#shhhh he is sleeping . . . .

[pthalomars]

Jason is knocked out again, what a surprise🙄

#pjo #hoo #jason grace #leo valdez #valgrace #thunderforge #mars art #shhhh dont wake him hes sleeping

[undyinglantern]

#gif #fgo #shhhh he’s sleeping

[skyward-floored]

The Lost Woods aren’t so bad.

Not after traversing them more times then Link can count, at least. Sure the paths shift, and monsters occasionally slip their way inside to hide in the bushes and trees, but Link knows the way to the clearing where he needs to go.

The forest only needs to let him.

His boots cut through soft grass, an occasional crunch belaying a leaf. The song of the woods is on the wind, and Link follows its winding tune, the pipes of water, strings and drums of leaves and branches. Quiet giggles make his ears twitch, but Link knows to ignore them.

He plays the game of the Woods, walking its paths, watching poes with a careful eye to see where they lead. The song dances by, high and low, loud and soft, and the flute that sometimes joins it makes his heart ache.

Time stretches strangely under the canopy of trees and fog— Link feels like he’s been here for hours now, but the glimpses of sunshine that peek through the branches are no different from how it was when he arrived. Link passes through another clearing, doubt beginning to nip at his heels. They’re not called the Lost Woods for no reason after all, and he’s starting to wonder if he hasn’t passed their test this time.

Is it because of what I’ve done since last I’ve been here?

But then something in the air, in him, clicks, eases, Link doesn’t know the word. But it’s like a fog lifts from his vision, and the path he needs to take is suddenly obvious. Link follows the pull past flowers and stones, over a barely-there path. It guides him through the yawning mouth of a log, and birds softly chirp as he emerges into a familiar clearing.

Fog drifts past his boots as he looks around, and a single shaft of sunlight breaks past the trees, drawing his vision to sparkling blue.

Link exhales, and steps forward, squirrels and other small creatures darting away into the bushes. He steps up onto the small stone platform, and doesn’t move for a long moment, looking at where the Master Sword sits with wisps of fog and sunlight dancing around her. Waiting for him.

“Hey old girl,” Link says softly, and for some reason his throat aches as he rests a hand on her hilt. “Been a while.”

The metal under his skin is both hot and cold, warmed by the sun’s light, and cooled by the stone it rests in. Despite years exposed to the elements, the Master Sword isn’t covered in greenery like it was the first time Link found her. Nor is her shine diminished in the slightest. Her blade is dimmed only because she rests, her power waiting for the next hero who needs her.

Who just happens to be Link again.

A shaking sigh escapes him, and Link puts both of his hands around her hilt, the electrifying hot-and-cold sharp-and-soft thrill of her power zipping through him as he pulls.

The Master Sword slips loose just like it did when he pulled her the first time, and Link raises her to the sky, the fog parting and fading away. The sunlight brightens somehow, making her sparkle and glow, and Link’s throat tightens again.

He hadn’t realized until now how badly he’d missed her.

Link lowers the blade again, running a hand over her cool steel as he studies her, looking over her finer points to familiarize himself with the weapon once again. Something is different, he realizes after a minute or two. And when it finally dawns on him what it is, he holds the Master Sword tighter, almost hugging her.

“I’ve grown,” he says quietly.

The blade fits his size now.

Instead of the still-pudgy hands of a child grasping at her hilt, there’s the worn hands of an adventurer ghosting along the metal, scars catching in her grooves. There’s blood staining his hands now that wasn’t there before, yet she still allowed him to pull her.

“You fit better, now,” he continues, voice shaking a little. “Hopefully this’ll... make things easier.”

His breath hitches, and Link swallows it back, clasping the sacred blade in his arms like one would an old friend.

He squeezes his eyes closed.

“I guess I thought I wouldn’t be doing this again,” Link whispers, ghosting his fingers along the gem in her hilt. “Not... not after the last one.”

Not after what I did.

The metal seems to warm just a hair, like the sunshine got pulled into it, and Link rests his head against the Master Sword, allowing a single drop of saltwater to trail down his cheek.

“Thanks,” he croaks, and the softest, faintest of chimes echoes in his heart.

It’s enough to pull him from the grief that was threatening to swallow him up again, and Link sets aside the weight of an island, and focuses instead on the weight of the sword, and his kingdom.

He’s needed. He can’t get lost in grief.

Link breathes out, running his hand along the steel one more time, and then he gently sheathes her, stepping down from the platform.

“Here we go again old girl,” he says as he steps outside of the clearing, weary with grief, but determined to stop the evil returning yet again.

He closes his eyes.

“One more time.”

A single pure note chimes in his chest, and Link feels something other than grief wrap itself around him, urging him forward to take another step, to press on despite the weight.

It feels a little bit like hope.

#had sudden intense feelings about Legend and the Master Sword #and if he was dumped into albw events very shortly after koholint (a mean headcanon I have) #cranked this out in under two hours last night when I couldn’t sleep #bon appetit #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #linked universe legend #linked universe fic #lu fic #a link between worlds #but specifically pre lu #writing from the floor #if this feels like a vent fic no it doesn’t shhhh

[money-and-dandellions]

Apollo has seizures every time a prophecy is spoken so it is painful

and when the Oracles are established, they do not go away, just become less painful

#leto and artemis would freak out so much the first few times because they simply don't know what is happening #like imagine a small apollo who is barely healed after python having seizures (because the oracle got claimed by him) and he also doesn't #doesn't understand what is happening and his eyes just start to glow and smoke and stuff and there is some sort of a prophecy #a small one like 'its goibg to rain tomorrow a lot so be mindful' (because i refuse to make him say something huge for the 1st time he is #is just a baby and his family is also stressed there is no way i am making him say something big #and he passes out (as expected) and then wakes up to artemis (shhhh no one saw a thing #a thing that didn't happen nuh uh) sleeping near him with theor legs tangled #and leto is also near #and then it happoa few more times so they learn to recognise the symptoms #leto #apollo #artemis #headcanon

[machines-art-shenanigans]

NEW DRAWING OMG I'M STILL ALIVE

shhh he's eeping

#shhhh don't make a sound #Edwin doesn't actually need to sleep but he does it anyway #He deserves a break every once in a while #the stanley parable #tsp #tspud #tsp narrator #tsp fanart #narrator tsp #art #fanart #Machi's art #drawing #sketch

[no-light-left-on]

they're watching Halloween

#dh #dishonored #the outsider #corvo attano #emily kaldwin #corvosider #its implied shhhh #modern au #ert #sketchbook #art #artists on tumblr #the outsider is having a horrible time he wont be able to sleep

[r0ttengrapes]

snork mimimi

#asobaro #baroaso #shhhh they're sleeping #kazuma is the big spoon which is complicated for them bc he is 30cm smaller lol #vindraws

[rainymoodlet]

many hours later… 🦇

#ts4 #ts4 challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #ts4 legacy #ts4 story #ts4 screenshots #ts4 storytelling #;tjol3 #sim: rowan #|| #look at what alsace laid out for him awww 🥹 #babye is sleeping… shhhh #this room was very much inspired by howl’s bedroom hehehe #looks like al took him home 👀 got him some new digs #but he’s been passed out since hmmmm

[tswwwit]

Dipper has a nightmare about marrying Pacifica and wakes up in a sweat for Bill to console him. shirtless with big titty out :3

Dipper has had The Worst Dream, and now the only thing that can console him is being mashed into Bill's Naked Tiddy. 😔

#answers #this is a shitpost #Either Dipper is consoled by the shirtless husband #Or he immediately goes full J'accuse! on the bastard #Who does Bill think he's kidding pulling that one; Dipper knows this was all a setup >:( #Yes technically Dipper can't sleep in familiar AU but shhhh #Let the shitpost flow through you

[grahamdollton]

#shhhh he is sleeping . . . . #i admire how he's posed like a vampire in repose in a coffin that has been turned on its side in the first shot #and i feel very normal about how his belly looks #my boston legal watch is going well #alan shore #boston legal #zzzzzzzzzzzzzz #james spader

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

my brain likes to bounce between aus and lately the lottery is landing back on lights out. im having many thoughts and uhhhh am i changing some things Again? yeah

#well. perhaps not change so much as Add #and those additions tweak certain things methinks #im more confident in this au now that i Know its pretty canon divergent i think #i can get a little more funky with it #before i wasnt sure how aligned it was so i was hesitant to actually do anything with it #but now! now! i know #i can craft the main body of the 'plot' instead of defaulting to the aftermath #im changing around what happens when and If it happens at all #frank still bites it tho. he needs to. shhhh go to sleep frankie its ok you'll be fine #more confident in what to do with wally and where events go and just yeah everything in general #absolutely unprompted #might actually be able to whip up a concrete outline for that possible fic! #im also changing the aftermath so fucking much and im having Fun with it #new troubles for everyone! more distress in new ways for them! #and transformative experiences for certain others!

[fruchox]

Hello yes universe? Why did you make David Tennant so hot? Like, he’s super handsome at every age and in every outfit and every hairstyle and I need that to stop before my standards get so high only the TARDIS can reach them. Oh, you don’t know why? Your boss just said he’s staying attractive forever? I mean I’m not complaining Ok thanks anyway, bye bestie *goes back to sobbing uncontrollably because of fictional/unattainable men*

#david tennant #the universe hates me #and he is my favourite person #and he is a brilliant actor and a wonderful person #crowleys hair is the best and i wish it was mine #his hair in general like gimme it Richard ii #I am meant to be sleeping shhhh #crowley #doctor who #tenth doctor #random

[yuyu-bubu]

kirbytober day 21: fluffy 🐏

#wanted to try something new... #kirby #prince fluff #shhhh they're sleeping... #kirfluff #wargh...the blorbos... #tried to make fluff actually fluffy here! #its barely noticeable tho but i really want to start doing that more #im in love with the headcanon that he looks like a stuffed toy outside of the yarn dimension #art tag #art lawl #kirbytober

[kilonovaaaa]

And then there's this. My self insert x the Once-ler~.

#the lorax #onceler #once-ler #kilonovaaaa #digital art #self insert #original character #fan art #shhhh he sleep #shipping #oc

[shadowiie]

a mimir

#shadow the hedgehog #hes sleeping in the tube!!! shhhh do not wake him up

[whumpacabra]

New Tricks

Angst, crying, exhaustion, fever, touch starvation, scars, local anesthetic, stitches, painful wound treatment, pain medication, needle mention, fear of electrocution, anticipated violence, referenced character death, past torture, implied past noncon

[Directly follows Bad Dog]

The Wolf waited. He drank every second of gentle touch he could get and he waited for the price to be exacted on his already rent flesh.

It never came.

He cried himself to exhaustion, nauseous with the knowledge he was too tired, that it would kill him to take any more punishment. (He didn’t want to die.) But the hands that pulled his tear stained face from the agent’s tear soaked shirt were gentle, holding his jaw like it was a fragile thing. And the eyes looking down at him - alien with their pity - had no sharp edges trying to cut into his own pain glazed eyes.

“I - I have a medkit. Would you - do you need help, stitching up your back?”

The Wolf stared up at him, too tired to process the words beyond ‘help.’ He didn’t get help - he got treatment. He recovered enough to be broken again. But there was a finality to the way this man said that word, like it meant something more than a temporary state of being.

“Okay. I’m - I’m just going to get my medkit, alright? Alright.” Jackson was talking more to himself, and the Wolf was fine with that. The words were starting to blur together, the sound of a particular voice that didn’t come with hurt or insults or harsh hands. Jackson’s gentle hands propped the Wolf against the edge of the tub, an arm draped over the side and his head resting against the cool false porcelain plastic. He was so fucking cold. He just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep.

(He wanted to crack open Jackson’s rib cage and slot himself between his lungs.)

He was shivering intermittently when Jackson returned (had he been gone long?) but the Wolf was just happy to have that warm presence hovering near him again. The agent sat beside him, the space between the sink and tub a cramped and uncomfortable place to fit two grown men, but the Wolf didn’t mind.

(How odd, that just hours before he would dread having another warm blooded body close to his, and now - now, with this one, he wanted to cling to that warmth like a leech.)

The click and snap of a syringe being prepped had the Wolf open his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson, who offered a nervous smile.

“It’s a local anesthetic - is that alright?” The Wolf blinked at him, and then looked away. He didn’t know how to answer questions about his comfort, his wants. (He just wanted to sleep.) The kiss of the needle was expected, but the bloom of cool numbness it bestowed where it pricked his back was a welcome surprise.

“I’m - I need to clean these. Even with the anesthetic it might hurt.” The Wolf could feel those alien eyes watching the back of his head, so he nodded. “Sorry.” Jackson had nothing to apologize for.

The sting of antiseptic was absent, but the pressure and prickle of exposed flesh being prodded and debris teased away was a familiar sensation. His handler had cut into him on the first night, reckless with rage. The Wolf tried not to dwell on the memory, but a tremor shivered up his spine as Jackson worked, gentle hands pausing.

“Are you alright?” Another nod. Another soft ‘sorry’ that felt unwarranted. It was the Wolf’s fault for being weak. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jackson’s stitches, oddly difficult to anticipate with his pain numbed flesh.

Three days of those deep cuts left exposed, open to the air and sweat and worse. They would scar, badly, like the cuts that ran from his right hip to his spine, skin ridged and thick with scar tissue. His handler wanted them to scar badly. He wanted the Wolf to remember - to remember that he -

A sob caught in his throat, the shock collar still heavy around his neck. It wasn’t set to voice activation - he didn’t think it was - but it had shocked him earlier. Had his handler done that? Had his handler survived and was watching and would kill Jackson or have him kill Jackson and - ?

“Easy love, I’m almost done. You’re doing so well.” A voice so soft and so different from the barking orders and snarled insults he was acclimated to. The Wolf blinked away fresh tears, struggling to find his voice, a hoarse whisper rising from his ragged throat.

“Is he dead?” Three little words; a question he couldn’t stand to know the answer to. A question he needed to know the answer to if he ever wanted to sleep again. Jackson’s hands, cold - so cold against the Wolf’s burning, numbed skin - stilled, a steady palm pressed to a small expanse of uncut flesh. But not too hard, mindful of his bruises.

“Yes. Agent Smith is gone. He’s dead.” The Wolf could hear a question in those words, but he was too relieved to consider it. Jackson - anyone - could kill him, let him die badly, alone, and bloody, and he would die happy. He outlived his handler. A victory he didn’t know he needed.

Jackson resumed his steady handed stitches, and the Wolf let his head drop, thoughts running watery and disconnected. The hum of the light above. The creak of the window pane holding back the wind. The footsteps in the room above - light, belonging to a child, a bed creaking and muffled voices soft with sleepy affection.

“You’re warm.” He sure as hell didn’t feel warm. The Wolf looked over his shoulder at Jackson, instinctively flinching as a hand came toward his face, but he relaxed into the icy touch pressed to his forehead. He almost missed it when it left. “Here, are you allergic to Advil?”

The Wolf looked down at the red pill and the almost comically small paper cup with a swallow’s worth of water. His stomach ached, hunger and nausea fighting for recognition even as he downed the medication and splash of liquid. He had taken harsher drugs with less in his stomach. (Not that what was roiling in his gut was pleasant or nutritious.)

With a shudder he rested against the tub once again, Jackson’s hands and sterilizing wipes traveling away from the oldest, deepest cuts. The antiseptic stung, a familiar pain that burned like acid over his wounds. But Jackson didn’t linger, didn’t press the antiseptic deeper into his flesh. He stitched the deepest wounds, bandaged the rest, and worried over surface level burns as though the Wolf could still feel them after the years of his handler’s habit leaving its mark.

By the time Jackson was putting away his medkit, the first grey glow of dawn was seeping through the rain dappled window. The Wolf hadn’t moved in hours, sitting still and as comfortable as he could be while Jackson worked. He was so tired. And when he limped out of the bathroom after Jackson, there was a wonderful nest of blankets and pillows waiting on the soft carpeted floor.

“You take the bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor - besides, your back could…” Jackson trailed off as the Wolf wandered to the crude bed on the floor, dropping harshly to his knees and collapsing into the softness.

In his daze of exhaustion, he barely registered the anxious horror of knowing Jackson wanted him on the bed. That was a problem for a well rested Wolf. That was something he could handle tomorrow, that he could survive tomorrow, that he could stomach tomorrow.

Right now, there was a soft surface below him, a heater humming to his right, and a painlessness to his injuries that should have frightened him.

But he was too tired, so he slept.

[Directly before In for a Penny]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode

#whump #angst #crying #exhaustion #fever #touch starvation #local anesthetic #stitches #painful wound treatment #pain medication #needle mention #shock collar #past torture #implied past noncon #anticipated violence #referenced character death #freelancers #shhhh he eepy <- my sleep schedule is so fucked. why do town council meetings run until 1 AM. #(it is kinda my/our fault for pestering them abt [redacted] buttttt whateves.)