Whump Thought
There’s something rather fun in whumpee stumbling back until they hit a wall, hands in front of them
there’s nowhere else to go
“Please, I’m sorry, I said I was sorry!”
and there’s nothing to protect them from whumper’s wrath as they slowly approach
“Yes. You will be.”
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Familiar Places
Crowley/Edward Teach | 17,000 words | Rated E
After watching Aziraphale leave him, Crowley decides to try to sleep off the grief. A terrible nightmare makes his powers go haywire and he accidentally travels back in time to 1717 where he finds himself in a bar in Tortuga. He shares a drink with a man named Ed who he seems to have a lot in common with. A lot in common with. The easiest way to comfort each other and distract themselves is to spend the night together.
“Why are you miserable?” Ed asks sharply.
“Now that’s not fair,” Crowley points at him over his glass. “I asked you first.”
Ed blinks at him.
“Why would I talk to you about it?”
“Because I’m here,” Crowley shrugs, “and no one else is.”
keep reading on AO3
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🌤️ for the fic asks!
Cutting out descriptions etc. So I know the original ask said “PIECE of dialogue…” but it’s not. This is for a short fic I came up with, just kicked around the idea. I’ve not posted it, it’s just on my laptop.
Spoilers for The Flight of the Heron.
“Has he gone?”
WHO?
“Ardroy, did he get away?”
I HAVE NOT CROSSED PATHS WITH HIM YET.
“I see. That’s good. He’ll be safe, now.” […] “May I ask, sir, who you are?”
GUESS.
“Oh. Oh, yes, I see. I suppose there are some tells. […] Was it worth it, in the end? Was it an honourable death?”
[…] FEW HAVE THE PRIVILEGE TO DIE IN THE ARMS OF THEIR GREATEST FRIEND. BUT THAT IS JUST IN MY EXPERIENCE, OF COURSE.
“Friend… […] Are those mountains on the horizon?”
I AM AFRAID SO.
“They might almost look like… like the ones surrounding Loch na h-Iolaire. They can’t be, surely?”
NO, IT IS LIKELY THEY ARE NOT.
“Well, what is beyond this desert? Surely you can answer me that.”
I CANNOT.
“I have to walk there on my own?”
YES. ALTHOUGH, I HAVE KNOWN SOME TO HAVE WAITED.
“Waited for what?” […] “I don’t know if I’m ready, just yet. It has been a long night.”
I CAN IMAGINE.
“May I wait here a little while?”
WAIT FOR WHAT?
“A friend.”
TIME DOES NOT EXTEND TO HERE. YOU MAY WAIT LONGER THAN YOU EXPECT, MAJOR WINDHAM.
“Good. I hope it is a very long time indeed. […] “I do not know what lies beyond this desert, nor do I know for how long I must walk until I have discovered it. Perhaps it is oblivion. I should like to walk alongside my friend. We never had a chance to simply walk together before…”
EVEN IF THERE IS NOTHING?
“Yes.”
VERY WELL. YOU MAY STAY HERE FOR AS LONG AS YOU WISH. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, I AM QUITE BUSY AT THE MOMENT AND MUST LEAVE YOU. […] YOU ARE AN HONOURABLE MAN, MAJOR WINDHAM. GOOD DAY TO YOU.
“Good day.”
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2 and 33 for the snippets ask game?
2. Captured/ Caged/ Locked
33. Protector/ Sacrifice
I used my OCs from Raising Chaos, hope you don't mind-- this is part of Chiar's backstory, because I couldn't resist. I had to do it. Apologies except I'm not actually sorry >:)
masterlist.
cw: death of a younger character, self-sacrifice, jammed shoulder, minor whump (Chiar is seventeen, Syl is nineteen)
The door was locked.
Chiar watched, hands twitching, as Syl kicked at the frame.
And then again. And again. The steel door stubbornly refused to give in to the desperate pounding.
The blows became frantic as the sounds of boots and voices carried up the stairwell.
Chiar and Syl shared a look of pure, unfiltered panic.
They didn’t stand a chance.
They were in a grave, hundreds of feet in the air. A trap. Their escape had been pointless. They were going to be killed and none would be the wiser.
Energy surged under Chiar’s skin, the buzzing filling his head. “Let me try.”
Syl nodded once and stepped back, his blue eyes dark.
The voices became louder.
Chiar rammed his shoulder into the steel door. And heard a soft snap for his troubles. His vision went black.
"You idiot!" cried Syl, hauling Chiar to his feet. The younger cryptid clutched at his shoulder, breath coming in sharp hisses. He ignored Syl.
"Idiot," said Syl again, less harshly.
The voices became clear. They couldn't have been more than a level below them.
Syl cursed. He pulled Chiar into a corner of the room, lowering him to the floor. It was partly veiled by a pile of discarded boxes. A pathetic hiding place, really, but it would have to do.
Syl tugged off his jacket, handing it to Chiar. He crouched besides Chiar, whispering that if he dared to move, he, Syl Westerling, cryptid and terror of Fain, would kill him himself.
"Don't lose that jacket. It's my favorite."
"Syl?" Chiar didn't understand what was going on. He struggled to stand, but Syl roughly shoved him back to the floor.
"Do. Not. Move. Promise me. Now!"
Chiar didn't get a chance to tell Syl that he would do no such thing. Because Syl darted into the open center of the room before he could answer, just as Fain's men entered, flooding the stairwell.
They did not look happy.
It's funny, Chiar thought later, how quickly things happen. One moment, Syl had been insultingly alive, telling Fain that Chiar was dead and asking Fain if he'd do the world a favor and jump off a cliff, and the next...
And the next...
Chiar didn't like to think about happened next.
There had been blinding energy as Syl attacked. And far, far too many guards.
It had not been much of a fight.
Chiar clutched Syl's jacket.
Coward.
He had been scared to die.
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