#whumptober day nineteen

[th3sp4rr0w]

Day Nineteen

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Nineteen Taken For Granted/Left Behind/”Why Wasn’t I Enough?”

Alt. Prompt For Day Nineteen Hypnosis 

Prompts Used for Day Nineteen "Why Wasn't I Enough?"

Tw's; Vomit, Guns, Injury Mention

Chapter Nineteen under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summertime was always fun. Getting ice cream, hanging out with friends, having no responsibilities for three months; it was a break from the monotonous routine of going to school, dealing with people that hated him for seven straight hours, coming home to do work and doing it all over again.

The best part about summer was having time to spend with his mom. Going to different places just to stargaze, getting to see different parts of the world while hunting for ghosts? Even if his parents could be annoying sometimes, it was fine. All he really had to do was get past Jazz and everything would be alright.

Like right now! After the Fenton-Portal didn’t work, they were preparing for a trip out of state to go to different conventions and see if they can figure out what was going on with it so they could fix it. They might even be back in time for his birthday.

He heard his phone ring from the stand. He turned and answered it; it was glitching slightly, he’d have to have Tucker look at it if it didn’t fix itself.

“Hey, Danny speaking. Talk to me,” he greeted.

There was horrible, wet coughing on the other end of the line. “Danny,” Tucker said and sniffed, “We hanging out today?”

He winced. “Dude, even if I weren’t packing for a trip right now, I wouldn’t hang with you. You sound awful, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just so cold right now.”

His voice sounded off, but not sick-off. He wondered if he did something to his throat; his voice sounded a lot deeper. The words caught up to him and he frowned. “Dude, what are you talking about? I’m melting over here,” he replied as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

Tucker groaned. “No, I’m like, so cold right now dude,” he said. Danny laughed a bit.

“You’re sick, man. Go get some sleep, I’ll call Sam and let her know. I’m sure she’ll bring you something.”

“Ugh, veggie crap,” he sniffed. “I want Nasty Burger.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Tucker,” he said into the receiver and hung up.

He went to put his phone in his pocket when he saw something in the reflection. Giving a little “huh?”, he went to check again. There was a soft knock on the door.

He turned around. “Yeah?”

Jazz walked in with some pancakes. “I figured you’d want something before we have to live off protein bars and stuff that really shouldn’t count as fruit,” she joked.

Her voice was slightly off, too. It was almost like she had an... echo?

“Thanks, Jazz,” he said, grabbing the plate from her. He swore he could still hear someone talking. “Are mom and dad down stairs?”

“Yeah, they’re finishing putting up the last of the defenses against ghosts. You know how they are.”

He nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, they’re a bit... eccentric,” he said.

She snorted. “Did you hear that they determined that ghosts don’t have digestive systems because any food they give them disappears?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s dumb, maybe they just process it a different way? Also, since when are you interested in this crap?”

She frowned. “I...”

“Jazzerincess! Danno! It’s time to go, are you kids done packing-” Jack called from downstairs, devolving into a coughing fit. They heard Maddie offer him a tissue.

Something about it made his insides go cold for just a few moments before he shook it off. The oppressive heat immediately took its place again. Today was shaping up to be weirder than usual. “Almost done dad!” he shouted back.

He looked at Jazz, stuffing his phone in his pocket so he could grab a still-warm pancake. “Thanks, Jazz,” he said. “I’ve gotta finish up packing before dad chokes on his own saliva again and we never get out of here.”

She giggled and left.

Assuming the voices he could hardly hear were his parents', he finished packing. Occasionally, he thought he could see something out of the corner of his eye. He assumed it was nothing. He ate bits of pancake as he went.

He carried his bags downstairs. He‘d sensibly packed a backpack of the essentials and a smaller backpack of consoles, chargers, and books to keep himself occupied in the car and whatever hotels or campsites they stopped at. He had headphones with him. He thought of everything.

He cursed. He’d almost forgotten to grab his toothbrush.

He set the bags on the couch and ran back upstairs, waving to Jazz as he went. There was a weird show on TV showing a boy eating soup in some sort of room with a hospital bed. There was another boy next to him laying down.

He slid into the bathroom, almost crashing into the bathtub as he did. He wrenched open the cabinet before he could think about it too hard, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste to go back down the stairs so they could leave.

He shook his head. He thought he saw something weird.

He grabbed his small bag, putting the toothbrush and toothpaste in the side pocket and started to head for the car. The sun beat down on them from above, causing more beads of sweat to drip down his face uncomfortably and make him regret his choice of not going to go stay with Tucker while they did this. Tucker and Sam both had air conditioning.

He thought of the thick cough his friend had this morning. On second thought, he was glad he didn’t stay with him; he didn’t want whatever disease Tucker had contracted.

They piled into the car and started driving down the road. He picked up the copy of Pride and Prejudice Jazz lent him for the trip and started reading.

“Danny, sweetie, why don’t you put some sunscreen on?”

He frowned. “Not right now, mom,” he said.

She huffed. “Why don’t you at least have some soup?”

He frowned. “Soup?”

She tried to shove a thermos in his face. “Come on, sweetie, for me?”

He curled up on himself. “Mom, I don’t want to get souped again,” he said. “Remember the last time I ate soup in the car?”

“Danny, just take the soup so she’ll leave you alone,” Jazz said, grabbing the thermos and shoving it in his hands.

He took a drink. It tasted like piss; he gagged slightly. He noticed his mom and Jazz staring at him expectantly. 

“It’s hot,” he said. It was; it burned as he drank.

“Good. Drink it,” his mom said.

He rolled his eyes. He drank as much of the soup as he could, just so she’s stop.

The lingering taste twisted his stomach. As the car moved forward it got worse.

He tried to focus on the book. He hummed under his breath. They’d probably get mad at him if another soup incident began.

He watched as Jazz downed some soup of her own. He didn’t know how she could stand it; the heat was building up in the GAV. He knew better than to ask to turn on the air conditioning; his parents were strict about where and when they turned it on. It was one of the few things that was non-negotiable.

He was beginning to think he was right to put the tank-top on but was sorely regretting wearing sweatpants.

His gut twisted. He jerked in his seat. “Pull over."

“What-”

“Pull over!”

His dad pulled over as he allowed Jazz to take the book. He pulled off his seat belt, opening his door and leaning out.

He could feel Jazz rubbing his back and whispering something to him. It was weird; her voice almost sounded like Tucker’s had earlier.

His mom forced some water into his mouth. He obediently swallowed.

They sat there for a moment, Danny collapsing into the seat. He thought he could vaguely hear a Tick, Tick, Tick, somewhere in the car. Another roll of nausea waved through him.

His gut cramped painfully as he retched, Jazz once again rubbing his back. He thought he could feel someone’s hand in his hair, but he couldn’t decipher who’s.

His mom handed him a tissue to wipe his mouth with when he was done.

They got back on the road, Jazz helping to prop him up using some of the pillows she’d brought. She leaned him over to rest his head on her shoulder.

He almost let the lull of the road put him to sleep. He closed his eyes and let the motion soothe him; he warned them not to give him soup on the road. This was exactly what happened last time he was given soup in the car.

He rubbed his eyes, cleaning out the crusty bits trying to glue them together. Jazz absently kept petting his head. He stared at his dad’s seat.

The driving was too smooth. It was almost like his dad actually knew how to drive; it was nice, and not that he wanted to question it, but it worried him. Jack had never been able to drive this well.

It was like he’d been replaced. He looked around.

He thought he saw something white at the edge of his vision. What was-

They pulled into a truck stop as he started questioning himself. He shook his head; he always got way too car sick on these long trips, especially when he was hot. The soup hadn’t helped. The taste in the back of his throat didn’t help the nausea that still lingered in his stomach.

“What happened to him?” He heard someone ask as they got out of the car.

“He got carsick,” Maddie replied, looking at the person with a protective glare.

Their face scrunched up. “How’d you deal with that in the car?”

“We pulled over,” she stated flatly.

They scoffed. “Figures. Parents these days are much too soft on their misbehaving children.”

“You listen here-”

“Mads! You and Danno comin’?” Jack called. When they turned back, the person was gone.

They shook it off, Maddie helping Danny into the truck stop. When they got inside, she encouraged him to go to his dad.

He almost tripped, Jack catching him and smiling down. “You okay, champ?” he asked.

Danny nodded. He opened his mouth and frowned. He could swear he heard something.

“... Ghosts parading around as teenagers. Don’t be fooled-"

He looked around. “What was-”

Jack started tugging him to the bathroom. “Come on, Danno, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He followed his father on unsteady feet. The more he looked around, the weirder it was getting. Most of the people around them were wearing white; White hoodies and sweats, white blouses with white jeans, white dresses. It was starting to freak him out.

They went into the bathroom. He went into a stall, trying to calm down. What was going on? What was happening here?

He took several deep breaths, trying to gather his thoughts. Sweat dripped down his neck, soaking his tank. He felt wet in places that he didn’t know he could sweat; it felt like he’s had an accident on his way here.

He really wished he’d had the forethought to wear shorts. He wasn’t even sure where they were going, but wherever it was, it was just getting warmer.

He heard someone knock on the stall door. He figured that was as good of a sign as anything that he’d been in here too long and to get out.

He opened the door and got out, going towards a sink. He turned on the cold water and thought about it for a second as it ran.

He stuck his hand under the cold stream. He was going to splash his face, but couldn’t quite get the motions down. Desperate for any sort of relief from the heat, he stuck his head under the faucet.

“Danny?” He heard his dad ask. “You okay there, buddy?”

He didn’t respond. The cold was a blessing on his flushed skin. He already felt like his head was clearing.

Tick, Tick, Tick

Someone had an annoyingly loud watch. He decided he didn’t want to know who, staying under the stream for what was probably longer than necessary.

He went up for air for just a moment before going back to the stream. He wanted to stick his whole body in the sink but didn’t think that would be a very pleasant thing to do to the rest of the people in the small space.

He felt his dad’s hand on his shoulder. “Okay, champ, that’s enough,” he said. He held the whine that tried to escape his chest back by the skin of his teeth; it was like finally getting a glass of water after years without it, and somebody coming along and saying you’d had too much. He almost wrenched himself from his father’s grasp to go back underneath the cool stream.

Jack helped him dry off with paper towels. He felt more balanced as they walked back to the car, even as he mourned the cold stream of the sink.

The walk felt longer than it had when they were going to the bathroom. He figured he’d been more out of it before, and now he could appreciate it.

… Assuming you could appreciate a sea of white like this. He didn’t know what was up with that. Oh well; it’s not like his own tank top wasn’t white. It was a hot day, after all. That must be it.

As they walked, he got the distinct feeling of something just being... wrong.

Tick, Tick, Tick

He turned. Nothing. He took a deep breath. He was fine; it was just hot. The heat was getting to him, consuming him whole. That’s all. A cold drink and getting his parents to turn on the AC would fix everything.

His mom and Jazz were already waiting by the car, holding drinks when they got there. His dad opened his door for him, making sure he was in the car completely before closing with a distinct slam. It almost sounded like someone closing the lab door a bit too hard. Everybody got settled before putting on seatbelts and starting the GAV.

He looked around at Maddie and Jazz, waiting patiently for them to begin to pass out drinks. He hoped they got him ice-cold water.

He could see it in his mom’s hand. He waited patiently, not willing to risk his chance of getting them to put on the ac. He could feel sweat still dripping down his back as he waited.

He picked up the book, feeling good enough to go back to reading. He was getting to the good part where Elizabeth finally talked to Mr. Darcy about George Wickham. He was never one to reread a book to hunt for the finer details, but something about this book-

Hang on... when did he first read Pride and Prejudice ? He tried to think back, combing over his education. He normally wasn’t one to read for fun. He opened his mouth to ask Jazz when she read it in school, only for his mom to make a noise.

“Oh! I’m sorry, guys, I forgot to pass out drinks,” she said, turning around and handing Danny and Jazz their waters.

He tore into his easily, making sure not to lose his place in the book. Jazz grabbed it from his lap. He thanked her before tilting his head back, drinking the cold water greedily. It soothed something in his chest, cooling him down and making him feel more human.

When he was done, he asked if they could turn on the ac. His mom twisted to look at him, Jazz giving him the same look.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She asked, pressing her hand to his forehead. She frowned. “You’re really warm. Baby, it’s not that hot in here.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked. “It’s boiling; I feel like I’m melting,” he complained.

Jazz grabbed his shoulder. “Danny, it’s really not that hot in here. Do you need us to stop the car? You drank your water pretty fast-”

“No, I’m not nauseous,” he said instead. “I’m fine. It’s just hot, can we turn on the ac?”

His dad looked at him through the rear-view mirror, “We’ll stop to get you something else cold to drink soon, champ. This ac isn’t going on; you might be hot, but the rest of us are fine,” he said, not unkindly.

He didn’t protest any more. He knew better than that; if he pushed, it’d just get his dad mad and, although the man wouldn’t mean to, his driving would become more erratic than it normally was and he’d nearly crash the car again. Considering they were in the GAV, a lot more damage could be done, and he really didn’t want to know how that would play out.

His nose ran a bit. He wiped it, taking a tissue from his mom and putting it in the bag she’d brought for their trash. He cracked his wrists, which had become stiff for... whatever reason. Especially his left. He moved his fingers; they felt stiff and borderline unusable. Cracking the knuckles didn’t help.

He took the book back from Jazz. Where was he again?

Ah, yes, the absolute drama fest Elizabeth had created for herself by not taking warnings as they came.

He smiled a bit. At least she wasn’t Jane; oh, that girl would drive him crazy. He wondered what her father would do in real life to that man. He knew his dad would NOT have stood for that sort of behavior from any suitor of Jazz’s.

He shook his head. Maybe he was getting too into this. Ah, well. What else was he going to do? His wrist felt too stiff for videogames right now.

Tick, Tick, Tick

The car slowed down. He hadn’t realized just how much time had passed; they were in some sort of desert. “Okay, everybody out,” Jack said.

They began getting out of the GAV. His mom grabbed the tents, beginning to set them up. He watched her; she was completely dry as he sweat through his clothes. He felt absolutely soaked.

He thought about putting one of Jazz’s blankets up on the open doors to create a privacy barrier to change behind, but he decided against it. He’d just sweat through those too.

He spotted a door.

Tick, Tick, Tick

He went towards it. He didn’t hear anyone call him back as he went to the door in the middle of nowhere. He wondered what it was doing out there.

He opened it easily. He looked back. He normally didn’t act on these sorts of impulses, but something was wrong. He could feel it. He needed to do this.

He walked through the door, coming to a winding path of halls. He began to walk. Occasionally, he’d see little glowing markers. He went down those hallways; he had a feeling they were important. He couldn’t explain it; it was like something was leading him to something big.

He looked around at the emerald-colored floors. The trim was intricate; it looked like someone had hand-carved it, taking hours of work just to hang here. He had the feeling it would’ve been an honor to have completed a project like that. The tapestries that hung on the walls had the same vibe; it was like they were made specifically for these granite walls.

He had the distinct feeling he’d been here before but couldn’t place when. It was like thinking back to a dream you’d had years before. He looked around.

Occasionally he’d see beautiful statues made from expensive-looking material. He had no idea where he was, but it felt like he’d seen them before. He frowned, trying to think. His breathing was harsh, even though he hadn’t done much actual exercise. He tried to wrack his brain.

He heard voices. He checked the glowing markers; they went straight to the voices. He understood the language, though he didn’t think he’d ever heard it before.

“Mother, why must I learn about this?”

“Because you will need to know soon, darling,” a woman answered.

He peaked his head around the threshold. He saw a woman and a child sitting on an expensive-looking bed with silky sheets.

“Mother, I promise I am ready-”

“Darling, I know you are ready for combat. I want your life to have more than that.”

Danny stepped further into view. Both of their heads snapped towards him. The woman furrowed her brow as the child grabbed a knife from under the pillow.

“INTRUDER!” He shouted, starting to lunge at him.

“Darling, stop,” the woman murmured.

She walked up to him. She was beautiful. She was vaguely familiar; why was everything so familiar-

“Habibi,” she said. Darling, his mind supplied. “What are you doing in this place? How did you get here?”

He opened his mouth to tell her of his parents and their road trip. He couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he stammered out, “I- I’m not sure.”

She placed a hand on his cheek. “You are very flushed,” she said. She turned over her shoulder.

“Darling, go get a servant. Ask them, nicely, to bring me some cold water.”

He nodded seriously. “Yes, mother.”

He started running as fast as his small feet would carry him.

The woman turned back to him. “Jason, your father is incredibly worried for you. Where did you come from?”

He was more confused than he was before. “My name is Danny,” he said.

The woman looked more concerned. “Habibi, what do you speak of?”

The feeling that had been building made his stomach roll. “I think we’re in trouble,” he muttered, almost collapsing.

She caught him easily. “Who is ‘we’, habibi?”

He licked his lips. “Me and Jason.”

She sat him down. “Explain.”

He tried to think. “I-I think, we’re being held... captive?”

She nodded. “I heard the same rumor. Where are you?”

He closed his eyes. He tried to think. “It hurts,” he whimpered. He felt her cup his cheek, stroking his hair.

“I know. Describe where you are, habibi, so we can help you and Jason.”

“... White. White room.”

“Good, good, what about the people?”

His breath hitched. “White suit.”

He opened his eyes. His gaze caught a mirror. If he turned his head right...

“She’s giving him soup.”

The woman looked at him. “What?”

“The- the lady. She’s giving him soup,” he repeated.

He vaguely registered her looking to follow his gaze. “You see him? In the mirror?”

“Yes,” he said. “She had two bowls... I don’t know why- I think she’s getting me something cold.”

“Can you hear them?”

He shook his head slightly. “I think I could before. I couldn’t hear them this time.”

She hummed. “Why did they take you?”

He made a pained noise. “I... I can’t remember. Everything’s wrong. I can’t think-”

“Shh,” she soothed. “It’s alright, habibi. Just relax,” she rubbed his shoulder. “Try to think. What happened when they took you?”

He tried to think. It was like trying to remember a past life.

“They don’t like us.”

He heard her hum again. “You’re doing well,” she said. She rubbed his cheek. “Habibi, why don’t they like you and Jason?”

He felt something painful in his wrist. “They don’t think we’re human.”

She blinked. “What does that mean, habibi?”

He tried to remember. Why didn’t they think he was human again? He felt pretty human right now.

“I...” he trailed off. “She’s back.”

The small child the woman had sent out earlier came back, a cup of cold water in his hand. “Mother, I could not find a servant, so I did the task myself.”

She gently took the water from him. “Thank you, darling. Can you leave us for a few moments?”

He looked like he wanted to pout. “Yes, mother,” he said instead, leaving the room once more.

She held the glass to Danny’s lips at the same time the boy, Jason, held a spoon to his. The cold was soothing, filling his body with relief. The water only soothed for a few seconds.

The woman holding him in her arms tried to ask a question, but he couldn’t hear her. He realized it was the cold broth that soothed his insides. He shook with effort, trying to get his body to hold the spoon.

He got it. He began to watch himself spoon it into his mouth and swallow. With each mouth full, he felt better. He looked at the woman.

“She came back. She gave me cold broth,” he whispered. His face scrunched in concentration. “I don’t think she’s nice. She’s better than the rest, but she feels... weird.”

The woman smoothed over his hair. “Habibi, I know it’s hard, but can you remember anything else?”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember why they wanted him, or why his body felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t identify the feeling in his chest.

“I don’t,” he said, “I’m sorry. I-”

He got an idea. He grabbed her wrist. “My name is Daniel James Fenton,” he said. “Please. Please, look into them. Jack and Maddie, my parents. I- I think-”

He thought of the portal that didn’t work. Was it always like that? Hadn’t it been active? He couldn’t remember very much.

“You think what, habibi?” she asked, not unkindly.

“I think they have something to do with this.”

His eyes stared at nothing. Memories slammed into him, one after another. His eyes welled up.

“I wasn’t good enough for them,” he said. Tears began streaming down his face.

“For whom, habibi?”

“For them,” he emphasized. “They don’t love me anymore. They think I killed him,” he cried.

“Killed who?” She asked franticly.

“Danny,” he said. “They think I killed Danny-”

Memories flooded him. They came too fast for him to explain.

“I hurt him,” he cried. “I hurt Dash, they yelled, they found out-”

“Found what out, habibi? You need to slow down; I do not understand.”

He couldn’t. Slow down, that is. The memory of the worst day of his life snatched his breath. He screamed.

His body began glowing in a familiar pattern, going from the center of his palm to just above his heart on his chest. It tore into him, consumed everything; any rational thought he’d had before.

Tick, Tick, Tick

The woman tried to help him; he could vaguely hear her yelling something above his head.

He knew it was too late. Something inside of him told him so.

When the pain subsided just a bit, he looked at her. “It’s the GIW!” he yelled.

She snapped her head at him. “What?!”

“It’s the-”

He disappeared from her grasp. He tried to hang onto her clothing as he was snatched from her grasp; it did not work.

He was slammed back into his body besides Jason, his arm aching from the center of his-

That’s right. He looked at his half-formed hand, shaking. The pain wrapped around his wrist like a cuff, feeling like it was cutting off the circulation. He half expected to look down and find it purple.

He nearly fell off the bed. Jason caught him, trying to calm him down. “Dude,” he said, “Phantom! Phantom, what’s-”

Tears flowed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said pathetically.

The other boy laughed slightly. “For what?”

“I couldn’t- I tried-”

Jason took him in his arms, rubbing his back. “Hey, breathe,” he said softly, “You’re not making much sense. You need to calm down, Phantom,” he said.

His body convulsed. He sobbed into the other boy’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t good enough,” he cried. “I’m sorry, I tried- I tried to tell her,”

“Shhh,” he replied, rocking him softly. “You need to calm down,” he said.

Danny looked up at him pathetically, another round of violent sobs overtaking him.

Jason, the saint he was, rolled with it. He soothed him as best as he could, rubbing down his back and shoulders. Eventually, he calmed down enough to have some semblance of having his life together. The tears stopped. He opened his mouth to tell him what he’d just seen.

The jingle of keys caught their attention. They looked towards the door, seeing an agent they’d interacted with before.

“Come on, maggots,” he said severely. “I’ve been told to take you to the bathroom.”

They followed him. Jason took his good hand in his. They followed the agent to the bathroom, trailing slightly behind as much as they could. Jason rubbed circles into his flesh as they walked.

When they got there, he went for the sink. He turned on the cold water, splashing it over himself. Once he felt like he cooled down as much as he could, he went to the stall to use the bathroom.

He had no idea if that was a real thing he’d seen or if he was just hallucinating. He thought it might not matter; whatever just happened, it’s not like he’d actually given the woman anything useful. Even if he had, what would she have done?

It was probably just his subconscious trying to soothe itself. His parents loving him, taking care of him like they used to; it was probably just a fever-induced dream. He shouldn’t read too much into it.

False hope was going to hurt more if he allowed it to. He knew there was nobody coming; his friends could easily track his ecto-signature, and he still hadn’t heard anything from Ellie. They probably cut their losses.  

That was fine. He’d been the placeholder all his life; he should’ve known that, eventually, Sam and Tucker would also move on. He’d always been someone that filled the space until someone better came along. It was his fault if he was hurt that they’d finally gone and done that very thing.

Jason looked at him, concerned. He washed his hands and bent down, drinking straight from the tap. He allowed the cold to run through his veins and cool him down; his head felt clear. He felt like he could think. He’d probably still tell Jason about it; it was just a dream he’d had when he wasn’t in his right mind.

Jason handed him a bottle. He smiled at him and filled it with cold water. He could see Jason filling his with warm. He vaguely remembered that Jason was sensitive to the cold.

He wondered why they had different temperature needs. He wondered what Jason’s core was like. He might check that out when they got to the room; he wouldn’t want to try anything in the bathroom in case someone walked in on them.

When they were about to leave, he got an idea. He took his tank top off, running it under the cold tap. Jason watched him as he wrung it out and put it back on.

“Smart,” he muttered.

Thanks,” he replied.

They made sure the bottles were in Jason’s hoodie pocket before they left. They walked back down the halls, the twists and turns melting together and giving him a low-grade headache.

When they got into the room, the agent shut the door and locked it. Jason looked at him before giving him his water.

He thanked him quietly. They looked at each other for a few minutes.

“All right,” he said eventually, “I’ll bite. Phantom, what was that earlier?”

He took a deep breath before explaining. “I don’t know, man,” he said finally, “I think my brain just likes fucking with me. ‘Why couldn’t you be good enough for your parents, you piece of shit? Huh? You a little bitch boy?’” he mocked.

Jason snorted at him. “I don’t think it’s stupid, if it makes you feel better. That is weird, though. I wonder what was up with the rich people shit.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was me associating one of my friends with safety? Her parents are rich as shit.”

Jason shrugged again. “Who knows? Brains are weird,” he said. “And if it makes you feel better,” he said getting close and booping him on the nose, “You’re more than good enough for me. You’re my brother, you hear? If anything, they’re not good enough for you.”

He smiled a bit. “Thanks, Ja-”

“Cardinal. Code names, remember?”

“Shoot, that dream has me more fucked up than I realized,” he said. “Sorry, Cardinal. Thank you.”

He waved him off. “You’re okay, man.”

He linked their pinkies together. They sat in silence for a few minute before he suddenly perked up. “By the way,” he said.

Danny looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He saw the other boy take a deep breath. He looked over to the door before going under his hoodie and into his belt. He could hear two ‘Snap! Snap!’s before he pulled out his hand.

He blinked. “Cardinal. What am I looking at?”

When he looked back up, the other boy was smiling guiltily at him. “I stole this earlier,” he said lowly and held out the watch. “And I may have took this from the van?”

He held out a gun. It was smaller than any of the ones he’d seen before. He sighed. “Cardinal-”

“I know, I should’ve mentioned this way earlier, but I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he said.

He took it gently. He inspected it. “Okay, I haven’t seen this model before,” he said, “But I think I can figure it out. This-” he pointed to the cartridge, “Is where they put vials of ectoplasm.”

He watched Jason nod.

“This one’s empty,” he said, It looks like they discarded it for some reason. I don’t think it’s broken, but I can take a look when my hand regrows.”

He watched Jason take a deep breath. “Do you think we could rig it up to take ectoplasm from our bodies to fuel it?”

He blinked. He brought his left hand up, stroking his chin with what was formed. “Maybe. I’ve never thought of doing it like that before.”

Jason nodded. “It doesn’t need to be perfect,” he said. “It just needs to vaguely work.”

He nodded. “I can probably do that. We might need to steal some material, though,” he contemplated.

“Done. Just let me know and we’ll keep an eye out.”

He grinned. He loved having someone so on board with his plans.

“I think we can get away with using some scalpels as tools,” he said.

“I have a lock picking kit on me, do you think those’ll work?”

He shrugged. “What do they look like?”

Jason took the kit out of his belt. Danny took it from him gently, looking it over. “Yeah, these might be able to unscrew something,” he said.

He helped the boy pack it all up and away in his belt. “I think we’ll need... man, I wonder if they have some sort of specter deflector?”

“What?”

“Something that deflects ghosts,” he explained.

Jason shrugged. “I’d assume so?”

They talked lowly for a few more minutes, going over ideas. Eventually, Jason took the blue journal from the ceiling, tossing it down to Danny.

Sketching ideas was fun. There was still an undercurrent of hurt in his chest.

He didn’t think he’d ever understand why he wasn’t good enough for his mom. Why they disowned him so quick; the hatred in his father’s eyes.

It was a look he hadn’t seen even on the agent’s faces. He looked over to Jason.

He couldn’t imagine doing something like that to him. Or to Ellie, or Jazz, or Tucker and Sam. He didn’t think he’d ever understand why, or how, his parents could do it to him. It was like they didn’t even have to think about it; they’d done it as easily as breathing.

At least he had Jason. He’d had the dream woman. From what Jason said, he’d probably have the Bat too, when they met; apparently, he was in the early stages of an adoption addiction, and Jason was already planning on making it worse by getting him to adopt the neighbor.

They put the journal away before they lay on the cot. They could think about this more tomorrow.

He was still unnaturally warm, but he’d been getting steadily better. He hoped that was a good sign.

He cuddled up to Jason. He hoped the dream was some sort of sign they were going to survive. That there were still people out there looking for them.

He suddenly felt silly for feeling like his friends and sisters forgot about him. Of course, they hadn’t.

After all, he didn’t forget about them just because he had Jason. He just had to be patient.

He just had to survive a little longer.

#dp x dc #ailesswhumptober2023 #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai less whumptober day nineteen #kite flies over the nightingale nest

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2022: Day 19 - Enough is enough

Prompt: Knees Buckling 

Summary: When he receives a call from his missing son, Bruce doesn't hesitate to drop everything and rush to get to him.

Enjoy! :D

“Master Bruce, you really ought to eat something.”

Bruce ignores Alfred as the man places a plate of sandwiches next to him, his focus is entirely on the screen opposite him.

“Sir, this really isn’t helping anyone.”

Letting out a long breath Bruce turns to his father figure to send him an annoyed glare. “I can’t stop looking Alfred. He’s been missing for five days now. Who knows what’s happened to him or where he could be right now. We have absolutely no leads and I’m not going to stop until I find him.”

With his usual level of calmness, Alfred straightens up and tries to reason with him. “Master Bruce, we are all worried about Master Tim, however running your ragged until you collapse isn’t going to help find him any quicker. You need to look after yourself so when we do find Master Tim you are fighting fit and able to help him.”

Bruce clenches his teeth. He hates it when Alfred is right. He has to admit ever since they realised that Tim is missing, the teenager never making it home after being out with friends, he’s been non-stop in trying to find out what happened to his son. All the family have been going non-stop in order to try and find him. So far they haven’t had any luck and every passing minute Bruce’s concern grows.

Turning away from the computer screen Bruce goes to answer Alfred but he's stopped when his phone begins to ring. Running a hand over his face, Bruce picks up his mobile from where it’s been face down on the desk next to him and notices that there’s no idea caller. Dread immediately fills him and he accepts the call with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Hello?” He speaks into the phone. There’s a long pause afterwards and all Bruce could hear was heavy breathing on the other side. When no one speaks up for a while Bruce is about to hang up when he suddenly hears a weak and frail voice come through the speaker. The voice makes Bruce freeze and all of a sudden hope sparks inside of him.

“Tim?” He looks over at Alfred with wide eyes, noticing how intensely the elderly man is already watching him.

“-uce?”

“Tim is that you? Can you hear me bud?” Bruce could feel his heart pounding inside his chest and millions of questions flood his mind. Putting his phone on speaker he turns to the computer in order to try and trace the call from his mobile, however before he could type anything Alfred is there pushing him away and taking over the task, allowing Bruce to purely focus on the phone.

“Bruce please…” Tim’s voice sounds broken and it sounds like he's on the verge of tears. It breaks Bruce’s heart to hear his son like this.

“Tim can you tell me where you are? What’s around you? Describe anything to me.”

Tim does more than that, he somehow manages to rattle off an address he believes he’s currently at and Bruce sucks in a deep breath when he finds out that Tim is still in Gotham.

“Tim listen to me, I’m coming to get you alright. Stay exactly where you are, I’m coming to get you okay. I’ll be twenty minutes at most.”

Just as Bruce stands up a broken sob sounds out over the speaker. “Please don’t leave me!”

“No, no, no. Tim listen to me,” Bruce is quick to try and console Tim in a gentle voice, trying to get through to the distraught teen, “I’m not leaving I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are and it’ll be even better if you stay on the phone. Alfred is here. Keep talking to Alfred, Alfred will keep you company until I’m there okay?”

Stepping away from the desk, Bruce rushes to grab a set of keys from his collection but before leaving he back tracks to Alfred. “If anything changes keep me updated through the comms. Can you update everyone else on the situation as well please.”

“Of course Master Bruce. Hurry, go get our boy and bring him home.”

No more is said between them as Bruce sprints to the car and drives out of the Manor at law breaking speeds. He knows exactly where Tim is and prays that the kid is still there by the time he arrives. His thoughts are everywhere as he drives, he has no idea what’s happened to Tim and if its anything to go by the way he sounded over the phone nothing good has occurred. His son is hurt and scared and it pains his heart that’s happened to him, a child who he's supposed to protect.

Bruce told Tim he would be there in twenty minutes, he ends up making it in fifteen. His tires screech as Bruce pulls up to the curb in the middle of some old back streets and he carelessly flings open the doors as soon as the vehicle comes to a stop.

Rushing across the street and into a back alley where Tim mentioned he was, Bruce frantically looks around trying to find his son. It takes a couple moments but in the end he spots the almost hidden phone box against the wall and just on the side of the box clinging desperately on the phone is his son. For the first time in days Bruce feels a sense of relief wash over him. Of course he isn’t stupid, he knows they aren’t out of the woods just yet but they’ve reached the first hurdle, they’ve found Tim. That’s the main thing. They’ll tackle everything else once Tim is home safe and sound.

“Tim!”

He calls out to his son and immediately gets his attention. Tim turns to him, albeit sluggishly but there’s no denying that Tim easily recognises him. As Bruce starts forward he watches as Tim pushes himself away from the phone box, letting go of the phone and begins to stumble towards him on shaky legs.

Clearly struggling to hold himself up, Tim wobbles in place and as he takes his next step Bruce watches as his legs crumble underneath him, his knees giving out, making him crash towards the floor. Lunging forward Bruce is able to catch him just before he hits the ground, Tim falls easily into his arms and Bruce bundles him up closely, instantly scanning to see how badly hurt his son is.

“Bruce?” Tim breathes out, it’s a question and he sounds like he's in disbelief, as if not really believing Bruce is there with him.

Bruce runs a hand through Tim’s greasy and unkempt hair, not caring how gross it is. “I’m here Tim. I’m here. Thank god, I can’t believe…” Bruce couldn’t even finish his thought, every emotion is running through him and he’s just so thankful Tim is in his arms again.

He cups his son’s face and turns it towards him and for the first time in five days he gets a good look at Tim's face. His son is pale (paler than usual), he has dark circles under his eyes, there’s bruising along his cheek bone, some cuts and grazes aligning his forehead covered in smeared and dried blood.

“I’m sorry Bruce… I’m so sorry…” Tim is muttering to him, his voice quiet and weak, clearly showing how exhausted he is. Whatever happened, it’s easy to say these five days haven’t been kind for Tim.

Bruce shushes him. “No. None of that Tim. You have nothing to apologize for. You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. We’re going to go home now okay.”

Cradling Tim in his arms, Bruce wraps an arm around his son’s back and an arm underneath his knees so he's carrying him bridal style. Before heading back to the car however Bruce goes over to the phone box where the phone Tim had dropped is hanging by it’s cord. Adjusting his grip on Tim, Bruce reaches down and grabs the device.

“Alfred?” He speaks into, unsure if the call is still connected.

“I’m here Master Bruce.” Alfred quickly replies. “I assume you’re with Master Tim, is the lad alright?”

Bruce glances down at the kid now dozing in his arms. “I’ve got him. Whether he’s alright or not remains the question but we can check him over once we’re back. Please prep the med-bay for our arrival. I won’t be long.”

“Very well, sir. Everyone has been updated on the situation. We’ll see you soon.”

With that they hang up and Bruce puts the phone back where it belongs. Cradling Tim in his arms once more he finally heads back to the car. They’ve found him, thank god they’ve found him, now what they have to do is help him recover and piece together what happened. For now Bruce is just going to be grateful he’s got his son back alive.

#Whumptober 2022 #knees buckling #day nineteen #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #little angst #good dad bruce wayne #worried bruce #missing tim #father figure Alfred #Reunions #father and son #batfamily #bit of fluff #DC comics #injured tim #fanfiction

[fanfictasia]

Whumptober Day 19

Alt. Ambushed 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Chosen Twins

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Except they had to stay on Coruscant, and I don’t want them near Krell, anyway – he hurt them both. I can’t forget that. (I haven’t forgiven that.)

The fight goes back and forth with neither gaining ground until I hear the clones arriving. Depa appears beside me only moments later.

“So, you didn’t bring your pets,” Krell muses, shoving me a few steps back, “How unusual. Did they misplace another piece of themselves?”

“As if you’re one to talk,” I reply with a pointed look towards his mechanical hands – they’re currently exposed, visible wires showing on his hands. Anger burns inside me at the mention – I thought I trained Anakin better than to do something so stupid as attacking Dooku like that, but considering his lack of sleep and everything recently, I can understand why he wasn’t thinking clearly. But with Aniya, it was a… I don’t know. Simply a slip-up. Even if I still don’t know what to think about how both of them are part machine.

Depa  joins me, and together, we attack Krell. It’s not easy, because we’ve never worked together this closely in the past, but we do… know each other.

Caleb is being left behind with the clones to cover for them and help out, but I almost wish we could have an extra hand here. Or maybe that Krell can have one less, but that’s easy enough to correct – with both of us, her has a much harder time coordinating attacks on us both, so I use my first possible chance to de-hand him.

It’s one of his already metal hands, unfortunately. If it was a normal one, it would’ve affected him far more. Now, all he does is snarl angrily and Force-shove me backwards before backhanding Depa across the face and running. Just like I knew he would. He’s not half the coward many Separatists are, but he’ll run when he knows he’s losing.

Now is definitely one of those times.

I call in my newly acquired lizard and we instantly give chance. The Jedi Master calls her padawan over so he can assist us – we can’t take even the slightest chances of Krell escaping. If we can eliminate Krell, we’ll be able to defeat the Separatists. If we can win this battle, we’ll finally win the war after three and a half years of fighting.

We can’t let him hurt anyone else.

It takes a bit to catch up with him and considering where he’s going – deeper into a more closed space, I highly suspect he’s trying to lure us away from the clones where it’ll be easier for him to focus, not trying to run. It’s strategic, and dangerous.

No sooner have we rounded a corner in between the rocky landscape than a group of Magna Guards jump us out of almost literally nowhere. The padawan is caught off-guard and knocked down by one of them with a direct blow by an electrostaff. His master slashes it in half immediately while I move to cover for them. Krell is still escaping. This was intention – he knew we were coming and where to go. He planned for it. This is an ambush, and knowing his tactics, it’s probably just intended to wear us down more so he can finish it himself.

I’m fighting four of them and Depa has about the same number. Ahead of us, Krell is escaping on his speeder, and I rip an object free from above, dropping it in front of him to cut off the escape route, uncaring that it nearly earns me a few zaps. We can’t let him go, no matter what the cost is. We came here knowing at least one person would probably die.

I just don’t want to think about how the twins would take it, but I don’t think that’ll be a concern.

I have to give ground to avoid the droids, but one by one, I cut through them, then lunge at Krell again. The others will join me once they’re ready. Krell slashes his lightsaber downwards at me, then punches me with his metal fist hard enough to throw me into the nearby rocky caveside. If I wasn’t shielding myself with the Force, I probably would’ve broken at least one something from that. From how badly it’s throbbing, I suspect it’s probably fractured, as it is.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #whumptober #whumptober 2022 #whumptober day 19 #day 19 #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan #krell #pong krell #obi-wan vs krell #day nineteen #ambushed #whump #obi-wan whump

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Day Nineteen

Figured I can’t do Whumptober 2022 without crossposting the rest of 2021 like I promised lol. Sorry it took me so long! 

the echoes of his visions

Paul stumbles from the Reverend Mother’s chambers, stabbing pains reverberating up his hand through to his arm. His entire left side is throbbing, echoes of the horrendous pain the Bene Gesserit box caused. His mother is nowhere to be seen.

He makes his way to their ship, unsteady on his feet. Doctor Yueh is waiting and his face creases in concern at Paul’s visage. Well, clearly he looks like shit then. The doctor hurries towards him and pokes him several times. He knows that Suk medicine is more complicated than that but his head is pounding now, and that’s honestly what it feels like.

Yueh finishes his exam and guides Paul onto the ship, gently helping him into a seat before rummaging in his bag for some medicine. Paul closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, the cool leather soothing his headache slightly.

The meds don’t do anything when Yueh gives them to him and the doctor clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Whatever your test was, it appears the pain it caused is mental, a psychic wound of sorts. Medicine will not help, but perhaps rest will.” He says, shaking his head. Paul can tell he wants to say more but he’s exhausted and in pain- he can’t be bothered to push.

The door slides open again and his mother boards the ship, still wrapped in her old Bene coverings. She sucks in a harsh breath at the sight of Paul’s slumped form but she doesn’t seem surprised at his condition. There are dried tears on her face but Paul can’t bring himself to care. It probably makes him a horrible son but his mother was the one who brought him to the Reverend Mother, he thinks he can have a reprieve just this once.

His mind is filled with the echoes of his visions. He saw fire again, during the test, and he saw the sands of Arrakis. The visions scare him, though he’ll never admit it to anyone other than family. And Duncan, which is basically the same thing. The vision he’d had of Duncan’s death is the one that terrifies him the most. That sand and stone corridor, littered with bodies, and Duncan’s corpse.

Actually, now that he thinks of it, he had thought that Duncan would die amongst the Fremen, due to the first vision of him meeting with them, but the bodies were Sardukar. Why would there be Sardukar warriors on Arrakis? His head spikes with pain again and he closes his eyes, groaning.

A cold hand rests on his forehead and Paul leans into it, letting the cold wash away the pain. His hand spasms, and he tries to straighten it but stabbing cramps shoot through his entire arm when he does, so he leaves it. They’ll be back at the palace soon anyways, and he can rest then.

It doesn’t take long to reach home and Doctor Yueh brings the ship to a smooth descent, nary a sound coming from the landing gear. There are still lights on in the palace, even though it’s so late. He spots a glow globe in the window of the training room near his chambers and decides it’s probably just Gurney and Duncan. They like to spar in the middle of the night, for some Godforsaken reason, instead of sleeping like normal people.

Paul doesn’t look at his mother as they walk to his chambers but she takes hold of his arm as they pass the training room. She realises her mistake instantly when Paul wrenches it back with a cry of pain, curling protectively around the injured limb.

The doors to the training room swing open and Gurney and Duncan burst out, clearly expecting some sort of assassination attempt based on Paul’s cry. To be fair, someone did once try and assassinate Paul at age twelve, so their concern is justified.

Instead, they only see Jessica and Paul standing opposite each other, Paul cradling his arm. They lower their swords in confusion and glance around as if they expect an axe wielding maniac to leap from the shadows. If his arms wasn’t attempting to destroy his goddamned sanity, Paul would have laughed at the looks on their faces.

“Paul? My lady? Is everything alright?” Gurney asks cautiously while Duncan comes over to examine Paul for any hint of injury. He doesn’t find a scratch and he looks up at Paul’s pain-filled eyes with bemusement. Physically, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. Mentally, Paul just wants to sleep for a week.

Duncan frowns and exchanges a strange look with Gurney. “Perhaps we should turn in for the night. We all have early starts.” Duncan suggests, and Paul nods. His bed sounds like heaven right now.

The odd procession reach his chambers after a few minutes and both his mother and Doctor Yueh leave, his mother saying she would speak to him in the morning about his trial. Doctor Yueh gives him a bottle of meds that would knock him straight unconscious as soon as possible and bids them farewell but Gurney and Duncan stay.

Paul doesn’t have the energy to question them so he simply opens the door and collapses onto his bed, careful of his arm. Gurney takes a seat at the low table and Duncan hops up onto the windowsill, both of them watching him with measure concern.

“What happened, Paul? You’re clearly in pain and you were cold with Lady Jessica, like I have never seen you be before.” Duncan asks bluntly, wasting no time.

Paul sighs but answers. “The Reverend Mother wanted to see me so Mom woke me up and brought me to her. The Reverend Mother wanted to test me, to see if I have the control necessary to use my gifts. She had a Gom Jabbar at my neck and a box that caused immense pain. I was supposed to put my hand in the box and let it hurt me. If I took my hand out, she would have killed me.” He says simply, not wishing to go into great detail.

Gurney swears colourfully and gets up to come inspect Paul’s hand. “God, Paul, that must’ve been excruciating. I’m guessing Yueh’s pain medication didn’t work? You look like you’re about to keel over.” He says, and Paul shrugs.

“Doctor Yueh said it was because the pain was mental rather than physical. He gave me something to sleep though, so I’ll be alright.” He says and Gurney nods.

“Alright then, Paul. You rest and Duncan and I will keep watch.” He says decisively. Paul doesn’t have the strength to argue with him so he takes the pills and falls back into his bed, secure in the knowledge that two of the most dangerous men in Caladan are guarding him. He’s safe here. Gurney and Duncan would never let any harm come to him.

#whumptober 2021 #dune #paul atreides #day nineteen

[astronicht]

whumptober day 1: “how many fingers am i holding up?”

(I wanna do some of these for as long as i’m feeling it as a kind of fic amnesty! get back into the swing of writing without pressure u know! it might be exactly two it might be literally just this one who knows!)

F1 rpf | max/daniel | figure skating AU | 1.5k, rated T

(mild cw for an injured kid)

The coach is a fucking joke. He’s across the lobby from Max, who is tying his sleek black skates and waiting for Christian to show up in about thirty minutes, clutching a coffee even though he’s woken up at 4AM for the last forty years.

The coach nervously leans close to a little girl sitting on the benches in her skates, her boots and blades wet with slush. She has a sleek high ponytail and still has her bum pad strapped on over her leggings to break falls and a closed-off look on her little face. The coach says, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jackass. He’s obviously a competitive skater working as a coach part-time because he looks all of nineteen, but that doesn’t fucking matter. He’s the coach. He should know better. Max’s hands feel clumsy on his laces. He’s probably going to have to— Or the mum—

As Max is scanning the little crowd of parents at the tables, the door to the rink swings open with a blast of cool wet air and Daniel strides in. He’s got new boots on, Max realizes numbly. Daniel and the little girl are also wearing the same brand of leggings, hers in miniature. She is probably seven years old.

“Hey, you took a spill, huh?” Daniel says, because if he was on the ice he’d have seen it. He’s walking a little gingerly, slush sluicing off his blades onto the rubber floor; his feet are probably rubbed bloody inside the stupid new Jackson Ultimas.

Max gets up, walks over. Daniel sees him and seems surprised, or maybe Max is imagining it. Max does not say anything. He squats on his toepicks in front of the little girl, ignores the stupid fucking coach. Daniel says, “Oh, uh— Max is just gonna do a little concussion check, yeah?” Daniel doesn’t ignore the coach at all, smiles at him, says something, but he does somehow dismiss him a little. It’s easy to see, to Max, that Daniel was coached by Christian for a long time.

Max looks at the girl. She stares back, jaw tight. He tells her, “No counting, only follow my finger with your eyes. And now you talk to me, okay? Explain exactly what happened.”

The girl hesitantly starts to describe the double loop that led to the back of her skull smacking into the ice. Max moves his finger to her left, to her right. Her words are in the right order, not slurred, but her eyes judder a little following his hand.

“Daniel, give me your phone.” Max says, squinting at the girl and sticking his hand up. Daniel’s warm hip is right next to him, shifting as Daniel fidgets, his phone probably in his fleece because he never leaves it on the boards unless he’s on the ice. Daniel hesitates, maybe, but then his cold phone is being fumbled into Max’s waiting hand. His lock screen is some fucking beach, screen protector clouding up under Max’s warm fingertips. Daniel does not even like the beach that much. Max taps to make the flashlight come on from the lockscreen and tries to ignore Daniel relaxing beside him, like he didn’t want Max to be nosy about his stupid life.

Daniel does get three incoming texts while Max is watching the girl’s pupils react to the light, flinching down to a point the way they are supposed to. But maybe a little slow. Max frowns. It is all normal for skating, injuries and concussions alike, but it makes him feel a little sick, sometimes, when it’s the little ones. He doesn’t practice around kids that often anymore, but then again, if she’s here this seven-year-old is probably thinking about breaking into juniors, probably very serious.

The girl’s mum comes in through the other set of doors, the ones leading to the rest of the rink, the other sheets of ice that Max normally rents privately for a few hundred dollars an hour — a little cheaper in euros. Someone must have texted her; one of the other mums at the tables by the window to the rink, probably, not the coach who is almost hiding behind Daniel while Max takes care of his fucking student. Max should charge him.

Max straightens up and says to the mum, but looking out at the rink through the windows, “She has hit her head. I am of course not her coach so I cannot tell you what to do. She is not confused now but some of her reactions are a little slow.” He swallows. “So yes you could of course get her checked out at a clinic.”

The woman turns to the useless coach and starts asking questions. Max looks at the kid. “Okay, good job,” he says. “Take a break, try not to fall on your head like this.” Then he walks back to his seat. He looks down at his skates again. He can’t find his gloves.

A rustle and a shadow in the fluorescent lights: Daniel is coming to sit beside him on the cold plastic bench. Daniel sighs. It is early but he looks more tired than an early morning. He only got one Grand Prix invitation this year. The girl and her mum are gone, the doors swinging shut. Max swallows. It is normal, but also he hopes the mum takes the girl to the doctor today, just to see.

“Alright?” says Daniel, almost warily. “Doctor Maxy.”

Max rolls his eyes at him, says, “It is so annoying. Of course a head hit rattles you, so it is hard to tell when it is real.”

“Well, this time she’s definitely fucking concussed,” Daniel says, rubbing his face.

“Oh. Did you tell her mum?” Max asks, surprised. He watches his own hands clench on his knees. His gloves are in the side pocket of his skate bag like always, he realizes. He doesn’t reach for them yet.

Daniel blinks at him, eyes wide, shadows under them a delicate purple. “I… yeah, I told her what the kid said: that she'd blacked out when she hit her head for a second? Any time you black out, it’s a concussion, right? I don’t know if the mum like, knows that.” He squints at the doors. “Cunt of a useless coach though.”

“No it’s not always a concussion,” Max corrects. The girl did say that, he remembers, when he was making her talk so he could test how she spoke. “Blacking out for a second when you hit? Then I would've had dozens as a kid.” Daniel shifts beside him, laughs a nervous little laugh. His head is in his hands. “I have had enough already, my brain would be mush, Daniel. Anyway it is not even the real test, the finger and the eyes thing and the talking. It is just a DUI test. Geri did it to you once, I remember, at Cup of China 2017? I asked what it was because I of course had not seen it and she said she used to party pretty hard, run into problems with friends sometimes, and she thought it had to be about the same.”

Daniel rubs his face again. “Was I concussed?” he asks. “In 2017?”

“Yes, I think so. But it is hard to tell.”

“No, I remember, I skated in that competition.”

Max shrugs. “You won the gold, then I beat you at Skate America two weeks later.”

“Shit, yeah. I remember now. Yeah.” Daniel tips his head back. On the tvs above the rink doors, the receptionist is playing YouTube videos of last year’s Grand Prix series instead of the rink sponsorship reel. It looks like Italy, the senior pairs event. Max watches Sui Wenjing get thrown through the air in a near-perfect twist, land on one edge of one blade like a sharp and flying thing. He has always wondered what it feels like, to land something from six feet in the air. No matter how high he can get his quads, his triples, he of course skates singles.

Max can smell Daniel’s cologne, which he is wearing at 5:03 AM, his sweat, the stiff leather of his awful new boots. “Well, gotta get back out there,” Daniel says. “These babies won’t break themselves in.”

They both look at Daniel’s new boots, which are probably full of Daniel’s blood for no reason, because Max doesn’t think his old ones were really broken or that bad or whatever. His coach probably told him to switch. Max switches boots when he needs to, always knows when to judge it, always gives himself the full summer before the competition season to break them in and let them tear him up a bit.

“Okay,” Max rasps. “Say hi to Lando for me. Try to land your Salchow.”

Daniel stands with his hand on Max’s hair, ruffles it and shoves Max, making him laugh. The clenching thing in his chest releases a little.

“Don’t bump your noggin,” Daniel says quietly, rapping his hand on Max’s head, gentle.

“Too late,” Max jokes.

Max stays sitting there for a minute after Daniel gets back on the ice, trying to wait out the rush of adrenaline, his heart still slamming like it was him who fucked up a loop, like it was his pale mother at the swinging doors.

—

concept brought to u by me in @/garagegremlin’s texts like OKAY they’re like all singles skaters but max has the heart of a pairs girl

#f1 rpf #my fic #whumptober ‘23 #max/daniel #maxiel #suddenly remembering i don’t know tagging conventions round these parts #alas #maxiel figure au

[ohtobeleah]

Never Good Enough // Mickey Garcia

Summary: People always leave Fanboy. He goes through pilots like chump change. Is it him? Is he the problem? What happens when one of the many times you’ve tried to console your husband when his demons become to brutal?

Warnings: Left Behind trope. Spooky dream vibes. Depressed Mickey. F-18 crash.

Author Note: Day Nineteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Left Behind. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Honey, I think you might be reading into this a little more than you should be.” Mickey Garcia could be described by a lot of people as a lot of different things. He could be described by his colleagues as a genuine soul whose love for aviators made excelling in his career easy. His friend could say that he had one of the most endemic memories to date– holding a plethora of knowledge about star wars, star trek and battle star galactica, basically any and all shows and movies that end in the word star at the tip of his tongue.  

Fanboy is a team player, he thrives off the people he chooses to surround himself with. He’s a social butterfly who goes from person to person through the night collecting stories and making memories laced in drunken hazes or sober serenity. He could be described as a compassionate person who goes above and beyond for the people in his life. 2

But most importantly, his wife, Y/n, could describe Mickey as a life partner who consistently shows that he is one of the best people you could ever know. He knows how to crack a joke at the right moment and lighten any mood you might find yourself in. His love for his passions and career and his wife surfaces any kind of love anyone had ever seen. 

Because Mickey Fanboy Garcia is good people. Simply put– he’s the best kind of person you want on your team. 

But despite all that, despite all the kind and gracious things people say about him–Fanboy couldn't feel any further from it. 

“But I'm not.” It was the way your husband said it that made you question if you were the one who wasn't taking his concerns as seriously as you should be. Mickey stood in the shower with his head under the warmth of the running water, hiding his tears as the muscles in his back clenched in anger. “Payback was my longest standing front seater, everyone leaves.” 

You knew it was hard on your husband to say goodbye to people who he trusted with his life. You could remember the last time Mickey was separated from his front seater. Erin was a dear friend, but you hadn’t seen her in a few years. 

“Everyone always ends up leaving me and I don't know what to do with myself.” You had a feeling this could have been about more than just Payback's new posting. There was an underlying tone of self sorrow that you picked up on as you turned around to face your husband as he showered. As you let out a soft but audible sigh, you knew that there had to be more. “Six months–six months is the longest I've had a front seater for and you wanna stand here and tell me I'm not the problem?” 

You and Mickey didn’t argue an awful lot, again, he was as kind as kind could be. But he was struggling, he had concocted this ideology in his mind that everyone around him, all his friends, his family, you, we’re going to leave. Abandon him sooner or later. 

And it didn’t help that you and Mickey had been working so much as of late that your conflicting schedules were beginning to take a toll on your ability to communicate properly. 

“I don’t think it's you babe–” You began as you made your way over to the shower door. The fog from the shower made the glass its home as you pushed it open, watching as your husband's muscles tightened at your response. But you persisted, hesitantly. “Erin, Reuban, even the guys before like Luke and Mitch, they were either stationed out or just got caught up in the reshuffle, I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with you.” 

Mickey Garcia was genuinely the best person you knew. So when he turned around with veins popping in his neck from frustration, you didn't know how to process the way his tone echoed off the walls around you. It didn't sound like your husband, the man you loved so dearly. The man who was usually the level headed, logical partner out of the two of you. 

“Y/n, just stop.” You had to pause and take a minute to register what was going on. “You've been working nights, weekends, hell you've even been working my days off– I know somethings going on.” You really had to hold your tongue as Mickey let loose. You knew it was coming from a place of anger and frustration, but regardless it was missguided, it wasn't appreciated, and it certainly could have been handled in a better way. “If you’re gonna leave too, just fucking do it.” 

Your husband never swore at you the way he just had. Mickey wasn’t himself, you couldn’t recognise the sadness in his eyes. The pain behind his tears. He was crumbling under the weight of being left behind over and over and over again by the people who mattered most. 

“You think I’d leave you?” You had to make sure you had all the dots connected before you decided to let your frustration run wild. “You think that because the people you work with change and that I’ve taken on a bigger role in the company that I’d leave you?” 

“Everyone leaves me!!” Mickey finally snapped as he ran his hands through his wet, dark brown locks. Completely soaked and clinging to his scalp and neck. “Everyone—so yeah, with the track record I’ve got going babe I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you decide I’m not good enough for you either!” You stood there completely speechless, in all the years you had known your husband you had never seen him so broken, so full of self doubt and self loathing that he had begun to take it out on you. “I’m not good enough—“ But then, the gentle stream of tears turned into someone more violent and all consuming. 

“Honey—“ You cooed as you watched your husband shake his head as painful sobs ripped through his chest. The walls were all closing in on him. Those shoulders of his that you thought could have carried the weight of the world, slumped in utter defeat and soon enough—Mickey Fanboy Garcia was on his knees under the warm stream of water, crying out for someone to stay with him. “Oh Mick, honey.” 

“Everyone always leaves.” It came out like a mantra, the voices inside his mind wouldn’t stop. “You’ll leave too, and I’ll be all alone and I don’t know what I keep doing wrong.” You had to do something, consol your husband so that he knew he wasn’t alone. He had his demons but you were there to fend them off, like a knight in shining armor. 

As Mickey kneeled under the warm stream, crying into the palms of his hands, you stripped off your clothes. Articles laid strewn across the bathroom floor haphazardly as you stepped into the shower and kneeled with your husband. 

But you can't control a nightmare that isn't yours, and you can't decide what happens next in someone else's dreams. 

It was only then did the nightmare Mickey thought he was already living turn into an all out hellscape. Your touch, usually so warm and comforting, was as cold as ice. So cold it damn near burned his cheeks. When Mickey looked up to meet your gaze he saw nothing but dark eyes that allowed him to peer into your soul. Nothing remained but a darkness so unholy that it made him jump about three feet away from you into the glass of the shower. 

“We all left you Fanboy.” It wasn’t your voice anymore, but Paybacks. “Wake up!” It was your body, but your voice had been contorted into something straight from hell. 

Mickey cried as you crawled towards him, he cowered in the corner of the shower as you cornered him in, trapping him without any kind of defense as you chuckled and smirked—the corners of your lips exaggerated to the point it looked as if your lips had been pinned to your cheeks. 

“Wake up, don’t you smell the burning fuel?” 

In that very moment Mickey gasped as the overwhelming smell of burning jet fuel choked his airways. Suddenly he wasn’t in the shower anymore—he was in the snowy pine fields laying on his back looking up at the clouds above. 

“Y/n?” He moaned as he rolled over, still coughing and splattering as he tried to gather his bearings. What had happened? Where was he? Oh. The mission. “Payback?” 

Groaning as he rose to his knees, Mickey took his helmet off and looked around the burning rubble and debris from the F-18 he’d just been in. Parts laid sprawled over the snowy field as small pockets of fire burned the twisted chunks of aluminum and carbon fiber. 

The more he looked the more he came to terms with what had happened. It was a surface to air missile. 

“PAYBACK!?” Mickey shouted as he stumbled weakly to his feet, coughing up blood as he did so from his prominent injuries. How was he even alive? “REUBEN!?” His throat was cut up. Torn apart from shouting and yelling at the top of his lungs as he walked and walked and walked through the forest to try and find his front seater. 

A panic deep inside him began to bubble over when Mickey realised that his biggest fear was coming to fruition. And when he heard the helicopter buzzing not too far from where he stood he knew that he was being left behind, he knew he was going to be left behind to die alone. 

“HEY!” He shouted as he ran as fast as he could, sprinting through the thick covering of snow as he saw Payback being hoisted into the air. “I'M HERE! WAIT!” 

No one could see him, no one could hear him. All Mickey could think about was you, his beautiful wife, being left to stamp his wing into his coffin. 

“PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!” 

But it was all to no avail, the rescue helicopter turned around and began to fly away. In the opposite direction from where Mickey stood. And his biggest fears came true. 

Mickey Fanboy Garcia wasn’t good enough to be saved. He wasn’t good enough to not be left behind, and he certainly wasn’t going to be rescued. 

He’d been left behind. 

***~***~***~***~***~**~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #mickey garcia #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia angst #mickey garcia whump

[undertheopensky]

We Are But Children 2

Whumptober Day 17: “Leave me alone.”

Characters: Legend, Twilight, etc

Trigger warnings: Past violence to a child, panic attacks, deaging

Read on Ao3!

This is set before We Are But Children 1, but is intended to be read afterwards.

No idea what I’m talking about? Read the first instalment here!

-----

Tiny!Legend is thirteen and already impressively cranky. He has also, fortunately, seen enough quest bullshit that multiple iterations of the hero’s spirit and a transdimensional monster hunt only gets an irritated sigh.

The thing that does give him pause is the fact that he’s supposed to be a nineteen-year-old veteran with seven adventures under his belt and a bottomless hoard of enchanted equipment.

He still refuses to wear pants, though.

-----

The wizzrobe didn’t look infected.

Every era’s monsters had differences only thousands of years could explain, so seeing a fiend that was only half-familiar was routine by now. That it was a wizzrobe was annoying. Warriors sometimes got a pinched look about him over those, and their attack patterns and weaknesses varied a lot, so they were often a bit of a wild card, which no one enjoyed.

Twilight had never seen a wizzrobe before all this portal business. On the one hand, he’s had no practice, and on the other, he has no expectations about how they’re supposed to move and fight. He still doesn’t like them much. No matter who they belong to, they’re always throwing magic around, and he doesn’t appreciate being set on fire.

This one at least isn’t throwing fire. It’s mostly just zipping around the battlefield, cackling unsettlingly, and dodging any swords that get too close. Wild takes potshots at it occasionally, but it’s mostly a big, flashy distraction that they all start to ignore.

A mistake, as it turns out.

Twilight almost misses it; he’s occupied with a moblin battering at his shield while he waits for an opening. But from the corner of his eyes there’s a flash of weirdly purple light and he turns just in time to see the wizzrobe’s magic cannon right into Legend’s unprotected back.

Legend doesn’t make a sound. He just crumples.

There’s more than one yell. The wizzrobe vanishes, three of Wild’s arrows finding a simultaneous mark, but the damage is already done. Wind is closest, and already fiercely rebuffing the bokoblins Legend had been fighting, while Warriors and Hyrule race over. Twilight forces himself to focus on the last two moblins - he’s no good to anyone if he gets a spear in the back because he missed one. Sky takes out one from behind and Twilight uses the distraction to cut down the second, and then both of them are racing for the commotion around Legend.

“No! Don’t touch me!”

Twilight’s never heard Legend’s voice sound so high and panicked. He looks so small, cringing away from Hyrule, and Twilight hopes he’s not too badly injured -

He doesn’t just look small. He is small. Too short, with too-thin shoulders, and wide violet eyes set in a child’s too-soft face.

“What the fuck?” Wind blurts out.

“Language,” says Sky, but his heart’s not in it. If he’s anything like Twilight he’s thinking much the same thing.

“S-stay back!” the tiny version of Legend is saying. He scrabbles for his sword, and though several people protest they’re all too slow to stop him drawing it. “D-don’t come any closer!”

“Easy, easy,” Warriors says, holding up his hands to show he’s put his weapon away. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Tiny!Legend scoffs. “Like I’ve never heard that one before.”

Having made it to his feet, he’s slowly edging away from them towards the thicker stand of trees. And Twilight’s struck by the thought that if they lose him now, they may never find him again.

Time must have the same thought. When Tiny!Legend’s sword dips in preparation to run, Time swoops in and scoops him up against his chest.

Legend screams.

He twists and thrashes in Time’s grip, desperately thumping on every part of him he can reach. Even with the armour dulling the blows Time is struggling to keep his balance. The old man drops to one knee, but still maintains a careful hold on Tiny!Legend’s small form.

The boy screams again, thin and wispy, and gasps for air.

He’s so scared he can’t breathe, Twilight realises, like Colin when he wakes from nightmares he won’t talk about. And that - that’s something he knows how to deal with.

“Hey, hey, buddy, you’re gonna be okay.” He sits cross legged in front of the two and grabs Tiny!Legend’s hands. “I need you to breathe with me. I’ll count, and we’ll breathe in, and count and breathe out. All you gotta do is follow it.”

Yanking against him, Tiny!Legend tries to growl, but nothing comes out except a squeaky wheeze. His eyes are big and wet and frightened.

“I know it’s scary but you gotta breathe with me. Breath in, two three four -” Twilight exaggerates his breath, making it loud and whooshing - “and out, two three four -” he relaxes his hold on the boy’s hands just a little.

At first Tiny!Legend doesn’t even try - he’s preoccupied trying to wriggle free of Time’s deceptively gentle grip. Twilight just keeps counting and squeezing, keeping his voice low and calm and steady, and slowly the boy starts calming down. As soon as it’s safe to let him go Time retreats, and the boy relaxes a little further.

“Easy,” Twilight murmurs. “That’s better, now, ain’t it?”

He’s not hyperventilating anymore. Hiccuping with sobs, but no longer panicked, just - scared, and confused.

Tiny!Legend sniffles. “You - you don’t - you don’t look much like a knight.”

“That’s cuz I’m not,” says Twilight. “‘M a rancher.”

Tiny!Legend blinks. “Is that - is that like a farmer?”

“Well, a farmer usually deals in crops, see - plants that you grow t’eat. A rancher like me jest works with animals, and that could be fer food, fibre, or work.”

That gets a little frown, less angry than confused. “But, but my grandparents have a farm, and they have animals too! They have cuccos and goats and sheep.”

“Do they grow plants for food?”

“Yeah. Wheat and corn and tomatoes and pumpkins, sometimes.”

“Then they’re fer sure farmers. A rancher like me only does animals, no crops, but farmers can do both. Make sense?”

“I guess.” Tiny!Legend still looks dubious. “You’re sure you’re not a knight?”

“Very sure,” says Twilight, feeling the beginnings of amusement. “Too much politics for me.”

“Then why are you travelling with knights?” It’s almost accusing.

“Well I don’t actually think most of them are knights, but it’s kind of a stupid story to start with…” Twilight scratches the back of his neck, playing at sheepishness.

Tiny!Legend leans in. “Wha’d’you mean?”

“Well, my day started out pretty normal. Feed the goats, milk the goats, chase the buck around the yard until he lets me put ointment on his bad foot… then durin’ lunch hour, a dark magic portal just appears in the pasture. Now, portals are bad news. Usually monsters come out of ‘em. I didn’t really want monsters rampaging all over my village an’ botherin’ the goats, so I grabbed all my gear and went through first t’see if I could head ‘em off.”

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” says Tiny!Legend, riveted.

“I’ve done worse,” says Twilight. “But, on the other side o’ this portal, I didn’t find no monsters. All I found was these suckers -” he jabs a thumb at the other Links, who’d dispersed to a semi-polite distance while Tiny!Legend was panicking - “who’d all done the same damn thing as me. So there was a bit o’ arguing about whose fault it was that there were portals appearin’. And then we found monsters. An’ since then, we’ve been trackin’ ‘em down.”

“What kinda monsters? Why did you have to track them?”

“All kindsa monsters. I seen monsters with this lot that I never even knew existed. And we gotta track ‘em because somethin’s wrong with ‘em. They got black blood, an’ it makes ‘em more dangerous. Tougher, and smarter. They been usin’ tactics we never knew they could, an’ it’s too dangerous for normal people to leave ‘em wanderin’ around.”

“That sounds a lot like what knights are supposed to do.” Tiny!Legend flexes the hands Twilight’s still holding; not like he wants to get free, just - thoughtful.

“Back where I come from, knights are pretty useless, so people like me help out where we can.”

Tiny!Legend nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Mm, good. Now.” Twilight tugs gently on Tiny!Legend’s hands, spinning him a little towards Time, who’s been leaning against a tree leafing through his notebook. “I think someone has something he’d like to say to you.” Over Tiny!Legend’s head, he mouths APOLOGISE at Time.

Time looks briefly enlightened before sobering. “I’m sorry I grabbed you. You were about to run off, and there’s more black-blooded monsters in these woods, and you didn’t know about them or where we were. I thought it would be safer for you to stay put, but I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Tiny!Legend screws up his face angrily at Time saying he’d been scared, but doesn’t protest, still eyeing Time’s plate armour with a wary gaze. “Don’t do it again,” he says.

“I’m sure he won’t,” says Twilight. “Now. I’m pretty sure you’ve still got questions, yeah?” Like where they were, and why Legend was here, and how he’d gotten here from wherever he last remembered being.

But even at thirteen, Legend’s already got a shrewd light in his eye.

“…what’s your name?”

“Now that’s another story entirely…”

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu legend #lu twilight #skies writes #sorry for the delay #RL wouldn't stop Happening #for context i got kicked by a horse on Wednesday and it was the high point of the week

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Whumptober day nineteen!

Prompt: I’m not as dumb as you think I am.

Character focus: Wild, and some Twi

761 words

Warnings for minor injuries, let me know if there should be anything else!

~~~~

They all glance around, defensive positions dropping as they realize the threat is gone.

“Everyone good? Check off.” Time says, eye finding the chosen hero- and the first in their order.

“I’m alright.” Sky says, cleaning off the master sword with a sigh.

“All good.” Four reports, watching the champion stick his sword back into his sheath with a scowl.

“No injuries.” Time says, glancing to Legend.

“Same here.” The vet says, arm around Rulie, who’s doubled over.

“ ‘m ok,” Rulie groans. “Just… little bruised.”

“Took a kick to the diaphragm, nothings injured, just knocked the air out of him.” Leg says, waving Wars away as the captain moves towards them.

“Nothing here.” Wind says, and Wars nods.

“Same.”

“I’m alright.” He continues, and Wild sighs.

“I have a small cut on my arm- nothing to worry about, though.” The champion says.

He makes his way over to Wild as the group starts slowly down the path once more, putting a hand on the younger’s shoulder.

“I said it’s fine, Twi.” Wild says, looking away from him.

“Wasn’t even going to ask, thank you.” He lies, frowning. Wild slouches guiltily. “But now I am. Let me see it.”

“Leave it alone, Rancher, I’m fine.”

“You’re being argumentative.”

“I don’t appreciate being babied!”

“All I asked was to look! You’re the one that got defensive and angry for no reason! If it’s really nothing, show me and I’ll leave you alone!”

Wild’s eyes narrow. “Or just trust me for once! I’ll have you know that I’ve never tried to walk off a mortal injury!”

“Just let me see, then I’ll leave you alone!”

Wild glares at him for a second, but yanks his sleeve up to reveal a small cut- barely a scrape, really- on his forearm.

He takes a deep breath, calming himself, nodding slightly. “Thank you.” And he walks away.

~~~~

That night is when they have issues again.

Wild makes dinner. Winces a few times, which he catches. So as they eat he quietly asks him about it.

“How’s that cut doing?”

“Fine.” Wild says shortly.

“Is it bothering you? You winced a couple times while making dinner when you used it.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Did you clean and bandage it?”

The champion scowls at him. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Twi! Yes, I cleaned and bandaged it! Goddess!”

He backtracks immediately, faltering. “No! No, that’s not what I meant, I-”

Wild stands, though, walking away. “Yeah. Whatever. I’m taking a walk.”

No one argues as the champion walks off, arms crossed over his chest angrily.

~~~~

He takes a slow breath, walking up near the edge of the hill where Wild’s sitting.

“Hey. Mind if I sit?” He asks quietly.

“Go ahead.” Wild mutters, not looking at him.

He hesitates, but does. Lets the silence linger in case the champion wants to say anything, but he doesn’t.

So he talks. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply that I think you’re stupid when I ask those questions. I just… I know you can look after yourself, I know you’re capable… I just worry.” He sighs.

“I’m used to looking after younger children. It’s just… a habit. I’ll work on it, I just… wanted to say sorry. I don’t think you’re stupid or incapable.”

Wild heaves a slow sigh, nodding. “Thanks. I’m sorry I snapped so badly. I know that’s not what you meant, I just… not used to having people look out for me, you know? I was alone for so long. I’ll work on it, too.”

He nods slowly, putting a hand on Wild’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I’ll try to respect boundaries. All I ask is for a little leniency- I’ll forget sometimes.”

Wild nods, other hand reaching to meet his. “Yeah. I’ll try not to snap again.”

Silence again.

They watch the sun slowly sink into the earth, the last few rays of light vanishing.

“I… I like having people to work with.” Wild says quietly, looking at him. “It’s… like before. With my friends, in a way. It’s just… difficult. To get used to.”

He nods understandingly.

“I… feel it harder when we’re settled for the night. Everyone talking… I think that’s why I snapped. I apologize- I didn’t mean… I meant no offense.”

“There’s none taken.” He assures his friend gently, and silence falls over them again.

Then he smiles to himself. “So, Wild, tell me… do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?”

The champion looks up at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

~~~~

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 #no. 19 #quote #I’m not as stupid as you think I am #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wild #Wild Lu #linked universe wild #wild linked universe #twi lu #lu twi #twilight lu #lu twilight #twilight linked universe #linked universe twilight

[inscrutable-shadow]

Whumptober 2023 Day 6 - Opening Act

@whumptober-archive

Alt Prompt - Lab Rat

In at the wire, amirite? And a form experiment? During Whumptober? Less likely than you'd think! I can't put a readmore in a chat format I am so sorry hopefully the new post shortening feature is sufficient ;-;

I don't feel comfy deciding how much of the Doc's backstory is canon to FCD right now so have a new banner, I guess. They should be about nineteen here, and this is one of their first subjects. Have them being horrifying for a bit lol.

contains: gore, medical experimentation, medical malpractice, lab whump

also available on ao3!

Partial audio recording recovered from raid of former Astra Group research facility. Subject has been identified from accompanying documents as subject 003-CV. [rustling sounds, as if the recording device is being worn around the DOCTOR’s neck. their voice is louder than 003’s because of the resonance.] 003: W-What are you going to do to me? DOCTOR: (brightly) Mm, well, I was thinking, given your broad shoulders and larger than average chest cavity, that you would be an excellent subject for my experiments regarding the integration of a secondary pulmonary system into a living human. I believe I have found a pair that will quite fit you.[sound like velcro pulling and leather stretching] DOCTOR: Ah, take care when you pull at the restraints! They are quite secure. I would not want you to injure yourself. 003: Extra lungs? What do I need extra lungs for? DOCTOR: Just think of the applications! You could hold your breath for twice as long. With some additional modifications, perhaps even breathe in and out at the same time. Much more efficient. Though, well, you are unlikely to do either. I am not arrogant enough to assume that my first attempt at this procedure will be that successful. 003: So I’m going to die? DOCTOR: Like as not, yes.  003: Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm? DOCTOR: Me? Oh, certainly not! Even if I were in the habit of making promises I did not intend to keep, my education was… unorthodox. Not that I truly mind spinning public falsehoods, but life is easier when you keep those to a minimum, I think. [the clinking of metal tools] DOCTOR: Plus, I believe those sorts of ethical quibbles only hold the art of medicine back. To truly drive progress forward, we must be willing to do what was previously held to be impossible. 003: Wait! Er, why are you doing this? Surely there’s some other way to- DOCTOR: Ah, I see. You are working with a faulty premise. I am not some young, idealistic doctor blinded to ethics by their drive to seek the truth. On the contrary, I do this because I love it! [DOCTOR laughs] DOCTOR: Slicing through skin, pulling apart sinew, grinding through bone, I find it all absolutely delightful. Hold still a minute, quick pinch coming… 003: (slurred) What… what’d you give me? DOCTOR: That should numb the pain and prevent you from moving. It is a little experimental thing I have been working on. We shall see if it works, no? 003: Please… no… DOCTOR: Hush, love. The less you talk, the less it will hurt. [slicing sounds. 003 screams.] DOCTOR: (gleefully) Oops. I lied. [more slicing sounds. 003 continues to wail and moan.] DOCTOR: (giggling) Pardon me a moment. Need to… step away to compose myself… Ah, this is incredible! [their voice is muffled, as if pressing a hand over their surgical mask. the laughter’s volume is unchanged.] 003: You’re insane! DOCTOR: (still laughing) Oh, certainly! Glad to see you understand! [more giggles and a few deep breaths, then the slicing sounds resume.] DOCTOR: Oh, this is my favourite part. [the whirring of a bone saw. the DOCTOR hums a folk tune, possibly ‘Daisy Daisy’. 003 screams louder than previously, but is cut off. recording ends.]

taglist: @athenswrites, @i-eat-worlds, @demondamage you seem invested in doc stuff so idk if you want to be tagged? just let me know!

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023 #no.6 #alt prompt #lab rat #gore tw #oc #fic #original fiction #my writing #writeblr #coy writes #whumpblr #coy whumps #the doctor five card draw #first do harm au #it's not really an au but yanno #grownup doc laughs during procedures much less but yanno sometimes it just has to come out

[catboyclarity]

I'm doing Whumptober this year because October is a rough time for me and putting characters through The Horrors makes you feel better. I'm mostly using this promptlist because I like it better, may have other prompts in there, don't care about the event stuff, just tagging it so people can blacklist if they want, will be using my OCs or my partner's OCs, will have prompts and potential triggers above the readmore, won't be posting every single one as some are Just For Me.

Day 1. Gunshot Wound. Tws: blood, pain, alcohol mention.

OCs: Clement (ze/hir), Zach (he/him) and Val (she/her). Werewolf hunters. Writing is canon.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Zach said. He kept repeating that. Clement wasn’t particularly reassured. Ze knew him well enough that ze also knew he’d be saying that even if he’d been disemboweled or lost a limb or was otherwise mortally injured. Val threw the car door open, and Clement helped Zach lay down as softly as ze could. He swallowed down a shallow pained sound. “I’m fine, really, it just—it just grazed me, it just grazed me.” 

Val crawled into the front seat, to look for the first aid kit, while Clement lifted up Zach’s shirt to check the injury on his side. Ze breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, it had just grazed him—but the wound bled and bled, and all Clement could think about is that if the bullet had hit him just a few more inches to the right, it would have pierced his organs. There would be nothing they could have done for him.

“I’m okay…?” Zach asked, quietly. “You’ll be alright,” Clement said. “You’ll pull through, buddy, we’ll take care of you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Zach repeated. He leaned his head back and winced. Nineteen, only a few years younger than Clement and Val, but at that moment ze felt every day of that gap. Gangly, pale, his movements unbalanced sometimes in the way that reminded hir of a puppy.. He’d been hunting for less than a year, usually with bigger groups than just their trio, did he really know what he was getting into? Were they going to get this poor boy killed someday?

“A fucking gun,” Val said, coming back over the glove compartment with disinfectant and gauze in hand. 

“We should have watched better,” Clement said. Val scowled at hir. 

“Werewolves don’t usually have fucking guns,” she said. “Jesus christ.”

“Should we take him to a  hospital?” “We’re broke.” She sat down on the car floor and unscrewed the bottle of antiseptic. “Zach, this is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?” 

“I can take it,” He said, looking at the ceiling. “I’m a tough motherfucker, I don’t feel pain, I—” He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming as Val poured it over his wound. 

“You’re doing great.” Clement grabbed his hand. He squeezed hard enough to hurt.

“It’s gonna need stitches.” Val peered at the wound. “Clem, we still have some booze in the back of the van. Go get it, okay?” Ze nodded and let go of Zach’s hand, backing out of the still-open car door. Even outside, ze could still spell the blood. Ze stumbled around to the back compartment and rifled around in there, seeking the bottle of shitty vodka ze knew was in there.

As ze did so, ze could still hear further up in the van. Zach was crying, the sobs choked off, like he was trying to keep them down. Val soothed him, the particular words inaudible, in a voice much softer than she had ever used for Clement.

#whumptober 2023 #actually not gonna use any other tags if you see it you see it. enjoy

[yusuke-of-valla]

Whumptober Day 4: Fun Uncles

AO3

Written for the prompt: Shock

Nineteen years ago…

When the last mourner leaves there’s an air of finality. Like now that they’ve finished with the funeral, Dad is really dead.

Zenkichi, Tsuru, and Mom all just sort of sit around the family room, not saying anything, until someone’s stomach growls.

“Tsuru, could you please make some dinner?” Mom asks.

Tsuru wordlessly gets up and heads into the kitchen, but soon enough there’s a loud crash and the sound of plates breaking.

“Damn it, Tsuru!” Mom snaps, and Zenkichi follows her into the kitchen, where Tsuru’s standing, surrounded by shards of ceramic. 

“Sorry, I was just—”

“I don’t want to hear it! Go grab something to clean this up.”

Tsuru hangs her head and runs out.

“That girl, she doesn’t know how lucky she is, beautiful, never has to worry about her weight, if she could be bothered to behave properly men would be lining up to marry her,” Mom huffs. “Couldn’t even wear proper clothes throughout the whole ceremony.”

“Mom, it’s hot out. You know Tsuru doesn’t do too well in the heat, especially not decked head to toe in black. Dad certainly wouldn’t want her collapsing from heatstroke just because of him.”

“Even more reason she should focus on being a proper housewife! She can’t even go out, so she could damn well learn to keep house.”

“Ok, ok, I think we’re all tired,” Zenkichi says. “How about we just call Oishi’s and get some food delivered. One less thing to worry about.”

Tsuru comes back in with a broom. 

“You’re bleeding,” Zenkichi says as Mom snatches the broom out of Tsuru’s hands.

She starts sweeping the mess, and Zenkichi pulls Tsuru into the bathroom where they keep their first aid kit.

“I can do it, it’s not that deep,” Tsuru mumbles.

“Eh, come on, let me do it.”

“How mad is Mom?”

“She’s stressed.”

“Sure, but how mad is she at me?”

“Look, it’s been a long day, she’ll be over it in the morning. We’re gonna call Oishi’s and get some delivery.”

“Can we go pick it up?” Tsuru asks. “When you leave, I won’t have anyone to go out with, might as well spend as much time as I can outside of this place.”

“Why don’t you ask mom? Or one of your friends, didn’t you mention—”

“She doesn’t know about them,” Tsuru says, “for a reason.”

“Tsuru, you’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m not. She’s worse when you’re not here.” Tsuru sighs. “Hurry up and get a job already so I can move in with you in Tokyo.”

“I still have five more months of training at the police academy. I might not even be stationed in Tokyo, you know.”

“I don’t care. Anywhere is better than here. Anyone is better than her.”

“She’s our Mom.”

“She sure doesn’t act like it.”

“You know she’s only like this because she’s worried about you, right? Now that Dad’s dead, she’s worried no one will take care of you if she dies.”

“Won’t you be around?”

“Well, you know how she is, she thinks that when I’m a family man, I’m not going to have time to look after my baby sister.

Tsuru kicks him. “I’m not a baby, dummy.”

“Sure sound like one, calling people dummy.”

Tsuru cracks a smile for the first time since Zenkichi came home for the funeral. “I guess if three years difference makes me a baby, you can carry me all the way to Oishi’s.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Come on!”

“No.”

Present

According to the forecast, the day they leave Sapporo is the hottest of the summer, and Yusuke can definitely feel that.

He feels like he’s wading through soup with all the humidity. 

“Yusuke? Are you alright?” Morgana asks while  they pack up.

“The heat,” Yusuke says. “And I’m sore from our fight with Shadow Mariko yesterday.” His neck and shoulders hurt, but they’re nothing compared to the pressure in his chest.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit then,” Haru says.

“I don’t want—“

“Nah dude don’t give us any of that ‘I don’t want to be an inconvenience’ crap,” Ryuji says, “rest a bit, we don’t mind.”

Yusuke’s too tired to insist otherwise, so goes to sit on the bench.

He sees Inspector head over to them.

“You kids almost ready?” he asks, but strangely it’s being drowned out by the ringing in Yusuke’s ears. Everything sounds vague and distant, and he can’t follow the conversation at all.

Then Inspector Hasegawa seems to nice him and the Inspector’s immediately concerned 

He opens his mouth to say something that’s probably “Kitagawa?!” but Yusuke can’t hear it specifically because he’s too focused on the way everything’s spinning.

~

“Niijima, call an ambulance. Sakamoto, help me lie him on the ground,” Zenkichi says.

“Wh-what’s—” Niijima stammers but Zenkichi doesn’t have time for this.

Sakamoto helps him lay Kitagawa on the ground. “Good, now raise his feet slightly above his head,” Zenkichi instructs.

“Ok.” Sakamoto does, and there’s a small crowd coming to the scene, but Zenkichi doesn’t even have to tell Amamiya to keep them away.

Kitagawa still isn’t responsive, but starts taking gasping breaths that are fewer and farther between, so Zenkichi moves to perform CPR.

Old habits really do die hard. It’s been years since Zenkichi spent his summers taking CPR training, but his hands move on his own at the right rhythm.

He feels Kitagwa’s ribs cracks, and Sakamoto winces in sympathy, but Zenkichi isn’t bothered. He keeps going until Kitagawa’s eyes flutter open, just as the ambulance arrives.

Zenkichi follows the paramedics, who give him a questioning look, but Zenkichi doesn’t want to bother with it.

“I’m his uncle.”

The paramedic nods and lets him in.

Eighteen years ago…

There’s an inexplicable feeling of dread when Zenkichi comes home. No movement, not from Tsuru in her art room nor Mom in the living room. 

His visit home was supposed to be a surprise, but he didn’t expect them to be out.

After waiting a second, Zenkichi grabs his gun before heading inside. 

He feels some sort of relief when he realizes the door is still locked and has no sign of being forced open. 

Unfortunately, he relaxed too soon.

Because when he enters, he sees his mother’s cold, dead, body at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by days-old dry blood.

Zenkichi wants to scream, cry, and throw up all at once.

Instead he runs upstairs to check Tsuru’s room.

It’s completely empty, but there are signs of a fight with broken canvases and paint cans that look kicked over. Normally, Tsuru’s window is always locked, but now it’s wide open and there’s the remnants of what looks like a sheet tied to the table. 

Other than that, there’s no sign of Tsuru in the house.

Present

There’s a whirr of activity that eventually settles with Zenkichi sitting in the hospital room with Kitagawa.

A doctor comes in. “Hello, you’re his uncle?” she asks. “Have you contacted his parents?”

“No, they passed away,” Zenkichi says. “But I’m responsible for him at the moment.”

“Do you have his medical information?”

“No, but his mother suffered from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.” 

“Of course, probably complications from the heat. Make sure he’s rested and hydrated and doesn’t stay outside for too long. You administered CPR?”

“Yes.”

“You did a good job. Cracking the ribs is a normal occurrence so I don’t want you to think—”

“I know, I did it to his mother too,” Zenkichi admits. He’d been absolutely panicked when she collapsed during a school picnic and spent the whole time inconsolable until his father explained he hadn’t made it worse.

“Ah, well I just didn’t want you worrying you did something wrong. You saved his life.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Do you know of any medications he’s taking?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’d like to keep him for a bit just to make sure there’s no complications. I’m sure you’ve noticed but he’s severely underweight and suffering from anemia. We might end up keeping him overnight.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The doctor leaves and Zenkichi practically collapses into the nearest chair.

God, he’s more exhausted than he’s been in a long time. They’ll probably end up staying in Sapporo an extra day and—

Oh. Oh no.

Zenkichi pulls out his phone and calls Akane.

“Where are you?” Akane asks as soon as the phone picks up.

Zenkichi sighs. “Look, I’m not going to be home tonight.”

“WHAT?! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry! I don’t want to do this, but your cousin had a heart attack.”

“Huh? Grandma and Grandpa didn’t—”

“No, on my side of the family. My sister’s son.”

“Are you serious? You can’t come up with a better lie?! You only mention your sister sometimes and I sure as hell haven’t met her.”

“It’s really, really complicated. I promise I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever. See you.” The line clicks, and Zenkichi throws his head back. Why is his life like this?

“Is that your daughter?” 

Zenkichi snaps his head up, and Kitagwa’s awake. 

“Kitagawa!”

“Lying to the hospital is one thing,” Kitagawa says, “but there’s no need to lie to your daughter for my sake.”

It’s funny that for all Kitagawa inherits from his father, he makes the exact same look as Tsuru did when she caught Zenkichi in a lie. 

Daring him to try and dig himself deeper.

“Er, right.” Zenkichi scratches his head. “Look, Kitagawa. I wasn’t… exactly lying.”

“So what you told the doctor was true? You’re my uncle?”

“You’ve been listening in that long, huh?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

The way Kitagwa’s glaring at him, Zenkichi feels a pang of nostalgia. Honestly, it’s been so long, he even misses Tsuru being mad at him. “I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know the right time. It’s not like I can just walk up to someone I’m investigating and say ‘hey, I’m your long lost uncle!’”

“Are we still just people you’re investigating at this point?” 

“Well…”

Kitagawa’s frown gets deeper. “Fine. Did you know my mother died? Why did you never come to pay your respects?”

“That’s… I didn’t think she’d want me there. Or to have anything to do with you,” Zenkichi says.

“Then tell me why. I think you owe me that, at least.”

Zenkichi takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Eighteen years ago…

Zenkichi hasn’t slept in weeks. If he’s right, he’s tracked Tsuru to Tokyo of all places. Supposedly someone’s seen her working at this ramen shop, so Zenkichi settles in to a seat by the door, and waits all day.

His tab is pretty expensive by the time Tsuru shows up, slipping in discreetly by the back and relieving a stressed-out high school student. She goes to talk with the owner and locks eyes with Zenkichi.

They stare at each other across the shop for a second, before Tsuru whispers something quickly to the owner, clearly apologizing, then heads over to Zenkichi.

“Let’s go outside,” she says, and Zenkichi lets her lead the way out.

They go around back, and the second they’re out of sight of any cameras, Zenkichi pulls her into a hug.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Tsuru blinks at him. “W-wow, I thought you’d open with yelling.”

“Who’s behind this? The owner?”

“W-what? No, behind what?”

“Who kidnapped you?”

Tsuru groans. “Oh, ok is that how Mom’s dealing with it? Of course not, it’s never her fault.”

“Tsuru, Mom’s dead.”

Tsuru’s face goes pale. “W-what? W-what happened?”

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, what do you mean ‘that’s how she’s dealing with it?’”

“I wasn’t kidnapped,” Tsuru says. “I ran away.”

Zenkichi feels his eye twitch. “What?”

“I ran away.”

“What do you mean you ran away?”

“I couldn’t stay in that house anymore, so I ran away.”

“On your own?! Tsuru, do you know how worried I’ve been?! Of all the stupid little—”

“Stupid?! Are you kidding me, I tried to tell you so many times, but you never believed me?”

“What about the canvases then?”

“Mom broke them! She’s been breaking them for years when she’s mad at me!” Tsuru snaps. “And I could never bear to throw them out, so I kept them and left them in my room so she’d remember why I left!”

“I thought someone had broken into your room because you felt like being dramatic?”

“Gah! This is why I didn’t talk to you!”

“Tsuru I haven’t slept in weeks trying to investigate your disappearance and mom’s death.” Suddenly Zenkichi stops, and he steps back from her. “...did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Did you kill Mom?”

“What? Have you gone crazy?”

“You had a fight, you pushed her down the stairs, and then you panicked.”

“First of all, that’d have to be a pretty hefty shove, and as you’ll remember I can barely throw a ball 30cm. All my life it’s been ‘oh no Tsurur you’re too small for that, yu’re too weak for that, you can’t do that,’ but now you think I can shove someone with 30 pounds on me hard enough to send them down the stairs?!” Tsuru gasps. “Besides, If it was an accident I would have called you.”.

“You didn’t call me when you decided to run away to Tokyo!”

“Because you’d tell Mom, and it wouldn’t be safe for—” Tsuru clutches her stomach and looks away. “That’s different, ok?”

“Then maybe when you left you left the window open and someone broke in and killed Mom,” Zenkichi says. “Either way you still killed her.”

“That’s— that’s not true.”

“Come on, we’re going to the police station.” Zenkichi says, grabbing for her wrist, but Tsuru snaps it back.

“What? N-no, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m betting you were hired under a fake name,” Zenkichi says. “You may have tampered with a crime scene.”

“I told you I didn’ kill Mom!”

“Well I can’t believe you now, can I?” Zenkichi says. “I thought you’d tell me about something like this, so how can I know you’re being honest with me now.”

“You’re not even working Mom’s case. They wouldn’t let you.”

“Oh so you want to call an officer and wait for a police car?”

“You’re just doing this because you’re mad at me!”

“No, I’m not, I’m acting as an officer of the law, and since you were the last one to see Mom alive, you’re a suspect, and should be interrogated.”

Tsuru looks down on the ground and mutters something.

“What was that?” 

“...I hate you,” Tsuru says without raising her voice. “I’ve been so worried I was wrong not to trust you, and here you are proving my right. I hate you! I hate you so much!” Then she walks off.

“Where are you going?”

“To the police station, that’s what you wanted right? Then once they explain you’re ridiculous for thinking I could kill Mom, then I’ll decide if I ever want to talk to you again.”

Present

Yusuke doesn’t know how to feel after Inspector Hasegawa— should he call him Uncle?— finishes. He grasps for the first thought he can force into intelligible words.

“And after that?”

“I got chewed out for accessing information on a case I wasn’t working on to track down your mom, she showed her train ticket to prove she was already gone by mom’s ETD, and then she never spoke to me again,” Inspector Uncle Hasegawa says.

“Were you still angry with her?”

“I held out for a year being stubborn. Then I didn’t know how to talk to her.”

“Did you know about me? Did you know she’d died?”

“Yes. It’s not like I was stalking her or anything, but I… kept tabs on her. When she died, I’d heard you were living with a family friend, so I figured that’d be better for everyone.”

Yusuke would be lying if he said he didn’t see Hasegawa’s side of things. It’s not like he’d know what to say.

But another part of him is stewing in an ice cold rage. Madarame had always said he should be grateful, that Yusuke had no other family who would want to take him in. Was that just another lie or an accidental truth considering his uncle had never even tried to reach out to him after his mother’s death.

His mother’s death stands out as the one sharp point of the haze of his early childhood, and he remembers it being just him, Madarame, and a few other mourners. If Hasegawa had been there, he never spoke to Yusuke.

Though, given the look on Hasegawa’s face, now’s not the time to go into that. 

So Yusuke swallows his rage. “Can you send the doctor in? I suppose I need to give her my medical information.”

“Oh, sure, of course. I’ll go tell your friends everything.”

Inspector Uncle Hasegawa gets up, and something in his bearing makes Yusuke feels as though he’s only added to the weight the man has been carrying all these years.

#uncle zenkichi conspiracy board #alto writes #whumptober #day 4 #yusuke kitagawa #zenkichi hasegawa #child abuse tw #ask to tag #hospitals #heart attacks #medical stuff i probably got wrong I'm so sorry

[lilac-gold]

OMORI AI-less Whumptober 2023

Contents Page:

DAY ONE: Sick Summary: Aubrey falls ill, unable to leave her room. Her mother doesn’t care, and certainly won’t let her friends come visit.

DAY TWO: Overworked Summary: Hero uses studying to cope with Mari's death. Unfortunately, staying up all night studying can lead to passing out at the most inconvenient of times.

DAY THREE: Isolation Summary: Unlike Hero and Sunny, Aubrey didn’t isolate herself. Her friends and family did so for her.

DAY FOUR: Hiding an injury Summary: Mari’s supposed to be perfect, not go running for help. Hero’s got enough of her worries on his plate without her bad knee too.

DAY FIVE: Held at gunpoint Summary: Someone’s got a gun at Hero and Kel’s school. Kel should be concerned for himself, but all he can think about is his brother.

DAY SIX: Mind control Summary: Under Bossman, Hero is a puppet. He has no say in what his body does, and no way to resist when it starts to hurt his little siblings.

DAY SEVEN: Flatline Summary: Basil hears his grandmother die. The sound of her flatlining sticks with him for hours afterwards.

DAY EIGHT: Panic Attacks Summary: Aubrey deals with things using anger. She can control that, but the panic rushing through her is a different matter entirely.

DAY NINE: Presumed dead Summary: In Black Space, he gets constantly ripped apart, and Omori doesn't seem to care. When he returns to Headspace, Basil learns that his friends ended up giving up on him completely.

DAY TEN: Collar Summary: Molly always treats him like he's less than human. Still, Omori really could've done without the constant reminder around his neck.

DAY ELEVEN: Paralysed Summary: Upon a mountain, freezing to death, Spaceboy can't move a muscle. He's beginning to dislike the numbness.

DAY TWELVE: Sacrifice Summary: The Recycultists have never been a threat, not really. Things change when Basil ends up in one of their rituals.

DAY THIRTEEN: Drowning (ALT Prompt) Summary: He's not a strong swimmer, and hasn't been since he was little. Still, Sunny jumps in after Basil, and wonders if he meant for this to happen.

DAY FOURTEEN: Grief (ALT Prompt) Summary: Unlike Mari, Hero leaves a note. Kel finds it just minutes too late.

DAY FIFTEEN: Transformation Summary: Spaceboy tries to fight the anger that threatens to overcome him every single time. It never works, and hearing that tape again is the last straw.

DAY SIXTEEN: Hospital Summary: Mari is familiar with hospitals, especially this one. One place she's never visited before, however, is its roof.

DAY SEVENTEEN: Hypothermia Summary: Maybe climbing a huge, snowy mountain in only her too-large nightgown and with no shoes wasn't the best idea. Aubrey's certainly starting to feel the chill.

DAY EIGHTEEN: Warm soup Summary: Sunny hasn't eaten Hero's food in years. Now, starving as he is, it tastes even better than ever.

DAY NINETEEN: "Why wasn't I enough?" Summary: Locked in the walls, Rococo's starting to go insane. He still doesn't understand what he did wrong.

DAY TWENTY: Stockholm syndrome Summary: Hero, touch-starved and grieving, craves even the tiniest scrap of love. Finding it in Sweetheart was inevitable, really.

DAY TWENTY-ONE: Near-death experience Summary: After Humphrey, his friends seem fine. Omori knows better.

DAY TWENTY-TWO: Punishment Summary: The guilty must be punished. Sunny can tell no-one, so the only one left to inflict punishment is him.

DAY TWENTY-THREE: Forced to watch Summary: When Kel is about to be strapped down to the dissection table, Hero begs to switch places. Kel hears every broken cry that follows as his older brother watches him get cut open.

DAY TWENTY-FOUR: Failed escape Summary: Hero tries to escape the basement. The man who took him films his punishment. (Inspired by @charismabee's 'found footage' one-shot in our Hero-centric Febuwhump earlier this year)

DAY TWENTY-FIVE: "Why didn't you save me?" Summary:  If Basil had been there even a minute earlier, he could have helped. Instead, he made everything infinitely worse.

DAY TWENTY-SIX: Curse Summary: Biscuit used to be able to talk. Now, the only person who understands him is his sister.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Immortal whumpee Summary: Mari was supposed to be dead. However, looking at herself in the mirror, she sure didn’t look like it.

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Oxygen deprivation Summary: On a mission through the stars, something goes horribly wrong. Before he knows it, Spaceboy is struggling to navigate the way back as his lungs run out of air.

DAY TWENTY-NINE: "The easy way or the hard way?" Summary: Mikhael’s cocky attitude and overall lameness lands him in a bit of trouble when he gets on the wrong side of a group of delinquents at Closeby High. He only hopes the Hooligans come to his assistance soon.

DAY THIRTY: Mind games Summary: Rococo owes Sweetheart his everything, and he knows she loves him… Even if what she says sometimes doesn’t completely align with that.

DAY THIRTY-ONE: Crying Summary: Kel hasn’t let himself cry in years. After seeing Basil’s body in the bathroom, it’s all he seems able to do.

And so, the time arrives! I will be posting each of the above one-shots to AO3 under "Whumptober 2023", as well as here on Tumblr in a series of posts. I will add links to each day once completed, as well as a 'previous' and 'next' to each day on Tumblr. I hope that you stick around and enjoy this month, because it's going to get whumpy!

(In addition to this, I will be doing a collaborative work with @charismabee centred around every alternative prompt for this event. Each day will be set in a different Omori AU that we've created. She is also doing her own version of Whumptober alone, so check her out if you'd like to see more! <3)

#ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober prompts #omori whump #whump #contents #omori #omori game #omori hero #omori kel #omori sunny #omori mari #omori sweetheart #omori rococo #omori captain spaceboy #omori aubrey #omori basil #omori mikhael #omori biscuit #omori bossman hero #omori spoilers #tw school shooting #tw death #tw self harm #tw suicide #tw depression #tw abuse #omori headspace #omori real world #the kids are all a found family #hs and rw

[ao3feed-zukka]

the calm after the storm (and the destruction in its wake)

Read now on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/WXxqT2B by anna_was_here “I’m sorry,” he hears Sokka say quietly. “No. No, please, kid. Don’t apologise.” Hakoda rubs his hands across his face, trying to get his bearings in this sea of teenage uncertainty. “I should be the one apologising to you. Although I have no idea what’s going on, but…” he looks over, catching Sokka’s wide eyes before they jerk back down to the ice. His heart continues to splinter and crack. “Please. Tell me what I did.” ----- Sokka's not talking to him, and Hakoda has no idea why. And when he finds out, he wishes it remained a mystery. Day Nineteen: Left Behind - can be read as a standalone (but day 18 provides a good backstory for it) Words: 3124, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 19 of a witchering's whumptober 2023 Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Hakoda (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar) Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar), Minor Bato/Hakoda (Avatar) - Relationship, minor Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) - Relationship Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Hakoda (Avatar), Parental Hakoda (Avatar), Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Insecure Sokka (Avatar), the feels are coming out, screaming crying sobbing in the public library, love a good father son relationship, To clarify, Good Parent Hakoda (Avatar), but - Freeform, he's made some mistakes, those mistakes don't make him a bad father, BECAUSE he's trying and accepts responsibility for his actions, Sokka has Abandonment Issues (Avatar), why isn't that a tag, Whumptober 2023, Day Nineteen: Left Behind (Whumptober 2023) Read it on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/WXxqT2B

#IFTTT #zukka #sokka #zuko #avatar: the last airbender #atla #ao3 feed

[charlieeenby]

paid my sins in blood, but i ain't done

dick grayson throughout the years to become a talon

and

after his rescue, dick retired talon, but when his family is threatened, he'll do what ever is necessary to bring them home.

warnings and tags: dick grayson is a talon, non consensual body modifications, murder, torture, suicidal thoughts, blood, gore, injury, angst

title from i ain't done by the crane wives

notes: the first part is my 2023 whumptober day 4

Dick is nine years old.

They inject him five times with a serum that makes him stronger, faster, more durable. It burns for hours after and leaves him withering in pain. They strap him to the cold metal of the table and gag him when his screams and thrashing become too much.

Dick is ten years old.

He is led into a room with a man on his knees in the center. He is blindfolded and gagged, but he does not struggle the way Dick thinks he would have. They instruct him to kill him. Dick fights and fights and he gives in. He takes the dagger they offer him and steps in front of the man. He apologizes to someone and plunges the sharp blade into the man’s throat.

Dick is eleven years old.

His training is rigorous and exhausting. He wishes for death. The serum they gave him does not allow him to be injured. It heals him in seconds, and leaves his body numb. He is more weapon then he wants to be, but he still fights when he can.

Dick is twelve years old.

They strap him down to the cold table again and inject the serum five more times. It burns more going in but the pain subsides quickly. They still gag him and keep him bound. He lies for hours in muted agony.

Dick is thirteen years old.

They start making him kill on a daily basis. They tell him that the people he kills are bad and evil. They are rapists and killers and abusers. They are the scum of Gotham City. Dick now knows that he is in Gotham City, but he does not let his captors know that. He stops fighting them when they ask him to kill.

Dick is fourteen years old.

When they strap him down to the cold table and gag him, he expects more of the serum. That is not what they do. Instead, they hook him up to a machine that takes his blood and replaces it with inky blackness. He screams and cries and begs, though the gag stifles most of it. His body and mind burn and he again wishes for death. Death does not come.

Dick is fifteen years old.

The electrum worked, and now he is indestructible. For a while he thinks he will not be strapped down again. He is and this time, his head is strapped down and his eyes are pried open and inject the electrum directly into them. He screams and cries, bloody-black tears running down his face.

Dick is fifteen years old and they tell him that he is their talon. He will kill those who threaten them.

Dick is no more.

Talon is sixteen years old.

Grandmaster sends it on its first mission. A politician stepped out of line. He must be handled. Talon slips into his house in the dead of night and slits his throat so deeply that he is nearly decapitated.

Talon is seventeen years old.

It meets the Batman for the first time. Batman is strong and fights well, but Talon is not human and fearful. Talon gains the upper hand but does not kill. It does not know why. When Grandmaster asks why, it lies and tells him that Batman was a better fighter.

Talon is eighteen years old.

It is happy to kill for Grandmaster and the Court. Grandmaster made Talon, of course it will kill for him. Talon would do anything for Grandmaster.

Talon is nineteen years old.

Talon meets Batman again. This time it is because it is supposed to kill Batman. But Batman has a small child with it, Robin, and Talon can not kill the Batman and orphan a child. Talon thinks it might have been an orphan once. Batman offers to help Talon but Talon doesn’t know what that means so it rums away.

Talon is…

It doesn’t matter. The court is gone. Grandmaster is dead and Talon is free. Talon wonders if Batman would still help it. When it finds Batman, it gets on it’s knees and submits, then it begs for mercy. Batman kneels in front of Talon and tells it that he’s happy to help, but it doesn’t need to beg. Batman helps him up and takes him home.

Dick is twenty-nine years old.

Talon is still there, electrum still runs in his veins and his eyes are still that eerie gold the court made them, but Dick does not kill, does not fight. He is safe and loved. Dick had brothers and sisters. He has a father and grandfather. He is happy.

He is Dick Grayson, the last Flying Grayson and he is alive.

One day, the Red Hood is kidnapped, somehow, and no one can find him, not even the Justice League.

Dick is angry and scared, but he believes that Bruce will bring his brother home. He has to, otherwise, he will lose control, and then he will be Talon again and he will take the head of anyone who tries to keep him from his little brother.

But then, a week after Jason is taken, Bruce asks Dick if he’d be willing to be Talon, and find Jason. He tells him that all their leads were dead ends and that he couldn’t lose Jason again, so if Dick had to kill someone to get Jason back, Bruce would look the other way.

That night, Talon returns to the streets of Gotham, and floods them red, strikes fear into the city herself and he leaves no stone uncovered.

He finds Jason, tied up, beaten bloody and terrified, left to relive those moments in a warehouse years ago and Dick rages.

Once Jason is home, he tracks down the people who did this and tears into them, quite literally, tearing limb from limb, flesh from bone, and he doesn’t stop until they’re all dead.

Only then does he go home, so he can crawl into bed with his little brother and hold him, keep him safe.

The next morning, the Justice League is in their home, in the cave and they are angry. They are angry because Dick killed. Because Dick killed so many people, so violently.

Bruce claims that they’re wrong, that Dick was at home the whole night, with Alfred, and when Alfred is questioned, he tells them that he and Dick were in the library for the entire night, haven fallen asleep on one of the large sofas in there.

Superman accuses him of lying. Then he threatens to arrest Alfred and Bruce. Dick, who had been sitting on a ledge high in the ceiling of the cave, jumped down at that, teeth bared and eyes glowing an eerie gold.

He informs the Justice League that regardless of his location last night, he will not let them take his family away. The people that died last night found out what happens when you hurt his family and the League will too, if they push too hard.

There is silence in the cave, and Dick knows that the more human Leaguers are weary, hesitant to approach, let alone fight him.

But Superman, Wonder Woman, they’re not. And Dick knows this. But he also knows that electrum still runs in his veins, still keeps him alive and brings him back, even hen he should be dead.

He also knows were the kryptonite is.

So he stands his ground, eyes locked on Superman. He doesn’t move, or flinch, his breathing is even and his heart does not beat, it hasn’t in years and it never will again, but he is unafraid.

Superman does not kill, but Dick, Talon, does. His family had been threatened and he will not allow them to be harmed or taken from him ever again.

Then, in an act that surprises Dick, Superman steps back. He is still watching him, but he steps back and relaxes, sort of.

He tells Bruce that if Talon is ever allowed to roam the streets again, there will be consequences and the league will have to intervene.

Dick hates that Superman calls him Talon. It’s not who he is.

Bruce agrees because he knows that Talon has not truly existed for years, and that the person who was on the streets last night was not Talon. It was Dick Grayson, who tortured and killed those people.

It was Dick Grayson who went out and brought his brother home. And it is Dick Grayson who stands before the League.

Talon will never go out because Talon is dead. But that doesn’t mean Dick Grayson won’t.

#dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #angst #tw blood #tw murder #tw gore #tw body modification #tw torture #tw injury #tw suicidal thoughts #my work

[sylvanfreckles]

Day Nineteen: "I'm not as stupid as you think"

Summary: Nino fails a math test, putting his precious weekend plans with Adrien (who's finally allowed out of the house on a Saturday) in jeopardy.

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.19 #im not as stupid as you think #miraculous ladybug #fic #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #fluff

[marvelous-writer]

Not So Super Side Effects

Summary: Peter is recovering at the Stark lake house from a broken leg when Dr. Banner makes a house call to bring him some newly formulated pain medication to help him with the pain.

Things just don’t go as smoothly as Tony and Bruce hoped they would.

Whumptober Day 1: Adverse Reactions & “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”  

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,786

Genre: whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, humor

Link to read on AO3

“Just—you have to sit still, Pete.” Tony says, a hint of frustration in his voice as he tries to adjust the pillows behind Peter’s back on the chaise section of the couch as the teen squirms in his seat.

“But I’m so sick of sitting around all the time. I have things I need to do!” Peter whines as he throws his arms out to his sides.

“Not with a broken leg you don’t,” Tony says, gesturing to Peter’s right leg that’s encased in a navy blue cast, propped up on a thick throw pillow. “If there’s anything you need, you let me know and I’ll get it for you. No putting weight on that leg—doctor’s orders and I know you don’t want to make Bruce angry.” He adds with a hint of sarcasm.

Peter just sighs, rolling his eyes as he folds his arms over his chest. “I know, but it’s still not fair.”

“I know.” Tony says in an understanding voice.

“And it’s not fair that I stupidly tripped on my own foot and fell down the stairs with the stupid elevator being down in Happy’s apartment building.”

“I know.” Tony repeats, nodding.

“It’s not fair that I can’t even walk to the bathroom by myself.” Peter says, folding his arms over his chest.

Tony lets out a light sigh as he gives Peter a pointed look. The kid is just turned nineteen, yet he still reminds him of the fifteen year old he met all those years ago, especially now with how childish he’s being over a broken leg. He knows Peter well enough now to know that the last thing he wants to do is inconvenience anyone. He wants to be independent and take care of other people’s needs before his own.

But can Tony blame him? He’d probably be whining about it too if he were in the poor kid’s shoes.

“Pete,” he says. “I hate to tell you this but life isn’t fair, kiddo. We just have to accept it and deal with it.”

Peter lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah…” he agrees. “Sorry for whining about it. It’s just-”

“Not fair?” Tony finishes with a teasing grin, only to earn a weak glare from Peter in return, causing Tony to chuckle. “I know what you mean. I’ve been down for the count quite a few times in my life and I know what it’s like. But you’re going to be back on your feet in no time, okay? Bruce is going to swing by in a little bit to bring you your new pain meds that will help. So in the meantime, how about I make us some lunch and we can watch a movie?”

Peter nods, giving in with a small, grateful smile. “Sure.”

…

After fixing them some sandwiches for lunch, Tony settles down on the couch next to Peter and watch an episode of the new Obi-Wan Kenobi show. They’re almost twenty minutes into the second episode when he notices Peter shifting in his seat and clenching his fists.

Tony’s frowns in concern. “You okay, kiddo?”

Peter doesn’t answer him for a few moments as his face pinches slightly. “Yeah…” he answers in an unsure voice as he reaches forward and rubs his injured leg near his knee.

“Is your leg bothering you?” Tony asks.

Peter’s brows pull together as he breathes out a sigh, sitting back into the couch cushions. “A little.”

Tony nods as he pulls out his phone from his pocket, already starting to text his friend. “I’ll text him and ask his ETA with those pain meds.”

“Thanks.” Peter says in a grateful tone.

It takes only a few minutes for Bruce to text back.

“He says he’s already on his way—about twenty minutes or so.” Tony says, looking up from his phone.

“That’s good.” Peter says. “Maybe we can ask him to take a look at my new web formula while he’s here?”

Tony gives him a pointed look. “You’re just wanting to get off the couch and down in the lab.”

“What? I am not.” Peter weakly defends himself, a smile creeping onto his face.

Tony breathes out a laugh as he shakes his head. “Yeah, sure you’re not.”

Peter’s smile grows as he gives a small one-shouldered shrug as he looks back to the tv, watching Obi-Wan walk across the sandy dunes of Tatooine with the twin suns glaring harshly above him.

…

“Dr. Banner has arrived.” Friday’s announces, her soft voice coming from the speakers above.

And sure enough, Tony can hear tires rolling to a stop against the gravel driveway outside.

“Great. Thanks, Fri.” Tony says as he looks over at Peter, who is still sound asleep.

He had fallen asleep not even twenty minutes ago, shortly after they started the third episode of the show. The poor kid was clearly exhausted and in pain, judging by the way his brows are pulled together in discomfort, even in his sleep.  His brown leg hasn’t allowed him to get any proper sleep these past few days with the dull, throbbing pain. That’s why Tony called in a favor to Bruce to up Peter’s dosage on his pain meds but Bruce ultimately decided to whip up a new and improved batch since the ones they already have for Peter were more of a prototype medication. They took the edge off of the pain and made him a little loopy, but clearly not enough to completely numb the pain. Hopefully these new pain meds will do the trick for Peter so he can get the rest he needs.

Tony quietly stands up and heads over to the front door, grabbing his thin coat on the coat rack before stepping outside, feeling a crisp, fall breeze rush past him.

Tony leans on the porch railing and folds his arms as he watches Bruce get out of the car. “Hey, green bean. How was the drive?”

Bruce laughs at the nickname, smiling as he grabs his medical bag from the passenger seat before shutting the door. “Not too bad. The foliage was beautiful coming down here. The trees at the compound haven’t changed yet. In due time, I guess.”

Tony nods as he looks up at the big elm trees across the yard. It’s leaves have now turned almost completely red, yellow and orange.

“How’s Peter doing today?” Bruce asks as he walks towards the porch.

“He’s sleeping now, the poor kid. His leg was acting up today like last night,” Tony says. “I think he’s getting a bit stir crazy though. One thing he hates doing is sitting still for too long.”

Bruce nods with a small smile. “I know the feeling,” he says, coming up the porch steps. “As you know, the break in his leg was deep so it’s taking his body a little longer to heal it, even with his enhanced healing abilities. That could also be a contributor to the pain he’s in. I used Steve’s as a baseline for the chemical compounds and such with his enhanced metabolism. Let’s hope they do the trick to take the edge off Peter’s pain.”

“Let’s hope.” Tony says in agreement as he pushes off the railing and heads back to the door.

When they both step inside the house, Tony looks across the room over to Peter, who is still sound asleep on the couch.

“Do you want a sandwich or anything?” Tony offers.

“Uh, yeah sure, please. I’m going to take everything out so we can give him his first dose now. I think I’ll hang around for a little bit just to make sure it works before I head back.”

“You can stay as long as you want, Brucie. No need to ask.” Tony says with a grin as he heads towards the kitchen, glancing over at Peter as he goes to make Bruce his sandwich.

It only takes Tony a few minutes to make the sandwich—turkey, lettuce, cheddar cheese, and pickles to be exact— he walks back out into the living room as Bruce is going though his medical bag, taking out an orange prescription bottle.

“Thanks,” Bruce says with a grateful smile as he puts the bottle down on the end table next to the couch, taking the plate from Tony’s outstretched hand.

Tony walks around him and leans down next to Peter, gently shaking the teen’s shoulder. “Hey, Pete… rise and shine.” He softly says.

Peter’s brows pull together as he rolls his head to the side of the pillow with a small groan.

“C’mon, kiddo, wakey, wakey.”

Peter’s eyes slowly flutter open, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he looks up at Tony, brows pulling together more in confusion.

“Bruce is here with the good stuff.” Tony tells him.

“Good stuff?” Peter questions, slurring a bit as he rubs at his eyes.

“Your pain meds,” Tony clarifies with a chuckle. “You can go back to sleep after your first dose.”

Tony stands back and lets Bruce take over as he asks Peter questions about his pain and how he’s feeling. He steps away for a moment to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator before giving it to Peter after Bruce hands him two small blue pills. Peter pops the pills in his mouth and washes them down with a few sips of the water.

“So I want you to take two every four to six hours, depending on your pain. When you’re starting to feel better then we can lower it to one.” Bruce says.

“Okay,” Peter nods. “But these aren’t going to make me feel fuzzy like the other ones are they?”

“They shouldn’t but a little grogginess is to be expected with pain meds like these.”

“That’s good.” Peter says, sighing in relief. “I hate how loopy they make me.”

“I know. They’re a work in progress, so I’m hoping these will be a lot better for you.”

“I think they will be,” Tony adds with a smile. “After all I did help with formulating them and we worked tirelessly on them so Spider-Man can continue going out there, saving the citizens of New York while he makes me go greyer and greyer every day.” He sarcastically adds.

Peter ducks his head and rubs at his neck, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “It’s for a good cause, I guess,” He jokes as he sits back down in his spot next to Peter on the couch. He looks over at Bruce. “Do you think you could whip me up something to help with the grays, Doc?”

Bruce chuckles. “I don’t think I can help with that but I can recommend you lay off the coffee, eat more vegetables and get more sleep,” he says. “I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

Peter lets out a laugh at that, nearly choking on his water. “Ooo burn.” He says, looking over at Tony.

“I would have to disagree on you with that one, Bruce. You are indeed a miracle worker. My kid here is proof of that.” Tony says as he reaches over and ruffles Peter’s bedhead hair.

“Well, thank you for that.” Bruce says.

“While we wait for those meds to kick in, want to sit down and watch some Obi-Wan, Bruce?” Tony offers.

“Sure, why not. I’ve been meaning to catch up on the new additions to the Star Wars franchise.” He says as he picks up the plate with his sandwich and takes a seat across from them on the loveseat.

“You’ll love this one.” Peter says with a grin.

“Is this the series with the little Yoda baby?” Bruce asks around a mouthful of his sandwich.

Tony and Peter’s heads snap in his direction, a mixture of shocked expressions on their faces.

“Bruce…” Tony slowly says, closing his eyes for a moment as he dramatically places a hand to his chest. “His name is Grogu and he’s from the Mandalorian. He is the light of Mando’s life, his adopted foundling son.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “Sorry? I guess I really do have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I say we have a Mandalorian marathon one of these days.” Peter says with a smile.

“That could be fun.” Bruce says with a smile.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “We could even have Star Wars-themed food and stuff to go with it. A little Star Wars watch party. I bet we could whip up a batch of spotchka too.”

Peter turns to him with wide eyes. “Really? That would be so cool! I’m sure we could use Gatorade or something for the blue-“

“The Glacier Frost one could work.” Bruce chips in.

“Yeah! But we’ll have to figure out how to make it glow.”

“I’m sure it’s doable.” Tony says, making a mental note to look up some spotchka recipes that are out there on the internet.

“And maybe we could do a cosplay contest!” Peter suggests.

“Now there’s an idea!” Tony says with a chuckle. “We’ll look into a having cosplay-wearing watch party later. But for now… Friday, roll it back to episode one, please.”

“Certainly.” She responds, pausing as the first episode flashes on the tv screen.

As the opening credits and score begin, Tony settles in his seat further, sparing a glance over at Bruce as his friend takes an insanely large bite of his sandwich, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he chews, clearly enjoying it. Tony barely manages holds back a chuckle at the sight. The poor guy is cooped up in the lab all day and forgets to eat a lot of the time. Tony knows a thing or two about that.

He turns back to the tv as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s peaceful, being with Peter and Bruce, just hanging out together and watching tv for a change instead of fighting aliens or evil robots, or suiting up to go save his spider-child’s ass a few times a week, despite the fact that Tony’s semi-retired as Iron Man. But it’s all worth it.

Tony looks at the tv, allowing himself to be immersed in the show.

…

Peter ended up falling back asleep around the middle of the first episode, tucked into Tony’s side with his head resting on his shoulder. They’re in the middle of the second episode, when the teen makes a soft, groaning sound in his sleep at Tony’s side.

Tony looks down at him as the teen’s eyes slowly blink open, only for him to squeeze them shut again with another groan.  The poor kid is probably exhausted.

“You conked out on us a little while ago. Did you have a good nap?” Tony asks with a warm smile.

Peter lays there for a few long moments without answering him, his face still pulled together in what looks to be discomfort. A wave of nervousness washes over Tony.

“Pete?” He asks but the teen still doesn’t answer him. “Peter?” He repeats.

Peter slowly opens his eyes again, his brows pulled together in a frown. “I…” he starts, licking his lips.  “I don’ feel so good…”

Bruce’s head snaps up at the comment. He quickly stands up from the loveseat and gets into doctor mode, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, exchanging a knowing look with Tony. “What do you mean you don’t feel good Peter? What’re you feeling?” He asks as he takes out his phone.

Peter sits there for a few seconds, seemingly processing Bruce’s question. “I… I dunno… weird n’ fuzzy…” he says, his words slurring.

“A little weird and fuzzy?” Bruce repeats. “The same way you feel when you take your other pain medication or is this new?” He asks.

Peter hums in thought. “Sort of…”

“Sort of. Okay,” Bruce says, nodding his head as he types on his phone. “Are you feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

Peter closes his eyes and slowly nods his head.

“You are? Okay…” Bruce says, typing into his phone as he stands up. “All you need to do is just sit here and try to relax. We’ll get you something to drink to settle your stomach, alright?”

Peter leans his head back against the pillows behind his head and hums at the back of his throat.

“I’ll grab him a some ginger ale and see if that helps.” Tony says as he stands up.

Peter’s eyes suddenly fly open, causing both men to hesitate where they stand. “m’ gonna throw up.” He announces.

The alarming rate the kid’s skin is going from his usual rosy to pale, even green has Tony running into the kitchen and grabbing the nearest thing for the kid to upchuck into.

Pepper’s favorite crystal punch bowl, the one her mother gave them on his and Pepper’s wedding day.

He rushed back to the living room and shoves it under Peter, just in time as vomit spews out from his mouth and into the bowl.

“N-Nooo,” Peter moans as he opens his eyes. “N-Not the crystal bowl-“ he says, only to duck his head back in, throwing up again.

Tony winces in sympathy. “It’s alright, kiddo. Just let it all out. I can wash it after.”

“I’ll try to remember not to drink the punch during the Halloween party.” Bruce mumbles with a slight grimace.

Peter must hear him because he moans out into the puke-filled crystal bowl again. Tony shoots Bruce a glare with no real heat behind it.

“These meds are supposed to help him feel better not worse.” Tony says guiltily.

He doesn’t blame Bruce for this. There has to be something that he missed seeing himself. Tony is a science wiz—he’s supposed to be good at this stuff.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Bruce says, baffled as Peter continues to throw up in front of them. “I checked the ingredients twice—three times, even. I adjusted the chemical formula to suit his metabolism… I just don’t understand it. There’s nothing that should be causing this sort of reaction for him.”

“Do you think it’s his metabolism? Maybe it’s too much of a dose for him to handle?” Tony questions.

“That’s a possibility but… I didn’t think that it had a tap out point with how incredibly fast it is. I hope we haven’t been wrong this whole time, like how much we can and can’t give him for medication—just like right now, how many calories he needs to intake every day, and even how much alcohol he can consume before he gets drunk—“

“My kid is upchucking right now and you’re wondering how drunk he can get?” Tony asks with a raised brow.

“You’re right. Sorry,” Bruce says, shaking his head to himself. “But this does factor in a whole new set of equations that we’ll have to figure out so we’re prepared in an emergency situation. But for now, all we can do is let it make its way though his system. It’s not a heavy duty drug like an opioid, so naloxone doesn’t need to be administered.”

Tony lets out a relieved breath at that. “Thank God it’s not.” He says, closing his eyes for a moment. “What can we do for him now?”

“‘I can grab him some water or ginger ale to help with the nausea while you sit with him. All we can really do is try to keep him comfortable and ride this out.”

“Right,” Tony says, “the ginger ale is in the pantry next to the fridge. I think we have some saltine crackers in there too.”

“Got it.” Bruce nods as he turns and heads into the kitchen, leaving Tony standing there, holding the puke bowl as Peter finally seems to have emptied his stomach out.

The poor kid lets out a low groan, his face twisted slightly in pain.

“Oh, Pete…” Tony says in sympathy as he puts the bowl down on the coffee table and goes back to Peter, gently placing a hand on the teen’s head. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“S’kay… not y’r fault.” Peter murmurs.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Tony offers.

Peter just silently shakes his head, letting his head fall back against the pillows behind him. Bruce comes around the corner with a tumblr filled with ice and ginger ale, along with a sleeve of saltines in his other hand. He places them down on the end table next to Peter.

“Are you feeling any better after getting all that out?” Bruce asks hopefully.

“A little…”

“That’s good. When you’re feeling up to it, we can help you up to your room so you’re more comfortable and in bed if you want?” Bruce offers.

"M-Maybe in a little bit.” Peter says with a wince.

“Whenever you want to, just let us know.” Tony tells him.

Tony and Bruce both take a step back, a little unsure what to do now. Tony reaches for the crystal bowl on the coffee table, only for Bruce to pick it up instead.

Tony opens his mouth to protest but Bruce beats him to it.

“I’ve cleaned up plenty of puke in my life. You just sit with him and make sure he’s alright, okay?” Bruce tells him.

Tony lets out a sigh, giving in with a nod. Bruce walks past him, crystal bowl of puke in hand as Tony sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of Peter, who has his eyes closed, his head leant back against the pillows behind him again.

Guilt flows through him at the sight of the poor kid, already injured and in pain and now sick, thanks to him. He had to have missed something in the pain meds that triggered something in Peter. He should have been more thorough.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Tony offers.

“No… think m’ just gonna sleep.” Peter mumbles, clearly exhausted.

“Okay. Bruce and I are right here if you need anything, kiddo.” Tony tells him, earning a small silent nod from the teen.

He stands up, only for Peter to crack open his eyes and look up at him.

“Can you stay?” Peter asks in a hopeful voice.

A smile tugs at the corner of Tony’s mouth as he nods. “Sure.” He says as he takes a seat  the couch beside Peter, who immediately turns his head towards Tony, leaning his head against his chest.

A warmth flows through Tony’s chest as he carefully wraps an arm around Peter, holding him close. The kid always gets clingy whenever he’s sick. But Tony doesn’t mind.

“All comfy?”

“Mhmm…” Peter sleepily hums. “T’nks.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #adverse reactions #this wasn't supposed to happen. #Spider-Man #fic #tw puke #whump #hurt/comfort #Peter Parker #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Bruce Banner #Hulk #Poor Peter Parker #sickfic #Peter Parker whump #dad tony stark #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #bruce banner is a good bro #sick Peter Parker #Hurt Peter Parker #mcu #marvel #spiderman #spider-man no way home #nwh #spider-man: nwh #my fic