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i-overanalyze-musicals · 3 years

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Nightmare-Tuggoffelees

I wrote another whump oneshot! And I think it came out decently! (I deleted the post because I realized I wanted to add something LMAO)

@the-rum-tum-hatter @bomba-is-the-real-hero You guys are my whump people! Let me know what you think!

CW for torture and Macavity being creepy. I think that's it but if I forgot to tag/warn for something, tell me!

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He was back in Macavity’s lair. He didn’t know how, or why, but the familiar presence of the straps binding him to the table underneath him and the burning static of the Mystery cat’s magic told him exactly where he was, despite the blindfold covering his eyes. He heard footsteps coming towards him, and reflectively tensed.

“Well hello, Mistoffelees. Isn’t this going to be fun?” Macavity crooned. “What shall we start with today, my little magician? Hmm…How about...this?”

Mistoffelees screamed as a burning agony spread through his body. His entire being felt to be on fire, and he cried out in anguish as Macavity’s magic coursed through him.

“NO! NO, PLEASE, PLEASE, STOP” He sobbed and strained against the straps holding him to the table.

“Your screams are musical, darling. I wonder if…”

Somehow, the burning intensified. His reality began to blur, as the pain overwhelmed his senses and he started to convulse on the table. Mistoffelees barely had the energy to scream anymore, instead letting out broken sobs and cries as the pain continued flooding through him.

And then something peculiar happened. His sobs started to sound….different, like they weren’t his own. And his pleads also started to sound different.

“MISTO! Misto, please wake up, please!”

He woke up with a start, panting and shaking. He could almost feel the fire still moving through him, and he hugged his knees to his chest and started rocking back and forth, trying to regain control over it.

“You’re okay, Misto. You’re okay. You’re not there. I’m here, and you’re safe. In our den.” Mistoffelees vaguely noted that Tugger’s voice sounded shaky. “Breathe, love. It’s alright.”

As his breathing slowed and his eyes focused, he felt Tugger’s hands on his shoulders and looked up to see his mate looking at him with concern, and tears in his eyes.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Mistoffelees breathed deeply, calming his heart and slowing his racing thoughts. He gently took Tugger’s hands off his shoulders and held them. “Are you alright?” He knew his mate didn’t like the nightmares either, and it had been a while since his last one.

“I’m fine, Misto.” Tugger wiped tears from his eyes. “I just don’t like seeing you like that. And it took a while to wake you up. I’m sorry for all this.”

“Tugger, no, it’s okay. It would have scared me too. I’m feeling better now, though. Let’s go back to sleep.” He pulled Tugger down to lay next to him, and Tugger laid his head on Mistoffelees’s chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Tugger moved his head up to the crook in Mistoffelees’s neck and whispered softly. “I love you, Misto.”

“I love you too, Tugger.”

#rum tum tugger #mistoffelees #tuggoffelees #macavity #slight mistocavity but not really #pretty much just macavity being creepy #cw: torture

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randomisedmongoose · 3 years

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20 questions!

Got tagged by @thalianacera, thank you, darling!

Birthday: 20th August

Where do you live: Sweden

Three things you’re doing rn: Drinking tea, watching The Good Place, sewing

Four fandoms that piqued your interest: Critical Role, Avatar (the band), Gloryhammer, Old-timey Sherlock Holmes (ACD and Granada iterations)

How has the pandemic been treating you: It’s given me time to heal, less things I must do and more things I can do if I want. Also some residual anxiety.

Song I can’t stop listening to: Nichts mehr by Harpyie and Tsar Bomba by Avatar.

Recommend a movie: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

How old are: 38

University/career: Weaver to agronomist to researcher to government official to science educator/technician to librarian (soon hopefully). I get around!

Hot or cold: Cold weather, hot drinks, hot showers.

Name a fact about you: I know how to prepare animal skins with traditional methods.

Are you shy: No, but I’m nervous so I overcompensate a bit and get very chatty.

Pronouns: He/she/they, whatever

Biggest pet peeve: Small cruelties for no reason. Bigger than that it’s no longer a pet peeve.

Favorite dere type: John, especially a combine harvester.

Rate your life 1-10: 8/10

Main blog: This one

Side blogs: art blog I forget to use, whump blog I forget to use :-P

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goatfederation · 6 years

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My wife and I are separated from Tierra Bomba by 50 yards of sand and a narrow strip of water and yet, elbowing our way through the Boca Grande crowds, beneath the pewter sky, it feels like it may as well be on the moon. The tour company we booked our boat through responded noncommittally to our booking request and then burned their phones and threw their computers into the sea. We had no way of knowing for sure if there was a boat and if we would have seats on it. One of those problems that you dump into the later folder until you look up suddenly and realize that later is now and you’re out of options. It’s either down to the beach with a pocket full of hope or pouting around the hotel. I’m not much of a pout-er.

So we are elbowing our way through the Boca Grande wildness, past a jingling parade of vendors and a swarm of tourists embedded in the sand. waves whump into the beach. The honking of car horns on the wind like birds in the woods.

“It’s up ahead,” Melissa says,” I think.”

She’s reading treasure map directions from the booking company’s website. Past the hospital, by the red tents, 26 paces, yo ho ho.

The beach spreads out wide and flat in front of us, skyscrapers jutting up into the sky beyond it. Past the hospital, by the red tents, we see a gaggle of alabaster people shuffling to the water. They look lost. They are caked with sunscreen. Some of them look drunk already. These are our people.

“You guys going to Tierra Bomba?” I call to them.

They are.

We follow them across wet sand to a line of boats positioned at the mouth of an inlet, men working them with the lean, sure hands of water people. Tying knots, pouring fuel. We line up at the boats and a man with a clipboard checks us off of a list that we’re not sure we’re even on.

We are.

They push our boat out into that hungry water and we heave ourselves into it in the shallows. The engine roars to life at the end of a rip chord and we are away. Beneath our red tarp, from our salty bench, we watch warm water and dark skies slip past and then finally green trees and sandy beaches rise up out of the nothing.

Our boat pilot is a fucking surgeon. He drifts the boat into the shallow harbor backward, firing off the motor in measured bursts, anticipating the rising and falling of the sea, the uneven ocean floor, the boats around us. Feeling it all, going with it. We disembark without a dock or a rope, off the back into the shallows while his boat hovers impossibly in spite of the jostling of the sea. When we are all off, he roars away and it is just our gaggle of alabaster drunks on a foreign beach until a woman comes to collect us.

“Welcome to Tierra Bomba!”

Tierra Bomba is a 9 square kilometer dimple of beach and trees across the water from Boca Grande. A quick scan of Tripadvisor leaves one with a general impression of roughness. Litter, they say. Muggers, they say.

This wasn’t our experience.

Sure, there was a bit of litter scattered around, but honestly, There wasn’t a single beach, street or park that we visited in our time there that didn’t have at least a little loose trash in it. This is a developing country with a corrupt government fighting its way out of decades of violence. It is not a Sandals Resort. If a little garbage sours your experience, then you might want to get involved with space exploration, because we’ve pretty much totaled this planet and the only reason you don’t see all this refuse on American beaches is because we’re actively dumping it into the sea, where it can become someone else’s problem.

As for the muggers, not only did we never experience anything like that on Tierra Bomba but honestly, I didn’t feel even remotely unsafe the entire time we were in Cartagena. And I’m not really a false sense of security, kind of guy. I almost punched a gypsy in Strasbourg. I was once kicked out of a haunted house for doing exactly what you think I did. Not in Cartagena, though.

Night time found us wandering together down shadowy alleys under halogen lights to the sound of bachata music through open windows, totally at ease. I saw an old couple salsa dancing in a bodega. I saw a Jack Russell Terrier barking at an iguana. I did not see a single fight, fire or robbery. Not in the walled city, not in Getsemani and certainly not on our little slice of Tierra Bomba.

Our slice of Tierra Bomba includes a shelter, a hanging bed, a bench, a table and a hammock. It includes the sun, the sand, and the sea. It includes a couple of bottles of local lager. Most importantly, though, it includes the signature dish of Cartagena, fried fish, coconut rice.

I am fresh from a swim, drip drying in the steam heat of the Colombian sun when they bring our lunch out. It taps into a very visceral part of me, sitting in a hammock with saltwater beading on my skin, muscles taught from swimming, and a lunch that I didn’t have to make brought to me. It takes me back to my summers in Southern California, splayed out on a towel in the stony sand, working on a paper plate full of sandwich halves and chips.

Only this isn’t Wonderbread and deli ham. This isn’t American cheese and Lays potato chips.

Steaming on the table before me is nothing short of an island masterpiece. Fish fried in oil that must have been absolutely moving. Dunked in it, still salty from the sea, just long enough to put a rasp on it, some color to it. It’s fantastic. Crispy, faintly greasy, tossed in some kind of lime powder. I pick it apart with my salty fingers and drop it, still steaming, into my mouth to the sounds of wind through the palms and water in the sand. The coconut rice is everything that the fish needs to make the meal round and even. Nutty, hearty, sweet. A fresh salad on the side and a mouthful of beer to wash it all down.

Bliss on a plate in a hammock I wasn’t sure I’d reserved, on an island I wasn’t sure I’d get to.

Travelogue Day 3: Tierra Bomba My wife and I are separated from Tierra Bomba by 50 yards of sand and a narrow strip of water and yet, elbowing our way through the Boca Grande crowds, beneath the pewter sky, it feels like it may as well be on the moon.

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i-overanalyze-musicals · 3 years

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Bombalurina/Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger Whump Prompts

- Bomba gets sick, which is a rare occurrence, and Misto and Tugger take care of her. Surprisingly, she's not stubborn and does everything they tell her to- staying in bed, eating what they bring, taking medicine, etc.

- Misto gets hurt, Tugger panicks a lot, and Bomba, having learned things from Jennyanydots, takes over and starts to bandage him up, even though she's terrified too

- Bomba and Tugger convince Misto to stop practicing, and when they get to the den, they see bruises and blisters from dancing

- Bomba gets attacked by Macavity, and Tugger, terrified, brings her to Misto to heal her. He does, then brings her to Jennyanydots

- Misto gets hurt protecting Bomba, and she carries him back to the junkyard, begging him to hold on for a bit longer. As Misto is being taken care of by Jenny, Bomba and Tugger sit outside the den, holding hands as Tugger consoles Bomba. She feels guilty for not protecting Misto first, but Tugger comforts her, saying he's stubborn as hell and would do anything to protect them. Tugger's really worried, but he tries not to show it. Misto pulls through, and there's lots of emotions when he wakes up.

- Misto gets stuck in the cold, Bomba and Tugger warm him up

- Tugger gets attacked by a pollicle, and Misto expends his magic teleporting him to Jennyanydots. Jenny calls in Bomba, who is immediately told, by Tugger, that Misto teleported him here and needs help. She goes to find Misto (the pollicle is gone), and eventually finds him nearly unconscious in a pool of Tugger's blood. Misto is slightly scratched up, but the main issue is that he's about to pass out. She gets him to wake up, and helps him walk back to the yard.

Dragged from previous posts of mine:

Tugger and Misto get sick, and Bombalurina tries to take care of them. Tugger is throwing a pity party, and trying to keep Misto in bed. Misto is insisting he’s not sick, and tries to leave multiple times. Bomba has her hands full.

#bombalurina #rum tum tugger #mistoffelees #cats the musical #bombaxmistoxtugger

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