 

“But-” 

“Go put some ice on your face,” Rip didn’t leave any room for argument as he walked out of the stable, leaving you there alone. 

— — 

You did what Rip told you, leaving the stable and heading back to the house. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t have any ice packs in his freezer, so you were stuck with putting a frozen steak on your eye. The house was eerily quiet as you sat on the couch, frozen meat to your face as you waited for Rip to come back. You wondered what he thought about the house. You wondered what he was going to do to your husband’s body. You wondered if he was wishing that he had never agreed to help you. Maybe he was going to turn you in to the police as you sit. 

But all those worries melted away as the front door opened, and Rip walked in. You stood up quickly as he stood in front of you. 

“I-” 

“How long?” Rip asked. You bit your lip, “How long has he been fucking using you like a punching bag?” Tears filled your eyes as you looked down at the ground, “Jesus Christ.” Rip huffed and took a step closer to you. He gently grabbed your chin in his hand, “Look at me,” You looked into his brown eyes, “You should’ve said something. You should’ve not gone to the house by yourself.” 

“He was going to file a missing persons report,” You sniffled, “I thought that I should just go, get the rest of my things, and tell him that I’m leaving. But he got so mad and. . .” Cries fell from your lips and Rip pulled you into his chest. 

You felt secure in his arms, his chest strong and comforting at the same time. You melted into his touch as he held you. 

“You’ll never have to worry about him or anyone else again,” Rip spoke, making his chest rumble with the dip timbre of his voice, “You’re a part of the Yellowstone now.”

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

#Yellowstone fan fic #Yellowstone #Yellowstone fan fiction #Yellowstone imagine #rip wheeler #rip wheeler fan fic #rip wheeler fan fiction #rip wheeler imagine #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x you #rip wheeler x y/n #rip wheeler angst #Yellowstone angst #ailesswhumptober #g's whumptober

[hyperfixat]

AI LESS WHUMPTOBER DAY FOUR HIDING AN INJURY

support and engagement would really motivate me to help post and work on the rest of this stuff!

(@ailesswhumptober)

You desperately want to fit in with your demonic housemates, but it’s so hard sometimes. They’re so fast and strong, and all in all so much more capable than you… at times it’s embarrassing, or humiliating, but they don’t even have to show it off for you to notice everything they’re doing you could never dream of.

It is no secret that demons are more physically capable than humans, in terms of speed and strength, and everything important. You can’t resent them for this, they can’t control their anatomy, but it doesn’t stop you from resenting yourself.

If only you could run a little faster, jump a little higher, last a little longer. Being left behind, tears a hole into your heart, the fear of being forgotten, even worse, abandoned, drives you to push your limits.

Even when you’ve solidified a place in the family of the Avatars, anxiety still nags at you to push, push, push.

This is far from the first time you’ve injured yourself trying to keep up with the demons, and you’re fairly certain it won’t be the last. You ran a little too far, with strides too big for your body to handle and you damn near heard something tear.

Luckily, a couple steps after the injury, they were done dashing across campus. You walk inside RAD in line with them, suppressing winces and attempting to fix the limp your body begs to have.

“MC.” Lucifer’s voice calls to you as he approaches from the other end of the hall. The brothers around you quiet down and watch.

“Lucifer.” You stare back.

“Come with me, I need to talk with you. Privately.”

You hide your hobble as you take stride behind the demon and he pulls you into an empty classroom. Your leg aches at the impact of stumbling into the room, and Lucifer’s face twitches as you attempt to mask the pain.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course, why do you ask?” You strain to keep your voice light and unbothered.

“You are injured. Do not lie.”

Damn him.

Huffing out your frustration you roll your eyes, “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about. Thank you for your-.”

The flippant way you attempt to dismiss his concern frustrates him. Lucifer’s eyes flash, light making the red look like lasers.

“If you do not tell me where you are injured we will do this my way. I will find out what is ailing you.” For a moment you wish to indulge him in that, see what his way is.

Lucifer holds another standoff (stare off) with you before you break.

“My ankle hurts.” You grumble the phrase, averting eye content.

“Good human,” Lucifer says way too casually. It makes your heart leap. Before you know it he’s kneeling in front of you. “This one?” he hovers his hands above your injured ankle. When you nod, he tugs your pant leg up and cuffs it.

Lucifer hums thoughtfully as he gently pulls your sock down and examines the bare skin of your ankle. It’s slightly reddened, darkened, due to the extra blood flow. Using his teeth, Lucifer tugs off his leather glove on his dominant hand and presses it to your bare skin. A light flow of magic and your ankle is good as new.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.” He really didn’t, you’ve managed just fine without him thus far.

“Nonsense. Now, tell me, how did you come to obtain such an injury?”

Embarrassment leads you to lie. “I don’t know.”

“Lying again? I thought you were better than this, MC.” Disappointment from Lucifer hurts, but doesn’t thaw the embarrassment.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t go trying to run away.” Lucifer manages to stop you before you can even begin to flee back to his brothers with a firm hand on your hip.

Stubbornly refusing to talk to him, you avert your eyes and focus on a point just beyond Lucifer’s head.

“MC.” He scolds yet again. “We can stay here all day, little star.”

When you still do not relent, Lucifer moves his head into your line of sight.

“Your brothers are a bit faster than me, and I tripped over myself while keeping up to them. No big deal, Lucifer. Leave this alone.” Though you know saying such is futile, you cannot stop the words.

“Why wouldn’t you say something?” His eyes narrow. “I’ll need to have a talk with them. Don’t let this happen again.”

You let it happen again.

Well, almost.

Just before you go falling down into the harsh Devildom concrete a pair of hands wrap around your waist and settle your still dangling body into their hip bones. You look up and see Lucifer staring down at you, a single brow raised.

Your face heats, but neither of you say anything, and Lucifer’s stride doesn’t falter as he follows along his brothers.

#verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday4 #ailesswhumptoberhidinganinjury #ai less whumptober #ai less whumptober 2023 #lucifer x reader #om lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer x reader

[chiefdirector]

Just Forget the World | Tony Dinozzo | NCIS

No. 21: Blood loss

Despite what many may think, it wasn't always easy to separate your professional and personal lives. It was something Tony had always struggled with as he constantly brought up his sexual escapades, or sexapades as he had once referred to them as, or other like stories to lighten the tension in the office. Sometimes he wished he could be more like Gibbs, it was almost as if the older man had a switch in his brain for each of his lives; he could toggle it on and off in an instant.

If he had learnt to differentiate then maybe he wouldn't be in this position. He could've have a happy life, taken a desk job somewhere in the agency and retired happy. He wouldn't have fallen in love with his co-worker. Tony laughed at that thought, there was no way he wasn't going to fall in love with her.

From the moment he saw her sitting at her desk nervously flipping through some files; she only a probie agent, that much was clear, but nothing else about her was. Not for the life of him, could Tony Dinozzo figure this woman out, it was only through trial, tribulation, and constant questioning (pestering would have been a better word) did he begin to unravel the mystery of Agent (L/N).

Eventually, her guard did fall, and she found herself just in love with Tony as he did her. It was almost as if fate had aligned to bring them together, but if fate had come together to to that then fate had a sick and twisted sense of humour. Or maybe it wasn't fate's doing, maybe it was karma who took her from Tony.

The gunshot had rung out quickly, Tony almost didn't hear it among the harmony of church bells that celebrated their matrimony.on instinct he had caught her and lowered her onto the ground, one hand supporting her and the other pushing pressure onto the wound as it seeped red onto her once pristine gown.

"Hey, hey. I've got you. It's gonna be okay?" Tony felt the words tumble out of his mouth, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself alongside his bride. "You're not going anywhere. I'm right here."

"Tony," She said, voice cracking as she barely spoke above a whisper.

He shushed her, adjusting her so all of her body weight was against him. Still keeping pressure on the wound, he took his free hand to gently move her face to align their eyes.

"I've got you baby. Gibbs is going to figure this out but we need to focus on you. Someone will be here soon, and then they're going to patch you up. You see? Everything will be okay?"

The noise of their guests panicking had long since died down into silence, not that Tony had noticed in the first place. McGee had called an ambulance before herding any civilians back to the cars. Ziva and Gibbs had sprinted after the shooter. It was only the two of them left in the room as they waited for help to arrive.

"It'll just be us but you need to stay awake," he gently shook her as her eyes began to flutter, "I'm sure Vance will approve us some time away. We can go anywhere and just forget the world. But you need to stay awake for that, baby."

Tony shook her again, this time she seemed a bit more alert as she reached for the hand which he had pressed against his side.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out. If the room wasn't as silent as it was, Tony wasn't sure if he would have heard her confession or not.

"What for?" He could have laughed at that, and in any other situation he would have. "You have nothing to be sorry for?"

"You know... this."

Before he could muster up a response, McGee burst through the doors once again, paramedics close on his heels. Carefully, Tony shifted her into his arms so he could place her onto the gurney the medics had brought. They barely spoke a word as they rushed her out of the room and towards the ambulance.

Tony watched as she disappeared through the doors, stood in the same spot as he was when he had watched her walk towards him, the only difference now was his tux was forever stained in her blood.

Hours could have passed and he wouldn't have noticed, it was only as McGee spoke did he snap back to his reality. "She'll be okay, Tony.'

But for the first time in a long, long time was he unsure. The only thing he knew was that if he had kept his personal life to himself then the love of his life wouldn't be bleeding out; if he kept his personal life to himself, her tomorrow would be guaranteed and not just a 'maybe.'

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober @callsign-ember @happygirl-0408

#ncis imagine #tony dinozzo imagine #tony dinozzo x reader #chiefdirector #ncis #ncis tony #ncis cbs #ncis x reader #tony dinozzo #leroy jethro gibbs #ailesswhumptober

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Day 1 - Drugged

Hehehe let's do some Whumptober!! Going with @ailesswhumptober's prompt list bc like...listen, the prompts are really tasty. Also Miguel belongs to my beloved @whumpr!! Thank you for letting me borrow him!!

TWs: Drugging (but it was requested), panic attacks

Mariano was at the war mage's place, curled up on the couch with Miguel, when he'd offered to get him some water to go with their popcorn. He'd finished his glass immediately, since the extra salt that Miguel liked to add made him thirsty. Mariano hadn't thought anything of it until they'd gone back to watching their movie.

Dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion twenty minutes later. It felt like the couch had swayed underneath him. He hummed, frowning, reaching to press his hand to his own forehead. "Miguel..." He started, realizing that his tongue felt too heavy.

"Hm?" Miguel had an arm around him. He shifted to look Mariano in the eye. "Something the matter?"

"I..." Mariano fought to find the words he wanted. "I feel...weird." He settled on. "I don't think I feel well."

Miguel reached up to push Mariano's hand away from his forehead, pressing the backs of his fingers to Mariano's skin. It made Mariano whimper, leaning into the steadying touch. "You don't have a fever."

The couch swayed again and Mariano leaned closer to Miguel, dropping his face against his shoulder with a whine. His hand shifted to clutch Miguel's shirt. His heart started to race. "What's...?"

"Ah." Miguel said, laughing gently. "Ah, I see. It's just kicking in."

Ice flooded Mariano's chest as his shoulders went tense. He looked up at Miguel, sounding stricken. "Yyyyou...you gave me something."

"Shhh." Miguel said, reaching to cup Mariano's face. "Shhh, breathe." His thumbs started sliding back and forth along Mariano's skin, even as tears started to gather in Mariano's eyes. "Remember you asked me to do this? A few weeks ago?"

"I want to be less panicky when I'm drugged." Mariano had admitted. "I feel like I lose my mind when I realize it's happened, it makes it hard to fight, or run."

"Do you want me to help you work through the panic?" Miguel had asked. "We can use the normal safe word, in case it starts to feel like too much."

"Yes, yes please. Don't warn me, either. I wouldn't get that luxury normally."

Mariano did remember, then, through the haze starting to cloud his mind. Adrenaline started to race through him, drawing his grip on Miguel into something tighter. He nodded, though, groaning at how it made the living room spin.

"Answer me, Mariano, do you remember asking for this?" Miguel spoke low against his ear. A shudder raced down Mariano's spine.

"I do, I...I remember." Mariano slurred. "Remember we were...there's gonna be the...the safe word. In case."

Miguel's hand slid through his hair and Mariano huddled into him. "Perfect." Miguel said, sounding fond. "Exactly. And I'm gonna keep you like this for a while tonight."

Mariano pressed his body closer to Miguel's, as though he were trying to curl up and hide against the shorter man. "How...howww long? I don't...I don't like this."

"You don't get to know." Miguel answered, and Mariano could've sworn he heard him smiling. "Come on, breathe. Relax. We're just watching a movie." The hand in his hair kept up its repetitive strokes, fingertips sliding along Mariano's scalp just how he always liked.

It didn't work. Mariano just got tense all over again. "Miguel, I don't..." He felt his breath hitch. "Please tell mmmme...tell me how long."

Miguel shook his head. "I can't do that." His other hand took Mariano's, winding their fingers together. "You're safe. Take a deep breath."

"Miguel." Mariano's voice broke. Miguel's hand slid from his hair and down to his shoulder, hugging him close as he started to tremble. "I can't--" His heart was racing, his grip tightened on Miguel's hand. The room had started to spin as the edges of his vision started to darken.

He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the panic attack he might've been having.

"Mariano, you need to calm down." Miguel spoke firmly. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you."

Mariano couldn't breathe. He tried to listen, tried to calm down. He couldn't hear what Miguel said next, though. He only dimly heard himself starting to cry.

Miguel's hands cupped his face, making Mariano meet his eyes. Mariano saw his pact rings reflected in them. "Mariano." Miguel's brows were furrowed in concern. "Mariano, hey. Look at me. Is there someone you want to talk to?"

Mariano swallowed hard. "Llllluis." He breathed. "Luis." He repeated as tears started to roll down his face.

"Okay, I hear you. I hear you, we're done." Miguel said, helping Mariano lie down. "It'll wear off in an hour or two. You're just going to feel sleepy. That's it. It's a sedative. They give it to pets for vet visits, it just makes your body relax." Miguel's voice washed over him as the tears kept falling.

Mariano nodded, looping his arms around Miguel's waist. "Oka-ay." He whimpered, muffled by Miguel's shirt. "Okay. I...okay. Thhhhank you." Miguel's fingers started sliding through Mariano's hair again, and this time it started to help. Tension began to melt out of Mariano's shoulders as the drugs started to pull him further under. "Thank yyyyou."

"Shhh." Miguel's voice was softer now, and Mariano wasn't sure if it was because Miguel was doing it on purpose or if he was just starting to doze. "Take a nap if you need to. I won't go anywhere."

Mariano nodded, feeling heavier than ever. His eyes slid closed. Panic still buzzed at the back of his head, but with Miguel's cologne in his nose and his hand in his hair, he could breathe.

#Ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #Ailesswhumptoberday1 #Day 1 #Drugging #Mage of violence #Miguel

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 4 Hiding an injury, Betrayal, Lying

TW/CW: Recapture, betrayal, bad caretaker, sadistic caretaker, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, angst! Words: 853 words

The seasonal bouquet filled with early spring colours instantly caught Whumpee’s eyes. Caretaker will love this they thought. She bought it and got it wrapped pretty before returning home. For a spring day it was still surprisingly cold, so Whumpee wrapped their fluffy scarf tightly around them. That also had the advantage that nobody could really see her face. That calmed down the anxiety that Whumper would find them. And as soon as they were back in the apartment they share with Caretaker they would cook up a nice meal. Whumpee stepped into the tram and drove all the way to the last stop. Once there it was only a short walk. In the tram they had seen an advertisement for a new movie coming to the cinemas soon. Caretaker would probably like it, they should tell her about it. When they unlocked the door something felt weird. Caretaker didn’t as usual call out to them when the sound of the lock rose up. “Caretaker!”, Whumpee called out to them as they slipped out of their boots and gathered them in their left hand, opening the door with their right one. “Is everything okay?!”, they called out again.

This time Caretaker answered and Whumpee’s muscles relaxed at the sound. “Yes, everything’s okay! Sorry just tired, come in!”

“Alright,”, Whumpee said now in a normal volume and closed the door behind themselves. The boots got dropped off on the shoe carpet and they entered the living room area. Caretaker was sitting on the couch but looked way too tense.

“Tough day at work?”, Whumpee asked, hiding the bouquet behind their back.

“Yeah, something like that.”, Caretaker replied.

Then another sound came from the kitchen next to them both and Whumpee’s blood froze in their veins: “Hello, Whumpee.”

That voice. That horrific voice. The voice they never wanted to hear again, they hoped so much, they promised themselves. They kept their eyes locked onto Caretaker’s, hoping for them to tell her that it was just a hallucination. But then the shape of a person entered their peripheral vision and Whumpee’s heart sank.

“It’s been so long.”

“No-no-no-no.” Whumpee’s hands cramped around the bottom of the bouquet. “How did you find me, you-you weren’t supposed to find me. I-Caretaker and me-we made sure you wouldn’t find us!”

“Caretaker? Oh honey Caretaker’s the only reason I found you.”

“No…”, Whumpee gasped. Their eyes finding Caretaker’s, hoping for some sign of a lie. But finding only coolness and apathy. Worse even, amusement. The bouquet slid out of their fingers and onto the floor. “Why…Why…?”

“Oh Whumpee it’s nothing personal, Whumper offered me good money. But then again, maybe it is. How could I just watch whumper’s hard work go down the drain? And even in the short time I spent with you, I got convinced that you break beautifully. I just had to see it for myself, and…everybody deserves a little fun. Am I right?”

Whumpee felt bile rising in their throat. Caretaker was using their own words against them. They sold her out. They-they enjoyed it.

“Oh dearest you look a little green, come here.”, Whumper said and quickly closed the distance to Whumpee, capturing them in an embrace. That’s when they saw the bouquet on the floor, a sadistic smile tugging at their lips. “Oh, Caretaker, I think Whumpee had something for you.”, they say, grab the bouquet and go to give it to Caretaker.

A mocking grin breaks through the cool cruelty on Caretaker’s face. “Aww, were those for me, Whumpee? They’re beautiful, thank you so much.”

Whumpee just wanted to cry. “Please…”

“Please what Whumpee?”, Whumper asked, “If you’re going to ask for mercy you might as well save your breath.”

“Please just…get me out of here.”

Whumper’s brows raised but they hugged Whumpee and guided their head against their shoulder. “Of course Whumpee, we just have to pack some stuff for you and then we can leave.”

So they did and Whumpee even got to take some of their comfort items, even though deep down they knew they would only be used against them. When they were done Whumper led them through the hallways of the apartment that used to be their home. Or so they thought. As they passed by the living room she couldn’t even look at Caretaker. The feeling of betrayal still burning in their throat.

“Are you not going to say goodbye to Caretaker whumpee?”, Whumper asked.

In response Whumpee just buried their head in Whumper’s jacket. Whumper grinned, guess that means no. They looked over to Caretaker in faux apologeticness. “We will be on our way then.”

“Oh by all means don’t let me hold you, have fun.”, Caretaker replied, holding up their hand in a lazy gesture.

Whumpee followed Whumper down the stairs and outside the building to their car. Right before they got into the car they saw it. The first crocus they’ve seen this year, the first dot of hope in the grey. And they see it right now, with their trust broken and their freedom slipping away once again.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11

lemme know if you wanna be added

#ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberdayfour #ailesswhumtoberdayfourbetrayel #whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #whumpee #coping #creative writing #betrayal #betrayed #whumpee and whumper #sadistic whumper #willing whumpee #kinda #bad caretaker #recapture #recapture whump #jayna's writing

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Lies Late at Night

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober Day 4. Canon Divergent AU. Hiccup won the honor to kill the Nightmare, but before he could, the Nightmare mysteriously disappeared. Now it’s been three years and his father still doesn’t know about Toothless and the Dragon Riders.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Stoick

Pairing: /

Words: 1 011

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Race To The Edge

Prompt: Hiding an injury, Betrayal, Lying

Whumpee: Hiccup, Stoick

Author’s Notes: Thought of this AU, don't have a name for it yet, but I can see the potential for a lot more fics for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

As quietly as he can, Hiccup tries to open and close the front door to his home. It's late. Much later than he told his dad he'd be. And as luck would have it; his father sits at the fire. He’s been waiting for him, stoking its dying embers.

A pot hangs above it. Hiccup wonders if whatever used to be in it is still edible. He hasn’t eaten since this morning, but he doesn’t hunger for a hearty dinner.

Stoick knows he’s there, he knows he does. Even so, Hiccup tries to sneak past him up the stairs.

Unfortunately, he’s limping and that means he doesn’t get very far without drawing attention. His prosthetic is quite loud on the wooden floor. He can hear the stool under his father creak as the mountainous man rises.

Hiccup freezes just shy of walking up the stairs. His face is in a grimace, bracing himself for what could possibly turn into a lecture.

“You’re late,” his father starts, hands on his hips. It’s a very father-like way of standing and Hiccup can’t look at him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh… I got held up,” Hiccup explains briefly.

“You got held up? While fishing?” Stoick asks. His son doesn’t need to look to know that at least one eyebrow is raised in suspicion. Not only did he return with no fish to show for his efforts, but the gear he has is not one would usually take with them on a trip to the nearest lake. Not unless his way of catching fish is by clubbing it over the head with the hilt of a sword.

He knows it’s a collapsible sword. Stoick doesn’t understand how it is in any way a reliable weapon.

“Uh, yea-yeah? Anyway, gotta go to bed. Need to get up bright and early tomorrow for work, right?” Hiccup chuckles awkwardly as he tries to cut this conversation short. He’s so tired. He’s tired and in pain and he wants to go to bed.

His father might’ve actually let him go with that one. Hiccup once earned the right to kill the Nightmare, but the dragon mysteriously disappeared and with it disappeared any hope of a connection between father and son.

Not because of Stoick, however. He assured him that they would catch another Nightmare to prove his worth with. It was Hiccup who suddenly pulled away and distanced himself from his father as far as he could go. It no longer feels like they even live in the same house anymore and Stoick has absolutely no idea why.

In a way, it broke the man and that’s why- three years later- he won’t question his son’s whereabouts anymore.

The rest of the village might complain to him about their lackluster heir, but he has lost the will to fight with his son. Hiccup is 18, if he couldn’t change to be one of them earlier, he’s not going to now. At least he still has his friends, for however long they’ll stick around. At least for the time being Astrid seems fond of him. Hiccup won’t let either of them cross this distance between them, but at least he doesn’t have just him and Gobber in his life.

Unfortunately for the both of them, however, he’s limping and his father is still his father.

“Son? Are you hurt?” Hiccup winces at the question.

He and Toothless made a bad fall, dislocating his weak knee. Astrid reset it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still hurting and his knee isn’t still swelling.

But he can’t tell his dad that. He doesn’t know about Toothless or the missions they do together. No one in the village knows about the Dragon Riders and it’s for the best. If they did... He refuses to imagine what would happen to their dragons if they told anyone. It’s the one thing keeping Snotlout and the twins quiet about their secret.

“Uhm, I-I slipped. It was muddy out there and-and you know how clumsy I am, dad,” Hiccup makes an excuse and one his dad doesn’t believe. He sighs heavily and Hiccup’s chest constricts, he aches knowing that his dad is disappointed in him. They both know he’s lying.

From the corners of his eyes, he dares to look at his old man. Stoick rubs in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can see the migraine growing.

But just like they both know he’s lying, they also know that neither of them are trying anymore.

“Did you at least visit Gothi?” Stoick asks.

“Of course!” He responds eagerly.

Hopefully, it’ll ease his father’s heart. He hasn’t forgotten yet how he responded to his friends returning him to the village with a terribly mangle leg. The limb was nearly lost in an attempt to rid the Archipelago of the Red Death, but it was in vain. She’s still in that volcano, ruling with an iron fist and bringing death to the Barbaric Archipelago. He and the rest of the Dragon Riders almost lost their lives fighting this behemoth only to find out that she was quite untouchable. And so, the only alternative was to help dragons escape the nest.

“It’s, eh, a minor injury, so,” Hiccup gives him a thumbs up. He hopes to at least assure his father that he’s okay.

But his father sighs and walks back over to the stool to drop down onto it. He should be glad that his son is okay, he should be relieved, but all he can think of is how Hiccup is still lying to him and how he would’ve hidden his injury if Stoick hadn’t caught him.

Hiccup’s guilt grows, he looks away.

“Hiccup… son… When will you finally tell me the truth again?” The question is asked so quietly, he’s not even sure if Stoick meant for him to hear it.

“I don’t know, dad,” Hiccup responds even quieter and limps up the stairs. He heads up to his loft to drop down onto his bed and hopefully leave this day far behind him.

#ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #day 4 #hiding an injury #betrayal #lying #httyd movies #httyd #how to train your dragon #rtte #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #stoick the vast #the haddocks #stoick whump #haddock whump #my fanfics #lies late at night #secret dragon riders #au #alternate universe

[goldeneyedgirl]

AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal

The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.

So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3

iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.

very non-graphic wound description

She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.

It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.

There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.

But mostly, she just feels anticipation.

It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.

She’s still nervous.

(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)

She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)

The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.

And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.

Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.

Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.

They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.

If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.

(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)

She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.

Like what lies beneath the church.

It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.

Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…

She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.

She can’t wait.

But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.

The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.

And then there is him.

He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.

Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.

And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.

…Or what should have been one swift move.

Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.

He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.

His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.

(He’s magnificent.)

And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.

“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.

How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.

She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.

“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.

“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”

He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.

“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.

“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”

“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.

“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”

He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”

She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”

“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.

The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.

But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.

No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.

But maybe…

“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”

His gaze burns into her.

“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”

She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”

“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.

“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.

“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”

“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”

“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.

“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”

“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.

“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”

The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”

He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.

“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.

“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.

“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.

“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”

It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.

One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.

“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.

The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.

And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.

“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”

Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.

Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.

She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.

He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.

She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.

But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.

But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.

Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.

If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.

So they cannot break them.

She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.

He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.

But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.

“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.

He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.

And then…

And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.

“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.

She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.

“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.

“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.

It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.

And then…

She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.

“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.

The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.

She remembers it well.

—

They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.

After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.

“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.

It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.

The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.

And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.

“Done,” she says softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.

“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…

Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.

He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.

“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.

“Let’s go.”

—

He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.

He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.

He is free.

His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.

He has been crippled, possibly forever.

Except…

She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.

But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.

Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.

He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.

“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.

“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.

“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”

“I did.”

“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”

He’s silent, staring at her.

“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”

He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.

“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”

“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.

“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”

She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.

She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.

“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”

He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.

How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?

“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.

He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.

Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.

“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.

Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.

And her reason for everything.

He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.

She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.

It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.

The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.

Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.

“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #jalice #jasper hale #alice cullen #my fic: one shots #demon jasper #imprisoned jasper #this did not turn out how it was supposed to #it looked different in my head #maria fucked around with the supernatural and became too powerful #aro is up to his eyeballs in this and playing dumb to alice #carlisle is SO worried about alice #she just left and they never heard from her again #i wish i had more time for Lore #but yeah peter was remade too #and he remade charlotte himself #a little demon club #it will take time for jasper to tolerate then befriend then fall in love with alice #he'd be furious with himself that he fell asleep in front of her #me and my nonsense

[shywhumpauthor]

Ai-less Whumptober Day Nine

Scar reveal / Interrogation / Presumed dead

Yeah this sucks. Sorry.

Cw: torture, noncon touching (non sexual), manhandling, violence, mentions of vomiting/general emeto warning, vague thoughts of death (as a better alternative outcome)

“You’re wasting your time,” Sidekick coughed, their voice a breathless rasp that’s echoed around the small, cold room. Heat poured off of them in trails of crimson, dripping to the floor, little puddles of red blemishing the pristine white tile under their feet. Arms wrenched so far above their head by the chains they could barely reach the ground, left to either stand on their toes or hang and wrench their shoulders from their sockets.

It was as if Henchman didn’t even hear them. Not even a twitch betrayed their thoughts. Sidekick could only clench their jaw, and brace for a strike that came a moment later. Gloved knuckles slammed into their jaw, snapping their head to the side and knocking them back in their restraints. Their footing slipped and they fell, hissing at the strain against their shoulders as they quickly fumbled to right themself.

The taste of iron stung the inside of their mouth, burning all down their throat nearly enough to make them gag. Their vision spinning, they let their lips part and spit, more blood than saliva as it landed at the floor by the slowly growing puddle of blood. It dripped from their arms, little wounds torn in their wrists streaking blood down their arms to their bare chest. Ran down their back in small rivers, trickling from the lattice of gashes that split from their shoulders to the base of their spine.

The brutal kiss of a whip discarded not long ago, tossed aside once the task had become boring, Sidekick supposed. Henchman didn’t seem to stay entertained for long, with any of this.

Sidekick took a shaking breath through their bleeding lips, their nose so congested with blood they couldn’t breathe through it anymore.

A wave of vertigo rocked them back, their stomach crawling to the bottom of their throat, but they forced themself to take another breath, pushing the nausea down. Or maybe, they thought, why bother fighting it. They could feel the words, resting heavily behind their tongue, prickling like a nesting of thorns. If they choked to death on their own vomit, that would be one way to ensure Henchman never got the information they were after. It wasn’t the worst outcome Sidekick could foresee.

Henchman hadn’t spoken much. A few flat questions in the beginning, but they had dissolved to silence once they realized Sidekick’s will was much stronger than their skin, and set to breaking them down piece by piece. Cutting and punching and breaking any piece of them they could reach.

They weren’t prepared for the criminal to reach forwards, their gloved hand as brutal as another strike as they grabbed Sidekick’s chin, wrenching their head up with such force Sidekick feared for a moment that they’d snap their neck. They weren’t that fortunate.

“Poor, stupid little Sidekick,” they whispered, their voice startlingly quiet, nails pressing in to Sidekick’s bruised jaw as they forced the other to meet their eyes. “Don’t you know that I have all the time in the world?”

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #whumptober #ai less whumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptoberday9

[ashleybenlove]

Title: Eyeballs

Prompt: Can Only Move the Eyes + Paralyzed

Summary: Hiccup’s perspective when the Flightmare’s mist paralyzed him in Maces and Talons Part 2.

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Pairing: NA

Word Count: 142

Rating: General

Warnings: NA

Disclaimer: I don’t own the source material in this fanfic. That’s to whatever company or person owns it. I would never claim to own it.

Notes: There are probable influences from fandom and whatnot in this story. Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo​ for the space “Can Only Move the Eyes” and @ailesswhumptober​ for the Day 11 prompt “Paralyzed”. Takes place during Race to the Edge, during Maces and Talons Part 2.

AO3.

#ashleybenlove fanfic #Bad Things Happen Bingo #ailesswhumptober #Can Only Move the Eyes #Paralyzed #how to train your dragon #Race to the Edge #season 2 #Maces and Talons #hiccup #viggo #toothless #whump #fanfic #ONE MORE LEFT GUYS!!!!!!!!!!! ONE MORE!!!!!!!!!

[boykingofhellsam]

BoyKingOfHellSam/Cursedobject's AI-Less Whumptober for 2023 Fics:

Due to the number of links I decided to add all the links in a single post to avoid clogging up the blog. Currently posted 4/31

Day 1: Drugging - Sam

Title: This Blood Burns Through My Veins.

Summary: Sam is forced to drink Demon Blood against his will. He hates how much he missed the power.

Day 2: Gunshot Wound - Sam

Title: As I Lay Here

Summary: Sam never wanted to see Dean die in front of him again. Roy and Walt make that impossible.

Day 3: Isolation - Lucifer

Title: Don't Leave Me Here

Summary: Lucifer didnt understand, he only did what he was made to do. He was a being of perfection. He just wanted God to see how flawed they were. Why was he thrown away? Why did he deserve this?

Day 4: Hiding An Injury - Lucifer

Title: I'm Strong, But Not Without You

Summary: Nick is falling apart, but he doesn't want Sam to know. He refuses to be seen as weak in front of his vessel.

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #lucifer spn #my fics #my fanfic #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ai less whumptober #ai less Whumptober 2023

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Calling All Bats

ai-less whumptober 2023 day 26- came back wrong fandom- dp x dc TW- none summary- Jason starts looking for Danny

ao3 ailesswhumptober23 masterlist part 5 of DLM

Danny found himself pleasantly relaxing with this strange liminal. Which he figured was why Gotham had directed him to that apartment. He had been surprised when he reached Gotham’s border and immediately felt the city’s presence. He had never encountered a living city before even though he knew they were possible. He had hesitated at first, not wanting to intrude on what felt like a haunt. But Gotham had assured him with feelings of temporary protection, she couldn’t do much. She was too weak from constantly being surrounded by corrupted ectoplasm from all the disasters. But she could offer temporary asylum and let Danny know when the GIW entered Gotham’s border. 

Of course Danny hadn’t known that Gotham would be sneaky and direct him to a liminal’s apartment. Danny had not expected a liminal to come in, usually he could sense a haunt, but with Gotham as contaminated as she was, he figured the criminal's presence was hidden. It was also probably because Jason’s ectoplasm was also corrupted.

He wished he could have stayed longer in that apartment. He might have even been able to help Jason. But when Gotham whispered to him that the GIW had come, Danny knew he had to leave before the agents found Jason. Hopefully Gotham’s corrupt ectoplasm would help hide Jason. It might even make it more difficult for the agents to track him down as well.

But he couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t sure where he’d go next. At least he had gotten his bandages changed and eaten a few cookies.

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

Jason didn’t know what to do. The kid was just gone.

How was he supposed to look for him? Where even did he go?

And these GIW agents or whatever were clearly after him. Jason wasn’t about to abandon the kid.

Leaving behind his hot chocolate and cookies he walked over to his room and put his uniform back on. 

The kid was like him. They both came back wrong. Jason grimaced. He’d always described himself as coming back wrong, but thinking about the kid like that was wrong. The kid was fine. Who cared if he’d died before. And maybe, Jason wasn’t messed up either? Danny acted like all this was normal. And maybe it was. 

Whatever. Existential thought could wait till after he’d found Danny and beat the GIW to a pulp.

He left through his window and made his way up to the roof. He paused. He wouldn’t be able to search the whole city by himself. 

That meant he’d have to call in reinforcements.

Ugh. What a pain.

He activates his comm. “Hey, Oracle. Anyone out tonight?”

“Hood, I thought you were ending your patrol early today?”

“I did. Then I found something. I need anyone out to help me out with the situation.”

“Red Robin’s out right now, but Nightwing is still suited up if you need him too.”

“Go ahead and patch them both to my comm.”

“Will do.”

A moment later Dick’s voice came through. “What’s up, Hood?”

“I need your help looking for someone.” Jason said, grappling over to the next roof. “Who are you looking for?” Tim asked.

Jason hesitated before answering, “He’s a kid about fourteen or fifteen, he’s some kind of meta. I was talking with him and he just disappeared. But he mentioned he has government agents trying to hunt him down to experiment on him.” 

“What’s he look like?” Dick asked, voice serious.

Jason paused before getting it over with. “He was wearing jeans and had a black hoodie on. And he has black hair and blue eyes.”

There was silence for a moment before Dick started cackling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know this is serious, but really Little Wing? You’ve found us a new brother?”

“Shut up. We need to start looking for him.”

“Of course.” Dick said, sounding serious, but Jason could tell that the man was still smiling.

“Do you know what agency is after him?” Tim asked.

“A group called the GIW. I don't know anything else.”

“I’ll look into them. I’ve also got my systems looking for any black haired, blue eyed kids.” Babs said.

“We’ll find him, Hood.” Dick said.

Jason hoped so.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 26 #came back wrong #jason is liminal #Jason todd #Danny fenton #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #fanfic

[topguncortez]

Not Dead Until You're Warm and Dead || Whumptober day 7 - R. Abbott

whumtpober masterlist || whumtpober taglist form

synopsis: Your and Rhett's relationship had been anything but easy between bull riding and lies. But you had hoped that you would be enough for him to come back alive.

word count: 2.8k

@ailesswhumptober prompt: flatline

warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, death, character death, allusion of suicide.

When Rhett first laid eyes on Y/N, he knew she was the one for him. He had missed his chance with Maria, holding back on his feelings and letting her walk out of his life. But when he saw her standing on the fence line as he lowered himself onto his bull, he knew that she was going to be his wife. He held on for his life, lasting the whole eight seconds, and impressing her. The boost of confidence from the ride was what he needed to go over and talk to her. Her cheeks turned red as he invited her for a dance, telling him that she couldn’t dance to save her life, but he assured her that it was okay. He had kissed her that night. 

After that night, Y/N basically disappeared. She was nowhere to be found and it seemed like no one really knew who she was. Rhett had asked around town, asking pretty much everyone where the y/h/c girl went and who she was. It had dawned on Rhett, he never got her name. When Rhett was ready to give up, throwing in the towel that she was just a one-night stand sort of girl (even though they didn’t hook up) he received a call from an unknown number. 

“Hello?” He asked, creasing his eyebrows. 

“Rhett Abbott,” Her voice was like honey, and Rhett chuckled to himself. 

“How did you get my number but I never even got your name?” 

“I asked a friend,” She smiled. 

“I asked a friend about you, but it seems like you are just some figure of my imagination.” 

“I can assure you that I am not.”

They had talked for hours on the phone after Y/N had explained who she was. She was originally from Amelia County, but as soon as she graduated high school, she packed her bags and went to the coast. She would occasionally fly back to Wyoming, the last time she flew back was to watch her little brother ride against Rhett. Neither one had noticed the sunset, the moon rising in the sky, or the first strands of the orange morning sun. Rhett woke up to his alarm clock and looked down at his phone to notice that he was still on the line with her. He smiled to himself and whispered ‘sweet dreams darlin’’ before hanging up. 

And that’s how it went for weeks. He would call Y/N after dinner and they would talk for hours about everything under the sun. He learned that she was studying to be a nurse, in her third year at USC. Y/N learned that Rhett had made it to the finals, and she was already looking at flights to come watch him. Rhett rode one of his best rides when he noticed her smile in the stands during the finals. He focused on her the whole time, and the second he heard that buzzer go off, his mind was locked on finding her. The next morning they found themselves wrapped up in each other's arms. 

They continued their relationship long distance for about two years until she graduated college. Rhett had saved up his rodeo money packed up his truck and headed out west. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he walked around campus in his levis and blue flannel. He was going over in his head what he was going to say to her. The last time he had seen her was over six months ago when she had flown home for Thanksgiving. Rhett was going to propose to her, he had already asked her dad for her hand in marriage. He easily found her dorm room and waited on the bench until she came out. 

“Why look at what we have here? You lost Cowboy?” Y/N asked as she walked out the door. Rhett stood up, holding the bouquet of carnations in his hands.

“Slightly,” Rhett said with his usual half smile, “For you,” 

“Thank you, love,” Y/N took the flowers, and then placed her hand on his face and brought him in for a kiss. 

Their date went off without a hitch, Rhett taking her to a lookout spot that he had heard about. He laid some blankets down in the back of his truck and shared the sandwiches and stuff he had prepared. She talked about her final days at university and how she got a good job at the children’s hospital nearby. Rhett told her about how he had finally gotten away from his family, and Y/N was shocked. She never thought she’d see the day when Rhett Abbott left his family’s ranch, but here he was. He took her to the one-bedroom apartment he got which was covered in boxes. He tucked his shaking hands in his pockets as Y/N walked around the small place and explored. 

“Rhett this place is- what are you doing?” 

“I’m proposing,” Rhett said, as he was down on one knee with the ring box in his hand. 

“I know, why?” 

“Because I love you enough that I want to be with you forever.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really,” 

“Yeah, yes! Yes!” 

Rhett placed the ring on her finger and held her tightly in his arms. He made love to her for hours that night, trying to make their bodies as close as possible. They felt as if they had truly become one, their hearts, minds, and souls. 

Their wedding was small, held back home in Wabang. Perry and Royal had worked hard to clean up one of the barns so they could have a reception out there. It was no secret to Royal that he wasn’t thrilled about the wedding and his youngest son fleeing out west. He had hoped that Rhett would take over the ranch when Royal couldn’t do it anymore. Perry was happy to see his brother finally settle down and had hoped that this would stick. Cecilia was also happy to have another daughter in the family. The two of them seemed very fairytale-like as Rhett held his new wife close to his chest as they swayed on the dance floor. But the honeymoon feeling came crashing down quickly. 

Their first fight had been an ugly one, over Rhett’s drinking. Years of riding bulls and popping painkillers had become a second nature to him, something he quite couldn’t let go of. Rhett had found a farm to work as an extra hand, but it was quite enough for him. He thought when he left Wabang and chased after the woman he loved that it would be enough. Having her be his, his own Mrs. Abbott, would be everything he had ever dreamed of, and it was. But he fell back into his old ways. Y/N would get pissed as he’d stumble in at odd hours of the night as she was trying to sleep before her early morning shifts. She had finally had enough of it. 

“Jesus Christ Rhett,” Y/N cursed under her breath as she looked at the drunk man who had just knocked over something, “Why do you constantly do this shit.” 

“Do what? I’m too fucking drunk to do this shit with you right now.” Rhett slurred. 

“Well Rhett! The hell do you expect!? This is the fourth night in a row you have come home completely trashed. You keep doing this shit, enough is enough,” Y/N yelled. 

“What do you mean?” Rhett sobered up as she climbed out of bed, and grabbed a bag from her closet, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“No, baby please, I’m sorry,” Rhett grabbed her hands to try and stop her, “Please, you can’t leave me,” Rhett’s voice cracked, “You’re all I have. I left everything behind to be with you. I have nothing.”  

“I never asked you to do that,” She bit back tears. 

“I know, baby, please don’t leave me.” 

And she didn’t. She stayed by his side, even when he told her that he was going back to riding. She was actually proud of him for getting back on the bull. He had done his best to stay away from the temptation of the old life; the booze, the pills, the pussy. But old habits die hard. His body was older now, taking rougher beatings when he would get bucked off. He would have a simple celebratory drink with the guys after the rodeos. Rhett found himself out later at night, coming home to a quiet house with his wife at work. Their schedules hardly ever matched up. He got bored of using his hand in the shower, and he could hardly remember the last time he and his wife made love. 

He didn’t fuck them at first. He’d only let them suck him off before a ride, releasing the tension. But that only did so much. The rodeo hands seemed to look the other way when it came to his infidelity. He’d fuck the no-name buckle bunny before the ride, not bothering to learn their names or even show them an ounce of respect. He saw them as playthings to fill the void he was missing from his wife. He thought he was good at hiding it, but Y/N had always been smart. 

She knew that he was hiding something from him. She could tell in the way he wouldn’t touch her, his kisses were just pecks, and he avoided looking into her eyes. Y/N had even seen it with her own eyes at one of his rides. She had gotten the night off of work last minute and decided to surprise him. The whole crew seemed to act weird and barely paid her any attention as she walked through the trailers to find him. The smile ran away from her face the second she saw him walk out of his trailer, fixing his belt, and a bombshell blonde walking out behind him. Y/N felt her heart break as she leaned against the side of the trailer away from his eyes. 

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Rhett heard the sounds of someone retching and walked around the side to see his wife. His eyes widened as he ran over to her, and moved her hair back. 

“No!” Y/N cried and pushed his hands off of her. 

“Baby, you’re sick, let me-” 

“Get the fuck away from me!” She yelled and Rhett stepped back in shock, “Fuck you, Rhett! I saw you! How could you?” 

“Babe I’m-” 

“Your shit will be in the driveway.” 

Rhett had come home that night to exactly what she said, his stuff in the driveway, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. So he sat outside the front door and waited for her. Y/N felt bad when she saw him in the morning and let him in. She ignored him the best she possibly could, but it was hard to do. Rhett could hear her break down while she was in the bathroom and it made him shed a tear himself. He sat on their bed and waited for her to come out of the shower, he could see the dried tear stains on her cheeks. 

“I promise you, I’ll never ride again. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

And he had stayed true to his word. He had told his dad over the phone that he had officially given up riding. That he and Y/N had decided to start trying for a family. Rhett didn’t want to spend his time away from his family or worse, like some of the legends in Bull Riding, dead or gravely injured. Rhett had stayed away from the rodeo life for about six months. And in those six months, Y/N and he worked on their marriage. They went to therapy, talking out their transgression and disagreements. They got back to the basics, bringing back romance into their lives; going on dates and trips. They had some of the best sex they had in years. They had both seemed to forget what had happened six months ago until he got that call from Royal. 

“I told her I wasn’t going to ride,” Rhett whispered as he stood in the kitchen. He was making breakfast for Y/N, after a busy night of lovemaking. 

“We’re in danger of going bankrupt, we need this,” Royal said, “We can’t lose the farm.” 

“There’s nothing you can do?” Rhett ran a hand down his face. 

“You know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if there was,” 

“Fine,” Rhett said, “When is the ride?” 

“Three days.” 

“Three fucking days?! That’s our anniversary.” 

“I’m sorry Rhett.” 

“I gotta go, she’ll be up soon.” 

Rhett had gone to the rodeo by himself, it didn’t bother him, he was used to going by himself. It did make him a little upset that she didn’t even bother to come with him. He stood in the waiting area as he waited for the name of the bull he would be riding. The second he was given the bull, he knew it was a lost cause. The bull was impossible, no one had been successful in completing a ride. His team gave him a pat on the back and Rhett gave them a shy smile. The first person he had called was her. 

“Is there anything you can do?” Y/N asked. She was sitting on the back porch of their house, looking out at the waves as they crashed on the sand. 

“You know how these things go,” Rhett said as he leaned up against the side of his trailer. 

“I don’t like this Rhett,” She said honestly. Silent tears were running down her face. 

Rhett could hear the sadness in her voice, and could only picture the tears running down her face as she looked out at the setting sun, “I know you don’t. But I promise, I’ll come home to you.” 

“You fucking better Mr. Abbott,” She sniffed and wiped her tears away. 

“I will, Mrs. Abbott,” He smiled back, “I gotta go okay, I promise I’ll call you right after.” 

“I love you Rhett.” 

“I love you Y/N.” 

She had watched the clock, as she settled down in a chair in front of the fireplace. The class of whisky was cold in her hands as she counted down the seconds until Rhett’s ride. Rhett said a small prayer as he walked up the metal steps towards the bullpen. The crowd was going wild as he waved his hand and greeted his team. They helped him down on the bull, and it already was bucking the second Rhett put his weight on the animal. Once it settled, Rhett tied the rope around his hand, making sure he had a tight grip on it. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, seeing glimpses of his future life with Y/N, a few kids, and a beautiful house back home on the Abbott Ranch. Rhett opened his eyes the second they opened the gate. It didn’t last long until a consuming darkness filled his eyes once again. 

Time seemed to tick on slowly, and her eyes never left the clock as she waited for the call from Rhett. Assuming from the time it had taken from the ride until now, that it hadn’t gone well. Everyone in the community knew that the bull Rhett had was a troublesome one. It was known for bucking off its riders in the first couple seconds. The second her phone rang, she picked it up. His name hadn’t even slipped past her lips when his team manager told her what had happened. Her heart was shattered in her chest as she dropped the phone on the carpet. Her knees shook as she collapsed to the ground screaming out his name. 

Her eyes were blurred with tears and her head was spinning as she pushed herself up from the carpet. Her phone was still on the line and they could hear her screaming for him. She walked out into the sand, her chest felt on fire as she let out loud sobs. She didn’t stop as her feet hit the wet sand from the waves. The further she walked into the water, her clothing felt heavier and heavier. The waves would crash and pull her underwater. She fought to keep herself above the surface, keeping her lungs inflated with air. The saltiness of water strung her eyes as the waves hit her. She looked up at the sky, looking at the stars and feeling the heaviness in her heart. She felt her feet leave the ground and she took a deep breath, as she felt a wave pull her completely under. 

In the black abyss she had fallen into, she could see the man she had always wanted. Rhett stood there waiting for her, his hand outstretched. She smiled at him as she placed her hand in his. He placed a hand on her cheek, brushing the tear from her cheek. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. 

“I told you I would come home,” Rhett said. 

“I know you did,” She spoke to him.

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17 @cornylovers

#outer range #outer range fan fic #outer range imagine #outer range fan fiction #outer range angst #Rhett abbott #Rhett abbott fan fic #Rhett abbott fan fiction #Rhett abbott imagine #Rhett abbott x reader #Rhett abbott x you #Rhett abbott x y/n #Rhett abbott angst #ailesswhumptober #g's whumptober

[hyperfixat]

AI LESS WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY TWO OVERWORKED + EXHAUSTED

hai day two is here! support and engagement would really motivate me to help post and work on the rest of this stuff!

(@ailesswhumptober)

You don’t want to disappoint Lord Diavolo, you’ll make him look bad, make Lucifer look bad, make humans look bad, make the exchange students look bad, make everyone look bad. And you absolutely do not want that to happen, your sanity relies on keeping them pleased with you.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that RAD coursework is so illogical and unfamiliar. You manage to get consistent B’s in class work, but you have to work hard on essays to avoid D’s. And you aren’t lazy, you can work hard, but the brothers make it so hard sometimes.

You constantly have to dismiss whoever comes knocking on your bedroom door, and keep your DDD on DND. There’s a huge essay due in a few days for Potions and Seductive Speechcraft, on the usage of theoretical love potions. It’s frustrating, and because the grade is going to count for both classes, you can’t afford to have anything less than a C. And of course because you’re no longer on the easier courses from your first year, it’s so much harder and less grace will be given for mistakes. It also means you have to write the full five-thousand words, rather than a two and a half thousand word essay.

There’s a knocking on your door, but you’ve made sure to let all the brothers know you’re working, so you ignore it in favor of flipping through the textbook Satan lent you, saying it had some valuable information for this combined course.

Eventually whoever was at your door gives up, but you don’t notice, in fact by the time you regain awareness of your surroundings, your hand is covered in little paper cuts, and you’ve flipped through two whole books, skimming for anything that you could add to the ungodly long assignment. Your body pops and creaks when you stand and pad over to the door, unlocking the magic deadbolt you installed for nights like these and swinging the door open to a dark hallway.

It must be rather late if the brothers have (mostly) all gone to bed. Before you step outside, you look down at the eve of your door, and smile while your heart melts, because someone left you a plate with a wrapped sandwich and a tupperware with some (presumably,) human-safe poison apple slices. With a warm feeling bubbling in your chest, you pack it away in your private mini fridge.

Now that the halls are dark, you have to rely on a spell Solomon taught you long ago, just a small ball of light for when it’s dark. You bite back a yawn as you shuffle into the kitchen, the reminder that you still haven’t changed out of your school clothes is stark as your medals jingle when you flick the light on. You manage to keep quiet and discreet as you pour yourself some imported human world spring water, but when you turn around you jump out of your skin at the tall figure in the doorway.

“AH! Lucifer!” you place a hand over your chest where your heart is beating out of its cavity. “I didn’t see you there.” A heavy sigh leaves you as you set the water canister down onto the counter.

Lucifer hums, moving into the kitchen and lifting the already dewing water container and putting it back on its shelf in the fridge.

“Oh, I was going to put that back-!” a sinking feeling sets into your stomach. Speaking of your stomach, a clenching growl of hunger runs through your abdomen.

“My brothers are concerned with how much time you’re spending in your room. Alone.” Crimson eyes bore into your own. “It goes without saying I dislike it as well. You haven’t had the time to visit me, I have grown used to your frequent visits.”

Before you reply, you take a sip of the cool water. “Sorry, I’ve just been working on the essay for the theoretical love potions. I can’t afford to get a poor grade on it this time around.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow, “is that so? Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

His gaze makes you shift uncomfortably, and you take another sip of water to clear the sudden dryness in your mouth.

“Yes! But I’m working on it, don’t worry, at this rate, I’ll be finished in time to entertain your brothers, my schedule will be back on track eventually.”

“I’m not worried about you entertaining my brothers, they’re grown demons. I’m worried about you. You’re human. You can’t keep going like this.”

“I’m doing fine, Lucifer, really. Besides I can take time to relax once this semester is over.” You let out a weak laugh, leaning back on the counter.

“You’re…” Lucifers lips turn down in a frown, “what’s the human world expression? Running on empty?”

“Thank you for the concern, but I’m really fine, Lucifer.” You walk over to him and reach a hand to cup his cheek and pull his head to a level where you can press a sweet kiss on his cheek. Before he has time to argue with you again, you make your way back down the hall to your room.

When you’re back in your room, you debate between the inviting allure of your bed or the stack of papers and books that you really should finish if you want to have time to hang out with the brothers. With a whole body sigh, you sit back down at your desk.

The next morning at breakfast, you’re dead tired.

With zombie-like steps you shuffle into the dining area, where most of the brothers already are. You have deep eye bags and your complicated uniform is poorly put on. You sit down next to Asmo and Beel, on both sides of you respectively, and blink at the assortment of foods available.

“Darling,” Asmo chides lightly, “your uniform is all out of shape.” He sets his fork down and pulls your torso to face him more than it does the table so he can adjust the straps and buttons and ties.

“Sorry, just a bit tired this morning.” You muffle a yawn and Asmo’s brow creases.

“Your eye bags…” he pauses his fiddling with your uniform, lifting a hand to run his fingertips under your eyes. “I have some concealer in your shade if you’d like some, okay? I can put it on for you if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m good,” you say, turning your head away. With a hum Asmo returns to fixing up your uniform.

“Let me know if you change your mind, alright?”

“I will,” you say with a smile. “Beel, could you save me some of the Devil Zebra Bacon and some of the sweet toast?”

Beelzebub nods, and sets himself to work, loading your plate with the bacon and bread, along with some Shadow Goose scrambled eggs.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully.

“You seem awfully tired, MC,” Mammon points out.

“Ohh, were you up for the release of today’s Another Ridiculously Long Anime Title that Reveals the Whole Plot? Awh, we could have waited together!” Levi says as he walks into the room.

“No, no, just working on some schoolwork.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Would someone mind brewing me some Hell Coffee? I need something to keep me awake today.”

“Are you really fit to attend RAD after pulling two all-nighters in a row?” Lucifer asks skeptically.

You gape, how did he know? You were careful to be courteous of all the HoL residents.

“Nothing about you eludes me, little star.”

“Wh…whatever, I’m fine.” You say with an embarrassed flush, trying to pretend that everyone wasn’t staring at you. “Mammon, you wouldn’t mind brewing me a cup, would you?”

Asking him to make you a cup of Hell Coffee never failed to make him flush. It made his fondness to you undeniable, the bitter taste a clear sign he loves you. (Hell Coffee’s strength gets more intense based on the feeling of the brewer to the drinker.)

You are fine and doing perfectly well and okay.

You are fine and doing perfectly well and okay.

You are fine and doing perfectly well and okay, until you aren’t.

By the time lunch rolls around you feel dead on your feet, tiredness having long settled deep in your bones. Beel offered to help you with your tray, and it’s lucky he did, because right before you scan your student ID to pay, your legs give out and you collapse into a weak mess on the cafeteria floor.

Your vision comically fades to black, blinking a few times before you slump forward, face first into the linoleum.

You come to the feeling of a cool and damp washcloth on your forehead. A hum rumbles through your chest and you peek through your lashes at who is tending to you.

Blood red eyes flicker to your own; Lucifer. Your groan turns into a grumble and you open your eyes properly.

“Good evening, sleeping beauty.”

You can’t be bothered to tell if the light warmth in your face is from embarrassment or at being called a beauty by Lucifer.

“Mhm, what happened?” You prop yourself up with an arm and look around. You’re not in your room, rather Lucifer’s private chambers. The last thing you remember was being at lunch… any time since then comes up blank. Did he… carry you here? To his room?

Why were you here rather than your own room? To calm your fluttering heart you logic out that you likely would have been swarmed by the brothers if he left you in your own room. That and he wouldn’t face his brother’s teasing remarks for taking care of you with tender touches and soft words.

“I should have been more vigilant in scolding you.”

Huh?! Your heart stops; stomach drops, and the arm propping you up falters. No, you don’t like being scolded by Lucifer, you don’t like being scolded at all.

His gaze softens, “what I mean is, I could have prevented your collapse if I insisted you stop overworking yourself. It’s on me for thinking you wouldn’t be such a stubborn thing.”

“Sorry.” Your gaze flickers downward in shame. Lucifer tsks, and the hand holding the cloth grabs your chin and lifts your face back up.

“Now, don’t go apologizing, you need to focus on relaxing. We can work out a better schedule for you at a later time. You won’t be disturbed by my brothers for as long as you’re in my room, and your school work has been dealt with.”

Gratitude surges in your heart and you offer a soft smile to Lucifer, laying back into his bed. “Thank you… will you lay with me? Just for a bit?”

“Naturally.”

#verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptoberdaytwo #ailesswhumptoberdaytwo2023 #lucifer obey me #obey me luci x reader #obey me brothers x reader #demon brothers x reader #obey me lucifer #om lucifer x reader #lucifer >.<

[keepswingin]

It pulls at him like a deep ache, one that stiffens his bones and spilts his head in half.

The air around him is too cold, and his body is too hot, sweat slipping down his chin. It's nothing he hasn't dealt with before, something easily forgotten from one interview to the next when the day just keeps going and going. A roadblock he's plowed through more than a handful of times.

But today it's different.

His knees shake under his own weight. He can't think clearly. His arms burn, and when Jaehyun laughs at something from his left, it's muffled to his ears.

He exhales hard as the rest of the room collapses into laughter, music paused just before the chorus. He crouches low, but his legs give out as he tries, hitting the floor harder than intended, chest stuttering with his next breath.

A warm hand grips tightly at his elbow. "You okay?"

Mark can barely distinguish the voice from the other growing noise in the room. His eyes are closed, but he doesn't remember closing them, and his face feels flushed. His head is pounding, a headache that's been with him since he woke up that morning, growing more prominent as the day dragged on.

He never minds his life, a chosen decision to be a part of two groups, full-time. He enjoys it most of the time, feels idle and empty on the off days where he gets to go home and be with his real family, only to end up missing his second family more. It's hard, and taxing, but it's a good thing, to him. To be able to do this. There is nothing he enjoys more.

But today...

"Mark?"

Today doesn't feel right. He doesn't feel right. Discombobulated, exhausted. Unlike himself in a way that he can't climb his way out of, an abyss staring back at him every time he looks down.

The room grows quieter as the calm voice beside him suddenly grows louder, commanding attention. He doesn't know whose voice it is, doesn't know the difference in the hands touching him that follows, doesn't know who brushes his hair back from his eyes and feels his forehead, as though the temperature of his body holds all the answers to the questions he won't speak.

"Hyung, talk to us," someone else says, right by his ear. Worried, anxious - a hand on his shoulder that slides behind his neck. A voice that should never sound this way.

Mark can't find his voice. It's lost within him, ducking down dark tunnels and empty hallways. But he wants to. He recognizes this voice, wants to reassure him and make more promises he'll never be able to keep. He's supposed to protect him, him and the rest of Dream, but he's not with Dream, he's - he's -

His head spins. He forces his eyes open, black spots dancing in his vision. The faces of a different group stare back at him, a comfort all the same, but one face is the same, always the same, bright eyes pinched with concern.

"Hyuck," he rasps, the letters pulling away from him before he can say anything more, someone else pulling his body up, up, up. A phone ringing in the distance, hurried footsteps. Conversations he can barely hear.

He watches Haechan hover in front of him, hands pressing to different parts of his body to check for anything hurt, a cool towel passing forward from the staff in the back of the room, reaching Mark's shoulders.

He watches him, for a long moment. The younger holds his gaze, holds onto him like he'll disappear if he doesn't. Mark is grateful. So grateful, for all of this, every moment. And all at once, everything slips away from him as he's welcomed into the abyss.

#nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct #mark lee #lee donghyuck #haechan #nct angst #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfiction #nct fanfiction #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day two #day two: overworked #keepswingin writes #mine

[shion-yu]

Day 30 - Coma

It gets more than Elliot can handle at home (part 3). Part one here and part two here. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Cliff - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23741453.cliff. This one’s a multiparter, this is the third and final part (I think).

TW/CWs: Major chronic illness, hospitalization

The ICU was much quieter than the emergency room. For some reason that was worse - maybe because it forced Elliot to think about something other than the chaos around him. Cliff lay on bleached white sheets pale as a ghost. Elliot couldn't bring himself to look directly at him. Perhaps the sound of the ventilator pumping in and out should have been comforting because it meant Cliff was still alive, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

Moira called him sobbing. The hospital had notified Cliff’s father, who had then notified her. She was on the first plane there but it wouldn't arrive until later that afternoon. Elliot just told her it was fine. Cliff was stable, at least as stable as someone who couldn't breathe on their own could be. Cliff’s father made a short appearance but said little, focusing his efforts on working with Cliff’s doctors on diagnosis and plan of care. Elliot didn’t even have the energy to glare at him properly.

Upon arriving, Moira hugged Elliot right away. Elliot tried to comfort her but his attempts were half-hearted when he could find little to comfort himself with. He had called his own mom and had a full breakdown on the phone earlier. While she was of course supportive and worried for Elliot, she hadn’t offered to come by the hospital either. Elliot understood, but secretly he wondered if part of that was influenced by resentment, too. He'd been so broken the first time they'd split up and he knew she was still worried Cliff could just be using him as someone to take care of him now that he was sick. It wasn't true, but it was a fact that ate away at Elliot's consciousness. It was similar with Milo - he could call his best friend, but the guy would only be there for Elliot’s sake, not Cliff’s. His followers online definitely weren’t the right place for this. Ultimately, he felt alone.

Several differential diagnoses were thrown around over the next few days, but none of them stuck. The doctor explained that they'd taken several samples of blood, CSF, lung tissue and sputum to test and they were waiting to see what grew. However they were sure that at the least it was a very bad infection, most likely an opportunistic one from long term steroid use; Cliff's immune system was destroyed by the very medication that had been keeping him alive. There was talk about brain surgery too if nothing grew on the cultures which sounded beyond terrifying, but thankfully on the fourth day after arriving Dr. Barrows told Elliot and Moira they'd identified a bacteria - nocardia. It was something that was usually harmless in most people, but in this case it was severe and Cliff's chances of survival were extremely poor considering it had already reached his brain. The most intensive of antibiotics were all they could hope for. Elliot googled nocardia and then quickly wished he didn't, because it said the chances of survival for disseminated nocardiosis in immune suppressed people was only about 15%. That number throbbed in his mind. 15% sounded painfully low.

Despite this number, Cliff did respond to the antibiotics. His numbers were apparently getting better, even though to someone like Elliot he seemed the same. A week in, the ventilator was removed and sedation weaned. Cliff was breathing on his own with just oxygen, but he wasn’t waking up. There was nothing else to do but wait at that point and hope that Cliff’s body allowed him to wake up again. There was a possibility that there would be lasting brain damage. There was a possibility that he’d never wake up at all. The idea of either thing happening was almost too much for Elliot to handle. The stress caused him to feel the tug of old habits, but he ignored them for Cliff’s sake and Cliff’s sake only.

Elliot couldn’t help but blame himself though. Cliff had been getting progressively weaker for a while, but they’d assumed it was just part of his flare up. The doctor said that there was no way of knowing - Cliff’s immune system was so poor that he likely hadn’t been showing signs of the growing infection until it was so severe. Still, Elliot kept thinking, maybe if he had just paid a bit more attention...

It had been ten days since they’d come to the hospital. Elliot had rarely left the building this entire time and he was exhausted. This evening, Moira had convinced him to go home to shower and to take a nap; Elliot had resisted, but once he’d given in he didn’t even remember getting home before he passed out for the entire night, dead to the world. He was woken up the next morning by Milo knocking on his door - apparently zombie-Elliot from last night had texted him to come wake him up in the morning if he didn’t wake up himself. He hadn’t, after twelve long hours of sleep.

Milo gave Elliot a tight hug before coming in and immediately providing Elliot with much needed coffee and breakfast that he’d brought. “You look terrible,” Milo pointed out. “Have you eaten anything at all?”

“Thanks a lot... And yes. Cliff’s sister force feeds me every so often,” Elliot mumbled around a hot cup of coffee. He closed his eyes and felt like if he let himself, he’d sleep for another twelve hours. He was so tired, so worried. “What if he never wakes up, Milo?”

“He’ll wake up. He’s pretty stubborn,” Milo pointed out. It was a testament to how serious things were that he didn’t take the opportunity to tell Elliot he’d be better off without Cliff. “But he needs you alive, too. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?” Elliot snapped. Then he sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

Milo nodded. “It’s okay, I know. You love him.” 

Elliot looked up at Milo in surprise. “Really?” His best friend had always disapproved of his relationship with Cliff, something that had pulled them apart before. 

“Yeah,” Milo said. “You need him too. So he’s going to wake up.” 

They fell quiet, Elliot nursing his coffee and willing himself the energy to go back to the hospital. He showered and was convincing himself to return to that painful waiting game when his phone began to ring on full volume. Immediately panicked, Elliot grabbed it and saw that it was Moira. Please don’t be bad news. “Hello?!”

“He’s waking up,” Cliff’s sister answered. She sounded like she was crying. “Come back, okay?”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Milo drove Elliot back to the hospital in record time and Elliot sprinted up to Cliff’s room. He couldn’t believe it until he saw for himself, but there Cliff was, eyes half lidded but open. The head of the bed was elevated and Moira was there holding his hand, talking softly to him. When Elliot showed up she smiled and pointed at him. “There he is,” she said.

Elliot burst into tears. He hugged Cliff as tight as he dared what with how fragile Cliff surely was, trying not to get caught in all the wires. When he pulled back, Cliff’s eyes were looking at him. Elliot let out a relieved sob. “You’re awake.”

“He’s not talking yet,” Moira informed Elliot gently. “I don’t think he really knows what’s going on.”

"That’s okay. That’s okay, baby, you’re awake, that’s what matters,” Elliot said. Cliff’s lips trembled slightly as if he were trying to say something, but nothing came out. Elliot wondered just how extensive that possible drain damage could be. But then he felt Cliff’s fingers twitch in his hand and he felt it form a very loose shape. He looked down and recognized it: sign language for I love you. And Elliot knew Cliff was going to be alright. Maybe not right away, but eventually, and that was what mattered.

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