#whumptember 2023

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 30

“You were in my way” Stabbed in the back | Whimpering | Chained to a wall

Content warning: choking

"You know, you really are pathetic. I don't know what Hero sees in you," Superhero mused to their captive. Villain’s limbs were engulfed in metal, leaving them chained to the wall like a pinned butterfly. They were limp, showing no signs of having heard Superhero. “You’re more annoying than you are dangerous, you’re stupid as all hell…You’re like some yappy little dog that doesn’t know when to shut it,” Superhero smirked at that. “Well, I was able to solve at least one of those problems.”

Villain, of course, didn't respond outwardly. They couldn’t, not with Superhero’s powers flowing through them. Superhero had a vice grip on their mind, keeping them thoroughly separated from their own body. They were conscious–Superhero could feel the anger and terror pouring out of Villain in waves–but they were utterly unable to act. To the outside world, they looked comatose.

"You’re a nuisance, and I honestly think that’s the worst crime you’ve ever committed. I’d be doing everyone a favor by getting rid of you,” Superhero made a show of approaching Villain’s limp body, gently wrapping a hand around their neck. They felt Villain’s heartbeat, steady and calm even as Superhero could feel Villain’s mind jolt at the sudden contact.

Superhero squeezed, causing Villain’s body to twitch on instinct as their airflow was cut off. They didn’t wake. Superhero tightened their grip, smiling at the wheeze they forced out. They could feel Villain panicking, blind panic overwhelming any anger they’d felt. It didn’t do them any good. Villain could scream and cry all they wanted, but they still hung limp on the wall.

It was only when Villain’s face had begun going pale, when the waves of fear began to slow with their fading consciousness, that Superhero let go. Villain’s body gasped, and Superhero could feel Villain nearly sob in relief.

Superhero laughed, watching the red marks already forming around Villain’s throat. “I won’t though. Like I said, Hero seems to be fond of you. If nothing else, you’re good for keeping them in line,” Superhero gave a slow clap, grin sharp. “Congratulations, you’re just barely more useful to me alive than dead.”

#DID IT #shhh if you remember the days I had to skip no you dont #(i'll still do them lol) #Villain whumpee #superhero whumper #hero x villain #whumptember #whumptember day 30 #whumptember 2023 #my stuff

[cywscross]

remake the universe (remake us)

Fandom: Bleach

Character/Pairing: Aizen Sousuke & Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Aizen Sousuke & Kurosaki Ichigo & Urahara Kisuke, Aizen Sousuke & Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke, Aizen Sousuke, Shihouin Yoruichi

Rating: T

Word Count: 14015

Summary: There are different ways to conquer, different ways to win. Ichigo's greatest victories have always been in people.

Tags: Canon Divergence AU, Quincy War AU, Soul King Ichigo, Time Travel, Codependency, Obsession, Blood and Injury, Unreliable Narrator, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Submitted For: - Whumptember 2023 - Day 1: "Did I do good?" - Mentor whumper | Young hero | Blood loss (@whumptember) - Post-July Break Bingo 2023 - Trying to seduce your archnemesis/rival - 100ships - 06. Lust - Trope Bingo [Round 16] - Sacrifice - Hurt/Comfort Bingo [Round 13] - coughing up blood - Gen Prompt Bingo [Round 19] - Enemies - Bad Things Happen Bingo [Card 2] - Dying in Their Arms (@badthingshappenbingo) - 100prompts - 018. Wishing

#whumptember2023 #whumptember2023 day 1 #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: dying in their arms #cywscross #fanfiction #bleach #uraichi #aiichi #uraichiai #whumptember 2023 #post july break bingo 2023 #100 ships challenge #trope bingo #hurt/comfort bingo #gen prompt bingo #100 prompts challenge

[fallenwhumpee]

“I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did what I did.”

Day 27: Reluctant villain | Old friends | Cornered 

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Prison, beating, implied past abuse, superpower whump, drugging.

The team just stared as Leader was cuffed and dragged to the police car, and Leader stared back. That was what everything came, the public opinion. They were the sinner in the eyes of the citizens, and laws wouldn't save them even though there was nothing to charge them with— It was self-defense. And before, they protected the city. Got to the hearts of the very people chanting them curses.

It would be too easy to crush the crowd. Get out of the cuffs and kick the door of the armoured vehicle. Attack left and right until the anger boiling in their veins calmed down, demanding justice, and calling everyone out on their hypocrisy.

But they knew the target of their anger was not the guards.

They complied as they were pushed to the prison, too, with a blank face and even breaths. They knew that this was their death sentence. Half of the prisoners were in because of them. Personally. They held back their team often to keep the pressure of caging a life and being watched for the smallest mistake with gaining too many enemies at the cost of putting themselves in this situation.

The prison was noisy, and with them getting in, everyone started to shout at them, the curses and insults they would never tolerate in a normal day only a ring in their ears. They weren't going to give an answer. They weren't going to argue.

But they weren't going to be crushed among the criminals either. They could still feel the power in their veins— weak but there. Enough for Leader to cover the strength gap between them and the thugs.

The guards shoved them into the farthest room. Leader stumbled but caught themselves quickly. The cell was simple, with one bunk and nothing else. Someone was sleeping on the top, so they just took the other. They didn't care who the person was as long as they could stay in silence.

This wouldn't be their first time they were cut from mozt of their powers. This wouldn't be the first time they were abandoned for something else or accused of something they didn't do or even punished with brutal force. There was a reason for reformations in the academy. The agency started to think about the new recruits more after that incident. The next generations would have a more suitable training for their age, but with less... experience.

They ignored what their team would think if they had ever known who really Leader was. They knew they had been shaped into a monster, but they were trying. Apparently, also failing. They lost their control when Youngest was in danger, but didn't harm anyone, except one person. Leader couldn't know the enemy under the mask would be—

They turned in bed, laying flat instead of facing to the door. Their instincts screamed them about not doing, but they were in a high security prison. No one was going to open the door, and they would be awake before their cellmate.

But sleep didn't come, with their hands still cuffed and the lights open. Sometimes, time would blur, but nightmares folded into flashes would jolt them awake.

They didn't expect to wake up with a suffocating feeling on their chest. They trashed, the handcuff pressed hard against their ribs, vision covered by a pillow.

With curses in their mind, they felt the dark energy fuel their sleepy body, pushing the pursuer off of them. They rolled out of the bed, gasping as the world spun around them. They felt drained, and they tried to gather strength, failing. After that, they were at the mercy of their instincts and muscles.

They blinked as the figure replaced with Right Hand, begging them to stop, and they're hurting—

That was not real. Just their power and sleep - also oxygen, probably - deprived mind was playing games. Or the side effects of the suppressants. But at least it snapped them back into control.

The unlucky figure stumbled backwards as Leader slammed the cuffs to their chest. But it wasn't enough, and Leader found themselves across the room by their own power.

Imitation.

Leader darted forward, their hands clawing the figure's neck after slamming them to the wall. The struggle beneath their hands were for vain as they started to feed their strength with their power once more.

Their long history of being exposed to suppressants were paying back as tolerance, and the drugs were weakening as the time of the next dose came.

With a hiss, the cell dor opened, and they were shoved out, their body burning as a guardian hit them with an electrocuted baton. Leader cried as they fell to the floor, their muscles aching. They could barely shield themselves with their arms as the guard continued to hit them. The guard didn't stop until Leader screamed, and by that time, Leader could feel deep bruises forming on their arm.

They were thrown into the cell again, alone, twitching on the ground.

"What was that?"

"You don't know? They brought the agency's champion. One must've tried to kill them. Not much of a surprise, but I thought it would wait until morning. Guards dont like eventful night shifts."

Leader groaned, crawling to their bunk. This wasn't going to be a pleasant stay.

-•-

They were waken up with metal hitting metal, voices slurring into each other as curses or chatter filled the corridors. Leader didn't rise from the bed fully, examining themselves first.

Their exposed arms were full of purple bruises with two white spot at the center of each. They knew touching would hurt like hell. That would clearly weaken their defence if things came fighting, and they weren't so hopeful after hearing the prisoners.

Beneath those bruises, scars, and stitch marks were covering most of their skin. They didn't like looking at those, which only reminded them of their failures in various parts of their career and training, and later, their desperate tries to protect their team with their body when their powers failed.

With a deep breath, they rose to their feet. They felt sore, tired. They didn't have the patience to deal if anything happened, but they forced themselves to get out with the guard's shout. They didn't have much choice.

Their power vibrated in their veins, ready and waiting for their command, though distant. They stayed in alert, and while the count and check were mostly calm, they couldn't say the same for breakfast.

Leader kept their head up as they took a tray and found a place to sit. They put their hands to the table, the cuffs touching to its surface. When everyone sat, the cuffs opened, and Leader finally had somethinggoung down from their throat after days.

A thud caused them to jump from their seat to the source. A few prisoners were ganging up on someone on the floor, yet to do anything more than throwing the poor prisoner down from their seat.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Leader shouted. Well, they might have been branded as a cold-blooded monster, but they weren't going to let their ideals be crushed. In such things, all one could cling to was thoughts and ideals. It was more about Leader themselves rather than saving the person.

"What do you think you're doing, rookie?"

Rookie.

Rookie.

That was truly the only thing that could piss them off in mere seconds.

Leader wasn't a rookie.

They smirked, stopping it before turning into a sadistic smile, breathing heavily to keep the monster in themselves leashed. It had taken too long to realise that the monster was never gone or caged. Merely leashed all the time with a thin rope, always trying to snap it and run free.

Was there a better time?

"Giving you a lesson, of course, you scum!"

And everything burst into chaos right after that.

Leader counted thirty of the attackers get a taste of their power before finally going down, their already aching arms starting to throb even if there is nothing meeting with their blocks. It took them a second to realise that the guards were trying to get the fight over.

They stood with a grunt but were immediately kicked down by one of the guards.

"Not getting away with that little stun so easily. You're going to the isolation cells."

With the last word, nearly everything stopped. It couldn't be that bad. Leader could handle some time alone.

"A place I won't worry about being killed in my sleep," they answered casually.

The guard pulled them up, but Leader's pushed them, snarling.

"I can walk myself."

After that, they spat to the cameras.

"Use this to crush my reputation."

-•-

It had taken months to gather the evidence of corruption about some well liked public figures, but Right Hand could finally let out their nervous breath. And even though they went to the courts with that evidence, they didn't expect to get permission to see Leader.

The superhumans were always a controversial topic for the public, and the courts didn't like to go against them. It would only result in more hate than they already had.

They twitched in their seat, feeling uneasy. As a precaution, they were given a shot of the infamous suppressants, and they straightened their back. They felt vulnerable, but they weren't going to jump in the smallest inconvenience.

Forcing themselves to relax, they watched as one of the guards left the small room.

Perhaps one of the reasons they felt so tense was seeing Leader again. Right Hand considered themselves as an old friend of Leader, though they were quite too young to be one. Despite that, they saw no problem in it. They hadn't seen anyone near Leader, so they might have been the oldest friend, but Right Hand didn't like to think about things they didn't know much. All they knew was they could get Leader out now, and they were the only one who was willing to do it.

A guard brought Leader in, and Right Hand... Right Hand never thought they would see Leader like this.

A knot formed on their throat. Leader was worn out, their eyes dull and groggy, their once sharp expression was looking distant. Their posture was slumped, shoulders sunk, and steps slow.

But the smile Right Hand got was the same.

It was not arrogant. Not when Right Hand knew the older one had the power of bringing down with them if they wanted to.

"Leader," their voice trembled, and they forced themselves to breathe.

"Don't look at me like this." Leader looked into their eyes, their smile softening. "They just found out one shot wasn't going to be enough for me. I just thought they would stick with three, but they decided that I was a good test subject. They won't be selling their newest drug soon, if you ask me."

"How can you joke in a situation like this?" They couldn't help their anger, their sudden reaction alerting the guards.

And for the first time, Right Hand saw Leader look hurt for a moment before sighing.

"Why are you here, Right Hand?"

"We found something that might help, and I just wanted you to know before it makes to the news."

Right Hand didn't think the things would go that far. Most would prefer to keep it silent, as the evidence would shake many people from their chair.

They didn't expect a confused "what?"

"I am getting you out of here."

Leader froze in their place for a second and finally realised what Right Hand was talking about. "You wasted our failsafe!"

“I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did what I did.”

Leader breathed sharply. Right Hand didn't want to sound this harsh, but nothing was going in the way it was supposed to without Leader. The best for the team was Leader coming back as soon as possible, and so they used the blackmail materials for the team. And as much as Leader would deny, they didn't look good, too. They had to get out.

"The visit is over," a guard didn't let Leader answer back, and Right Hand took their leave, determined.

#whumptember 2023 #whumptember day 27 #prison whump #beating #mentioned past abuse #superpower whump #tw drugging #leader whumpee #leader whump #whump #whump writing

[never-enough-whump]

Did I Do Good?

Whumptember Day 1: "Did I do good?"

Summary: After a mission goes terribly wrong, Cassandra hopes her past betrayal will be forgiven because she didn't crack under torture.

Read on AO3

Cassandra lags behind the others, wincing with every slow, shuffling step. Ahead of her, Jacob leans heavily against Ezekiel, barely upright with his broken leg. Despite herself, Cassandra feels a brief flash of envy. For Ezekiel’s support or Jacob’s trust? she wonders, but doesn’t have an answer.

Eve steps up beside her and places a hand on Cassandra’s arm. Cassandra sucks in a breath. Pain zings through her body at even that light pressure on the lacerations on her arm. She doesn’t pull away – a big movement like that would hurt even worse. “Need any help?” Eve asks.

“I’m good,” Cassandra lies, and Eve seems to buy it.

The blue light of the door glows up ahead. It’s close but it feels impossibly far away.

“Couldn’t you put that thing somewhere closer?” Ezekiel calls back, apparently sharing her thought. She can tell he’s aiming for his usual light-hearted tone, but his voice wavers with pain.

“Sorry, Jones,” Eve responds. “Had to put it somewhere they wouldn’t find it.”

With every agonizing step towards the door, Cassandra finds it harder and harder not to lean into Eve. She’s exhausted, covered in wounds that pulse with pain and blood loss, and she’s had an unrelenting headache ever since they were captured. But she has to prove herself. She can’t be the weak link ever again. So she forces herself upright and forward. If there’s one thing Cassandra’s good at…

Well…

Besides math…

If there’s one thing Cassandra’s good at, besides math, it’s hiding pain.

They finally step through the door. Jenkins has been waiting and there are three cots and an assortment of medical supplies prepared in the annex. The injured Librarians sink onto the cots, letting out sighs of relief and hisses of pain.

Jacob’s leg is the immediate concern, but while Jenkins is seeing to that, Ezekiel points Eve toward her.

“Cassandra’s hurt bad,” he says.

Eve studies her. The blood hasn’t seeped through the layers of her outfit and no hurt shows in her calm expression. “Is it true?” Eve asks.

Yes, it’s true.

Cassandra considers, trying to calculate how much blood she’s lost. The equation slips from focus a few times before she’s able to complete it, but it comes out to a relatively easily survivable amount. At least, if she did the calculation right. But of course she did. If there’s one thing Cassandra’s good at, besides hiding pain, it’s math. “I’m fine,” she says, but her hesitation has only put a more worried look on Eve’s face.

“Why are you downplaying it?” Ezekiel asks, blunt and almost accusatory, but also clearly confused and hopefully well meaning. Eve seems to have had enough.

“Let me see where you’re hurt,” she commands.

Cassandra picks at the buttons on her sweater. Her layered clothing feels like a nuisance, now. Did she really need a shirt and a sweater and a vest? When strong but gentle hands begin to help her remove the fabric and lay down on the cot, Cassandra starts to ramble. “I didn’t tell them anything.” If Eve is going to help her, she needs to justify it, to convince herself, Eve, her fellow Librarians that she deserves the help. “Not one thing because I’m never going to betray you again. And they asked a lot of stuff but I didn’t tell them any of it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Eve says softly. “I only cared about saving you in time.” Before Cassandra can contemplate that, a wet cloth rubs against her torn skin, too painful for even her not to flinch and whimper. “I’m sorry,” Eve says. She continues to scrub dried blood from Cassandra’s back with a pressure that Cassandra assumes is an attempt to be gentle but that hurts nonetheless. Despite the pain, Cassandra feels a vague sort of relaxation, but her mind’s still fixated on how she’d kept the Library’s secrets and there’s one more thing she needs to know.

“Did I do good?” she mumbles. “Did I earn my place?”

“You’ve always had a place here,” Eve reassures her. Cassandra takes that as a yes to her other question as well, takes it to mean that Eve is proud of her for having done well by the Library.

Cassandra smiles, closes her eyes, and admits to herself that the relaxation she’d feeling was the feeling of safety.

#whumptember 2023 #whumptember 2023 day 1 #day one: did i do good? #whump #lady whump #torture #support character #comfort #wound care #the librarians #cassandra cillian #fanfic #my writing

[revelationschapter6]

cinnamon and myrrh

Events: Sicktember, Whumptember, Bad Things Happen Bingo

Prompts:

Desperate measures

Head lolling

Coughing fit

Preventative Measures (Not taken)

Side effects/Adverse reaction

Uncooperative Patient

Confused

Disoriented

Hurts to Breathe

Warnings:

implications of depression

This fill is written as a one-shot of my original story, Saudade. You can find my info page for Saudade here.

What context you need to read this is:

In Saudade, the Archangel Raphael Fell during the Rebellion. It was a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, and he was thrown out by four angels while his partner, the Power Camael, tried to help him.

The angels who didn't Fall were made to forget those who did. They don't remember they ever knew them. As far as they know, all the Fallen were on the fringes of Heaven's society. If they asked around, they might go, "Wait, no one knew a Fallen?" But they Don't Ask Questions.

Raphael worked to gain Camael's trust again, and eventually won it. Camael learned he did, in fact, know Raphael before the Fall by regaining a memory, and convinced Raphael's siblings to hear him out. Now they're trying to figure out WTF to do.

Who, in their right mind, burns myrrh for funsies? Humans, apparently. And in the middle of the holiday season no less, so the smell of it is covered up by the reek of all that damn cinnamon. Raphael really should have learned by now. Whumptember: Desperate measures, head lolling Sicktember: Coughing fit, Preventative Measures (Not Taken), Side Effects/Adverse Reaction, Uncooperative Patient, Confused, Disoriented Bad Things Happen Bingo: hurts to breathe

can be read on AO3 or below the cut

Raphael watched the little blurs that were the light-up battery-powered fish in his fish tank.

When he’d moved into this apartment, he’d thought about getting a cat. But they had such short lifespans compared to his. It just wasn’t worth getting attached. Dogs were the same. Rodents were even worse. It felt like they barely took a breath before dying. It was nearly impossible to find an apartment that would allow a bird, though even they didn’t live terribly long in the span of his life, and he hated turtles.

A hellish animal might have been an option, but he didn’t like any of them. Hellcats, with their too many tails, disturbed him greatly and brought to mind Kitsune, who he didn’t want to think of as he cleaned a litter box. (Their litter boxes had a nasty habit of bursting into flames, besides.) Hellhounds came in every shape and breed of dog, but being around Lilith’s was enough. He didn’t have nearly enough water to keep an ahuizotl, and he already had plenty of nightmares without inviting in a Pesanta.

So, finally, he’d bought a fish tank and some light-up, battery-powered fake fish and been quite happy with them.

Through the poorly insulated walls of his apartment, he could make out general merriment. Carolers on the street, the buzz of countless lights, cheerful voices. Could smell pine from pine trees, burning gingerbread from a few doors down, and tried not to cough at the thickness of cinnamon in the air. It had been strong for days, no matter where he went. Cinnamon brooms lingered on his neighbors’ doorsteps, and it seemed every shop he passed was cluttered with them.

He’d never liked Christmas, not really. Though the Giant Lantern Festival was beautiful, he’d admit that, and he always had fun trying to burn the Gävle Goat. Any Fallen loved Krampusnacht, none more so than Krampus himself. But Christmas was a time for those with friends and family. He might have called Maalik a friend once, but he was long dead. Lilith and Lethe, perhaps, but they were busy doing their own things, and they saw each other only every few decades, besides. He still wasn’t sure if he could call Samyaza a friend.

And he certainly had no family.

He had Camael back, somewhat. But Camael, though he knew now, didn’t remember, surely wasn’t willing to spend a holiday with him. And Gabriel and Michael still looked half-ready to run him through if he sneezed wrong, though they knew too.

So he hadn’t even bothered to ask.

Raphael sighed, trying to tune out the music his neighbors were listening to: the one above him was listening to some caterwauling cover of All I Want for Christmas is You, the one below him Last Christmas, to the right a pop cover of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (why?), and to the left Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (again, why?). He could make out the neighbors further down the hall, but it all clashed together into raucous noise.

He rolled over, stretching out on his bed. It smelled far better than the cloying cinnamon. Though lingering sulfur and rain-dampened dirt weren’t exactly appealing either.

It wasn’t Christmas Day or Eve. At least, he didn’t think so.

He couldn’t hear wrapping paper tearing—well, that was a lie. The gender-optional tenant three doors down was wrapping gifts it sounded like—or smell ham or turkey or baking cookies.

Then again, he’d slept for quite a while, so he couldn’t be certain. He’d only gotten up long enough to duck into the corner store and wolf down the taquitos whose wrappers lay crumpled on his nightstand.

Raphael clutched his pillow, curling up. Hell, but he was tired. He’d slept the better part of the last two days, and still, he was exhausted.

So what was the harm in sleeping? It wasn’t as if he’d miss anything.

His phone rang, and he grumbled. Blearily, he thought that he needed to take it into the store to get it looked at because the voice announcing the caller was so muffled that he couldn’t make out what it said. Raphael reached for it, fumbling, but it was out of his reach, and he was still so tired.

If it was important, whoever it was could leave a voicemail.

Someone banged on his door, and he groaned. Did they have to be so loud? He could hear the door rattling in the frame. It was probably someone looking for the man down the hall. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had someone knock on his door by mistake, so he didn’t feel sorry that he didn’t even open his eyes.

There were voices, and he felt he should wake up. Because sleeping while someone was near him was never a good thing, barring a few people. And those weren’t Lethe or Lilith’s voices. He could tell. But his bed was so warm, the blankets so soft and comfortable, so surely he could sleep a few minutes more?

Besides, those voices felt safe. What was the harm?

Hands—cold hands, familiar, rough hands, though who they belonged to escaped him at the moment—grabbed and shook him. He wanted to tell them to let him sleep—even with their hands on him, he felt leaden—but his voice wilted and died in his throat before he could make a sound.

The voice called his name again, and two more hands, rougher and larger, joined the first.

His name was called again, this time by a voice deeper than the one before, and the hands became so rough that his head rolled on his pillow. It was irritating, and he tried again to tell them to leave him be. But his voice died, and his eyelids were so heavy that he couldn’t even glare at them to go away. His breath hitched, as sluggish as the rest of him, and struggled in his throat.

Raphael felt that should have worried him, but he was too comfortable and tired to care.

The hands went away, and he was grateful. Now, surely they’d leave him alone? Whatever they needed couldn’t be that important. It could wait.

Surely, they’d finally let him sleep.

A pair of hands slid under him, separating his head from his pillow and awkwardly gripping the underside of his knees. He shivered as he was torn away from the warmth of his blankets, the cold biting into him worse than the blizzards of Cocytus. A complaint started, then died, in his throat. His head lolled back, his neck arched painfully, and while one arm had been scooped up so it rested on his stomach, the other dangled uncomfortably.

The person carrying him moved jerkily, jolting him violently, even as they rubbed their thumbs along his skin as if to try to warm him. They came to an abrupt stop, and he tried to open his eyes. Some part of him was alarmed when he couldn’t get them to respond, but he was too tired to get anxious.

One hand came up to cradle the back of his head as he was made to stand. Well, stand by the faintest gasp of the word. If it wasn’t for the hand, or the body he was propped against, he surely would have collapsed. His feet tingled differently than usual, more numb than throbbing or sensitive. Even when he tried to make them, his knees wouldn’t support his weight. The person behind him, a sturdy wall, held him carefully upright. Raphael felt he should recognize them, if not from everything else than from their height, his head coming up to their chest from the feel of it as it lolled on his irritatingly unresponsive neck.

The first, smaller pair of hands, fingers slimmer than the ones holding him, tugged off his sweats, boxers, and nightshirt. Some part of him felt he should cover himself, like there was something he needed to hide, that he despised, tried to never let anyone see, and was forgetting.

But that would mean moving, which he didn’t think he could do even if he tried. His arms were so heavy, and was it really so bad if they saw it?

He lost time.

And then he was scalding, dragged beneath a spray of water. He gasped through a barely open mouth, his breath rasping loudly in his throat, then started to cough violently.

Were they trying to drown him?

A heave ran through him as he coughed, desperate for breath he didn’t actually need, feeling as though he were fighting to breathe through wet cloth. One of the hands, the one with the thicker fingers, caught his chin and squeezed the joints of his jaw. He tried to jerk back and felt like he was back in Boston, struggling to wade through molasses. His body wouldn’t listen to him, every moment slow and faltering, a twitch of a movement if he managed to move at all.

"Shit, he’s covered in it."

Raphael retched as a wet finger pressed down on his tongue, sweeping along his throat. It was a horrible feeling, but when the finger drew out, he could finally breathe. He coughed harshly, gulping air down greedily.

His fingers twitched, and the hand on the back of his head tightened in his hair to keep him from doubling over. He could taste rotten sulfur, his throat stinging as he struggled to get his coughing under control. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that hadn’t begun to tingle unpleasantly, bordering on a faint burn.

The smaller set of hands left his skin, replaced a moment later by a washcloth. The tingling quickly built to a burn, and as energy began to return to his limbs, he struggled weakly. Being pinned had never resulted in anything good, and slowly awareness was filtering to him; he shouldn’t be so confused and so tired; he should have been wide awake long before they’d made it into his apartment. He’d never known the touch of holy water, but having water flow over his body just before he began to burn did not bode well.

The arms tightened around him, and a familiar voice grunted as he managed to brace one foot on the slippery tile and drive the heel of the other into the shin of the person behind him.

"Stop fighting us, dammit!"

Wait—he did know that voice. Now that it didn’t sound so far away, so muffled, he did know that voice. And those hands felt familiar, as did the body behind him. And now, with the insulated walls of the shower between him and that awful, seeping cinnamon scent, he could make out the strong bite of petrichor.

He forced his eyes open, though they were very reluctant. His vision swam, eyes stinging, and they’d only open a slit. But even through a film of silver tears, he’d know that angel anywhere. She was too close for him to make out her features, but even darkened and flattened to her scalp by water, that red hair was unmistakeable.

"M’ch’l?" His tongue was slow, heavy, and unresponsive in his mouth. Just that word, if you could call it a word, made him cough again, tearing at his throat. He whimpered, and the angel behind him held him up when the force of it tried to bend him over. Ichor sprayed, foul and thick, across his tongue. Before he could do anything, Camael reached up and swiped his fingers across his tongue and throat. Raphael retched, but strangely, his throat hurt far less.

"Shut up," she snapped as he panted, stooping and running the washcloth down his legs.

"You’re a real idiot, you know," she said as she straightened.

"Wh-?" He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice to obey him. His voice sounded ridiculous, slurring and rough. "Why?"

Finally, he got his legs to support him, though they shook violently. Still, when Camael pushed him forward and Michael pulled him towards her, he went easily. He slumped, head resting on her shoulder, letting her take most of his weight. Behind him, Camael wiped him down with quick, rough movements. His skin burned, too sensitive, under the touch of the rag, and he whined as his hands and feet began to sting. He hadn’t even realized how numb they’d gone, but now that they felt as if they were being lanced with needles, he wished they’d go back to being numb.

Camael knelt, pushing him so he put more of his weight on Michael, and pulled up his foot. He did cry out, then. They were always either sensitive or numb, but the feel of the rag was agony. Then he began to cough again, struggling against the burn in his chest. Each small gasp of breath he managed to get only fueled the burn, and he sobbed.

"Sorry, sorry," Camael muttered, hurrying to finish. The other foot hurt just as badly, if not more, and it was only because Michael braced herself that they weren’t both taken to the ground when his leg gave out.

"Close your eyes," Camael said, and then Michael guided him to stand upright and bend over. He wheezed, beginning to cough again, wrinkling his nose at the foul taste of sulfur. When the stream of water was aimed at his hair, he flinched, so Michael brought one hand up to cover his eyes. Hands ran roughly through his hair, tugging at tangles, Camael murmuring apologies every time he tugged roughly at his scalp.

"Is that all of it?" Camael asked, helping him to stand upright. He wavered, blinking blearily at Michael as he struggled to catch his breath.

The burning was starting up again in his throat, and he managed to say "All of-" before it irritated his throat so badly that he started to cough again. When the force of it, pain shooting through his upper back, threatened to take him to the ground, Camael held him upright. Heat filled his mouth, and he tasted sulfur as the water shut off.

"Don’t let him get any on his skin," Camael said as Michael pressed the cloth to his mouth.

"I know," she scowled. "Next time he can catch his breath, hold his head up and his mouth open."

It felt like ages as he coughed. His throat and chest burned, and tears trickled down his face. Camael slid one hand up to rest over his racing heart, Michael replacing his grip on Raphael’s arm with her own.

Finally, he was able to take a breath. It wasn’t much, but for a moment, he could stop coughing. His breath whistled in his throat, an awful sound that set his teeth on edge. Camael grabbed his jaw, making him tilt his head back, then, as gently as he could, squeezed the joints of his jaw.

Raphael coughed, jerking awkwardly at the angle his throat was forced to. He didn’t struggle as Camael lowered him, and Michael stood on the tips of her toes. She raised her hand, and Raphael’s instincts screamed as divinity spiked strongly in the air. Gold-tinged smoke trickled from his mouth as Michael pinched the air, then pulled back. There was an awful tugging feeling in his chest before the burning flared. He struggled against Camael’s pinning grip, but as the agonizing burn rose through his throat, his chest stopped hurting.

With a gasp, he began to gulp down air. Each breath came easier than the last, the burn moving to his tongue, then gone completely. Camael loosened his grip, letting him slump against him as he gasped for breath. Camael was saying something. He could tell by the vibrations of his chest against his back, and maybe Michael was, too. But his heart raced loudly in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything else. He twisted, spitting ichor into the drain.

Michael stepped out of the shower, and scooping Raphael up, Camael followed.

Please tell me I’m not naked.

Michael looked away as she grabbed a towel. "Can you stand?"

He cleared his throat, basking in being able to breathe. "Y-yeah," he said, though he wasn’t really sure. Camael carefully set him down, making sure he could take his own weight before releasing him.

Raphael hadn’t known this Camael could be so gentle or kind. He wished he’d been aware enough to enjoy it.

Hands shaking, he took the towel she offered. His head was still a bit foggy, the world moving slowly around him, but now he could feel the alarm he should have felt before creeping up on him.

"How dumb are you?" Michael asked as he toweled himself dry before he could ask what the hell had happened. It was only as he carefully picked up a foot to towel it dry, leaning into Camael’s supporting hand, seeing the discolored flesh that went up nearly to his knee, that his heart dropped into his stomach.

His glamors.

He wasn’t wearing his glamors.

They’d have seen the discolorations for sure, and they certainly would have felt them. It was a miracle he hadn’t, in his daze, brought out his spines.

The thought made him feel ill.

And–his eyes. His eyes didn’t have the reassuring, faint warmth of his glamor, the one he applied without thought the moment he woke. That glamor—they'd have seen his eyes; they’d have seen those monstrous eyes. How had Michael stomached seeing them?

He took deep breaths, reveling in them, and answered her. "I don’t know... I don’t even know what happened." Frantically, he tried to call up the glamor. It was child’s play—something he could do when bleeding and half-dead. But his power, usually burning and riotous, was barely more than a smolder in his chest. His eyes remained unchanged.

"Myrrh," she said as she walked out of the bathroom, speaking over her shoulder as he tied the towel around his waist. Camael helped him follow on shaky legs. "You got yourself covered from head to toe in myrrh." When he walked into the rest of the apartment, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The entire place smelled like ozone, divinity sparking along his skin.

Michael rummaged through his dresser, pulling out a shirt and tossing it to him once he’d sat on the edge (well, his bed was round, so it didn’t have edges) of his bed. It had been stripped down to the mattress, and the rough mattress itched his sensitive skin.

"And inhaled it," Camael added as he pulled the shirt on. He sounded pissed, and Raphael cringed. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"I didn’t mean to," Raphael protested as he wriggled awkwardly into a pair of shorts that landed in his lap. He mourned his boxers but would rather that Michael didn’t go into his underwear drawer. Remembering the days of robes and little else, then the days of kaunakes, which covered even less, he wondered when he’d become so prudish. What Fallen would mean to inhale myrrh? "Who burns myrrh anymore?"

Michael wasn’t far enough away for him to make out her expression, but he was fairly certain she was looking to Heaven for strength.

He didn’t need to look to know that Camael was rolling his eyes. "I’m serious," Raphael said. "I haven’t been able to smell anything but cinnamon for weeks. You think I’d’ve stuck around if I smelled myrrh?"

Of all the things hellish beings were weak to—blessed objects, certain sacred symbols and objects, holy water, purified salt, consecrated ground, certain sigils and runes, among other things—Raphael found myrrh the most insidious. Sacred symbols and objects you could avoid; you had to touch them, usually, to be harmed by them. Pick them up or have them thrown at you. They were only dangerous if they touched bare skin. Any hellish being knew well what those tended to be. Blessed objects were more dangerous; anything could be blessed. Sacred symbols and objects counted among blessed objects, like crosses, ushabti, and holy books. But it was entirely possible to rummage through a pile of clothing and find a blessed shirt. Sigils and runes had to be carved or painted, and were far less reliable. They were so finicky that a shaky hand or a shed eyelash in the wrong spot could ruin the entire thing. They were usually best at keeping hellish beings out, or he’d have considered them much worse. But if someone knew what they were doing, they could make the barrier far more dangerous, even lethal. The ones he’d painted around his cave served as an electric fence, although he’d seen an imp fried to ash when it insisted on continuing to try to come in. Once, though, he’d seen a demon walk over an intricate rune set, unaware, and be instantly and mercilessly erased from existence.

Consecrated ground, well. Raphael, personally, hated consecrated ground after spending years recovering from a run-in with it. But provided you weren’t him and weren’t foolish with it, it wasn’t too much of a danger. Consecrated ground was almost always a holy building, religious or spiritual retreat, sacred grove, or sacred site. So long as you avoided those, you were just fine. That wasn’t a hard rule—he was still deeply confused by a six-inch-by-six-inch patch he’d found deep in Baikunthapur Forest—but it was a safe one to live by. And, if you were unlucky enough to find some random patch, you just had to step off of it.

It was only when you stayed standing on it that it started to eat away at your being.

Purified salt, unless consumed, was only really useful for making a salt circle. If it touched the skin, it acted as a bit of an irritant, but when consumed in large amounts, it became an anticoagulant. ‘Large amounts’ being the key word; it diluted in drinks, and any amounts that would be dangerous to a hellish being made food noticeably salty. And holy water—well, any self-respecting hellish being feared holy water, especially with people carrying it around now. You never knew how pure it would be, whether it was just tap water with a prayer said over it by some human or water properly blessed by an angel. The former, a Fallen or demon would have to be dunked in or guzzle to be killed by, and it would be a long, drawn-out, preventable death. Otherwise, it hurt like hot oil.

Not pleasant, but better than the latter. The latter was like acid; a few drops would eat away at your skin, but any significant amount was liable to outright dissolve you away.

Myrrh, though. In its natural state, it was harmless. He could hold it with his bare hands if he wanted to. But when burned, which humans had taken to doing, it became smoke. And it was the smoke that was so dangerous. That it had such a strong, distinct scent meant it was one of the easier dangers to avoid. Still, if, somehow, you breathed it—perhaps being a new demon, or a Fallen with little experience of Creation—it settled in your lungs, clinging to your throat. Often, it coated your skin as well, if you were unlucky enough to be too close. It ate away at you slowly, siphoning away your power. This made you tired, too dazed to register that something was wrong. If you fell asleep, you never woke up again.

Raphael remembered how groggy he’d felt, how tired and listless, so certain that it would be no harm at all just to go back to sleep. How he hadn’t cared though there’d been hands on him, strangers (or so they’d seemed at the time) crowded around him while he was vulnerable. If that had happened in Hell...

He shivered.

Michael had been talking, and he quickly scrubbed his hair dry, trying to pretend he’d been listening.

"–lucky we found you when we did!"

"I know," he said. There were so many ways he was lucky, as much as he sometimes thought himself otherwise. When it mattered, he was damn lucky.

"Really," Camael said behind him, his voice soft. "You were almost dead, Raphael. If we had waited a few hours–"

Raphael was startled when Camael’s voice hitched. And, he realized, Michael’s had sounded decidedly rattled. They cared. He barely managed to keep from smiling, as inappropriate as that would be. They still didn’t remember him. Camael hadn’t told him what he’d seen, but he’d seen a memory, or more than one. Enough to know he had known him once. That, for all these years, Raphael hadn’t been lying. He didn’t know the depth of their relationship, but that was fine. Gabriel and Michael, through Camael, had come to accept that they’d known him as well.

It was hard to deny, especially once he showed them their feathers on his necklace and that his were on their jewelry. He couldn’t fake the feathers on his necklace. They shed feathers, sure. But the feathers on his necklace sparked with their divinity—the remnants of when they’d shrunk them, solidifying them so they wouldn’t be ruined in his day-to-day. There wasn’t any of his foul power on them.

Right, his power. It was a bit of a struggle, but after a moment, he managed to pull a glamor over his eyes. He’d done his best not to look them in the eye, but they’d certainly noticed something was off, even if they’d been distracted when they’d seen it.

How they hadn’t realized they had his feathers—well, he had his suspicions. They’d worn them since before Creation, and that was a very long time not to question the seemingly random feathers they shared. Then again, there were so many things that didn’t make sense that no one in Heaven, it seemed, had questioned.

His necklace-! He reached for his throat, fumbling where the cold chain always was. He’d only taken it off once since they’d given it to him, when he’d handed it to Michael to prove he really did have their feathers. But his neck was bare, and, to his horror, so was his wrist. Camael’s bracelet was gone, too.

"Here." Michael’s voice was undeniably strangled. When he looked at her, he sighed in relief. A little smear of gold and what looked to be a miniscule streak of the same with three white blobs dangling from it hung from her hand. They reeked of ozone, and divinity brushed against his skin when he took them.

"We-"

"We?"

"Michael banished your bedding. It had myrrh all over it." Raphael had liked that bedding. "Your clothes too. She cleaned everything. We didn’t want to risk missing some."

"When did you manage to do that?" He gaped at Michael. Everything between falling asleep and Camael washing his hair was blurry, with massive blank spots. Still, he was fairly certain there hadn’t been a moment when she wasn’t there.

Camael took the clasp he’d been struggling with, ignoring his startled flinch, and fastened his necklace for him. Feeling was still coming back to his extremities, and he felt rather fumbly.

"Right after I took off your clothes," she said plainly. Raphael was sure he turned an impressive silver as he remembered her stripping him under the water, Camael holding up his dead weight. She was his sister, but still. He’d have been just as embarrassed if it were Gabriel. Hell, Camael being there was almost as embarrassing.

…wow, he really had become a prude.

"I did it all at the same time. It’s not that hard if you’re doing all the room at once. Though, uh," she sounded sheepish. He remembered the way she’d avert her eyes when embarrassed, dark skin taking on a twinkling gold glint. "I might have been a bit overzealous. Some of those lights went out… and I might have vanished some of your towels."

That did not surprise him. You didn’t have to put much thought into using power—or divinity, as the case might be—but the less you focused, the more mistakes it might make or the more liberties it might take. If she’d thought ‘bedding and clothing’ it might have included ‘fabrics’ in that, and he should feel lucky he had any clothing or towels left at all. Hell, if she’d been rushing and had intentions such as ‘purify everything’, he was lucky he had anything left; such broad intentions could easily have ‘purified’ his apartment by emptying it.

He laughed. It felt good to laugh, to enjoy being able to breathe without that awful burn. "Don’t, don’t worry about it. Those were shit towels."

Forgetting himself, used to only letting Lilith and Lethe at his back, he reclined back against Camael. Camael stiffened against him, and he went rigid. Then, slowly, Camael relaxed.

Michael moved to sit next to him, sighing loudly.

"You have to be more careful," she said, sounding her age. Not the one her physical body appeared, but how old she truly was.

"I usually am." Sometimes. With some things. He was still alive, wasn’t he? And in (mostly) one piece.

Camael snorted.

"I avoid myrrh, I promise. We all do." He winced. Usually, he did all he could to keep from mentioning Hell, demons, or other Fallen. "If I have to get close to it, I layer up and wear masks. I avoid anywhere that burns incense or anything." This did, however, make it very hard to source materials for runes and sigils. Oh. The fucking corner store! The person who ran it was always burning candles. He’d been going there for years. "And if I even think I’m exposed to it, I shower. I just couldn’t smell anything through that damn cinnamon. It’s been strong the last few years, but never this bad."

...then again, he forced himself not to grimace; he hadn’t even worn his mask. Some dumbass had yelled at him the last time he had, and he hadn’t had it in him to get into an argument if he ran into someone else who took issue with him. Of course, that would be the one time Georgie burned fucking myrrh instead of their ‘field of fresh-mown grass’ candles.

In fact, he had sneezed. But their candles usually made him sneeze, and the cinnamon brooms irritated his nose, so he hadn’t thought anything of it.

Damn, he was stupid.

"Well, it is. What are you going to do now?"

Camael asked a good question. Raphael pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. "I’ll have to be more careful. Cover up as much as I can, stay away from any shops if I can, wear a mask. Definitely will shower as soon as I get home no matter what... that was dumb of me."

"Very."

It was funny when Michael and Gabriel did it. When Michael and Camael spoke together, it was just disconcerting.

"Burn any cinnamon brooms I find," he added, sotto voce.

"Why are they even a thing?" Michael shook her head. "Makes you feel like you shoved a bar of cinnamon up your nose."

He laughed, enjoying the rumble of Camael’s chest behind him as he did the same.

God, he’d missed this.

"What were you doing here, anyway?" He'd been sure he’d be spending Christmas alone. But here were Michael and Camael in his apartment, having saved his life. "Not that I’m not grateful!" He was quick to add.

Camael didn’t laugh again, but Raphael could feel the rumble of his chuckle against his back. The warmth that spread through his chest, then, was anything but painful.

"Well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?" Camael said, and now that he paid attention, Raphael realized he was right. Even through the cinnamon, he could smell turkeys and hams baking; his gender-optional neighbor had, it seemed, procrastinated and was only now baking an over-sweetened apple pie. Children were shrieking (he grimaced. Michael snickered.), and adults and older children were laughing. Awful Christmas music was playing, muffling the tearing of wrapping paper and the high-pitched noises of children trying out their new toys.

"You really thought we were going to let you spend it alone? Our own brother?"

Yes.

"I didn’t think you celebrated, honestly."

He knew they celebrated. He’d seen them more than once, participating in so many holidays over the centuries. So many New Year's celebrations, sometimes more than one in the same year. Why humans couldn’t pick a calendar and stick with it, he’d never know. Sometimes it was just Michael and Gabriel. Others, it was Michael, Gabriel, and Camael, and he was glad about it. It was nice to know they were still close. Rarely, it was just one of them. Often, it was Michael and Raguel, Camael, and, bafflingly, Gabriel and Kushiel. He’d seen them giving gifts of protection during Handsel Monday centuries ago, helping with the harvest and blessing the loaves of Lammas, preventing injuries during Gŵyl Mabsant, betting on who’d fail to carry the burning barrels during Up Helly Aa, throwing tomatoes at each other (from what he could tell through watching from afar, they lost points if they hit humans) each La Tomatina he’d seen, and, on one memorable occasion, Gabriel, Kushiel, and Raguel, glamored to appear as a man, competing in a heated discus throwing competition at one of the last Ancient Olympic games while Michael and Camael egged them on. This had ended very quickly when Gabriel, scowling at Kushiel, had flung his discus an impossible distance and lodged it into the wall of the stadium. There had been a very brief chaos as the angels rushed to make the humans forget what they saw.

Raphael would have helped, honestly, but he’d been too busy laughing until he cried at the horror on their faces.

And, in recent years, Gabriel seemed to have found it great fun to participate in Blasphemy Day. Michael always followed him, telling him he shouldn’t, but if Raphael got close enough that he could make out her face, she was always grinning.

But why should he think they’d want to celebrate with him?

"Of course we do," Michael frowned. "Actually, Camael, can you text Gabriel? He’s probably wondering where we are."

"Wait, Gabriel–?"

"He’s at Camael’s apartment. We’ve got a tree up and everything. If you’re feeling up to it, of course?"

Of course, he was up to it. He’d drag himself across shards of blessed glass if only to have a moment with any of them. His skin was a bit too sensitive, but otherwise? He’d have had no idea that he’d almost died in such a stupid way.

"Yeah, of course." Michael stared him down, but she’d raised him, insofar as any of them had been raised, so he didn’t squirm or look away.

"Tell Gabriel we’re about to head over," she finally said, apparently satisfied. Then she leaned forward, grabbing something out of his sightline that crinkled loudly. When she leaned back, she held a lumpy package in her hands, covered in gaudy, multi-colored stripes. At least, he assumed so. They smeared, hurting his eyes. She dropped it in his lap.

"What’s this?" He picked it up, wrinkling his brow when it gave under his touch.

"You have to look the part." Even still, she sounded tired, and he felt horrible for scaring her so badly.

Look the part?

Finally, he really looked at her. And then he had to laugh. He’d been a bit distracted, but now it was impossible to miss the garish red sweater she wore. It clashed horribly with her hair, and he wished more than anything that he could make out what those twinkling, white blobs were.

"Camael’s is worse," she grumped. That he had to see. He twisted, then laughed harder. Raphael hadn’t known blue could be that bright, and the fuzziness of it explained the coarseness he’d felt against his exposed skin. Lights of various colors twinkled, and he snorted, then laughed at that.

"Oh God," he rubbed at his eyes as they teared up, "that’s bad."

"Wait until you see yours." Camael patted his shoulder.

"Mine?" The word came out far louder than he’d intended it to.

They really did want him, didn’t they? A gift, a Christmas tree, and now an ugly Christmas sweater. His grin, he was sure, was wobbly. Raphael had gifts for them too, of course. But he’d had no delusions of being able to give them to them. He had intended to give them to Camael the next time he saw him, Oh, I saw these, thought of you guys. Mind giving those to Michael and Gabriel next you see them? Thanks!

He’d never dreamed of being able to see them open them.

"Now, get dressed. Put that on, get some pants. Sister or not, I’m not going through your underwear drawer."

"Thank you for that."

He had so much to thank her for. Raphael didn’t think he’d ever be able to say them all.

#whumptember2023 #whumptember 2023 #whumptember2023 day 25 #whumptember day 25 #day twenty five: head lolling #day twenty five: desperate measures #sicktember2023 #sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 5 #sicktember day 23 #sicktember day 25 #sicktember day 27 #sicktember day 29 #bad things happen bingo #prompt: hurts to breathe #saudade #original writing #one-shot #original story #raphael #michael #gabriel #camael #implied depression #lore #world lore #worldbuilding #bthb

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Whumptember day one: Blood Loss

TW: suicide, slit wrist, blade, implied death of a child

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @heavenlyeden @whumpsday @whumpshaped

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Whumptember 2023 #Whumptember 2033 day 1 #Blood loss #Gif set #The Devil's Carnival #My gifs

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 5

“What do you want me to do?”

Owed a favor | Whispered conversation | Sneaking around

The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist

CW: alcohol, mentioned kidnapping, mentioned potential character death, mentioned gun

Continued HERE

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

Caretaker’s eyes shifted warily as they scaled the walls of the enemy base, rope burning in their hands and they hauled themself up, one after the other. This would all be for nothing if they got caught. Less than nothing. They wouldn’t be of any use to Youngest if they were captured, and that was on top of the agony they’d have to endure at the hands of Villain and the rest of their team if they were captured. So don’t get caught, Leader had reasoned. As if it were that simple. As if that weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. But Leader believed in them, and Youngest needed them, so here they were, freezing their ass off on the wind- and snow-swept window ledge of their most formidable foe, praying to God that they could plead well enough to the only person who could truly help save Youngest’s life.

They pressed their hand into the glass, using the friction and sticking frost to pull open the suspiciously unlocked window. No time to dwell on that, Caretaker supposed. They dove in through the small gap and landed into a silent forward roll across the hardwood floor, only to immediately be greeted by the sound of a glass shattering as it was dropped by shocked hands, followed by a long string of curses as the dropper of the glass stared at Caretaker with abject horror.

“Caretaker–” Spy hissed. “What in the actual fuck are–”

A soft knock at the door. “Medic? Everything alright?” Villain called.

Spy glared at Caretaker, commanding them to hide with a sharp nod that even Leader themself wouldn’t question. Caretaker looked around frantically, before spotting a lovely little wooden wardrobe. That’d do.

“Yeah, everything’s– great,” Spy yelled back, speech slurred. “Jus’… dropped the whiskey bottle. Just a little. Probably too much to drink– Imma gonna… gonna… jus’ clean this up an’ head to bed…”

The door creaked open. “You need–”

“Don’t come in!” Spy leaped over to the door and slammed it shut with their full body, back pressed into the painted wood. “I’m not decent!”

A pause. Caretaker bit their lip inside the wardrobe, cursing themself for not choosing any better hiding spot. The door couldn’t even close all the way!

“...alright then.” Villain’s voice finally came through the door, taken aback. “You’re a very strange drunk, Medic… I’ll leave you to it, just put on some clothes before you deal with the glass, yes?”

Spy groaned dramatically, as if Villain had just asked them to egg the neighbor kid’s house. “--fffffff-ine…”

“Thanks. No pity if you’re hungover tomorrow, yeah? Drink some water and get to bed.” Villain knocked on the door twice in lieu of a farewell, and footsteps could be heard creaking down on the hardwood floors, slowly getting quieter as Villain walked away.

Spy slammed open the doors of the wardrobe, very clothed and very sober. “You better have an amazing explanation for this, Caretaker,” they whispered with enough venom to knock out an elephant. They yanked Caretaker out and picked up a towel from where they had just been sitting, turning on their heels toward the broken glass. “Amazing, perfect, justifiable, and totally not insane reason for almost blowing my cover and getting the both of us killed.”

“They have Youngest,” Caretaker whispered urgently, grabbing another piece of fabric at random and following closely behind Spy. Spy didn’t even flinch as they threw their own towel widely over the glass and started collecting it all into the thick cloth.

“Okay. And?”

“That’s all you have to say?!” Caretaker hissed, soaking up the spill with what they now realized was an old t-shirt. “No ‘where?,’ no ‘are they alive?,’ no ‘how can I help save my teammate from being tortured to death?’...”

“What do you want me to do?” Spy finished placing all of the glass into the towel, then trudged to the other side of the room and threw the entire thing away. 

“Not sure if you noticed, Caretaker, but they think I work for them. And they need to continue thinking that I work for them until I can finish my directive,” Spy nudged Caretaker out of the way with their foot, kneeling down beside them and finishing the job of drying the spill themself. “And helping one of our captives escape is a wonderful way to make sure all my hard work goes straight down the toilet. Then you’ll have two captives that need saving–” They threw the now alcohol-soaked t-shirt into the hamper across the room. 

“--If they don’t put a bullet in my head right there and then.”

“I’m not asking you to save them, idiot,” Caretaker said through gritted teeth. “Just… keep an eye on them, please? You’re their medic. Maybe say they’ve had enough early if the team is torturing them, or, or keep them in the med bay for as long as possible with an unknown illness, or discredit any information they give, or misdiagnose their power so Villain underestimates them, and don’t shoot them if you have the chance to, and on that note, don't let Villain kill them. Just–...” They waved their hands around in front of them frantically, pleading. 

“Do something. Don’t just stand by and watch, and for the love of God, don’t join in. Please.”

Spy stared at Caretaker for a long time, face excruciatingly unreadable. “I acknowledge your request for me to help Youngest. Now get the fuck out.” Spy grabbed the collar of Caretaker's shirt and shoved them toward the open window. 

“Is that a yes?”

Spy spun Caretaker around to unequivocally ask if they were purposefully trying to kill them, only to find Caretaker's hopelessly worried puppy-dog eyes staring back at them. Always with the puppy-dog eyes. They threw their head back with a groan, fingers pinching the bridge of their nose.

“That’s an ‘I’ll do what I can without compromising my mission.’” Spy stated. “Now leave. I can’t have you getting hurt too.”

Caretaker let out a sigh of relief as they leaped up onto the window ledge. They crouched down to fiddle with the rope. “Thank you, Spy. Seriously, it means a lot." Caretaker stared down into the frozen white dust-filled abyss below them. "See you later. I missed you.”

Spy’s shoulders sagged a little. “I missed you too. Send my regards to the team.”

“Will do.” Caretaker saluted to Spy. They pulled on their repelling rope to make sure it was secure, and they were just about to swing back out, when–

“Oh, and Caretaker?” Spy called out from behind them. 

“Ye–” Caretaker turned around, but before they could react, Spy reached up and yanked their head downward by the back of the neck, desperately shoving their lips onto theirs. Caretaker almost pulled back from the shock and force of it, only before fully closing their eyes and leaning down harder into the kiss. Caretaker's breath shuddered hot on Spy’s face as their hand grasped at the back of Spy’s head, the other pulling them in tighter from the spot it found nestled in the arch of their back, holding Spy ever closer so the moment never had to end. 

Spy finally pulled back and gazed into Caretaker’s eyes, breathless. “Don’t get caught.”

“I could say the same to you,” Caretaker chuckled lowly. “Please.”

Spy scoffed and rolled their eyes, pushing Caretaker's chest lightly. “I won’t.”

Caretaker stood and backed up to the very edge of the ledge, grinning from ear to ear. “See you on the other side, Spy.” They grabbed the remaining slack of their rope and vaulted backward off the edge of the windowsill, pumping their fists and grinning like a 5-year-old at a birthday party. 

“That we will,” Spy muttered. They poured themself another glass of whiskey, a real one this time, as they gazed at the spot where Caretaker disappeared.

“One way or the other…”

@whumptember

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 5 #day five: what do you want me to do #day five: whispered conversation #day five: sneaking around #whump #whump scenario #whump writing #team whump #caretaker #writeblr #just realized i tagged this and day 6 wrong for the whumptember 2023 tag #im a fkn idiot #this one is so good too! #fixed now tho #so hopefully it still gets reblogged on the official blog #hoping and praying and crying for it lol #wouldnt blame them for not reblogging day 6 tho that ones a TRIP

[its-my-whump]

Phone call 

TW: emotional whump, emotional loss, assault

She was gorgeous. Her open smile, her laugh, her silky hair, her green eyes, her soft lips. She was funny, honest, intelligent. His life was better, when she was around.

They had kissed. It was their first real date, after dancing around each other for weeks and they had actually kissed.

He felt like a teenager again, butterflies and all. It was a real date, old school. He invited her to dinner, picked her, they shared a dessert, real sassy. He brought her home, walked her to the front door and cliché or not, they kissed for the first time.

He could embrace the world. He hadn't been this happy in ages. The tall man steered his truck towards home, happily smiling to himself. The streets were empty. Yes, it was a first date, but they weren't 15 anymore and there was no curfew at ten. So it was late.

The big wheels of his vehicle rolled over still warm asphalt from a sunny day in June and finally came to a stop in his driveway.

He was so happy, his feet practically hovered him inside. His house was dark. Maybe for the first time in so long, is wasn't a frightening darkness meant for hiding. It almost felt like the silence of the night was a place to linger and enjoy the warm summer night, because life was worth living.

He made his way inside, switched on the lights and reactived the alarm just after closing the front door. Tonight, this house wasn't disturbing him, the atmosphere wasn't able to eat him up as so often. Tonight he felt free.

He went for the fridge and got a beer. The positive wibe of his date let him still float on cloud numbre nine. The TV flickered on and he settle onto his comfy coach, shoes out and feet already up on the coffeetable. It was a rerun of last nights game. He already knew the scoure, but hadn't seen the game.

Nevertheless during the break after the first quarter he dozed off. At the end of the fourth quarter his phone shocked him awake. 'Who the hell would call at this hour and why hadn't he muted it?' Jumped through his head. A quick glance at the clock told him it was half past 2 am on a saturday night, or sunday morning for that matter.

Maybe she was already yarning for him. He definitely was for her. A slight smile hijacked his face.

But it wasn't his mobile on the coffeetable, that had violently charmed him out of his slumber, it was his landline. Still half asleep he made his way over.

The receiver had hardly reached his ear, when he barked into it. "Yeah?"

"Hello." The voice on the other side was speaking matter of factly, not waiting for a response. "Do you remembered the ice cream flavour, we talked about. It was recently delivered to your local 7/11. You should hurry or you'll miss it."

The line went dead. He had the receiver still in his left hand, standing by the counter dumbstruck. A few seconds passed without a movement and then his mind started racing, as his heart did. "Fuck!" Jumped out of his mouth. Panic flared up and his body jolted into action. The receiver went back on the cradle. He ran towards his bedroom, yanked open his closet and scattered clothers over the floor until he could reach a black travel bag on the upper shelf. It was already packed.

He crawled into said closet and pulled out a small safe hidden under junk and a handfull of shoes for every occasion. Hectically he punched in a six digit code. The electric beaping of every numbre and the safe unlockung finally predominated the pounding of his frantic heartbeat in his ears.

He grabbed for a Glock, a stage of bills and an ID. A magazine went into the gun. A pair of combat boots directly in front of him found their way onto his feet in lightning speed. The gun was holstered in the waistband and he put the money and ID into the pockets of his pants. An additional jacket was stuffed into his travelbag.

He shouldered the bag and got his mobile from the coffeetable. A last pityful look on its black display. He had finally been happy again. He had just fallen in love, but apparently this wasn't meant to be, as always. He would never see her gorgeous smile again. Never touch her soft skin again. Never kiss her again. 'Goddammit!' He opened the cover of the devise, pulled out the simcard and broke it in two. Everything ended up on the floor and he crushed it with his heavy boots. His expression had settled into an emotionless mask and he made for the backdoor, not bothering to switch off the TV.

After disarming the security system he approached his car from the dark backyard. The driverside door squeaked quietly and the buffers made a distinct sound, when he settle behind the steering wheel. The engine awoke.

'He had 2 years. 2 good years and he needed to fall in love just today. Or more, apparently they needed to find him exactly today, of all days. Witness protecting, my ass.' He thought. 'Somedays, he believed it would have been better, when they had just ended it then. So he hadn't had to live this life on the run. So he didn't need to be longing for a normal life, a family, children, a dog and a white picket fence.'

His fist hit the rim of the steering wheel. He took a deep breath to force his feelings down. 'Feelings only get you killed. Or they will get the one's you feel for killed.' His hand went for the shifter ball.

Suddenly cold steel touched the back of his neck. He froze, the hairs on his neck and arms suddenly standing formation, his hand still in midair, his heart apparently trying to jump out of his chest, while the air got caught inside his lungs.

"You missed me, Sonny?"

The handle went down on the side of his head with a dull sound and darkness took him.

My whumptember2023 masterlist

#Whumptember2023 #Whumptember 2023 day 10 #day 10: phone call #whump #writing #whump writing #they found me

[whumptember]

Whumptember 2023 Prompts

rules | alternate prompts | tags and posting | ask box

1. “Did I do good?

Mentor whumper | Young hero | Blood loss

2. “Let me do this for you.”

Sacrifice | Guilt | Caretaker turned whumpee

3. “This can’t be it”

Betrayal | Left to die | Running away

4. “Where are they?”

Kidnapped | Left behind | Desperation 

5. “What do you want me to do?”

Owed a favor | Whispered conversation | Sneaking around

6. “I didn’t do this”

Framed | Bloody clothes | Behind bars

7. “No one will believe you”

Behind closed doors | Fake smiles | Touch aversion 

8. “Don’t come back”

Kicked out | Saying goodbye for the last time | Lashing out 

9. “This was always going to happen”

Doomed relationship | Opposing sides | Fatal wound 

10. “What are you doing to them?”

Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call 

11. “There’s nothing else I can do”

Last resort | Character death | Medical whump

12. “I can’t leave again”

Homecoming | Multiple responsibilities | Failed rescue 

13. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Finally free | Open arms | Clothes that don’t fit

14. “I’m on my way. Just hold on a little longer”

Bleeding out | In and out of consciousness  | Voice cracking

15. “I thought you were dead”

Faked death | Under the radar | Trail of blood

16. “Can I go home now?”

Young whumpee | Captive | Chains around the wrists

17. “Can you come pick me up?”

Sensory overload | Feeling like someone’s watching | Bad luck

18. “You said I’d be safe here”

Ambushed | Paranoia | Being watched

19. “You are not a hero. You’re a child playing dress up. Now take off that silly mask and go home.”

Villain mentor | In over their head | Trembling 

20. “We can’t all win”

Failure | City in ruin | Boot on throat 

21. “Take me with you”

Failed escape | Stumbling | Too weak to move

22. “I’m getting bored”

Captive whumpee | New whumper | Electrocution 

23. “Is that blood?”

Passing out | Hyperventilating | New scars

24. “You have to promise I’ll come back”

Muffled screams | Returning home | Uncommon restraints

25. “I won’t leave you here”

Desperate measures | Fireman's carry | Head lolling

26. “You aren’t supposed to be here! You have to leave now”

Unexpected visitor | Explosion | Caretaker turned (accidental) whumper

27. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did what I did.”

Reluctant villain | Old friends | Cornered 

28. “I never should have let it come this far”

Failed hero | Hospital stay | Begging for help

29. “You told me this was the right thing”

Mislead | Blood on hands | Too late 

30. “You were in my way”

Stabbed in the back | Whimpering | Chained to a wall 

#whumptember #whumptember2023 #whump #whump prompts #whump event

[whumpers-monthly]

Whump calendar 2023

Attention: I will delete the prompts in all the months except December next month to make room for next year. If you want to save the whump calendar 2023 you should do it now. Also check out my new blog @whumpcalendar where I will post the calendar from now on.

So I made a calendar and @thewhumpyprintingpress made a checklist for all whump events. Let us know if you're hosting an event so that we can add you.

All events under the cut.

So far we've got:

Whumpers-monthly by @whumpers-monthly One prompt every month.

2023 Year of Whump by @soheavyaburden A prompt can either be filled each week or each month, runs the whole year.

January: Whumpuary by @whumpuary 10 sets of prompts

February: Febuwhump by @febuwhump

March: March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump 7 days of prompts

April: Whumpril by @whumpril

May: Whumpay by @whumpay Mediwhump May by @mediwhumpmay

July: Whumpmas in July by @whumpmasinjuly

September: Whumptember by @whumptember Sicktember by @sicktember

October: AI-less whumptober by @ailesswhumptober Angstober by @angstober Whumptober by @whumptober

November: Comfortember by @comfortember

December: Whumpcember by @whumpcember 12 Days of Whumpmas by @whumpmas 12 sets of prompts Winter Whumperland by @amonthofwhump 1 - 12 of December Hurtcember by @hurtcember Merry Whumpmas by @whumpishprompts

We will add all the other blogs as soon as the promptlists are available.

#whump #whump community #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump events #whump event #whump calendar #whump calendar 2023

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 10

“What are you doing to them?” Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call

It felt like their brain was vibrating. All they could hear or feel was an endless buzzing, like all their atoms were trying to pull apart from one another. It was overwhelming, muffling any sensations from the outside world. They couldn't hear, they couldn't think. Their brain was vibrating.

It’d hurt, before. Or they thought it had. They couldn’t remember much before the buzzing had started, but they remembered struggling against the feeling. Had they fought because it hurt? Because it was bad? They didn't remember.

They didn’t struggle now. They didn’t know how, when the entire world was vibrating.

It was like bees had taken residence in their skull; not to harm it, but to reshape it. Everything useless was tossed away, the gaping holes being filled with honey. They’d fought to stop it, but then the memory of why they were fighting had been drowned in sticky sweetness.

It was dizzying and disorienting, it put their teeth on edge, but they didn’t know if it hurt. They couldn’t know anything, not when their brain was vibrating.

They heard voices somewhere outside of their hive they’d become, distant and nearly drowned out.

“What…what is this? What are you doing to them?”

“Hero, you’re aware of our reformation project, yes? Villain is our first patient.”

Just barely, they could hear the voices approaching.

“I–So you’re what, brainwashing them? Is this ethical? Does it hurt?”

Yes, the thought bubbled through the buzzing, it does, please it–

”No, not at all. It’s entirely painless.”

–doesn’t hurt? No, it doesn’t, but didn’t it before? They weren’t sure anymore. The question was being thrown away alongside the other trash, swallowed up and drowned out. They quickly lost hold of it.

Something touched a distant part of their body, and it took a long moment for them to realize they were more than their buzzing skull. Something had been holding their arms aloft, and with a click, it released. They nearly fell forward without the support, but something wrapped around their face held them up, pulling at their scalp.

“Villain, can you hear me? It’s Hero,” The voice was back, closer, but still muffled by the chaos in their mind. It felt like the voice reminded them of something, but they didn’t know. The part of their brain that had known had been scooped out and replaced, leaving barely the shape of a memory.

Something clicked, the noise echoing in the mind, and the buzzing sharpened. They shivered at the sensation of their brain finally sitting still, the see of static shifting into an organized effort.

“Stand up,” The voice wasn’t muffled by the noise, it was the noise. The vibration was shaped by the words, speaking with power that they felt in their bones.

It was a relief, and they chased after that peace. They stood on legs they hardly remembered they had.

Something was moving on their head, whatever had been wrapped around their skull being removed. The world exploded into color, the change taking them a moment to adjust to. When they opened their eyes, two figures stood before them.

The vibrating was already coming back, their moment of peace fading. But then one of the figures clicked a button they held in their hands, and everything sharpened.

“Tell me, who are you and what do you want?”

They hadn’t known the answer seconds ago. They still didn’t know, and yet the truth formed in their mind. After the disorientating chaos, the confidence they felt at their answer was a comfort.

And outside of the angry hive Villain’s mind had become, Hero watched, a horrified onlooker, as their former foe’s face split with a vacant, dull-eyed smile.

“My name is Sidekick, and I want to help you in any way possible.”

#Honestly mind control is like wildly underused in whump #i know it's used a lot but still. underused #def a top 3 for me i should write it more #whump #whumptember day 10 #whumptember 2023 #day 10: “what are you doing to them?”/brainwashed/hanging from their wrists #villain whumpee #mind control whump #brainwashing whump #(still don't know the difference between those two) #forced reformation #hero #villain #my stuff #mind controlled villain #mind control

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog’s commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

nav | masterlist | rules | library

key | agere - sfw regression | a - angst | ddlg - sexual ddlg | f - fluff | h/c - hurt/comfort | mf - medfet elements | n - non/dubcon or dark elements | s - smut |

series.

ever green, evermore | loving husbands jake and ari had always believed they were all each other could ever want or need. but one unusual summer, when their world is turned upside-down by an uncanny girl from down the street, they find that having someone to love, nurture, and care for together is the missing piece that finally completes their perfect family and lives.

fics.

darling dangers | n, s | kinktober 2022 | dark!best friends!ransom drysdale and jake jensen x innocent!reader | prompt: vibrator

if this was a movie | s | nerd!best friend!jake jensen x reader | your nerdy best friend is gonna make you a star.

little loser | f | boyfriend!jake jensen x reader | jake is the one person in the world you could never say no to.

mess of a lesson | n, ddlg, s | august '23 blurb night | soft!dark!daddies!jake jensen and ari levinson x little!reader | you refused to go before you left, and now you must pay the price.

blurbs.

holy ground | ddlg, s | april '23 blurb night | best friend!jake jensen x little!reader | love is an ocean; you and jake are diving in, head first.

not trying to play | s | kinkmas 2023 | bf!jake jensen x subby!reader | prompt: nipple play

where the heart is | h/c, f | feb '23 blurb night | best friend!jake jensen x college student!reader | jake makes for the sweetest surprise during a valentine's day spent in the hospital.

headcanons.

whumptember 2022 | cuddling | sleepy | headache | scary movie | panic attack

5k headcanon party | rainy day cuddles

kinkmas 2023 | threesome

other | nail stickers | diner date | itchy nose

#this one isn't broken :D #jake jensen #jake jensen fanfiction #the losers #the losers fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #jake jensen angst #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen smutt #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x y/n #jake jensen blurb #jake jensen drabble #jake jensen headcanon #jake jensen one shot #jake jensen imagine #jake jensen au #jake jensen series

[fallenwhumpee]

“Where are they?”

Day 4: Kidnapped | Left behind | Desperation • Masterlist •

Warnings: Gun, implied future torture.

Everyone knew the mission was risky. Too risky even for an experienced team like them. Staying in the enemy territory for years and gaining intelligence, making sure it made to the right hands instead of possible spies. But the team was doing well for four years with gaining high ranks and making a network for gossip carrying possible truth.

They were invited to most of the places where valuable information circulated, and with some luck, none of the team's cover was blown.

Until now.

Right Hand panicked as the guns turned to Leader, but Leader was only calm, staring at them subtly.

The code was for leaving them behind.

"I guess I stand out too much among cockroaches," Leader spat Whumper's face as if they met in a place full of their army instead of the enemy's.

"And that's your ticket down to the interrogation room."

"This doesn't fit with the idea of good hospitality your side offers for the deserters." Leader dared.

"But you're not a deserter, are you?" Whumper got closer to Leader, Right Hand's breath hitching. No one noticed that, except Leader, of course. And they gave Right Hand an assuring smile.

"Oh, our situation is pretty amusing. And it will be even more when I get to play with the best soldier that the enemy found worthy to my reputation."

And Leader burst into a laughter. Whumper calmly waited for them to finish, but Leader slammed their head to Whumper's nose, a break sound echoing.

The room burst into chaos, Right Hand's only thought getting the team out. With a desperate attempt, they gathered everyone, attacking anyone keeping them from leaving.

"Where are they?" Youngest cried when they reached their home for four years. Right Hand couldn't imagine what happened if Youngest was actually in that chaos. They had to get back.

All they could do was give a big hug despite their whole body trembling.

"We will get them back," they murmured. "We will get them back."

#whumptember 2023 #whumptember day 4 #day four: Where are they #day four: left behind #day four: desperation #tw gun #leader whumpee #leader whump #implied future torture

[never-enough-whump]

Useless

Whumptember Day 5: Whispered Conversation

Summary: While journeying to a new land, Zentha learns that some of her traveling companions think she's useless.

“Useless,” a whispered voice hisses. “Absolutely useless.”

Zentha had been about to roll over, but she stills upon hearing the words. She listens carefully for any information she can gather. Words whispered after everyone has gone to bed are sure to be the most intriguing. Perhaps what she learns can give her some advantage.

But Zentha gains nothing but warning from what she hears next.

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that little liar. We all look like fools and for what? She contributes nothing.”

“I know,” another voice whispers back. Zentha recognizes the first voice as Riniya and the second as Galan. “But you know how Folwin has a soft spot.”

“Well, it’s ridiculous. I never thought we should take her in, not even when we thought she was a child. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t slow us down.”

“We can make sure she doesn’t.”

The threat is clear, and so is the fact that they’re talking about her. Zentha does not cry, hasn’t in so long she’s not sure she still can. Still, hurt shoots through her chest so sharp she can physically feel it.

Sure, she had deceived the caravan in order to join them. Sure, she may have technically put them in danger with the bounty out for her. Sure, she didn’t necessarily want to go with them and was only looking for a convenient way out of town. They had good reason not to trust her, and she wasn’t looking to trust them, either.

She’d hoped for more than this, though. She’d hoped that she had left behind the threats and beatings and found a life of painless freedom.

She’s been here before – despised for not being strong enough to be useful enough. Riniya and Galan had been against her from the beginning, but she hoped – lulled into false security by how easily Folwin had accepted her – that it wasn’t this bad. There was a line between simple dislike and hating someone so much you would hurt them. And if Galan’s ominous words were anything to go by, Zentha had once again found herself on the wrong side of that line.

#whumptember2023 #whumptember 2023 day 5 #day five: whispered conversation #whump #lady whump #emotional whump #fear #trauma #original fiction #my writing

[revelationschapter6]

Whumptober 2023

please forgive me, i know not what i do - original story (saudade)

When you're an angel and your partner is Fallen, it's too easy to forget that what's pleasant to you, is dangerous to them. Sometimes, that meant grabbing the purified salt instead of the regular. Others, unfortunately for Raphael, not being as thorough as he should have been wiping up holy water. 14. "Feed me poison, fill me 'til I drown." | Water Inhalation | Just Hold On & 27. "Let me see.

#masterlist #master list #masterpost #master post #whumptember 2023 #whumptober2023

[vorchagirl]

2023 Year-End Fic Round-up

I was tagged by @alyssalenko kinda sorta ;) Look, I've only been back and writing & reading fic as of mid-december 2023, so I'm going to count the first two weeks of January too. This isn't going to be huge! But I've been writing, so it counts!

Words written (published or not, WIPs totally count too!): 74,349 words. I'd be lying if i said I'm not impressed with myself. I am. I don't think I've ever written so much in my life. Lol. I hope I don't burn out.

Smut scenes written (if applicable): 8 smut scenes, lol. Look, for a 4 week period that means I was writing at least 2 smut scenes a week!

New things I tried: Kaidan spanking Shep with a riding crop and a candy cane gag in The Naughty List. I don't think I've ever written that before.

Fic I spent the most time on: I wrote 15 chapters of Saints and Liars, my Reyes x Sara x Harry fic. It's not published yet, but I'm excited to share it! Its very very smutty. It's so smutty that I've edited things out because it felt too explicit.

Fic I spent the least time on: The Naughty List - it was a fun little oneshot for Christmas and I had fun bantering with friends about it.

Favourite thing I wrote: Honestly, probably Haunted because it was the first thing I've written since coming back to fandom. I know ME:A isn't a popular fandom, but I love these characters and this story is so fun. It brought me back to writing and I'm grateful!

Favourite thing I read: I didn’t read much last year because I was buried in work and was processing loss and grief for a chunk of 2023. But I did read a little - some of @heroofshield whumptember drabbles BLEW MY MIND and Jingle Bells by @alyssalenko was incredibly HOT!!!! All her Harry Carlyle x Sara fics are super good!

Writing goals for next year: Easy!!!! Finish Distance and Through A Mirror Darkly!!!

I will tag: @hawkeykirsah @briarfox13 @painterofhorizons @astanne @lauraemoriarty @everythingisalreadytaken @lonesurvivorao3 @heroofshield @elleweird @juleshawke @kellandry @ashenlavellan @fereldanwench and anyone who sees this can consider themselves tagged!

#writing #Fanfiction #ao3 #mass effect