#glass shard

[mynameisrobiniamadumbass]

i think about her a lot.

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #the fall of the house of usher #tfohou #digital art #implied death tw #injury tw #tamerlane usher #i'm sorry for talking about her so much but #i'm an insomniac #as i've said before #and this kinda cut a little deeper than the others

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumptober 2023

No. 22 Glass Shard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Injury, Blood

“Don’t take it out!” You swatted Daryl’s hands away from a large glass shard protruding from his right side. “You might bleed out. We don’t know if it hit anything vital.” He scowled at you and murmured something you couldn’t hear but dropped his hands to his sides. “Shouldn’t be picking fights.”

“Ain’t pickin’ no fights. We needed the meds n’ we got ‘em.” He snapped, walking toward the bike with his left hand below the injury. 

“Wait a minute! You can’t possibly think you’re driving us back like that!”

He looked at you like you’d sprouted another head. “Why wouldn’ I?”

Lord, give me patience. Don’t give me strength because I’ll kill him. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’ve been stabbed, Daryl. You’re bleeding. When someone bleeds a lot, they sometimes pass out. I’d rather not be behind you on a fricking motorcycle if that happens.”

Scowling again. Typical. “Ain’t gon’ pass out. Le’s go.”

You started to follow but decided against it. Appeasing his pride would get you both killed. Planting your feet, you crossed your arms. “No.”

Daryl had thrown his leg over and plopped heavily onto the seat, raising his brows at your brazen refusal. “Wha’?”

“You heard me. I said no.”

“Woman, don’ make me leave ya here.”

“You would never.” Your eyes narrowed in challenge, flickering down toward his boot when he toed up the kickstand. He really would never, right? When he started the engine, you really started to doubt but would not be swayed. He was already pale and sweaty, droplets of blood pooling behind his boot. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Daryl cared about you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t leave you. 

He watched you with a stoic expression, only faltering once you stood straighter. He must look like shit if you wouldn’t trust him to get the both of you home. Lowering the kickstand, he shut off the bike. “Wha’s the plan?”

You blinked at him. 

“Ya let me start up the bike n’ make enough noise ta attract ev’ry walker in there n’ ya didn’t have a plan?” 

“Well I didn’t exactly think you’d try to bully me into letting you kill us, Daryl!” You dropped your arms and looked around while he muttered to himself. You spotted a pick up next to the gate. It must have belonged to the men that attacked you. The driver’s door was still open. Maybe they just happened to leave the keys and you wouldn’t need to hotwire the stupid thing. “Wha’re ya doin’ now?” The archer called after you when you sprinted toward the truck. 

You leaned inside with a spirited ‘yes!’ upon finding the keys in the ignition. Next up: fuel. “Please be enough. Please be enough.” You turned the key and watched the fuel gauge before leaning out. “Will just below half get us back?”

“Should.” He yelled back, getting off the bike. He stumbled but caught himself, leaving your heart hammering. You definitely couldn’t drag him to the passenger side, much less get him in there.

Climbing back out, you jogged over to help him. “Let’s get the bike in the back and I’ll drive, okay.”

Daryl only nodded. You pushed down your concern and opened the tailgate, helping him lift the bike into the back. Damn thing was fucking heavy but if you were hauling it, that was the only way to get it loaded. Panting, you closed it up just in time to see the man beside you sway on his feet. 

“Whoa!” Small hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “You okay? You’re looking a little pekid.” He was panting just as hard as you were, which wasn’t a shocker since the two of you just bench pressed a 400 pound bike into the back of a pickup. Probably not the best idea when one of you has a large piece of glass playing poke-the-vital-organ. 

He lifted his hands to gently grab your wrists, lowering your arms from his shoulders. “M’fine. Le’s jus’ get outta ‘ere. We got company.” A nod toward the area behind you had you turn toward the group of walkers approaching. 

“Okay, hop in.” You walked around him but slowed your steps to make sure he made it all the way to the passenger door. Sure, he was using the truck to steady himself the entire way but he finally climbed inside. You quickly slid behind the wheel and started up the engine. Once you pulled out onto the road, a little of the anxiety churning inside your chest dissipated. “We’ll get back just after dark, I think. Get Hershel to take a look at you.”

When he no more than hummed in reply, you glanced over at him. His head was against the window, eyes closed, lips parted to release shallow pants of breath. His skin glistened with sweat while holding a sickly pallor in stark contrast to the dark circles around his eyes. You would bet anything that if you touched his skin, it would be cold.

“Daryl? Daryl, your wound. How’s your wound?” You asked frantically, trying to split your attention between him and the road. 

“S’fine, Y/N. Jus’ drive.” 

“Let me see.” You requested softly, still trying to stay on course. 

“Drive. M’fine.” Daryl replied. He hadn’t opened his eyes at all. 

Mindful that neither of you were wearing seatbelts, you slowed to a stop and turned in the seat, grabbing at him to turn where you could see. He was slow to open his eyes. 

“Knock it off. Why we stopped?” The shove he gave you was gentle but enough to put some space between you. He didn’t expect you to come right back, this time to roughly grab his vest and pull him down across the seat. 

“You pulled it out?!” You yelled, pressing your hand over the steadily bleeding wound. His blood coated the interior of the door, the seat, and had puddled on the floor. “I said not to take it out, Daryl!”

“Didn’.” He replied quietly, sounding more than tired. “Got…got pulled out loadin’ the bike.”

You gaped at him. “And you didn’t think to say something?”

“Didn’ wanna worry ya. ‘Sides, m’fine.” His eyes slowly closed. “Doc’ll fix…me…righ’…”

“Daryl?” You kept one hand on the wound and used the other to shake him. “Daryl?! Goddamnit!” Peeling off your flannel overshirt, you folded it and pressed it against the injury, laying his arm over it to hold it in place. You climbed back behind the wheel, glad to have him lying across the seat so you could check his pulse while you hauled ass back to the prison. 

You found yourself carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his jaw, feeling his pulse, anything that let you know he was right there. His skin was so cold, his breaths so shallow that you could hardly feel the exhale at all. 

When the prison was within sight, you almost didn’t even stop to let them open the gates. 

Carol found you pacing outside by the picnic benches three hours after you had returned with Daryl. Three hours after you had leapt from the cab of the truck screaming for help. Three hours after you had collapsed to your knees watching Rick and Glenn carry Daryl inside. Three hours after you couldn’t find a pulse.

“He’s alive, Y/N.” The woman said softly. She sat down on top of one of the tables and watched you. You were thankful she had led with that but still couldn’t bring yourself to stop wearing a hole into the concrete. 

“But?” You weren’t naive. There was something more if she wanted to give you the good news first. Wanted you calmer. A very Carol tactic. You loved her for it but couldn’t entertain it. Not now. 

Carol could sense that. “Whatever he was stabbed with nicked his liver. Hershel was able to repair it but there was some internal bleeding. Hey,” she reached out to grab your hand. “He lost a lot of blood so he’s not out of the woods yet but he’s tough.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” You laughed wryly. “Everyone thinks he’s invincible, so he feels like he has to be. He didn’t even tell me that he was bleeding out, Carol. He was just gonna sit there and…and…”

“Okay, okay, come here.” Carol pulled you to sit next to her, hugging you tightly. “You’re right. We need to make sure he knows that it’s okay to need help.” Pulling you back by your shoulders, she swept your hair out of your face. “And when he is better, we’ll get to work on that, okay?” You nodded, allowing her to wipe away your tears. “He’ll be okay.”

You sniffled and nodded again, more softly than the first time. “Can I see him?”

Daryl made it through the night. Hershel had said his chances of a full recovery only increased after that. You hadn’t slept much, but couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. So you just sat in a chair by the bunk with your head lying on the mattress by his hand. Your own hand looked so small wrapped around his, your skin so much paler than his tan. You counted any freckles you found on his arm. You even cleaned from underneath his nails. 

Carol eventually came by with two bowls of oatmeal. You thanked her quietly while never raising from your spot. True to form, she came over and kissed the top of your head, giving your shoulder a squeeze. Her dainty hand then on Daryl’s bicep, gently rubbing up to his shoulder and back down before she walked out of the cell. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. When you opened your eyes again, it was dark inside the cell. An almost burned out candle filled the room with dancing shadows but it was the eyes that reflected the flame that had your attention. 

“Daryl!” You leaned closer, touching his face, his neck, anywhere you could while his eyes followed you. “I’m so glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” His voice was rough from sleep and lack of use. He coughed weakly, face scrunching in pain before smoothing out again. “Thirsty.”

“Be right back.” You jogged from the cell to fetch some water and to let Hershel know Daryl had finally awoke. The veterinarian came not long after you had finished settling Daryl against the pillows once he had taken a few sips. 

“Blood pressure is a little lower than I’d like but that’s likely from the blood loss. Everything else looks real good, son.” He patted Daryl’s leg before standing with his crutches. “I’m sure you know you’re benched for a while though.”

“Yeah, figured.” Daryl shrugged a shoulder. He looked as though he could fall back asleep at any given moment. 

“Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning. Get some rest.” The older man stopped beside you and added “the both of you.” You gave him a nod and wished him goodnight. 

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked before you could even sit back down. You chose to sit on the edge of the mattress instead of the chair. 

“I’m fine now that I know you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He answered quietly, his gaze falling away from yours. He knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “You should have told me.” 

“Hey.” You reached up to brush his hair away from his face, smiling and letting your hand come to rest on his cheek. “Don’t worry. We will be talking about this but I won’t yell at you until you feel better.”

“S’real comfortin’, Y/N.” His smirk was half-assed at best, either from fatigue or guilt. 

“I know. I have a great bedside manner.” You beamed. Getting to your feet, you moved closer to his own and crawled onto the bed and across his legs to his left side. He turned his head to watch you, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. 

“Guess it ain’t half bad.”

“Oh come on, it’s phenomenal. What other caregiver’s gonna crawl in bed with you and snuggle?”

“Hope ta hell Hershel don’ take notes from ya.”

“He had a hard time with the missing foot but you two looked super cozy when my shift began.” You snorted when he shrugged the shoulder you had cuddled against, jarring you back a little. 

“I can’ stand ya sometimes.”

“Pft, you love me.” You nuzzled your nose against his cheek before kissing it. He huffed a tired laugh and let his eyes drift shut. 

“Eh, I migh’.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked. “You might what? Daryl?” The only replies were his deep, even breaths. You laid your head back against his shoulder and watched him, biting back a wide smile. Now you had even more to talk about. 

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #the walking dead #fic #injury #blood #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl drabbles #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x you #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 22: Glass shard, “Watch out!”

Folks I’m ngl, this one is very intense. The first bit is the worst, but the end is kinda creepy too, and overall it’s just bad times, so uh, you know. There’s your warning. Per usual, if you think this needs more warnings, please tell me :)

Read on ao3

Warnings: see above, canonical character death (...sort of) blood, significant injury, brief mention of vomit, and creepy vibes

————————————————————

Somehow he knows it’s over.

His breath is coming short in his chest, blood dripping through his fingers as he tries to hold it in from too many injuries to count. The Master Sword was knocked from his grip ages ago, and he’s not sure what happened to his shield.

Something moves in the corner of his eyes, but there’s blood on his forehead and he moves too slow, Navi’s chime frantic in his ears.

“Watch out!” she shrieks, but Link can’t move fast enough, can barely breathe anymore, and when the huge sword cleaves his chest, he knows it is over.

He doesn’t know if it’s him or Navi who screams, or Zelda maybe, wherever she is. All he’s really aware of is the white hot agony ripping into him, the yellow eyes that stare into his, Ganon’s face upturning in a wild grin when he realizes what he’s accomplished.

A bellowing laugh of victory blots out any other noise, any cry Link might make as Ganon raises him into the air, still impaled on his weapon. His vision goes white at the edges as Ganon lets him hang there, and he knows he screams when the blade is ripped from his chest, dropping him to the ground with a sickening noise.

There’s a desperate wail he thinks comes from Navi, but all there is is light and sound and shattered glass beneath his broken body, only spilling more of his blood onto the floor.

You failed, his mind whispers, even as his eyes flicker and Navi wails again. You failed.

Something warm is spilling from his mouth, his chest, pooling rapidly beneath him. There is a new voice now, shouting something that makes bright lights appear in the edges of his vision, and he tries to turn to them, but can’t.

Zelda, his mind whispers. Trying to fix your mistakes.

He closes his eyes, grief and shame and horrific pain so intense that he can’t handle the weight of them. Something in his chest moves when he breathes, something that’s not supposed to, and it joins the rest of the agony pounding through him, breaking him into pieces like the shattered glass beneath him.

He wants to go home.

A cough bubbles out of his chest, something thick on his tongue, and wings suddenly brush his face.

“Link,” Navi sobs as she nearly falls onto his cheek, clutching at him with tiny hands, “Link no, I’m so sorry, I was s-supposed to protect you—”

Link lets out a sound somewhere between a cough and a sob, and Navi cries, her tears falling to his cheek like glowing snowflakes. He wants to reassure her, gently cup her in his palm, but he knows it’s the end.

Nothing can save him now.

Zelda’s voice sounds choked as it echoes along with six others, almost like she’s holding back tears. Ganon suddenly screams, and Link feels the tiniest wave of hope as his senses desert him, his ruined body failing.

He hopes that Zelda and the sages will take care of Ganon, that they’ll stop him, seal him, won’t let him destroy the kingdom more than Link has already allowed him to.

But he’ll never know for sure.

Link takes in one last gurgling breath, blood almost stopping him from breathing his last. Navi holds him tighter, and Link exhales, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth as his body falls still.

His fairy’s sob is the last thing he hears as his world disappears into nothing but velvety darkness.

—And Time bolts upright with a choked off scream before he even fully realizes what’s happening.

Images swirl in his head with such dizzying clarity he can’t focus on any of them. Blood and weapons, blue and yellow, stairs and music and the booming laugh that haunted his nightmares as a child—

Time clutches his chest, gasping in a shaking breath. He feels sick, horribly sick, phantom pain slicing into his stomach, terror sinking its freezing claws into him. Sweat pours down his face as the laugh echoes in his ears again, a shrill scream, and he tries desperately to reassure himself it wasn’t real.

That’s not how his fight against Ganon had happened. It wasn’t, he was fine, but his heart was pounding and his lungs were still straining like they couldn’t get in enough air—

(A trident, ripping through his chest, choking on blood, too much, too much—)

Time gags, and someone’s hand lands on his shoulder as he vomits into the grass, holding him steady while they wait for him to stop.

He finally catches his breath, head spinning, stomach still unsettled. The emotions from the dream sharply linger, failure and hopelessness and a fear so intense that Time is nearly sick again. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and he finally looks up, meeting Warriors’ worried blue eyes.

The captain doesn’t say anything at first. But he hands Time a cloth to wipe his face, and steadies him when he gets to his feet, legs still trembling.

Warriors leads him to the fire, and Time sits down, forcing the shaking in his body to still. But it’s impossible, not when he can still hear Navi’s shriek ringing in his ears, feel blood pouring down his chin. Ganon’s triumphant laugh booms in his ears for the third time, and Time hunches down in his seat, mind unwillingly going through every single detail of the dream.

Just like he has for the past half a week.

The detail of the dream has increased each time he’s had it, but tonight’s was the worst yet. Time clutches at his forehead as his head pounds, and lightly rubs the bridge of his nose.

Nightmares rarely effect him to such a degree, but this... this time it had felt real.

What’s happening to me?

Warriors sits next to him without a word moments later, holding a water skin. A scarf settles around his shoulders, and Time nearly gives in to the childish desire to bury his face in it, hands still shaking.

“Time, are you... well?” Warriors asks finally, his voice gentle and worried.

Time sips the water he’s been given to give himself more time to reply, and lowers the skin with a quiet swallow.

“It’s not a sickness,” he croaks finally, hating how shaky the words come out. “I know it’s not. It’s...”

(Navi crying, Ganon’s roar, the rich tones of an organ as tears fall down his cheeks—)

He shudders.

“It’s the same dream. Every night,” he whispers. “Exactly the same, only they’re getting... worse. More real.”

He doesn’t explain what happens in the dream, but Warriors doesn’t push, instead staying silent as he thinks for a moment.

“Every night?” he asks finally, voice soft and worried.

“Tonight was the fourth in a row.”

Warriors goes silent again, the crease on his forehead deepening.

“Something must be going on,” he says finally, firelight shimmering off of the embroidery on his scarf. “Things like this... they’re very rarely a coincidence.”

“I know,” Time whispers, voice still terribly small. “This... this isn’t natural.”

“Could this be the work of the enemy?” Warriors muses, staring at the fire. “A spell? A curse?”

Time shakes his head, feeling at a loss. He knows the feel of curses, and the dreams don’t feel like that. They have more of a... heft to them, like anticipation before a battle, or the pressure before a rainstorm.

They feel more like the nightmares he had as a child, visions of Ganondorf’s attack, leading up to the day he left the forest. There’s a weight to these dreams, one that boasts of nothing good in store for their group.

But Time doesn’t voice any of this. Warriors doesn’t need yet another thing to stress about.

And besides, perhaps I’m wrong.

So instead of saying anything further, Time silently rests his head on his brother’s shoulder, scarf still warming his arms, and listens to the sound of his breathing, steady and strong.

He misses the look Warriors gives him, and at some point, falls back asleep, a hand carding through his hair.

(...)

The dreams don’t stop, their violence and clarity only getting more intense.

The others are aware something is wrong now, Time waking them all up with a bloodcurdling scream the very next night. They discuss ideas, but nobody has a clue what’s going on, what’s affecting him so deeply. Time sees several of them having conversations out of his earshot that day, furtive glances cast his direction, but he pretends he doesn’t notice.

If they want to talk about him behind his back, so be it.

They all generally give him space at night, but with the repeated nightmares, now his boys have take to sleeping much closer. And when Time wakes up heaving for breath, someone is inevitably there to calm him down.

After a week goes by with no relief, Time admits to Warriors and Twilight, quietly, what his nightmare consists of, in hopes it will aid in solving this. All it really does is make Warriors’ face twice as concerned when he wakes him from a nightmare, and Twilight’s eyes hold a nervousness when he looks at him now, like he’s afraid his dream might suddenly become reality.

Time debates not sleeping to escape the nightmare as it continues to plague him. He’s barely getting any rest anyway, he might as well skip sleep entirely.

He’s had plenty of practice, after all.

But after three nights of no rest, the others put a stop to it, several of them nearly shouting at him they’re so worried. Time nearly yells back, but he stops himself at the last moment, weariness settling upon him.

He does want to sleep. Desperately. But he can’t so much as close his eyes without the nightmare creeping up on him, blood and screams and pain pain pain—

Staying awake is almost more restful.

The others gang up on him that night though, and bury him in a pile of limbs and blankets, Wind settling himself right by his head. Time falls asleep feeling hopeful for once, but he still wakes up with a scream later that night, and Wind ends up calming him down as he tries not to sob.

He feels even worse after that (it’s not Wind’s job to comfort him, it should never be—), and pointedly moves himself away from the others at night, in hopes they’ll get the hint.

They don’t, really. In fact, they pointedly ignore it and continue to sleep by him, even when he wakes up thrashing and sick and nearly gives Hyrule a black eye one night with how frantically he’s moving.

He knows they only want to help, but he only feels like more and more of a problem.

They go through a portal and end up in Legend’s era, and Time wonders if the nightmares will stop with the changing of location. But if anything they get even worse, starting earlier in the fight, each slice in his skin burning when he wakes. He’s barely sleeping now, the shadows under his eyes nearly as obvious as the tattoos on his face.

No matter what he does, he can’t seem to break the grip of the nightmare, and he’s becoming a liability, slow in traveling, clumsy in fighting. They try everything to help him, healing, potions, magic— they even visit a doctor in a town they stop at, but he can’t tell them anything they don’t already know.

Time even writes to Malon about them, desperate to get his thoughts out to someone who understands, but he folds it up and doesn’t send the letter in the end, finding himself veering into questions even he doesn’t want answers to.

Has it finally been too much? All of what’s happened to me? he wonders as he tries his hardest not to cry in Warriors’ arms one night after the nightmare.

Am I going insane?

With the amount of sleep he’s been getting as of late, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

They make tracks for Legend’s house, hopeful that a real bed for Time to sleep in will help somehow. Legend also has a vast amount of magic objects and items, and he seems hopeful that at least a few have a chance of helping him.

And if not... well, perhaps the Zelda of this time will have some ideas.

But the night before they’re set to reach Legend’s house, weeks— has it truly been weeks? A month?— after the nightmares start, something finally changes.

Ganon stabs him and he breathes his last, Navi sobbing as Zelda and the sages desperately seal the beast away. He fades into darkness, simultaneously light and heavy, warm and cold, and knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s dead.

But the dream flickers here.

It’s as if an impossible amount of time goes by, and yet equally mere seconds, and the darkness falls over him again.

It seems to last for an eternity, wrapped around him, coating him in its hold as it intensifies, and suddenly Time is aware this is a dream, and snaps to sharp attention, looking around at the void.

It’s pure black, deeper even than the night sky, and Time feels his heart speed up at the suffocating thickness of it.

He’s not injured anymore. In fact, he’s himself, not the version of him that fought Ganon all those years ago, and Time stares, looking frantically around at the void.

Why hasn’t he woken up? Why is he aware, for once, that this is merely a dream?

Why is it continuing?

He doesn’t have long to ponder this, as the darkness parts eventually to show a room, stone walls, stone floor. Time has only just begun to study it when a noise hits his ears and he turns, watching in horror as a body falls to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Something moves out of the shadows and grabs the body’s face, and Time squints, trying to make out both the body and the figure shrouded in darkness.

But he can’t make out any features, the room too dark, dream too uncertain and wavering. Time feels something tense inside of him as he makes out the three gouges that mar the body’s chest, and tries even harder to see the other figure as well.

All he can make out are robes swishing over feet, in a color almost as dark as the room.

The figure studying the body finally lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back as a hand caresses a chin.

“Oh I’ve waited a long time for this,” the figure hisses in a voice that seems as if it could be familiar, and drops the head none too gently, blood still spilling to the floor.

Darkness suddenly snakes from the figure and trickles towards the body, thick and unnatural. Time has the urge to grab the body and pull it out of the way, but he’s unable to do anything but watch in horror and disgust as the darkness reaches the body, wrapping around it like only tentacles, holding it tight. It seeps into the countless wounds, and the figure lets out a laugh as the body gives a full-body shudder.

The figure straightens suddenly, standing up from where it had kneeled beside the previously very much dead body. Something moves by the figure’s face, and suddenly it falls to the ground, robes rippling as it collapses onto the floor with a very, very faint moan.

But whatever had moved by the face stays up, floating somehow, and bobbing very faintly up and down.

Time feels the slow horror he’d been experiencing suddenly increase, familiarity freezing him like a blast from an ice rod at the sight of the dark shape floating in front of him.

He knows what it is. He’s sure he does, but his mind won’t even let him entertain it.

It can’t be.

The hovering shape turns slowly to the bloody body on the ground, then floats almost leisurely towards it, watching as the tendrils of darkness continue to weave through and around it. The body gives another shudder, and the thing suddenly slips down and latches on to the body’s face.

Time can only watch in horror as the body’s back arches, like it’s trying to fight back, even just a little, but then it goes unnaturally still again.

Then it sits up almost calmly, facing away from Time as it looks at its hands and feet. The body gets to its feet then, shuddering slightly as more blood drips off of it and falls to the floor.

Time wants to look away, but he can’t, all he can do is continue to watch in absolute horror as the body straightens, dusting off its ragged tunic, brushing a hand entwined with darkness over the injuries gouged in its chest.

“I’ve always wondered what this body would be like,” a voice muses, even more terrifyingly familiar, and Time sees a flicker of yellowy-orange eyes. “And now I’ve finally got my chance. How fun.”

The yellow eyes turn and stare directly at him, framed by a heart-shaped mask.

“Isn’t that right, Hero of Time?”

And the dream shatters, Time jerking awake with a name and a scream on his lips.

#this will have a continuation #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu chain #and three untagged characters #linked universe fanfic #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #day 22 #glass shard #watch out #tw injury #tw blood #ask to tag #writing from the floor #I read a somewhat upsetting book late last night so I was working on this and then I was like ‘...you know this is not helping’ #so I read some of my unpublished IAU stuff and I felt better lol #anyway #you know the one wip #yeah that one #...it’s coming

[omgiamwish]

Whumptober 2023 Day 22 - Glass Shard

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #art #blood #reigen arataka #fan art #artists on tumblr

[whump-they-it-is]

Whumptober

No.22) "They never saw us coming, 'till they hit the floor" (Glass Shard)

Cold comes the night 2013

#whump #logan marshall green #whumptober #glass shard #no.22 #blood loss #cold comes the night

[thatoneconfusedartist]

i missed them. sorry the drawing is so small oopsies

#doodles #eyestrain #ppt2 #chainshard #chainsaw x glass shard #glass shard x chainsaw #ppt2 chainsaw #chainsaw #chainsaw ppt2 #glass shard ppt2 #ppt2 glass shard #glass shard

[gierosajie-art]

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List | No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.” | Glass Shard | “Watch out!”

[Honkai Impact 3rd | Second Eruption]

"Don't be afraid, Sirin. Mommy's right here. No matter what happens, remember our magic spell:

"Ich liebe dich."

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #'watch out!' #honkai impact 3rd #art #fanart #hi3 #the art drawer

[breannasfluff]

Glass in the Light

AO3 Link

Whumptober: Glass Shard Whump Rating: 5/5 TW: Torture, forced harm, whipping, blood/injury, temporary character death Mipha's Grace, resolved ending, no permanent damage

“Do it again.”

Twilight doesn’t move, just stands frozen. The thug doesn’t even have a sword, but he’s got an iron poker he rests in the coals. He’s already shown he has no qualms about using it.

“I said, do it again.” He reaches for the poker.

The rancher moves. Pulling the whip back, he brings it down on Wild’s bare back. The champion grunts and Twilight clenches his eyes shut. An angry burn on his lower back is the previous work of the poker and brought a scream.

“Harder.”

“He’s bleeding!” Wild’s back is striped with welts and now the overlapping marks are breaking open, dripping blood.

“Harder.”

Twilight whimpers as he pulls back the whip. Wild tenses as it smacks down on his skin. There are too many thugs, even for two heroes. Others sit or stand in a circle and watch, jeering. Even if Twilight could overpower the two holding Wild and the one with the poker, there are at least 30 more crowded in the cavern. Wolfie will be no help here. They just need to draw this out long enough that Time and the others can track them down.

“Again.”

Over and over Twilight is forced to raise the whip and bring it slicing down on skin already riddled with scars. Wild won’t want anything to do with him after this. Twilight doesn’t want anything to do with himself.

Hurting his brother like this? It’s sickening. He whimpers nearly as much as Wild.

“Stop.” The thug steps forward and takes the whip. Twilight heaves a sigh of relief and Wild slumps. The thug gestures and another man steps forward with a bowl of water. It splashes over the champion’s back and washes away the blood. Wild screams, thrashing in the grip he’s held in, back arching away from the water.

“What did you do?” Twilight surges forward, but the thug whips the poker out of the fire and holds it inches away from Wild’s skin. Slowly, the rancher steps back. “What did you do,” he grits out.

A sneer. “Saltwater. Gotta admire your pretty canvas, right?”

Bile rises in Twilight’s throat. Goddesses, is there no end to the cruelty these men will inflict? Silently, he implores Wild to hold on just a little longer. Time has to be close. The others will save them.

The thug hands back the whip, only it’s a different one. Twilight holds it up and blanches. “There’s glass on the ends.”

The answering smile is gap-toothed and stained. “Get to work.”

Twilight weighs the whip in his hand and analyzes Wild’s back. The saltwater must still sting, but free of blood it's easier to see the raised welts and bleeding lines. The glass fragments will do more damage. Perhaps the lower left, where there’s less bleeding…

Ordona; he’s treating his brother like an object. He can’t do this.

Twilight steps back, shaking his head. Even when the thug holds up the poker, he doesn’t move forward. Surely a burn isn’t worse than the new whip.

With a shrug, the thug lays the glowing metal across Wild’s back. His wail rises till it cracks and he thrashes in the grip of the men, which only causes the metal to touch more skin.

“No! Stop!” Twilight is crying, but it doesn’t matter. The champion’s cry is haunting; agony so deep it can’t be expressed.

The thug looks at him and then at the poker. “You sure? I like it when he screams.”

“I’m sure.” Twilight steps forward and sends another silent apology to Wild. Then he brings the whip down on his back.

Glass cuts and shreds skin, slicing lines of red open immediately. It falls across the burns and Wild jerks. “Twi-light!” His name is broken in the champion’s mouth; cutting as sharp as the glass. “Please!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise the others will be here soon.”

Another slice of the whip.

“S-stop. Twi!”

“I can’t. I’m sorry! Wild, please!”

Blood coats the champion’s back and his screams have devolved into mewls of pain. Twilight has to stop and turn aside to retch at the sight of shredded skin and gleaming muscle. The thugs only laugh.

The rancher is allowed to stop only when Wild passes out, slumping in the arms of the thugs. He’s dragged to a cage and thrown in. Twilight bolts after him, gathering the champion off the dirt. His back is a mess. It needs a fairy; healing potions and Hyrule’s magic won’t be enough. The glass sliced through muscles, too. How much internal damage can be healed? Even fairies aren’t perfect.

To his surprise, a knife is tossed in with them and the door of the cell slams shut. Another man throws a bowl of water at them. Twilight tries to shield Wild from the worst of it, but he jerks out of consciousness with a cry.

It takes him a second to focus on Twilight, but then he’s skittering away as best he can. The knife lies in the dirt between them.

The thug sneers. “One of you gets the honor of killing the other and going free. Or, I’ll kill both of you.”

There’s no way Twilight is falling for the ploy. Only, Wild’s eyes snapped to the knife before he pulled his gaze away. Would he kill Twilight over the damage he inflicted?

Would the rancher stop him?

“Hurry up and choose. I’m not a patient man.” He gestures to the wood ringing the metal cell. “I can heat things up if you like.”

They’ll be burned alive, trapped in this cell. Or the smoke will kill them first. The chain can’t bring back burnt corpses.

Wild moves, dragging himself forward. Twilight jerks and, on instinct, leans forward to grab the knife. The champion pauses, then keeps dragging himself forward.

Hylia above! Even now, Twilight is trying to save himself? After everything he put Wild through?

The champion is in front of him now and it's easy to see the tightness in his face from pain. His eyes are dull when they meet Twilight’s.

“Kill me.”

“What?” The rancher blinks. He must have misheard.

“Kill me. It will be okay. I promise.”

What…Wild can’t promise that. Does he think Twilight will be able to injure him mortally rather than fatally?

The champion tries for a faint smile. It trembles and fades. “I trust you,” Wild whispers. “I’m not getting out of this, not with my back like this.”

Hot tears burn as they slide down his cheeks and Twilight swipes them away. “I can’t lose you. I never wanted to hurt you, cub, you know that, right?”

Wild doesn’t answer, just slumps further. “Please, Twi. It hurts. One of us should get out of here and it needs to be you. And if that means I'm the sacrifice? It's fine. Just…don’t leave my body with them, okay?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that!”

But Wild doesn’t answer. His eyes flutter and he takes a harsh breath.

The thug bangs on the bars. “Hurry up or I’m lighting this fire.”

Twilight drags it out another moment, but Time and the others don’t barge in for a rescue. Carefully, he helps Wild lay down on the floor of the cell.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, Link. I’m sorry.”

Wild locks eyes with him. Takes a breath. Nods.

Twilight plunges the knife into his chest.

The thugs keep their word. Twilight walks out of the cavern with Wild’s limp body in his arms. Blood coats the champion’s clothes and the raw flesh of his back is sticky where it rubs on Twilight’s arms.

Out the cavern and down the path. Around the bend. Down the incline. Straight forward. There’s no Chain in sight. He does finally find them at the split in the road, arguing about which direction to go.

They run at him, shouting. Then the shouts turn to screams and wails at the realization that Wild is dead.

Time pulls the champion’s body from his arms and—oh. The blood on his back has dried and sticks to his skin. It takes a tug and a wet tearing sound to pull him free. Twilight turns and heaves, even though there’s nothing left.

His mentor crouches next to him—when did he end up on his hands and knees? “Who did this to Wild?” he asks.

And Twilight is forced to meet his eyes and say the damning words. “I did. I killed him.”

This isn’t how Wild wanted the group to find out about Mipha’s Grace. Ideally, he’d never mention it and he wouldn’t have to explain just how many times he’d been saved on his journey. What a sorry excuse for a hero—saved by his dead lover for not completing a task the first time. Or the second.

Even if Wild doesn’t want to explain the complexities of survival, in this case, it works in his favor. At least if he dies, he’ll come back. Twilight just needs to get out of there with his body before Mipha’s Grace kicks in. The bandits need to agree to let Twilight go. Trusting thugs to hold to their word is a poor lifeline, but it’s all they have.

After his journey, Mipha’s Grace still works, but it takes longer to kick in. The delays between death and life grow further with each use. Maybe at some point, it will wear off entirely, but the feel of her magic is still strong. And coming back to life while still trapped with the thugs will only land them back where they started.

Wild would like to say he’d never raise a hand against Twilight if they were in switched positions. But he’s not. And faced with certain pain and the chance of possibly lessening it; would he really leave the rancher to the tender mercies of the thugs?

None of this erases the horror of the situation, though. Of Twilight bringing down a whip on his back, painting lines of agony across his back. Is that better or worse than the burning poker? At least Mipha will erase the marks that are left; he doesn’t care for a permanent reminder of his time there.

Whoever invented the glass shard whip hopefully died under its lash regretting every moment that led to its creation.

The familiar rush of cool water and magic sweeps over his body, wiping away injury and pain. His ears flick as his body comes back online. Someone is crying. Actually, multiple people are crying.

“I—I didn’t know what to do! Time, please, I don’t know what to do!” That’s Twilight, nearly incomprehensible through sobs.

“His back—”

Twilight sobs harder. “It should have been me,” he says. “It should have been me; he didn’t deserve this.”

Ah. Well, Twilight must have gotten him away from the thugs or was rescued. Although by the sounds of it, they rightly assume he’s dead. He’s resting on his side in the grass, so no one’s noticed his chest no longer lies still.

He feels…good, actually. Bless Mipha for restoring him to full health. The emotional effects of the experience will still be something to deal with; the idea of Twilight and a knife in the same sentence still sends a shiver across his skin.

The Chain argues and cries and through it all, Twilight repeats, “It should have been me.”

Well. That’s enough of that. He doesn’t need to make them grieve for longer than needed. The situation does not call for it—and it’s probably poor taste—but Wild deserves a little payback.

With a drawn-out, broken groan, he rolls onto his back and then sits up in jerky spurts. He holds his arms out in front of him, wrists limp. Wild rolls his head to the side to meet eyes with Twilight. Now to follow it up with something properly terrifying.

“Boo!”

Twilight screams. Well, most of the Chain does and Legend nearly takes his head off with a wild shriek and swing.

Wild yelps and drops the act. “Hey! It’s me! Ledge, put that sword down, I’m not coming back this quickly if you kill me.”

The rancher bursts into renewed sobs. “I cursed him!”

Fair, but still. Wild stands and brushes himself free of grass. His clothes are ruined and coated in blood. Hmm. He’s going to burn these. The champion takes a deep breath of the afternoon air and soaks in the sights of grass, trees, and teary faces. They're going to need a lot of care and cuddles after this. Not that Wild will complain.

“I think it’s time I told you about Mipha’s Grace.”

#glass shard #tw torture #tw forced harm #tw whipping #tw injury #tw temporary character death #mipha's grace #Resolved ending #no permanent damage #whumptober2023 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu whumptober #breannasfluff #mywriting #whump

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 22 "glass shard"

“Oh my God, Sherlock you… what you’ve…”

Sherlock interjected, desperate to finish what he had to say. “I’m so sorry for all the pain that I caused you and I know I’m repeating myself here. But it’s true.” He inhaled deeply. “Maybe I have paid for all this in the cellar in Serbia. Getting punished for having been stupid. For leaving you behind and not thinking about what it might do to you. Or find a way to let you in.”

Talking that much had aggrevated the pain in Sherlock’s chest and back and he needed to stop, concentrating on breathing shallow. His face had become white as snow.

“Take it slow, Sherlock. You’re still very weak and in enough pain already.” John carefully took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “Thanks for telling me. It’ll make it a lot easier for me to finally come clear with it.”

John pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down heavily, the accumulated exhaustion of the last two days clearly visible in his posture.

“I have to admit that when you came back I have been so angry. Being left behind and not being trusted by you felt like the ultimate betrayal. You made a mistake but knowing that you’ve done all this because you cared… you are just human, after all.”

“And yet, you called me a machine.” Sherlock really had not meant to say this out loud but the words just slipped out of his mouth. Not good but it felt good anyway.

Back then in the lab Sherlock had deliberatly used the ruse of Mrs Hudson being injured and acted callous in order to drive John away. But although his plan had worked out just fine, John’s remark still had rankled and hurt an awful lot. Caring had pushed Sherlock over the literal edge of Bart’s roof and had been his downfall, also quite literally. Thus, being called a machine had caused a painful wound that had swollen and festered. Like a glass shard encapsulated deep in Sherlock’s foot that always had hurt with each step he had taken for two years. Now it had been cut out and hopefully, this wound could heal.

John answered immediately. “And saying this is what I’ve regretted the most for two years straight. Because you are not. A machine.”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand back.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

#whumptober 2023 #no.22 #glass shard #Sherlock #fic #my sherlock fanfics #slowly suffocating

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: Glass Shard

Fandom: The Strange Case of Starship Iris Wordcount: 100 Summary: Sara carries a glass shard in her pocket.

(Or: Sana and the Rumor, early season 2).

Sana carries a glass shard in her pocket.

It's part of the Rumor, although she doesn't know which part. It could be from any of the times she pulled the ship back together with bare hands and ingenuity and stubbornness.

She doesn't want to give it up. It's the last piece she has.

But it's not in the Rumor's nature to be static.

So, Sana pulls it out, files the edges smooth. She's weaving a brightly-coloured hanging to decorate the mess; the glass glitters in its centre.

Sana might be running, but she can still bring their home with her.

---

(A/N: So, one of my friends gave me the prompt "glass shard" for the Small Fandoms Drabblethon, and initially I didn't have a clear idea for it. Then, it suddenly came to me that I could marry this with an idea I've had for ages about Sana and the Rumor - drawing on her speech about how she's never had a place where every single piece of her belongs, and the closest she has is a ship she'd built herself from scraps.

There is so much to explore with Sana and the loss of the Rumor, and this is just a tiny piece (a shard, if you will ;P) but it was good to dig into. I particularly like the idea of Sana working part of the Rumor into something else, because I think that's very fitting to her hands-on, creative and resourceful approach to things.)

#The Strange Case of Starship Iris #TSCOSI #Sana Tripathi #The Rumor #TSCOSI season 2 #drabble #small fandoms drabblethon #glass shard

[firstdegreefangirl]

Shattered Glass

Glass shatters. Lucy gasps. Liquid splatters.

Tim turns his head, then jumps up from the couch when the kitchen island blocks his view.

He steps from the carpet to the tile and hears the glass crunch under his boot.

“Stop!” He barks, when Lucy tries to move one bare foot forward. It’s a tone he hasn’t taken with Lucy since he was training her. But it’s fear he hasn’t felt since he was keeping vigil at her hospital bed, brushing desert sand away from the edges of her hair. “Watch out, there are little shards everywhere. “Don’t move your feet.”

Lucy lowers her foot carefully. Her eyes are wide, in a way they weren’t before Tim shouted at her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No, it’s alright, you were just trying to keep me from stepping -”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Read the rest on ao3 here!

#katie writes #kw23 #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #the rookie #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no. 22 #glass shard #'watch out' #fic

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober2023 Day 22: Glass shard | "Watch out!"

Kyle and Yuuki escaping from the bad guys through the window

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #watch out #kindall k series #OC #art #whump art #yuuki takahashi #kyle kindall #kk3

[bumblingdragon]

Whumptober - day 22 + 23 - "Glass Shard" & "Shadows"

a makeshift dagger to defend yourself...

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #no.23 #glass shard #shadows #OC #art #blood #digital art #(combining days to help catch up) #my art

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 22 - "Vehicular Accident"

Today is an art collab I did with @waffles-in-winter ! I did illustrations for her Jujutsu Kaisen fic which you can check out HERE for some lovely GoUta action and feels.

~~~~~~~

Check out my Carrd to find my other socials! I also do art and fic commissions for anyone interested!

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #vehicular accident #watch out #jujutsu kaisen #art #gojo satoru #utahime iori #gojo x utahime #gouta fanart #jjk fanart #jjk fanfic #waffles in winter #collabs

[thatoneconfusedartist]

ummm ummmmmmmm chainshard NOW

AH WHOOPSIE DAISY I ACCIDENTALLY OFFPUT THIS FOR A WEEK MAYBE MORE UM IM SO SORRY. HAVE THIS

#jex <33 #doodles #ppt2 #paper puppets take 2 #chainshard #glass shard #chainsaw #glass shard ppt2 #ppt2 glass shard #chainsaw ppt2 #ppt2 chainsaw #eyestrain

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 22 - Glass Shard/Vehicular Accident/“Watch out!”

Scogan Bingo challenge Honeymoon

Marrying Logan was about as romantic and spectacular as anyone would expect, namely, one drunk Vegas chapel trip shy of a horrendous triviality.

It would probably have bothered Scott a lot more if it hadn’t been exactly what he'd expected. They'd talked about things, sure. Once or twice, in passing. Recent political developments once more nurturing mutant hostility in the general public made the climate for their school and their team rough as so often. With more conflicts arising and potentially lethal battles on the horizon every other week? Even two people who'd not even put something like a real label on their relationship so far felt the occasional need for a little bit of regularity, of stability in their lives. Plans, there had not been any, though. Not least because they didn’t want their teammates or the kids at Mutant High to know before the whole thing would be done with. Scott had had more than enough of his turbulent love life financing half the mutant magazine gossip writer salaries in this world.

And Logan mostly agreed to the whole deal in the first place because an according entry in the administration offices of this country made things simpler when it came to certain cases of emergency. Especially since Jean's last death, they couldn’t always rely on one of their own being around to patch either of them up after another mission gone south. Logan in particular could do well without yet another entry on his already impressive police record, for breaking some hospital security baboon's nose one day because he might not be allowed to visit his own boyfriend in some ICU.

Not to mention that, since they'd lost Charles in the clusterfuck that had been the Cure and Phoenix Crisis, finances at Mutant High had become significantly more complicated. Some really sweet tax benefits were a pretty convincing argument as far as Scott was concerned. In the end, nothing more than a convenience that they agreed, they could indulge in at some undefined point whenever the opportunity might knock. When that exactly happened, thanks to the two of them embarking on a small quest together, to stop a couple of lowlife bigots from ruining some wealthy mutant's private wedding in a luxurious country estate up North? It was only logical to accept the favor from a very graceful host, to lend them suits and the officiant already at the site anyway. In five minutes, everything was done with, much like expected. They put their signatures on the right spot on a couple of quickly scribbled-down papers and were even polite enough to stay for a drink each afterward. After wishing the actual happy couple good luck, they changed back into their uniforms and strode back to the X-jeep parked a couple of streets away. Technically, that could have been it. Except it only truly reached the front of Scott's thinking what they'd just done when he rummaged for the car keys in one of his belt pouches and heard the quiet rustling of that certain piece of paper in there, that the officiant had given them to take home. It was indeed the only tangible souvenir of soberly exchanged I Do's, save for a single photo that one of the host's guests had been nice enough to take with Scott's phone. No witnesses from their family or friends, no stinking green stuff in their suit jackets, no rings that neither of them would have worn a lot anyway thanks to their field duties ... No mushy music or fat white birds released into the sky ... Not even a slice of some far too sugary cake. And that part was more than alright. Scott had already had all that in the course of the whole drama that had been Jean and him even before her first demise at Alkali Lake. No need for repeat performances. But now that they were about to return home as if nothing had happened, Scott did feel a small sting of regret that there had not even been a couple of honest, heartfelt sentences to his now-husband earlier, about why today had felt so perfectly natural and right. Like something he'd wanted, instead of just something to be done for the show and for anyone but Jean and him, really, like that party with hundreds of guests at the mansion back then. Logan didn’t seem like he'd missed anything, but Scott suddenly realized that he didn’t want to let this rare day just for themselves end just yet. "Claws? What do you think about heading up North? You've been meaning to show me these parts you've been traveling before Liberty Island for a while."

"Now." Logan forgot that he'd just been about to light one of his obligatory cigars and stared at him over the edge of his zippo as if Scott had just grown red and blue scales and told him, Logan's freshly accepted new last name was Darkholme instead of Summers. "Are you asking me to go on a honeymoon, Slim?"

"Call it whatever you want. It's been more than two years since we went on a trip outside work is all I'm saying." Scott hurried to hide the treacherous blush on his cheeks by getting in the car but didn’t put the key in yet, nervously circling its ring on one fingertip instead. If Logan would say no, that would be entirely alright. Scott's desk at home was notoriously crumbling under the weight of everything that Charles' demise had left him in charge of anyway. Which was exactly why leaving all that administrative crap to his fellow staff members for a while sounded like heaven right now. "Besides, Ororo and Hank said they'd be fine if things here would take longer than expected."

"We're in our uniforms, Slim. I don’t got as much as a toothbrush on me." Logan was still bracing himself on the open passenger door as if he feared Scott would drive right off into the sunset if he sat down.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's gonna be a problem for a feral who's lived on the street for fifteen years. You know, we're in Canada. I heard they have grocery shops here. Fashion stores, even." Scott felt amused more than offended that his lover was being so reluctant about this. He'd known what he would get himself into falling in love with that rough-edged grump as they'd bonded over their shared grief after Alkali Lake. Arguments, diametrically differing opinions on everything from battle strategies to world politics, the occasional screaming match, and especially the fantastic make-up sex afterward were basically part of their relationship identity. The mere fact that they were working out so perfectly anyway proved they'd rightly embarked on this weird, risky adventure together back then. Celebrating that a little with a road trip which was one of their favorite shared hobbies as it was, listening to some good tune, having a couple of disgustingly unhealthy meals in the cheapest road joints possible, and checking in the most dubious motels night after night? As perfect as could get for the two of them. And Scott luckily knew by now how to make his stubborn boyfriend – his husband, Jesus, that thought would still need some time to get used to – see certain things his way. "Who knows, we might even come by an adult store or two. The good thing about hotel rooms?" He leaned over to the passenger seat to be able to look up at Logan with one eyebrow lewdly raised, licking his lips as he slowly eyed his lover from top to bottom, lingering on his midsection for just a second too long where he was pretty sure, the tight black leather of Logan's suit was about to get a little too tight, judging by Logan's slightly choppy breathing. "No nosy pupils with enhanced senses nearby and no immediate neighbors complaining about too-thin walls. Meaning, we can be as loud as we want."

Logan was so fast to get in the car beside him suddenly that it quietly rattled under his adamantium-enhanced weight. "Fine. What are we waiting for? Step on it, Slim."

Scott silently grinned to himself and did just that.

****

With Westchester briefly informed on the phone and no one there luckily seeming to suspect the real reason for Logan's and Scott's timeout, the shopping tour had gone as efficiently as expected as well. With the exception, of course, of an extra hour in said adult store that they'd deliberately entered separately, each leaving the shady one-story building with an inconspicuous brown bag of their own that didn’t reveal what delicious little surprises they held for the nights to come. And the first one of those was coming up in another hour or so already on the road if their electronic map wasn’t lying. Some acceptably clean spot by the roadside, judging by the customer reviews, where they wouldn’t have to listen to cockroach races all night but were very unlikely to be recognized by any non-existent high-profile guests for either their race or their public image. Just what they needed. Covering the miles in amicable silence, save for one of Logan's preferred classic rock discs in the player, Scott found he was really looking forward to relaxing together with his lover. For someone like him who needed well-laid-out plans, meticulous organization, and obsessive routines in everyday life to keep his body, his mind, and especially his gift under control, it had been a big step, letting Logan help him accept that not everything in life had to go according to firm schemes. And this … felt like one of the best of these rare decisions Scott had ever spontaneously made, ever since they'd brought him back at the time, after Phoenix, to a second life that he hadn’t been sure for a long while he deserved. It had been Logan, too, making it clear to Scott that being allowed to come back wasn’t about such ethereal moral questions. That all that counted was doing his best to help improve this world and not waste a single chance of finding something close to happiness in this new attempt at existence while he was at it. At least the latter was probably what they were up to right now. Without really thinking about it, Scott reached to his side to rest his hand on Logan's where it was unmoving on the instrument panel between them, shrugging in embarrassment when Logan snorted a smoke cloud at him. "Excess endorphins. Give me two days and I'll be back to normal."

"Hm." After a long squeeze, Logan let go of him, not quite unexpectedly, but made it a show to lean in closely and sniff at him exaggeratedly which promptly had a hint of heat rise under Scott's skin. Soon. "Nope, gotta disappoint you, Slim. No excess hormones. You're just a hopeless sap."

"Tell that to the people who keep yapping about the stick up my ass," Scott grumbled but quickly forgot about the little dig when Logan bent over to him even further for a kiss.

"Wasn’t complaining, was I?" Logan quickly backed away again, knowing exactly Scott wasn’t comfortable, not having his eyes on the street, even when it was a yawningly empty country road, with only tall oak trees left and right to see for miles. He teasingly patted Scott's hand on the stick, not quite reaching for it again though … That was until he turned his head back to the windshield and Scott saw his lover's narrow eyes suddenly go wide in the rear mirror, his hand immediately back on Scott's to slam that stick into parking position before Logan was even finished hissing out a warning. "Watch out!"

After years of working on one team with a feral, Scott had long stopped questioning such a tone of uncompromising certainty, even in situations when he couldn’t make out anything wrong whatsoever. Compared to someone like Logan, a normal mutant's senses, especially Scott's, thanks to his limited vision, would always be ridiculously inferior. He strongly doubted that his partner would have taken over the jeep from him just to avoid running some squirrel over, being so perfectly aware of exactly that dependency on control Scott had just been reminiscing about. Sadly, he already knew said control was lost for now before bringing his heel down on the brakes, years-long trained instincts of an avid speed racer and pilot kicking in as the car started to drift, dangerously close to the massive tree trunks lining the road. The telltale bangs and jerks of blown tires promptly said, they'd not been fast enough, avoiding the almost invisible trap on the road from whoever was trying to stop them. Scott had only his own instincts and muscle memory from countless simulations and similar attacks to thank for not crashing the damn jeep right against the next tree. Somehow, he managed to have it spin a few times only, the bumpy ride of the still slowing vehicle pressing both Logan and him painfully into their belts before they finally came to a halt. With his head still on that carousel and the pressure from those tremors throbbing behind his forehead, Scott needed a moment to blink his vision as free as his gift allowed, to notice they were back in the direction they'd been driving in and on the right side of the road. And that was where the good news ended.

More than a dozen burly shapes in unmarked black suits were approaching from afar, the menacing blinking of more than one huge weapon in the fading sunlight revealing, the attack had only just begun. Whoever was out to get them this time and had somehow found them in the middle of fucking nowhere – Scott made a frustrated mental note to check the car for trackers as he shook off the last disorientation with gritted teeth –, they were obviously ignorant to details like newlyweds' bliss and honeymoon peace.

His ever-simmering anger on the assholes of this damn world immediately rising to new levels, Scott let out a huff, shaking his head when Logan held out his VISOR from the glove box for him in a reflex long become routine between them in the field. Much as Scott appreciated it, taking his eyes off the damn surroundings even for a split second right now was indeed a very bad idea. He knew before he even saw one of the enemies in the distance raise something long and sharp high over his shoulder. One hand already on the control in the middle of the wheel that changed the car's everyday functions to battle mode, he took another split second to swipe over the button nearby that would activate auto repairs. The at least remotely soothing sound of suppressed vacuum and alien tech mechanics inside the ruined wheels revealed, the almost-crash at least hadn’t shredded all most crucial functions. Including, hopefully, the protection of the thrice-reinforced material shielding their ride from outside threats, but they couldn’t rely on that. Therefore, Scott was only too happy to follow Logan's next warning too, his partner having spotted the incoming projectile just like he had, and crouched down towards the door with his head low. Just in time before the ominous tearing and bursting of their windshield giving in sounded and a sharp-edged shower of glass rained down on Scott's back and side, on the back of his unprotected hand where immediately a sharp twinge arose. No time to look, to bother. So much for reinforced glass. At least Logan's perfectly right reaction had protected them from having shards all over their faces, too, and the cover allowed Scott to switch his glasses for his main weapon of defense, finally … Which would be of absolutely no use at all in this situation as he had to learn, sitting up again, his hand already on the control wheel of his VISOR to fire a first broad salvo at their quickly approaching enemies. Nothing was happening, except the sudden almost painful overload of brightness and color rushing in on his depowered eyes through the small opening of his VISOR sent yet another cruel stab through his brain. The worry for his partner was far worse though, growing by a thousand when Scott turned his head with a surprised hiss to look at whatever their enemies had thrown at them and saw a thin, long rod that had neatly pierced the backseat. Lodged between his partner and him, it blinked in a well-known, hated flash of red.

Inhibitor missile. There weren’t many hostile groups on this planet who had these kinds of weapons.

"Don't." Immediately catching on as well, Logan almost brutally reached for Scott's wrist when Scott tried to grab that damn thing to hurl it far from the car, get rid of the invisible radiation that rendered both of their gifts useless. "Such spears always got contact fuses. You pull that from where it hit, chances are this thing blows us both to pieces." His upper lip drawn back behind his teeth in a display of threatening loss of control, loud growls escaping his throat, Logan's hands were hard fists already but his claws stayed where they were. Experience had taught them painfully that without his healing factor, the blood loss from using his own main weapons thoughtlessly could easily take Logan prematurely out of a fight … And this was not something either of them needed when they were up against a whole Weapon X squad. "Stay put. I'll be right back. You keep your head down, Slim," Logan snapped at him before Scott had even opened his mouth to protest. "They're armed to their teeth. You don't even got some damn Kevlar on. I was promised honeymoon sex, I'm not carrying you out of here full of holes."

"And I'm not losing you to these assholes again. You know exactly they're not here for me. Stay on your ass, Claws," Scott shouted at him at least as pissed but not half as out of it. Not while there were still fortunately other ways to deal with all this than having to fear for his lover's life, freedom, and sanity once again. "I'm taking us out of here. You keep watching them. Tell me if they try anything funny. L.U.C.Y., status report."

Logan, visibly tempted to just jump out of the car anyway, froze with a look of bewilderment when the holo surface of the car's artificial intelligence came to live above the dashboard, a list of green or yellow arrows indicating, most of the car's other functions, too, were indeed still working, in spite of one window less and their tires only just being replaced by the spare set inside. As it dawned on him Scott wasn’t just being latently suicidal, ignoring a group of enemies with all kinds of hypermodern guns getting closer, but that he did have a plan that included far fewer bullets and blades for him to pry from Logan's body afterward, a weak grin appeared on Logan's lips. Along with the shadow of a bad conscience about his usual utter lack of interest in the X-Men's technology options that Scott had included even in their rides over the course of the years. Which in this case might be saving their asses. "You call it L.U.C.Y.?"

"Shut up and look like you're about to pounce them." Scott had to fight back a grin on his own. This was still potentially going south, but at least it would be fun. "Can't have them interfere." He'd rarely been more grateful before for a few very generous additional technical gifts from Stark Tower in the last few years since his resurrection in which not least the X-Men's competitive team had had a hand in. Tony's user surfaces were much easier for humans to navigate than the Shi’ar holo controls which in a situation like this when it was about seconds only, saved crucial time. Scott impatiently wiped his red-stained hand on his jeans, grimacing at the renewed pain before he swiped in another fast string of commands. With tight lips, from the corner of his eyes only, he watched Logan get up on his seat, half leaning out of the ruined window with his claws now threateningly out after all, more blood dripping over the hood's beige paint as his lover was clearly signaling their enemies that he had no intention of backing down and rolling over, just because his powers weren’t working as they should. It was a sight that shouldn’t be half as hot as it was right now. But making the best of every second also included, Scott supposed, committing a perfect view like of his lover's firm ass in tight jeans, for once undisturbed by the usual red of Scott's powers, to memory while the vehicle computer processed his commands. "We're good. Head down," he shouted when the warm female voice of his artificial assistant confirmed that they were ready to go. "All the way down. They're not gonna be happy, and we're not bulletproof right now," he added tightly, pulling Logan with him to cower behind the dashboard a second time. "Cover your ears. L.U.C.Y., engage." Not a second later, the car's external boxes sent a shrill sound, recorded from one of their possible future team members, across all of the nearby surroundings, hurtful to their own ears, too, in spite of protection.

But not half as much as to their enemies who were immediately stopped in their approach. Screams of agony filled the air, another couple of badly aimed projectiles hitting the jeep. Only primitive bullets this time, either stopped easily by the reinforced bodywork or hitting high above their heads, getting stuck in the robust leather of their seats.

And that was when the autopilot got them back going. The moment they'd passed a sharp turn a couple of feet ahead, the prepared hyperdrive mode was activated, and the jeep left their enemies far behind before the soldiers had even gotten back to their feet. A far too merciful hit for these motherfuckers actually, as Scott bitterly thought when he scrambled to sit up again once they were far enough from the hostiles, relieved to take the wheel again. Another day, in another kind of confrontation he wouldn’t have hesitated to turn this thing back around and get rid of these people, making as many prisoners as possible for questioning before giving them to S.H.I.E.L.D. for further prosecution … But a fight against Weapon X never went without casualties. He was just as little interested in spending their honeymoon on some sick bay as Logan was … or worse. Today, they'd been lucky, honestly.

And Scott was obviously not the only one harboring such gloomy thoughts. Once he'd parked the car in some well-hidden clearing at a safe distance from the site of attack and L.U.C.Y.'s external sensors confirmed, there weren’t any enemies or hostile vehicles anywhere in the air or on the ground, Logan was in a remarkable hurry to leave the car for a cigar. He also had the badly hidden excuse of wanting to provisionally repair the ruined windshield with some transparent cover from the trunk.

Scott let him go for the moment because knowing when to give his lover some space was something he'd learned early on in this relationship. He used the time to disinfect and bandage the cut on his hand and, with it somewhat properly usable again, find a couple of tools from the glove box. With the necessary silence and focus on the task, it was a piece of cake, taking apart the enemies' weapon, deactivating the dangerous explosive inside along with the inhibitor function. Only moments later, Scott could feel the usual pressure and sting behind his forehead returning that announced, his gift was back. He closed his eyes with a sigh somewhere between decades-old resignation and relief before slipping his glasses back on, the last of the crisis being taken care of, and for once without any damage to speak of. At least not any outside one. "We should get going," he said hesitatively when Logan made no move to come back to the car from where he was leaning against some tree, the makeshift repair long done.

It didn’t escape Scott that his lover's hand was still slightly shaking though the wounds from his claws were now closed, and that Logan was still a good deal too pale under his rugged beard. Encounters with Weapon X tended to do that, and Scott had little interest in risking yet another one today.

"They could still be nearby."

"Which is why you should leave," Logan said flatly, almost coldly, to Scott's shock, staring down at his cigar as if he'd never seen one before, just to avoid looking Scott in the eye. And suddenly Scott felt like he couldn’t breathe. "Drive to the nearest town, call the others. Have them get you with the jet. I'll take care of these bastards. See if they got a base nearby, tear it to the ground. I want as many of them gone as possible. I'll be fine; don’t look at me like that. Powers are long back."

"Until these guys shoot the next inhibitor spear right through your guts, yeah. Not happening. Seeing that one time still haunts my dreams." Scott wearily rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and got out of the car, with a mental note about a painkiller or two in his immediate future when he used the wrong hand for the handle. Definitely not like he'd pictured this afternoon to go … And yet he was glad that Logan wasn’t entirely shutting down or just running like he would have in the past, actually giving Scott a chance to get through to his thick head. Emma would have called that progress or something. "We talked about this often enough, Logan. Destroying a couple of their pawns and single locations doesn’t do shit with an underground organization that large. Weapon X is a project that we've been working on taking down for years, and not only us. One day, they'll be gone, I promised you that." Leaning against the tree opposite Logan's, Scott reached out for another of these encouraging squeezes of his lover's hand, not too surprised when Logan immediately pulled away once more. This wouldn’t be that easy, not after a fight like this. "Until then, I refuse to let these assholes ruin our lives. We got more fun plans this week than bathing in blood and biting a couple of bullets."

"Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," Logan answered even more quietly, his shoulders tightly drawn in when Scott drew a sharp, hurt breath. "Look, I'm sorry, Slim. You know how crazy I am about your stupid ass. But you almost just got blown to bits because I had mercenaries on my neck. I always got mercenaries on my neck. You'll never be safe as long as you you're with me."

"Safe." It took a lot not to get pissed enough to shoot his partner right in the dick just on principle for this sudden bout of overprotectiveness. Seeing that haunted look in his beautiful hazel eyes when Scott slowly stepped closer, resting his hands left and right of Logan's head on that trunk, helped at least keep his voice to a low hiss. "I'm being hunted by an all-powerful mad scientist obsessed with my mutation every fucking year for my birthday. I'm fighting shapeshifters, ferals thrice your size, and element masters on a weekly basis, with just a bit of lightning show from my eyes, ever since I was fifteen, for a humanity that would rather lock me up or slit my throat than thank me for it. I'm getting beaten up when I'm entering a damn booze store if I'm not careful because every fucking bigot on this planet knows my mug thanks to these damn glasses. My ex-wife is a possessed almighty cosmic fire demon that might or not come back anytime to rip me right back into particles. My ex-girlfriend is a powerful telepath thirsting for world dominance and rolling for a new moral compass as a first option every other month. Please, Logan, do tell me again how you can get me in danger."

Logan tiredly raised the hand not holding his cigar to Scott's bloodstained shirt, clenching it around those ruined buttons, keeping him on a few last inches of distance left, visibly fighting himself. "You don’t get it, Scooter. None of these people are Weapon X. Nothing of all this …" He paused, struggling with words, when Scott only raised an eyebrow at him, still not ready to let something come between them, just when they'd been closer than ever today. "Of all the shit shows that you and I saw out there, these people are the only ones who ever managed to get inside my head. They controlled me once, Scott, don't you get what that means? They have the power to make me the one thing I'm terrified of. And if that ever happens again, if they manage to lock my mind up again … Then you know where they'll send me for the first kill."

"Probably, yes," Scott nodded calmly, a bitter smile on his lips when Logan quietly gasped, obviously not having expected him to be so sober about this worst possibility of all.

"And what exactly will you do then when I'm standing in front of your house, threatening our children?" Logan urged, desperation in his voice as he tried in vain to get himself to shove Scott away, his hand tensing again and again without the necessary force. He couldn’t, as much as he wanted to, as afraid as he was of this worst-case scenario, and that alone let Scott know, they had made the right choice today.

He leaned in without hesitation to capture Logan's lips in a soft kiss, glad when his lover made no more move to pull away. "Then I'll do exactly what I did with those assholes back there before you can even come inside."

"Is that a promise?" Only now, that veil of panicked concern lifted a little from Logan's distorted features.

"If you need one. This is the day for oaths, isn’t it?" Scott asked cynically. "So here you have another one: Once I've shot you down and I got you knocked out, trussed up and hooked to an IV of narcotics, I'll take you to Emma so she can deprogram you. And if Emma isn’t around I'll find someone else to get the job done. Ever until you're back with me. If you think I'm ever letting that cute ass of yours walk away from me again, you got another think coming, James Summers."

Logan winced a little, very obviously not used to that new official name yet that his documents would soon sport, but when an askew grin curled on his lips, it seemed sincere. "You're fantasizing about my ass an awful lot for a guy covered in blood with a butchered hand."

"I don't need my hand to eat you alive," Scott answered sweetly before leaning down for another kiss that had nothing of the innocent nature of the last one though, his body instinctively pressing Logan's smaller, broader one against the rough bark as his tongue deeply invaded Logan's mouth, tasting the last of adrenaline, ash and that expensive bourbon from the ceremony earlier. A hum of anticipation came from his lips when he lost himself to the fantasy of all the things they'd be getting up to once they'd arrive at that motel. Starting with indeed a very badly needed shower hopefully taken together. And once Scott would have Logan splayed out on some terrible rose petal-covered mattress all naked and flushed … The alluring image in his mind turned into an unexpected rush of energy in his veins as Logan used the moment of him not being on alert, to take the lead.

His hand on Scott's shirt slipping between those buttons and easily ripping them apart for a first greedy caress, a harsh grip found his behind, kneading in that hard, slow way, clever fingertips already slipping between his legs from behind that always had Scott boneless within seconds.

His head suddenly spinning even more than after that crash earlier, he moaned against Logan's lips, the skeptical voice inside his head very quiet that pointed out that they were in public, as Logan impatiently worked his hand under Scott's jeans and underwear. Fuck that. L.U.C.Y.'s scanners were still activated and programmed to warn about any life sign in the immediate surroundings. Not everything needed to happen in proper order indeed. Distracted by the growing hardness not only under his own pants, Scott willingly let himself be walked back the few steps to their car, both his hands buried in Logan's hair, panting, only stopping to frown when the back of his thighs hit the car's hood because he'd assumed Logan had the backseat in mind, or maybe the truck bed … He should know his passionate lover better by now, especially when they were both pumped full of battle adrenaline and in dire need to forget what had almost just happened back there on that road.

Logan smoothly going to his knees in front of him already, ripping his pants open, such considerations were forgotten for good. A hot velvety mouth was wrapped around Scott's cock without much ado, without any games that out here, in spite of all goodwill to let his hair down a little, didn’t have a place.

His hands tightening on Logan's unruly hair, Scott threw his head back with a turned-on shout when his lover took him right in all the way, swallowing around him greedily. A clear gesture of an elbow at the inside of his thighs nudged his legs further apart, the assault of soft wetness along with a harsh grip around his tightening balls far too overwhelming for now to even think of returning the favor.

The telltale sound of some cap opening provoked the memory of leaving that adult shop earlier, of Scott seeing Logan pocket something from the corner of his eyes … Of course, the sly bastard had had planned something for this first day of the rest of their lives together.

Scott scrambled to reach back for the hood, trembling, bracing himself there because he was pretty sure he would have hurt Logan, holding on to him as the beloved touch of clever, slick fingertips found his tense cheeks, going between them just as purposefully as the rest of this little unexpected encounter shaped out to be. After all these nights spent together, Logan needed less than a minute before he had Scott push down against two thick, quickly thrusting fingers with hardly suppressed moans, writhing on the cool, hard surface, the repeated firm pressure against his most sensitive spot inside soon making him leak thick white into the heavenly suction of Logan's mouth. The beautiful light of the descending sun in the sky was a dear, fresh memory beyond what Scott could make out from behind his glasses when he leaned his head back out of breath, his nails scraping over the paint as he tried to keep himself from getting too carried away. "Fuck … Logan … Please …"

"On it, Slim." With one smooth motion, Logan was back standing before him, grabbing his hips, his arm, in an alluringly easy display of strength to flip him around before Scott had taken as much as one breath to suggest something maybe less out in the open …

If he was being honest, even a few steps to the back of the car would have been far too much right now. With his lover's large, strong hands on his hips, he willingly raised them when he felt the oiled touch of something thick throbbing between his cheeks. An uncontrolled groan came from his lips when that pressure grew, slowly enough but without stopping until he had to bury his face against his elbow to stifle his noises, his body shaking from that perfect sensation of being filled so thoroughly. With Logan's hand back on his own raging erection, shielding him from unpleasant bruises from the car hood thanks to his lover's harsh, quick thrusts, it was less than half an embarrassing minute before Scott spilled all over his lover's hand with his name on his lips, one hand so tightly around a wiper that he almost ripped it off, his muscles clenching down so firmly once more that he could feel Logan empty himself deep inside him almost at the same moment. So. That was what they called consummating a marriage when a feral was involved.

*****

"I still think it might be better if we went home." After checking in, getting sufficiently clean, and with a few carbs from the truck stop on the way in their stomachs, Logan at least approached the subject of their honeymoon a lot more rationally than in the woods earlier. It was obvious he'd used the half an hour for a smoke alone outside that he'd been asking Scott for, to think. The sigh on his lips when he sat down on the bed next to Scott sounded honestly unhappy. "With that wreck of a car, we're not exactly inconspicuous, you know."

"I just checked." Scott held up his phone and showed Logan a spot on the maps program he'd marked, not five minutes from here. "Garage to rent. I already made reservations. I'll have this baby back to factory default within a day, don’t worry. And we'll be all alone, so you can spend that time ogling my ass. Or give me a hand. Whatever you prefer. So once we got tired of watching the Red Sox fucking up, we'll be ready to move on to the next place."

"Burgers, baseball, and shop, huh?" Logan remarked with half a smirk, easily convinced. "Not exactly what most people usually do after tying the knot, I guess."

"Good thing, too. Most people, I don’t want to be married to." Scott itched to pull Logan in for a kiss but he still had his hand under the blanket, holding a certain something that he'd been preparing in these minutes alone, and he hadn’t quite mustered up the guts yet to take it out.

"Speaking of it, Slim …" To his surprise, it was Logan who suddenly fumbled with something in the pocket of his brand-new shirt. The shitty lighting of the run-down room made it hard to tell, just like the obstacle of Scott's glasses, but he could almost have sworn, his dear husband was just about to blush. "Talked to Hank when you were in the shower. Had him finish something he and I were talking about for a while. King Kong got Piotr's kid sister to bring it while I was outside. No freaking out now, please, this is just … Things were a little too close for my taste earlier." After another deep breath, Logan slowly opened his fist and presented Scott with a broad white gold ring, sized to fit his thumb and slightly thicker than normal jewelry as Scott immediately noticed, with his mouth ajar, when Logan laid the thing down between them. "It's got a transmitter inside that can be connected to your VISORs, to open them. Hank's also working on a version of glasses for you that can open similarly to a VISOR. He'll be done by the time we get home. I don't ever want to see you take a bullet just because you're wearing the wrong damn thing on your eyes or because you can't reach your control wheel."

"And here I was certain you'd gut me for the idea of ... uh … this." His hand no longer trembling, Scott finally raised it once he could trust his voice again, to show Logan the set of dog tags he'd found on their shopping trip earlier and engraved in those last thirty minutes alone, with the help of his blast, so that they now sported both Logan's new name and today's date. "Just a reminder," he added hesitantly when Logan took the pendant from him without a word, slowly turning it between his fingertips, lost in memory about the people, the place where he'd last gotten a thing like this. A thing that for so long had been a symbol of hope for his quest for his lost past, until he'd thrown it at Stryker's feet by Alkali Lake … It was something that Scott hoped could become such a beacon for Logan's endless, restless search again. Including the discreet reminder that he was no longer forced to go on it alone. "You don’t need to wear them if you don’t … I just thought …"

When Logan shut him up with a long, tender kiss, they took only just enough time to put on their respective improvised wedding jewelry before being all over each other for a second time today. There was no need for any more words this night.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

#no.22 #Glass Shard #Vehicular Accident #Watch out #x men #fic #nsfwhump #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #x men movies #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #scott summers #cyclops #wolverine #scott x logan #scogan #scoganbingo #whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023