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Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Two: [Tactile Takedown]

Summary: When a missile is headed right for Roosters F-18, Jake makes a decision that could end up costing you your life.

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Word Count: 4.4k

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Tuesday - April 18th 2023. D-day. 

“How you doing back there Hollywood?” Jake asked as you settled into a steady climb, You’d just taken off from the carrier that had taken you out into the middle of nowhere to complete a mission that seemed somewhat impossible. But you were told these guys were the best of the best, that they don't get any better than the Daggers. An elite group of Naval Aviators who had completed some of the most insane covert operations you'd been blessed to read about. “How's my radar looking?” 

And now? Well–now you were one of them. 

“Radars clean Hangman.” You confirmed all the while trying to calm the pit of nervousness in your stomach. “Recommend increasing to three hundred knots, you've got Dagger Two approaching at around ten o'clock closure.” 

“Confirmed.” Jake replied as he pushed up on his throttle, it sent your head into the back of your chair a little from the force of gravity changing around you. “Increasing speed, Rooster you still with me?” It was just the three of you, Rooster, Hangman and yourself. A small yet tactile team of experienced and highly trained naval aviators sent it to disable a rogue insurgent group that was making far too much noise for the United States navy to ignore. 

The mission? Dismantle what Nav-Con believed to be one of the two main insurgent camps situated in the middle of a communication desert. With one highly explosive missile and two of the best air to air combat pilots the navy had ever seen, you were tasked with getting in through a valley that had been similar terrain to a mission Bradley had flown a few years prior. 

That was why he was chosen. Experience. 

Jake Seresin had a reputation, he was the Hangman. He had two confirmed air to air kills and wouldn't lose sleep over a third of forth. From what you could gather since being assigned as his weapons system officer, Jake took risks. Risks that paid off well. He was highly skilled and that somewhat egomaniacal belief that he was a god given gift to aviation made it easier to pull through with such risks. 

That was why he was chosen. Taktical ability to compartmentalise. 

But Jake Seresin had a fault. He had a single thread loose that if pulled could undo all that male bravado. He cared, deep down, about his squadron. His colleagues had become more like family than anything. He couldn't turn that blind eye that was so necessary to have if this mission were to fail. 

And that's why you were brought in. Why you were chosen for such a dangerous mission. You would have been easier to lose against Robert Floyd or Mickey Garcia and the Admirals all knew it. Jake didn't know you. You were a pivotal part of the mission design, a means to an end if necessary. 

You were simply expendable: 

From the Admirals who had tasked Bradley and Jake with this mission to Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, they all knew that if it were Bob or Fanboy sitting in Jake's WSO seat, he wouldn’t take so many risks. And for once–they needed him to take risks. To not think and just do. 

“I'm right behind you, Hangman.” Bradleys voice came through the comms as clear as day. He was taling right behind Jake. “We’re looking good so far.” 

“Better not have just jinxed us Bradshaw.” Jake sighed as he made a small turn right, heading down into the canyon below. “We get in, we get out and we go home.” 

You had spent the last month revising the mission, sitting in hour long debrief sessions with Rooster and Hangman to go over critical points of the mission. You knew they were close, but there was an underlying sort of animosity you couldn't quite figure out. 

And that's why they were both chosen for this mission together. There would be no love lost between the two.

“Still nothing up ahead on radar Hangman.” You spoke firmly with enough conviction in your voice to cover up the fact your heart was racing a million miles an hour. You never thought in your wildest dream you'd make it to TopGun and then further, a specialist unit. But this was not the time to doubt your ability. “All systems go back here, max ceiling is three hundred feet if you wanna keep out of line of sight.” 

“Aye aye Hollywood.” Jake had never flown with a weapons system officer before. This was his first mission with one. When he’d been called into Admiral Simpson's office one random Thursday afternoon before finishing for the day–He thought for sure he was about to have his ass handed to him for something he’d surely done. 

“Hangman.” Admiral Simpson stood at his desk to greet the aviator who looked a little green around the gill upon first entry. He gestured for the flight suit clad, broad shouldered man to sit in the empty seat beside you. “I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Y/N “Hollywood” Y/L/N, she’ll be joining us here for the foreseeable future.” Jake listened as he sat down beside you. 

Without hesitation he sent you a strong smile that took up the entire expanse of his face, completely intoxicating and undeniably hollywood. 

“It's nice to see some fresh meat around here, keep the competition guessing.” Jake chuckled as he extended his hand to shake yours. “I'm Lieutenant Seresin, Jake.” He was all confidence and cocky ego until you touched his hand, until your hand shook his back in a friendly gesture. Jake wasn't going to pretend that he didn't feel that sharp spark, that jolt of energy, that lighting strike that ignited his skin when you touched him. “But everyone calls me Hangman.” 

“Hollywood here is actually joining us as a WSO Seresin.” Admiral Simpson explained as he let his elbows rest against the old oak desk that put some distance between where he sat and where Jake sat, completely unaware that your presence in North Island was about to completely change the trajectory of his career. “She’ll be your WSO.” 

“I’m sorry–” Jake retracted his hand from yours as he shot Admiral Simpson a look, he had previously warned you of this reaction, so you chose to remain silent. Taking in your surroundings and observing Hangman's emotions. It was your job to be observant after all. “Since when do I fly with a WSO? I've never flown doubles before and I don't intend to start now.” Jake argued before he turned back to where you sat. “No offence sunshine, I'm sure you’re great and all, it’s just I don't particularly play well with others.” 

“I'm more of a midnight rain kinda girl.” All you did was eye him off with an emotionless expression. Jake didn’t appreciate your tone, he did however appreciate the way your eyes nearly sparkled in the warm afternoon sun that came beaming through the window of Admiral Simpson's office. “I’m not too over the moon about working with you either.” It was a dig. “With a callsign as transparent as Hangman I’m sure I’m in great hands.”

“And I’m sure Hollywood has some outstanding depth to it.” Jake was quick on his feet with his comeback before he frowned a little more and turned his attention back to Admiral Simpson. “Why not Bradshaw?” He groaned, seemingly unimpressed by the decision to dump a WSO on him after years of flying solo. “He doesn’t have a WSO, or Coyote!” 

It was then that Admiral Simpson pulled out a cream coloured file from his desk draw and slid it across his desk. He let out a sigh that told you someone wasn’t coming back from this one. 

“Because we need it to be you.” 

“Approach the canyon entrance with caution.” You directed from behind as you watched the Radar closely. “Remember, we only engage if absolutely necessary.” 

“Once we’re in we make this quick.” Rooster spoke firmly, he had been a little hesitant to accept this detachment knowing its risk to reward ratio. But he’d been promised a shore leave after this. A well deserved vacation. “Let’s get to work.” 

“Copy, heading into Risk Range now.” That was the name on the cream folder Admiral Simpson had passed you and Hangman on day one. Risk Range. Because once you were in there was no way of pulling you out. It was risky, and a mountain range that expanded as far as the eye could see. “Hollywood, have that laser guide ready for me.” 

“On it.” It was like they knew you were coming, because as your radar began flashing with approaching enemy aircraft you knew immediately that they knew. It was a gut instinct. 

“Rooster evade left! Hangman break right, we’ve got company.” Jake didn’t waste a second of time reacting accordingly. He broke right as Rooster tailed off. It was the very definition of an ambush, cold calculated and premeditated. “Jake!” 

“Hangman on your left!” Rooster's voice came through panicked on the comms as Jake did his best to avoid the enemy aircraft that had seemingly come out of thin air: stealth pilots. Trained to be completely unseen until they wanted you to see them. “Break left!” 

“Breaking left!” You twisted and turned and left fingerprints on the canopy as you tried your best to get a better visual. It was madness, pure madness. One two three six how many were there? “Come on, talk to me Hollywood, tell me what you see!” As Jake asked you what you saw you felt your heart pounding inside your chest as you saw a single missile. With wide eyes and panic racing through your veins, you spun around. 

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air! Six o’clock Hangman break right!” 

“Deploying flares!” It was only by the skin of what felt like his nose that Jake was able to avoid a direct hit. These guys were ruthless, where one was evaded another would pop up. “Rooster, talk to me man where you at?” 

“I’m here! Hollywood, tell me what you see!” You could have sworn the next few seconds played out like a three hour long Christopher Nolan movie. Time stood still as Jake turned around to expose the full scene playing out on the big screen. A surface to air missile was aiming right for Bradley Bradshaw. 

“Jake—“ It was a mumble, a murmur even. It threw a spanner in the cogs of this well oiled detachment you thought you knew everything about. Every angle, every concept, every reason why the three of you were specifically chosen. Because as Jake made a decision that would send the F-18 the two of you found yourselves to be in into the side of a mountain range, you realised there would be love lost, a hell of a lot of love lost if anything happened to Rooster. Bradley Bradshaw was Jake Seresin wingman, period. “It's on him.” 

“Not if I can help it.” Jake mumbled under his breath as he swung around and headed straight for where Rooster was. 

“Banit coming in hot on your tail Rooster, break right!” It was your confirmation that you were all in, every decision Jake made in the sky affected you and vice versa. There was nowhere to run, not here in this mess. “Jake, deploy flares!” 

“Deploying flares!” It was only the smallest of miscalculations that caused it. If Jake had deployed his flares just three seconds prior, then perhaps you wouldn't have been hit. Perhaps you would have been able to save Rooster without sacrificing your own safety. Perhaps if Jake had deployed his flares just three seconds earlier, then the missile that hit the tail end of your F-18 with such force, that it blew the ass end right off the aircraft, wouldn't have knocked you out from the impact. 

The explosion was the last thing you heard. The warmth of the fire that kissed your skin was the last thing you felt before everything was cold again. So cold. So cold that it almost burned.

“Y/n!” Jake shouted with a panic in his tone of voice as he shook you softly. “Hollywood! Wake up!” There was blood dripping from your nose, a sign Jake wasn't too keen on but other than that? He couldn’t see any other physical injuries. You still had both arms and legs. “Lieutenant Y/L/N wake up!” It was all so muffled, like you were under water, you could hear Jake calling your name, you could feel him shaking your body, but you couldn't talk, couldn't open your eyes. Until you did, slowly and with a groan. “Oh thank god.” It was the first thing you heard Jake say clearly without the muffled understone. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

“What happened?” You asked softly as you tried to sit up. “Where are we?” Jake could recognise the panic taking over your being as he kneeled beside you, helping you to sit up with a groan. He noticed the way you held your ribs on the right side of your body, most likely bruised at the very least from the impact of your parachute deploying. “What happened?” 

“We got shot down.” Jake said the four words no aviator ever wanted to hear. “You blacked out on impact.” He explained tentatively, not wanting to scare you any more than you already were. “I pulled your chute.” 

“Rooster! Head back to the carrier, abort the mission!”  It was the last thing Jake could communicate to his wingman before he lost his radio. The fighter jet was totaled, there was no saving it. 

“Hollywood we gotta go! Punch out!” Jake shouted over the warning signals that blared in the cockpit as he spun out of control. There was no worse feeling than burning in. He hadnt experienced it often, only once before–but it still felt the same if not worse than that last time. “Y/n?” When you didn't respond Jake knew something was wrong, as he turned to look behind him he saw you slumped forward and unresponsive. “Dammit Hollywood!” Jake did the only thing he could think of that would help you– he reached over and pulled at the yellow and black ejection handle between your legs. 

Almost immediately the canopy went flying as you shot out of the fighter jet. Jake saw your chute deploy–relief flooded his system before he pulled his own ejection handle. It sent him flying high into the sky at the speed of light. He just prayed when he hit the ground he’d be able to find you alive and well.

The time between the moment Jake hit the snow covered ground below to the moment he found you lying between the trees was far too long. He ditched his chute and ran and ran and ran until he was at your side. But there wasn't a mountain he wouldn't climb to reach you. That much was true. You were his WSO. His responsibility. 

“Rooster?” You asked as it all came racing back. “Did he–?” You didn't even need to finish your sentence before Jake was giving you some sort of peace of mind. 

“As far as I know he turned back to the carrier after we got hit. I haven't seen him doing any flyovers.” Jake explained softly as he assessed your current state. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You watched as Jake held his hand up in front of your face and moved it side to side. You followed his every move. 

“Two.” You said confidently, still sitting in the snow. “I'm fine, promise, just a little bruised.” 

“You think you can walk?” Jake was helping you to your feet before you even gave him a response. “I'm sorry you're in this mess with me, it's just–” It was your turn to interrupt as Jake wrapped your arm around his shoulders to help you stand. If you had seen him demonstrate this kind of behaviour three days ago you would have sworn black and blue you were dreaming, or that some fictitious creature from another realm had replaced the Jake Seresin you’d been flying with for the past few weeks. But after seeing his harrowing attapet to save his wingman's life without a single second of hesitation, you knew Jake actually cared about the people around him. 

“It's fine.” You hissed as you took your first guided steps on wobbly legs after falling out of the sky. “You were protecting your wingman, I would have done the same thing.” Jake had a pretty nasty gash on the side of his head from when he’d landed pretty ungracefully. The side of his helmet cut into his temple on impact. “But now we’re down here, with no backup.” 

“E-stats are still working.” Jake reminded you as he continued to help you further into the woods, hoping that it could break the chill of the raging wind. “They’ll see us, hopefully, if we just stay put surely the carrier will be able to track our location.” You knew right then and there that Jake was bluffing, you were smack bang in a communication desert. 

“Hangman–” You sighed as he helped you sit down against a rock that was further in, Jake didn't miss the way you squinted as you did so, still holding your ribcage like something was wrong. “I don't think anyone will come back for us.” You did your best to try and block out the pain radiating whenever you took a breath in. “It would make more noise than they want to make.” 

“You don't know my squad Hollywood.” Jake smirked as he shook his head slightly with a chuckle. He was right, you didn't know the lengths they’d all go to for each other. Jake reached out to cup your cheeks softly, the pad of his thumb swiped at the blood that had dripped down from your nose. “Someone will come, we just gotta get comfy till then.” There was a moment of silence that passed as Jake really took a moment to drink in your features. Even through all the snow and all the worry your eyes still sparkled the same way they did when he first met you in Admiral Simpson's office. “Your ribs? You think they’re broken?” 

“Probably just bruised from the impact.” You replied, lost in your own mind as you stared at Jake’s features. From his eyebrows to his emerald green eyes that you swore swirled with desire. Everything was perfect, even the dusting of that five o’clock shadow that was threatening to expose his not so clean cut navy aesthetic. 

“Can I have a look?” You missed the feeling of Jake's hand on your cheek the minute he was gone and had pulled away. You couldn't help but to chuckle as you compiled and started undoing your flight suit. 

“You trying to cop a feel Seresin?” 

“Would that be the worst thing in the world?” He teased back almost too quickly to not have already been on his mind. Jake was as careful as he could be when you had undone your flight suit enough to expose your black under shirt. He watched as you lifted up the cotton fabric enough so that he could press his palm softly against where your ribs were killing. His heart broke when you whimpered, he knew you were holding back as much as you could. “I know why they call you Hollywood, you know.” Jake thought a distraction from the pain and the situation in general would be good. He kept pressing his fingers around your side trying to see if he could feel anything unusual. He knew it hurt like hell, but when your eyes met his as he looked up at you from where he was kenaling beside you–he hoped the distraction helped. 

“Oh yeah?” Jake could hear the pain in your voice as you tried to breathe through his poking and prodding. “What's the consensus?” You groaned through gritted teeth as tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. 

“Your dads Rick Neven.” Jake concluded as he finished up his examination. “I thought maybe you were some childhood hollywood hotshot at first but then I overheard Mav telling Mando that you looked just like him.” Jake paused for a moment, reading the terrain of your reaction—when you didn’t totally annihilate him for figuring it out, he pressed on. “You don’t like people knowing you’re practically Navy Royalty, hence your mums maiden name.” He shrugged all the while you worked to fix your flight suit up. “And just like you said, just bruised, not breaks.” 

It was hard to believe the same man who hadn’t really looked in your general direction for the better half of the time you knew him was paying this much attention to you now. But then again, he had been the one who got you into this mess in the first place. If you were gonna play the blame game. 

“Guess there was some depth to it after all huh?” You referred back to the very beginning, to when you had first met Jake. He smiled at you with that golden boy grin that took over the entire expanse of his face. 

“Yeah, yeah I guess there was.” Jake knew just by flying with you, albeit reluctantly, these past few weeks, that you were an extraordinary weapons systems officer. You knew your stuff as well as he knew his shit and together you actually made a pretty decent team. He’d been wrong about you personally though. He kept his distance knowing you were only supposed to be around for this particular detachment then you were off again. There was no real reason to get to know you when you'd be gone in the blink of an eye. But oh how Jake was kicking himself for that thought process. Because now here he was, stuck in the middle of nowhere with the very same WSO he’d been actively trying to not get to know. Something told him though the pair of you were going to have a hell of a lot of time to get to know one another. “The sun's starting to set, we should probably find somewhere to spend the night, maybe make a fire.” Jake looked around, trying to see if there was a place in eyesight where the two of you could make camp for the night. It wasn't ideal, but what else was there to do?

“Yeah–yeah that's probably–” Before you could finish your sentence you heard the unmistakable sound of tree branches being crushed under the weight of footsteps. You spun around to see what was behind you and your heart sank into your stomach. 

Insurgents, pointing guns directly at you and Jake. 

“Jake.” You whispered as you stood slowly, they didn't make any attempt to move from their positionings. Crouched behind rocks, trees and some were just out in the open. They were everywhere. Surrounding the both of you so that there was no way out. 

“Get behind me.” It was the only thing Jake could think about, protecting you. He got you into this mess and he was sure as hell going to get you out of it. He ushered you behind him, making sure to keep turning periodically to look at all angles, wondering if there was by chance a way out of this. “Listen to me, you say nothing, you hear me?” Jake reminded you as he assessed how many you were outnumbered by. “No matter what you don't say anything.” 

You’d seen movies before, what could happen to a woman held as a prisoner of war. You couldn’t help it when your mind went straight to that awful place.

“Jake, don't let them take me away from you.” It was the worst situation Jake had ever found himself in. “Please—don’t let them.” You begged as tears streamed down your face. You fisted at the back of Jake's flight gear he had yet to take off. Holding him as close to you as you possibly could. You were beyond terrified. 

“Put your hands where I can see them!” One of the insurgents shouted as he stepped closer, still aiming his assault weapon directly at the two of you. “Don’t make any sudden movements besides raising your hands above your head.” 

He was wearing all black clothes, they all were. Against the white of the snow it made them stand out like sore thumbs. But they did well enough to cover their faces. No identities were exposed besides your own and Jakes. 

“I want your word that you won’t hurt her.” Jake growled as he began to raise his arms around his head. Palms facing out. You didn’t dare to move as Jake felt you balling his uniform in your hands a little tighter. “Don’t you touch her.” Jake had his attention drawn to the insurgent in front of him all the while you had your face buried between his shoulder blades—trying to shelter yourself from this hellscape. “Touch her and I swear I’ll kill you all.” 

“Lieutenant, I highly doubt you're an incompetent man, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt when I remind you that you have absolutely no authority or power whatsoever in this situation.” The insurgent snickered as he approached closer. “Take the girl.” He tilted his chin in the direction of his men standing off to the side. Before you could react, they were on you. 

“JAKE!!” You screamed at the top of your lungs as one of them wrapped their arms around your waist and pulled you away harshly—Jake felt your hands slip from the Normex of his flight suit as he spun around to try and grab your wrist. 

“Don’t touch her!” Jake warned again. 

“No! No! Stop please—PLEASE!” Jake hated your pleas, your screams would forever haunt his heart. His fingers grazed yours as he whipped around to reach for you. “LET ME GO! GET OFF OF ME!” 

“I SAID DONT TOUCH—“ Before Jake could finish his sentence he was in the ground lying in the snow face down. The insurgent making the orders had hit him over the back of the head with his gun. It was enough to make you stop struggling, enough to make you stop resisting. 

There was a moment where you just stood there in the detainment of insurgents, taking in everything that was happening. Just how were you going to survive this? This wasn’t in the mission parameters. 

“Get them to the truck, before we lose any more light.” The insurgent ordered before he turned around, shouting over his shoulder at his men. Jake lying out cold in the snow was the last thing you saw before it all went black. You felt a pinch at the side of your neck before everything went black and your knees gave in. 

“Keep them alive, for now.” It was the last thing you heard before everything went numb. “I want answers.”

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Cuddling with the Brothers

why were some of these so hard to write it felt like pulling teeth omg i'm so sorry Mammon, I couldn't think of anything for you ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ

Lucifer

A rather tricky demon to sleep on and one that requires immense planning

First of all it has to be private, otherwise expect to wake up alone with only his coat thrown over you.

His room or his study would be the best place to start. And that's what you had originally intended, that is until you hear the solemn notes of a piano echoing through the halls

Having only gotten up for a midnight snack you take a detour wandering past the kitchen until you reach the music room where Lucifer sits playing a somber tune

It's one you don't recognize, but it feels familiar nonetheless

His playing doesn't break in the slightest when he asks you to come in and you wonder how long he knew you were there

You do as he says, sitting down on the great long bench and watching his fingers dance along the keys. It's cold, having only expected to be out for a moment you're only wearing your pajamas

Lucifer says nothing when you huddle closer, resting your head on his shoulder, even though it must be constricting his playing. But he relaxes at your touch

And slowly you fall asleep, to the lullaby of piano and the gleam of stars far above you

Mammon

Like Lucifer he requires some planning, if only because he absolutely melts the moment you try to hold him

As an absolute sucker for cuddles he would be more than happy to be held at any time if not for the fact that he's also a complete tsundere

But with a little effort and a bit of bribery in the form of his recently revoked Goldie (Thanks Lucifer!) you are finally able to get him to sit still

He looks so embarrassed, fidgeting with his shirt and avoiding your eyes but when you finally go to hold him he just melts

Just be prepared for the puddle of cuddly demon that does not want to share you with any of his brothers

Levi

Levi’s labyrinth of a room was something you questioned constantly, filled with all sorts of curious things from sacred treasures (i.e, figurines) to old tombs (manga). However there was something that you knew for a fact, and that was that Levi slept in a tub.

Why? Was it comfortable? Did it hold some weird secret that would explain Levi’s behavior? You had to know.

So you do what any sane rational human would do when living in a house full of demons. You sneak into his room.

Levi was supposed to be out today for the new release of one of his video games.

You peek inside making sure the coast is clear before shutting the door. Inside the bathtub is a mess of blankets plus a full body pillow with a picture of the famed Ruri on it. At the very least it seemed somewhat comfortable.

Time to try out this new bed.

With nothing left to lose you bodily fling yourself over the side landing with a soft whump into the cocoon of pillows.

Immediately the sheets begin to move under you, limbs flailing for purchase and a familiar face pops up from beneath the covers. When Levi sees you he turns bright red, a flustered expression replacing the confusion on his face.

But if anything his thrashing becomes even more panicked. You roll to the side accidentally pinning him under you and he freezes.

“Mc what are you doing here???!”

When you finally explain he looks disappointed

Of course this was just a mistake you didn't want to see a stupid otaku like him

Before he could continue his rant you wrap your arms around his chest

“I guess this is fine.” He mutters still refusing to look at you.

With your new partner secured you’re free to nap as you please

Asmo

He has the BEST bed

Of course you want to get your nap on in his room

The problem is how to do it without implying something more

Knowing Asmo if you tell him you want to sleep on his bed he'll show up au natural which is not something you want to see when you're trying to take a nap, gorgeous skin or not

You decide to sneak in when he goes for one of his shopping trips

Once you actually lie down all your suspicions are confirmed

Asmos bed is amazing

Feather soft and absolutely covered in pillows you feel like you're in a cloud

You're almost asleep when you're awakened by an ear shattering squeal

If you wanted to sleep with him you should have just said so!

Asmo throws himself at you talking of all the "fun" things the two of you could do in his room

Like Levi the best option at this point is to just smush his body with your own, just make sure not to mess with his hair

It might seem counterproductive but pinning him down limits how much he can actually touch and after a few flirtatious comments made by yours truly he'll settle down enough for you to drift back to sleep, now with a new cuddle partner

Expect to wake up to a million new devilgram pictures of you two in bed and an angry Mammon banging on the door

Satan

The hard part is figuring how to do it without him getting mad.

You decide best time to do it is when he's reading or watching a drama as he probably won't move, as long as you don't obstruct his view. It takes a while to actually catch him like this. The man paces.

When you finally do see him in his chair you flop onto him curling on his lap.

He's more amused than angry.

“What are you doing mc?”

“Taking a nap :)”

After that he lets you be.

Satan is a surprisingly good nap partner. No one bugs you since most of the other brothers are too afraid of his wrath making it a good place to go if you want some peace and quiet.

You do notice that he starts sitting down more once you join him. It's more common for him to be already sprawled across a chair with a book in one hand.

It's fun for exactly as long as it takes Satan to get angry at one of his dramas and accidentally yeet you across the room.

He'll apologize but it might be time for you to get a different perch.

Beel

Beel uses the cat rules

If you lay on him he will not move unless absolutely necessary. It could take a direct order from Lucifer to make him budge

But if he really has to go he's taking you with him. Holding you carefully so he doesn't jostle you he'll walk around with you in his arms until you decide to wake up

He will try so hard not to get crumbs in your hair and he mostly succeeds

but at one point he does drip guacamole down the side of your comatose face

Freaks out but it's okay because he uses a chip to scoop it back up and everything

what you don't know doesn't hurt you

lets just hope you don't notice the strange sticky spot on the corner of your cheek

Belphie

The king of naps

Sleeping with him ensures good dreams and deep sleep

It's not hard to find him passed out somewhere and if you flop onto him the most he'll do is give a sleep grumble before throwing his arms over you and burying into your chest.

Just don't expect to get up any time soon

If worst comes to worst Beel is more than willing to carry both of you wherever you need to go

on the rare cases where he's awake and your not he will see how many of Beel's snacks he can stack on your head before you wake up

pizza and feverish confessions

No one:

Me: DID SOMEONE SAY WHUMP

Okay so it’s only light whump, with an emphasis on comfort. Will I go to the grave believing that Damian is a big softie when it comes to sick Raven? Absolutely. 

Words: 3,909

Rated: G it’s all appropriate... this time ;)

Pairing: DamiRae

Click Here to read on A03

It starts out with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the back of her head. A little dizzying, but not enough to disrupt her equilibrium, so she brushes the feeling aside and chalks it up to a flare of her empathy. Throwing up a few mental shields to keep the plethora of auras at bay, she continues walking down the street with the rest of her teammates, nearing Pizza Corner. 

A popular hotspot for locals, they have to request seating ahead of time so that the employees can prepare for a visit from the Titans. It’s always a daunting task to go out in public. The employees have to barricade a spot near the back of the restaurant for them to eat in peace, and constantly combat the flow of customers that walk in all for the chance to meet them. Obviously, they don’t do it often. The sheer amount of work it takes for them to dine-in never takes less than an hour. But today Gar insisted, and Kori can be a sucker for cute, green kittens; So naturally, they made a reservation. 

The restaurant is already buzzing with activity by the time they turn the corner, still about a block away. Hosts and waitresses are shuffling people out and the crowd is growing considerably, all looking for a chance to get an autograph or picture with a Titan. They’re used to all the chanting and the yelling, but today it bothers her a bit. Already she can feel a tension headache blooming just behind her eyes, and she resists the urge to rub at her temples with her fingers. Maybe she stayed up reading too late last night.

She says nothing about her ailment and continues walking, appearing unaffected to everyone that doesn’t know what to look for in her face- a light grimace tugging at the corners of her mouth, and eyes that flutter shut a moment longer than necessary. 

A few employees jog out to escort them the rest of the way, and Kori thanks them warmly, resting a hand on one of the men’s shoulders. The way the man looks back at Kori can make any woman mad with envy. Complete, undivided attention and adoration. Really, she can imagine literal red hearts leaping outwards from the pupils of his eyes accompanied by the loud sound of an ahooga horn. It nearly makes her snort, but instead she arches a delicate brow. With a reminder to herself to watch less Cartoon Network, she allows herself to be ushered into the building by another employee. 

When she feels the brush of a well defined chest against the length of her arm after stepping inside it takes her a moment to realize it’s Damian. He must have stayed close behind her from the way he’s angled his body, shielding her from view. She remembers a time when his body wouldn’t even be able to take up half the space of the door. Now, at twenty two, he can easily provide coverage from the crowd- which she’s certainly grateful for. One would think after nearly a decade of superhero experience she’d be used to the publicity. Reluctantly, she admits that she’ll probably always be a little uneasy when it comes to large crowds. 

“Beast Boy, stop flirting and get in here!” Jaime is seen tugging on the Changeling’s arm, practically dragging him in the diner. Gar comes begrudgingly with promises to the horde of females surrounding him to come back later for pictures. The foray of giggles that is heard a few seconds after leads Raven to believe that he’s said something else that’s borderline inappropriate, and from Damian’s eye roll she knows that he heard exactly what it was. 

“Come on Beetle, I was this close to getting that blonde chick’s phone number!” Gar laments, rather dramatically Raven thinks, and continues his protests all the way to the door. 

“Hurry up you two, we’re ready to be seated.” Kori says, shooting Gar a glance, the warning to behave clear in her eyes. Raven admits that she’s impressed when Gar doesn’t immediately shrink back like he used to. 

“Sorry Star.” He mumbles, letting Jaime pull him past both her and Damian to follow behind Kori. Raven watches them a moment, willing the dull throb in her head to ebb, but it doesn’t cease. A light frown crosses her features when she realizes that she’ll likely need to meditate an extra hour today for the pain to subside. And perhaps take a few ibuprofen.

Behind her, Damian steps around her and lowers his gaze to meet her eyes. “Raven, are you okay?” He asks, touching her arm lightly. “You have a headache?” 

Raven blinks, the only evidence of her surprise that Damian had been able to read her so well. But then she remembers that they’ve been teammates for years, and of course he would be able to tell, just as she can tell that the lilt in his tone is concern, not annoyance. 

“Yeah.” She breathes and closes her eyes again. “I’m okay, I just need to meditate when we get back to the tower.” 

When she opens her eyes again she sees him press his lips together and narrow his eyes like he doesn’t believe her and he’s definitely going to argue with her...but to her relief he says nothing, just gestures to the large booth where the others are already seated. 

“Come on, the sooner we eat the sooner we can leave.” 

She nods lightly, aware of how the movement heightens the pain of her headache, and turns to walk to where Kori is waving for them. Then Damian places a hand to her lower back and begins to guide her through the clearest pathway to the booth, unaware of the light blush heating her cheeks. Even after all this time she still hasn't gotten the courage to admit to herself what the pang in her chest is when he does little things like that. 

Shoving back emotions that she refuses to interpret, she focuses her attention on the booth ahead of them, giving Kori a shrug when she sends her a curious look. 

“Man they always have the best veggie pizzas. I wish I could eat here everyday.” Gar states to no one in particular. Jaime takes offense, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “How can anyone come here and eat vegetarian pizza? That should be considered felonious.” 

“For once, I’d have to agree with Beast Boy.” Damian tells them both, stepping up to the booth first, then he reaches out with an open hand for her to take it. His hand is cool, contradicting the heat that she’s feeling from her headache. He gestures for her to step into the booth first and she scoots beside Jaime. Then he follows behind, effectively closing her in. 

“Are you serious? Did everyone hear that?” Gar’s eyes widen in excitement, and he jumps in his seat, nearly sloshing his drink. “I want this in writing.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” Damian quips back, eyes scanning the menu. The pout that Gar sends him makes Raven smile, mildly amused at the way his canines protrude over his upper lip. 

Any plea that may have come from Gar’s mouth is silenced when the wait staff swoop in to get their orders. As quickly as they left, they come back with her and Damian’s drinks, and they are already set to make their pizza. Fast and succinct, the waist staff pride themselves on their service, and they deserve a considerable tip for the effort they’ve already given to allow them all to eat here. She makes a mental note to mention that to Kori when there’s a light itching in the back of her throat, and she takes a few sips of her water to combat it. 

Conversations between her teammates continue, and Raven’s content to remain silent and listen to their banter, leaning back into the cool upholstery of the booth. The haziness in her mind grows, accompanied by a lightheadedness that makes her breathe deep, repeating her mantra to focus. In one corner, she finds a tear in the mahogany leather. Eyes beginning to glaze over, the longer she stares at it, the more black dots begin to swim along her vision. 

At some point she vaguely recognizes Dick’s voice across the restaurant, joining them in his Nightwing suit. The joy she feels bubbling from Kori’s aura is enough to bring her back to the present, vision now clear, and she sees Dick slide in beside the Tamaranean. Everyone shifts to make room and Raven’s thigh brushes Damian’s when it’s her turn to scoot over. 

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Dick asks the entirety of the table. There’s a series of replies, each ranging from a curt “Fine,” to “I’d be better if I had my pizza right about now,” to a bemoaned “Thanks a lot Nightwing! It was already hard enough getting phone numbers with Robin around, now it’ll be impossible!” 

Raven just nods in greeting, knowing that Dick won’t consider her silence as rude. Something she’s thankful for. Dick takes it all in stride as he always does, and he easily fits in with their group dynamic, bantering back and forth with Gar and Jaime all the while shooting the occasional tease to Kori. He even manages to make Damian smile once or twice- a considerable feat to accomplish. 

Eventually they all settle down again and her eyes begin to feel bleary once more. This time a light shiver follows all the way up her spine, and she barely contains the shudder that threatens to wrack through her body. It does cause her to lightly brush against Damian’s thigh again though, and she’s very aware of his keen, inquiring eyes on her. Looking up, she sees the question in his gaze. 

And she wants to put the concern she feels in his aura at ease, but at this point the ache in her head has pretty much developed into a migraine, and any jarring movement sends her head spinning, so she just gives him a small smile, if a bit forced. And as much as she’d rather go home and lay down in the dark, everyone’s having a good time, and they don’t get to go on public outings often together. She doesn’t want to ruin it by cutting their trip short. Besides, she’s been through much worse.

Even so, when their pizza finally arrives Raven only picks at hers, taking a few small bites for show, but her migraine is starting to make her feel nauseous, and the itch in her throat is scratchy, making it uncomfortable to swallow. 

After a while, a heat begins to sizzle over her skin even as she’s bundled in her thickest cloak. Beside her, Jaime is arguing with Gar over which pizza is the best on the menu. It escalates to a point where Gar begins to point out how many slices of each kind of pizza everyone’s been eating until he gets to her own plate. 

“What’s wrong Rae, you don’t like your pizza? You love pepperoni.” Gar pipes up from across the table, a piece of veggie pizza in one hand and a crumpled napkin in another. His brows are drawn together in disapproval when she follows his eyes to her plate. Only one slice of the two that she had taken from the pepperoni and cheese pie in the middle of the table is half eaten. 

Aware of everyone’s eyes on her, she feigns nonchalance as she fights back another shiver. “Yeah, I do. It’s good.” She swallows, then takes another sip of her water to moisten her throat, looking back down at her plate. “I guess I just don’t have much of an appetite today.” 

Beside her, Damian narrows his eyes and turns in the booth to observe her blatantly, ignoring Dick and Kori’s curious glances. Feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense stare, Raven wraps her fingers inside her cloak, pulling it tighter around her body. His eyes sweep her figure pensively, then rest back onto her face, taking in the glazed expression on her face. 

After a few more moments he crosses his arms and gives her a reprimanding glare. “You’re getting sick.” He deadpans.

Immediately words of denial bubble up her throat, still conscious of everyone’s attention. “I am not. I’m fine.” She says, and as punishment the pain in her headache blossoms tenfold right at the base of her skull. 

Despite the clouding in her mind she can still feel the brush of Damian’s aura, a tinge of both worry and frustration lapping at her empathy. “Tch. You’re a horrible liar and this is ridiculous.” He vaguely motions at the table they’re sitting at. “You shouldn’t be forcing yourself through lunch when you’re feeling unwell.” 

The others voice similar echoes of concern with promises that she shouldn’t feel guilty for staying, and Raven sighs because this is what she has been trying to avoid. She waves off their concerns. “I’m okay, really. Let’s just enjoy the rest of lunch okay? I’m fine.” She repeats. 

“I think we’re all ready to go back anyway, right guys?” Kori asks before Damian can argue with her further, looking at Jaime and Gar. Together they nod and begin to shuffle as one when Kori and Dick step out- Dick leaving the group entirely with the check in his hand. 

Guilt swells in Raven’s chest, knowing how much the team had looked forward to being together on a relatively calm day like this, which is so very rare. “Wait, Star.” She winces as the raspiness grows in her voice. “You said you wanted to go to the mall first, we still have plenty of time.” Kori’s been wanting to go for weeks now. 

Scooting out of the booth to follow her teammates takes more effort than she’d like to admit, but Damian hovers close by, taking her elbow and helping her step down. His gloved hand around her arm is much colder this time, causing a shudder that she can’t contain anymore.

Standing is not a good idea, Raven thinks. Her legs wobble and she locks her knees to stop them from shaking, and gods why is it suddenly so hot in here? She completely misses the first half of Kori’s response. 

“...and besides, the dress I want to buy will still be there the next time I go.” 

The world tilts on its axis, or rather Raven tilts, taking the world with her when she takes a step. The sudden lightheadedness she feels is so overwhelming she doesn’t even notice that Damian still hasn’t let go of her arm.

Someone within the vicinity of her incapacitated hearing begins to speak. Is it Gar? His voice sounds so far away now and her movements feel sluggish. There’s a light ringing in her ears that increases in tune with the pounding of her head, and through it all she feels that she’s broken out in a light sweat. 

“Raven?” She looks through bleary eyes to see Damian’s face contorted with alarm. It makes her want to reach out and cup his face because he’s normally so stoic, and the worry creases above his brows don’t suit him at all. What would he do if she reached up on her tip-toes to kiss them until they receded? 

She never gets the chance to find out, because the black specks dancing at the edge of her peripherals fill her vision all too quickly, and before she’s able to take another step forward her knees buckle, falling into Damian’s arms as swiftly as she falls into unconsciousness. 

“Oh my god, Raven!” 

.

She’s not fully conscious when she catches hints of low whispers near her, nearly drowned out by the beep of a machine next to her ears. Groaning softly, her senses are overcome with the aching in her leg muscles, and how hot her skin feels against the sheets she’s tucked underneath. A shiver wracks her body and she involuntarily curls into herself on the bed she’s in. Cords follow her body, attached to the pulse oximeter that she briefly notices is on her finger, along with an I.V. in her arm. 

Faintly, she hears the sound of the t.v. playing in the background. She thinks it’s Scooby Doo. Either someone had turned it on for her when she woke, or Gar’s been in this room recently. Nonetheless, it’s enough to make her realize with mild amusement that she reminded herself to watch less Cartoon Network, not more. 

But that amusement is short-lived when there’s a dip in the bed, the movement making her moan as the aching in her legs heightens, and she opens her eyes hazily.

It takes her a few seconds to focus on the figure beside her. “Dami…?” She croaks and immediately regrets speaking from the sharp pain in the back of her throat. “Ah..hurts.”

Luckily Damian isn’t one for small talk and he just rubs her upper arm lightly. “I know, don’t speak.” He says gently, “You have strep throat and the flu. Your fever got worse overnight.” 

Damian presses something cold and wet to her forehead, and she sighs in reprieve as it soothes her heated flesh. Her eyes flutter shut once more and she’s already drifting off to sleep, barely hearing his next words. “Get some rest habibti. I’m here.” The darkness takes her under, and this time she welcomes it. 

.

The next time she wakes she thinks she must be delirious. 

Damian is mere inches away from her, pressing his lips to her temple in a light kiss, and whispering something to her in his native tongue. 

If she wasn’t so sick then this would be heaven- waking up to his soft kisses. And maybe it still is in her own mind, because she’s honestly not sure if this is real. 

A wave of nausea disrupts that train of thought and it courses through her stomach. She shoots upwards into a sitting position, head spinning. And she must’ve done this before because a small trash can is placed directly under her mouth as soon as she sits up, and she grasps at it weakly, vomiting up bile. Hands gather her hair gently at her nape, holding it back for her as she continues retching. Then she’s just dry heaving for a few minutes after there’s nothing left to throw up, and her stomach twinges achingly. 

Someone starts rubbing soothing circles at her back and cooing into her ear, and she finally has the energy to glance back, recognizing those familiar emerald orbs that look back down at her in sympathy. When it’s clear that she’s finished he takes the trash can and places it next to her bed, within reaching distance. Gratefully taking the hand towel from his outstretched hand to wipe her mouth, she wonders if she should feel mortified at the fact that he’s seeing her in this state, but another shiver wracking through her body halts that train of thought too. 

“Raven?” She must’ve spaced out at some point because she’s now leaning back against the fortress of pillows that have been fluffed for her, and Damian is hovering above her. 

He reaches out an ungloved hand and tucks a stray hair behind her ear, and she wishes she had the courage to ask him to keep stroking her hair like that. “How are you feeling?” He asks her. 

She just shakes her head, not trusting her mouth to speak. Also, her throat feels raw after vomiting. The lingering taste of bile makes her grimace.

“Try to sit up for me, you need to hydrate.” He calls out softly and she wonders how she didn’t notice the glass of water in his hand before. Bracing shaky palms into the mattress, she manages to pull herself up enough to earn a hum of praise. A straw makes its way to her mouth and she accepts it without argument, knowing from the set of his jaw that if she tried to she would certainly lose. The few sips she’s able to stand helps ebb the burning sensation in her throat, and Damian encourages her to take a few more. Then, she’s shaking her head and pushing away the glass. He relents, murmuring his approval. Soft, low tones. “Good. That’s good, Raven.” A hand threads through her hair again and she leans into his touch, taking the small comfort he’s offering despite how out of character it is for him to be so...intimate. 

The soft, rhythmic brush of his fingers through her hair distracts her from the ache in her legs, and the dull throb of her headache. It helps tether her to consciousness enough to open her eyes more clearly and see the gentleness in his gaze as he watches her. 

When she opens her mouth to speak her tongue feels like cotton, but she continues anyway. “You...don’t have to stay.” Her voice sounds like she’s been screaming in terror for hours until finally succumbing to an unbearable torture, and she winces at how pathetic it must sound to him too. 

He just shushes her and continues threading his hand through her hair. “I’ll leave if you insist, but I’d rather stay...if that’s alright.” 

All she can do is nod. They fall into a comfortable silence, which Raven cherishes. Damian’s always seemed to know when silence is needed, and he gives it to her often. Having him here, helping her while she’s in such a vulnerable state sends another sensation through her chest, filling her with a different kind of warmth. Not the kind of feverish, sweaty, and boiling heat that’s bogged down her mind the past couple of days (It’s been a few days right? Truthfully she doesn’t really know). But it’s a warmth that slowly spreads throughout her entire being, pouring over into her soul that leaves a light tingling in its wake. It’s stronger than anything she’s ever felt before and it swells in her throat until it formulates into words, spilling out of her mouth before she can stop it. 

“I love you.” 

Another shiver reverberates through her body, and the combined ache of her muscles and persistent fever takes her back under- so much so that she doesn’t even realize the significance of what she just said. She just knows that it makes Damian give her a smile that she’s never seen before. One that softens every feature in his face, and lights his eyes in such a way that mesmerizes her through the fogginess of her affliction.

“I know.” He says in a hushed timbre, leaning down to press his lips to her hairline- an act that makes her sigh in content, despite her dazed state. “I love you too.” 

He stays with her, fingers playing languidly with the strands of her hair as he murmurs into her ear- a mixture of both their common language and arabic, and she clings to the gentle undertone of his words, relishing in this new, welcoming warmth that��s now unfurling all the way down to her toes. She continues to listen to his voice as it lulls her back gently into unconsciousness.

And she knows that he’ll be there when she wakes up again, just as surely as she now knows in her heart that she loves him. 

And he loves her back.

For the whump for Supervillian... whipping?

Thank you for the ask! In reference to this post (I want to torture Supervillain some more so if you have any ideas, please send them in!)

Drowning Part 9

Masterlist

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate @sunflower1000

Warnings: very gruesome whipping (flail, to be exact), torn flesh, blood, torture, betrayal, unrequited love, broken bones, desperation, crying, exhaustion, drowning (a little), restraints, inability to breathe, vomit, manhandling,

~

Supervillain's nose emerged from the water first, followed by the rest of his face. He gasped for breath, instinctively attempting to claw at his face, but the restraints made that impossible. He gagged, throwing up all the water that he swallowed and breathed.

"Done," a voice spoke. "Day four only took two tries. Medic, write that down."

Supervillain shuddered, water streaming down his cheeks... or were they tears? Supervillain didn't know, and didn't want to know, but the lump in the back of his throat confirmed that crying was indeed a possibility.

"Are we done then today Doc?" A hero spoke, his voice slightly quivering.

"Hmm," the doctor stepped into Supervillain's line of sight. "No."

Supervillain whimpered and pulled himself tighter to try and escape the doctor's sour breath against his cheeks.

"Bring him to the Interrogation Room."

Hands once again grappled onto every piece of bare skin on Supervillain's body. Maybe once he would've shrugged them off, spat out a snarky statement, but now he was too tired- too utterly exhausted- to anything more than just allow it to happen.

He wasn't placed on the gurney this time. Assistants and heroes carried him in a way that made him swing around like a hammock. His head dropped, overgrown hair brushing the ground ever so slightly. The position made all the blood rush to his head, which, in turn, made him undeniably dizzy.

His eyes, which he found closed, jostled around in weakened eye sockets. He dragged them open with much resistance and looked up. From his limited view of the world around him, he put together that he was being carried left... or was it right? He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his own saliva dry and stream down his face.

Like every single room, the Interrogation Room was once again white, yet the cherrywood table in the center of the blanch room provided at least some contrast.

Supervillain was slumped upon that table- not set in a polite manner whatsoever. For a few seconds, he sat there, head lolling against his own shoulder, before getting his bearings.

Unlike previous torture sessions, Supervillain was not restrained or tied up in any manner. Heck, the room was completely vacant of any of those means other than a metal loop that could have handcuffs attached to it if necessary.

But in this case, it wasn't.

The doctor stepped in, scribbling something on the clipboard which seemed to be his only accessory.

"Get me some microphones," the doctor spoke into a walkie-talkie. "And the recording."

"Sir." The line clicked to leave the room silent other than the huffs of breath leaving Supervillain's nose.

"Supervillain," the doctor finally spoke up. "This is going to be your first test. Think of it as an end-of-chapter summary that is worth 95% percent of your grade."

"Aren't tests suppose to be at least somewhat revelant to the chapter? At least the unit?"

"I said it was a test right? Classic science tests with the wrong answer key and the like," the doctor replied. "Or an English test about prepositional phrases yet the pupil learned about parts of speech."

Supervillain snickered, yet he didn't find the doctor's apparent joke funny by any means. "I am not in middle school," he reminded the doctor with a sigh, but his anticipation obviously shone through his carefree demeanor.

The door opened and two skinny, pathetic looking interns ran in with devices that were certainly going to he used on Supervillain. He looked at a particular invention- a black cone with a bulb that was no doubt a taser in disguise- and bit his lip, sharp canines chewing into the moist flesh.

The other coddled, seemingly trying to block it from the captive's prying view, a large black box with extension cords and wires. Supervillain stiffened. It was a generator.

Or, maybe not, the wimpy kid carrying it would not be able to lift even a small generator a measly inch from the ground.

The intern with the impersonated microphone walked behind Supervillain. Being free of restraints, he shot his head around to watch- anything just to suspect the oncoming barbarism.

But two cold hands yanked his head back.

"You know," the doctor spoke, curt and smooth. "I was really hoping that we wouldn't have to tie you up, but that could easily be arranged..."

Supervillain grunted in reply.

The foreboding torture implement, also known as a black box, was placed in front of Supervillain. He could now examine the box.

He did and came to the conclusion that it was just a black box, with... speakers.

Speakers.

"This is a recording of Hero's voice," the doctor spoke, circling Supervillain and taking notes on his clipboard. "From today. To be precise on timing, it is live."

Supervillain shifted into a more upright position and eyed the speaker, but he didn't say a word. Heck, he didn't even acknowledge the doctor in any form.

Hero abandoned him. Left him to rot in the stupid lab like he was garbage. Maybe to her he was... but that was besides the point.

It was her whole facade that she put on when he was sick- when he was so feverish that he was to the point of delirium. The soft brushes of her hand through his hair- the hair that was now nearly past his ears. The warm embrace after a horrifying nightmare... it was all fake.

She didn't care, as much as her fingers and soft words wanted to him to think that, she just didn't.

The doctor started humming- a melodious tune that made the walls itch with nauseating prediction- as a long finger tapped a sunken button that, though Supervillain could not see, had the classic "On" branding.

"Go get the milk and flour." That was Hero's voice- her sweet purr, comforting tsk. Supervillain's chin trembled, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

"On it." And that was someone else's. Male, obviously, with the monotonous drawl. Deep too, oddly familiar in the sense of-

"Oh yeah Villain? Your henchman's wedding is tomorrow, are you sure that they don't need any help?"

The other voice was... Villain?

"She said that Fiance's parents are taking care of the last minute things, but I can ask again. Dear, we don't have any flour."

"Dang it." Hero again. Supervillain found himself floating towards the speaker, and soon, his hands were wrapped around it.

"I can go get some-"

"No, just use... here," a shuffle, cans and bags being dragged across wood. "Bread flour."

"Such a shame," the doctor's present voice interrupted Villain's reply. "This is really quite sickening. Actually, the whole concept of betrayal is."

Supervillain heard, but wasn't listening. Tears were welling up in his eyes... she gave up on him?

For Villain?

She left him to he drowned over and over again. Doomed him to endure unethical surgical procedures... to be free herself.

A tear spilled done Supervillain's cheek and onto his hands.

He hardly heard the doctor's swift order: "bring the whip", and when he finally realized, the metal was neatly embedded into his back's flesh.

He hissed, pushing away from the speaker in desperation. Surprisingly enough, no one stopped his resistance.

The whip felt to be wrapped in some form of metal barbs. They weren't barbs, of course, how unprofessional that would be. It was more like metal shards sticking out from the end. Kind of like a flail from the medieval times in a gruesome way.

The metal was roughly pulled from his muscles, leaving a larger wound than the intial strike did. Supervillain whimpered and stood up, swaying, and attempted to run away.

"We can make caramel popcorn instead."

"And watch a movie?"

The microphone was also speaking now, or so Supervillain thought through the haze of agony. Another blow smacked into him, this time between the shoulder blades.

Supervillain screamed and rushed into a corner, cowering.

"Or instead, let's get Starbucks and watch a movie. Black Widow is out, I know how much you like the Marvel series."

"Do you hear that?" The doctor spoke as another hot flash of pain overcame Supervillain's senses focalizing on his thigh. He leaned his head into the wall, sobbing quietly.

"Hero, she forgot about you," the doctor droned on. "Her and Villain... they are going to a movie together."

"S-shut-t u-up," Supervillain stuttered.

The whip clashed into Supervillain's knee. He felt bones crack and shatter... he yelped.

Adrenaline started pushing through his body, desperate to rid it of the incomprehensible pain that it was feeling. Supervillain stood up, favoring his right side, and stalked over to the assistant holding the whip.

"Supervillain, be smart. Is that poor boy over there the cause of your pain? If Hero was still here, taking her fair share of the punishment, you wouldn't have a broken knee," the doctor stepped into Supervillain's field of vision. "Why destroy someone innocent when you can destroy the guilty one?" The doctor gestured towards the speaker before nodding to his assistant.

The assistant shakily stepped forward and brought the whip down onto Supervillain's chest- who was too slow to react. He gasped for breath, collapsing to his hands and knees. Agony pounded into his chest until he was unable to breathe.

The whip came down onto his back again, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Then it came again, and again.

Supervillain rolled over in a rush to protect his back, but the flail just landed onto his stomach. He retched, spewing out vile vomit in one fluid motion before sobbing quietly again.

His brain, by some miracle, decided to block out the pain and focus on words.

The doctor's words, Villain's words.

Hero's words.

"We could share a frappuccino. Get a venti."

"Share as in..."

"Two straws."

"Under the moonlight, on a bench, in a park... forget the movie."

"Sounds romantic, my dear."

"Do you hear that tragedy?" The doctor said, breaking into the recorded people's conversation. "She has forsaken you. Left you here and moved on... not that she ever cared about you, it was more like an act of duty."

Supervillain pressed his sweaty face into the cool, tiled floor and closed his eyes.

The whip came again.

Supervillain let out a sob.

The metal shards pulled out skin, leaving it garbled.

They would be impossible to stitch up, if he was even given that luxury. He was most likely going to be pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers until his vitals were deemed stable...

The whip crashed into the back of his already broken knee.

"The roses are so lovely."

"Here."

"Thank you my Villain."

"You know how to end this, Supervillain." The speaker was placed in front of the bleeding person's face. "Destroy it. Destroy Hero's voice."

Supervillain groaned and shook his head. The pain, not just physical, but the piercing agony that tore his heart in into slivers of broken down vessels and veins, was intolerable- even dancing at the edge of unbearable- but her voice kept him stuck in reality. It kept him from drifting off into whatever void awaited him.

"Isn't it good?"

"Delicious."

Supervillain squeezed his eyes shut, fingers involuntarily moving against their own will.

"Destroy Hero."

Destroy Hero...

"The pain will be gone."

"You care about me?"

"More than anyone else in the world."

Hero's answer stung, even worse than the bite of the whip in his back, on his legs.

"She doesn't care. Nobody does. Stop being obstinate and care for yourself. Stop this misery. Destroy her."

Fingers laced over the speaker, clenching into fists.

"I love you."

"Destroy Hero."

The fist met with the box, silencing the dreadful voices just as Supervillain plunged into darkness.

Chapters: ½ Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen and up Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Poisoning, Poison, Heist gone wrong, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Rita defiantly has ADHD, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, TPP, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe Summary:

After Nureyev get’s poisoned on a mission, he’s determined to see it to it’s completion. He and Juno make quite the team after all. Had many thoughts after reading @kaiserkorresponds​ 's fic ---> [The Celestial's Kiss https://archiveofourown.org/works/31409258 ]. Which apparently has been spinning round and round my head. I do love a good poisioning <3</p>

Chapter 1:

It should have been obvious from the moment the drink hit his lips.  The sour bitterness that the burn of poor quality alcohol failed to mask.  It should have been obvious.  But focused as he was on keeping a straight face; Nureyev found himself swallowing the vial fluid before he could begin to think better of it.  He paused, eyes flicking down to the odd shimmer he’d mistaken for ice melt.  

That- wasn’t ideal-

He filed deeper thoughts on the subject away in favor of assessing for further threats.  The facility crawled with them, from the myriad of security cameras to their flamboyantly garbed host.  They were watching a little too closely, a little too carefully.  A smile playing across their garish lips.

Nureyev sat back, glancing over at his goddess.  A vision in the scarlet A-cut dress.  There was a slit running up his thigh, revealing quite a bit of leg and a hint of a holster.  

Juno’s own drink, served neat, bore the same tell-tale signs of tampering.  The Detective swirled it about his glass, clearly about to throw it back in his usual no nonsense fashion.  

That would not due.

With all the coolness Nureyev could muster, he placed a gentle hand over Juno’s cup.  His Detective tensed, sending a soft, questioning gaze his way.  

“Not very hospitable, spiking a Lady’s drink.”

“What?” Juno pulled back, guard up.  

Nureyev’s fingers curled around the glass, taking a moment to weigh his options.  He had half a mind to fling it’s contents into the eyes of Jody, the large thuggish man directly across the table.  He might even have time to incapacitate Mx. Balsa and get Juno to cover him before reinforcements came.  They might even make it out in one piece-  

It was tempting, but ultimately would get them nowhere.

They were on a job, after all.  If there was any chance of salvaging the situation, that should be their first option.  One little computer virus, how hard could it be to plant?

He took the glasses and poured their contents on the floor, the ice shattered on impact.  

Mx. Balsa smiled.  “Very good Mr. Tillerson.  It seems you passed our test.”

“A test.  We came to have a civilized discussion, Mx. Balsa.” Nureyev said pointedly, he could still feel the burn of the alcohol in his throat “Not play childish games.”

Mx. Balsa shrugged their narrow shoulders “Childish or no, it’s effective.  We don’t let just anyone play with us.  I’m sure you understand.”

“Understand?” Juno bristled, “Understand my boot! You try to pull something like that-”

Juno came up short when Nureyev squeezed his thigh; nodding his head graciously, “Naturally.  Now are there any other- tests- we should be made aware of or are we free to get down to business.”  

Was he imagining it?  Or was his stomach already souring?  

File it away-

“Down to business!” Juno blurted, “They offered us a spiked cocktail and you want to get back to business?” he sat back, crossing arms over his chest “I say no way.  The only people that I know of who spike drinks are scoundrels and cheats.  How are we supposed to take them at their word?” At some point the moral outrage in his voice changed into a conversational tone.

Nureyev could have kissed him, if it weren’t for their cover- “My colleague has a point.  You’ve tested us, it seems only fair that we should test you.” he gave his best smile, “Perhaps a sample of your information for our technicians to verify.”

“I hardly believe that to be necessary-” said Mx. Balsa.  Nureyev knew that they were the sort of person that relied heavily on their reputation.  But deals weren’t made on reputation alone.  

“Oh?  But I do.  Unless you are unable to deliver what we discussed?” Nureyev stared into their pale eyes.  They didn’t flinch.  He waited a beat, then two and still nothing.  He stood with a heavy sigh “I believe our business here has concluded then.  Mr. Micah.” He offered a hand to Juno, who accepted it.  

“Sure Tillerson.”

The pair made to leave. Jody, Mx. Balsa’s companion moved to intercept.  Which was effective both for the fact he was so broad of shoulder as to eclipse the door behind him and so tall that even Nureyev felt as though he had to peer up into his face.  

Instinctively, Nureyev moved in front of Juno.  It was ridiculous, a man that large simply should not be allowed.  

“Like I said, there is no need to leave.” Mx. Balsa’s tone did not change, but there was a weight to it now, a tension.  

“And why should we stay?” Juno crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

They surveyed him for a moment. “If it’s information you want, it’s information you will have.”  They slid a chip into their comms and made a fuss of downloading a sample.  It chirped upon completion and they offered it up with a flourish. “Please, a sample, if you will.”  

Nureyev’s eyes flicked from the chip to their host and back.  He smiled, accepting it in a cocky, gracious manor that was felt exclusively by his alias.

“Very well, I’ll have our team verify this information.  If you would excuse me.”  Jody made an intercept but this time Mx. Balsa intervened.  A small shake of their head, jewels shimmering in the light.  That was a relief.  With a nod to Juno, Nureyev slipped out the doors and made a beeline towards the restroom even as he sent the data to Rita.  

As much as he wanted to run, he didn’t.  He kept his gate easy and posture confident.  That changed as soon as he was in the privacy of the privy.  

Nureyev bolted to a stall, shoving two fingers down his throat.  He gagged and wretched till his eyes watered, jaw cramped and his skull pounded.  Bowing lower with each convulsion, clinging to the hope he’d retch up the vial cocktail.  

It wasn’t working.  

He reached deeper, spayed his fingers further, feeling the bite of his sharp teeth in his hand, nails scraping on the inside of his throat-  

Historically, he’d viewed being ill at will as a necessary evil of his trade.  A skill, as it were.  

One he’d never mastered.  

It had landed him in the hospital on an occasion or two.  

Try as he might, the only thing he succeeded in doing was ruining his makeup.  He gave up, of course he did, there wasn’t a point in driving himself into exhaustion.  Yet alone displaying that weakness for the world to see.  

There was nothing for it.  He would just have to bide his time until they returned to the Carte Blanche.  

In all probability, he had time.  Brahmese people were particularly resilient to a variety of toxins.  Not by some evolutionary fluke, but by design.  The planet had always been hostile to its human inhabitants.  In all its infinite wisdom, the government, rather than deal with the expensive venture of cleaning the pollutants from living zones, had instead chosen to subsidize gene editing.  That was before the war though.  

Mag had been so relieved to find Nureyev had inherited the genetic coding.  ‘First rule of thieving Pete’ he’d laughed ‘take any advantage you can get!’

Advantage- Nureyev snorted, more like a double edged sword.   While it afforded him some protection, it also marked him as distinctly Brahmese.

File it away-

The thought of the Carte Blanche again, of Vespa Ilkay.  She was the last person he wanted alerted to the genetic quirk.  

File that away too while you’re at it-

Nureyev turned his attention to the vanity.  He’d made quite the mess of himself.  Lipstick and eyeliner smeared, ropes of various… secretions clinging to his nose and mouth, eyes red and puffy.  He frowned at the fine dusting of red circling the tender flesh behind the spectacles.  Petechiae- apparently he’d burst a few blood vessels.  

Great, just great.  All the work he’d put into Tillerson’s visage for naught- file it away.  

All the same, he allowed himself a moment of discontent as he began the process of cooling the swelling, washing away the evidence and rework his appearance.  

The door swung open, and scarlet filled his periphery.  

“God Damnit , there you are- Tillerson-” bless him, they’d practiced using their aliases for a week before the job and Juno was still uncomfortable with them.  

“Mr. Micah.” Nureyev returned, blending the concealer under his eyes.  

“You were gone for a while-” Juno didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.  Nureyev could tell when his Detective was worried.  He was fidgeting head to toe, poor thing.

“I decided to visit the powder room while waiting on our team to analyze the data.” he glanced at his comms “The information appeared to check out- And- oh my they seemed to have attempted to sneak in a trojan horse.  Rita assures it isn’t a problem but-”

Juno plainly wasn’t listening.  He was looking him over with that sharp eye, stepping into his space.  “You okay babe?” he breathed, reaching out to smooth a hair back into place and cupping his cheek “your eyes are red.”

Nureyev jumped in surprise.  Had Juno even bothered to check for surveillance devices or-  People slept with their co-workers all the time, he and Juno were no exception to that rule, but what if they were seen?  Found out?  Their cover blown!  What if-

But no- he trusted the Detective.  

He cleared his head gently kissing the lady’s palm.  He considered for a moment telling Juno about the poison, but what came out of his mouth instead was “Just some minor irritation, love.” He stepped away, Mr. Tillerson sliding back into place.  “I suppose we should return to our hosts.”

“Yeah-"he flashed an uncertain smile.  Just don’t go disappearing on me again.  Thought they were going to eat me alive or something-”

“We can not have that now, can we?” He returned the smile, trying to exude his usual confidence despite the weakness in his legs.  They would have to wrap this up quickly, if the dizziness was anything to go by.  Plant the virus and leave.

“You were gone for quite a while Mr. Tillerson.” greeted their host.

“Merely conversing with my associate.” he shrugged, “And you’re in luck, Mx. Balsa.  Your information appears to be- genuine.” Nureyev planted a firm hand on the table, as much for balance as it was to return the chip.  

“Of course it is, we went through great pains to ensure it to be so.”

“Indeed. I’m sure the origin story would be most interesting but we have a matter to settle.  The price.”

They had discussed this before.  Mx. Balsa wouldn’t deal with those who didn’t have something interesting to offer.  It had taken Buddy and Rita time to figure out their tastes, and even more to fabricate a program.  A hacking bot.  It wasn’t real of course, the only thing that made it halfway convincing at all was Rita piloting the thing remotely.  

“Yes, the price-” they drawled.  Nureyev did not take kindly to that tone.  “The price just went up.”

Nureyev’s eyebrows crept upwards while Juno bolted upright “Hey now!  We agreed to the terms before this even-”

“Micah, please”

“No!  So far they’ve tried to poison us and hid a goodie in their sample intel.  Now they want more .  Hell, they should be paying us for this-”

“Mr. Micah, please.  I merely desire to know what it is you hope to accomplish with the information.  And to get a taste for your program’s capabilities as you have of my intel.”

Nureyev pretended to consider it, placing a hand on Juno’s knee and tapping out a message, before saying “These appear to be fair terms, however, what I’m wondering is if there are any more hidden fees.”  

To say Mx. Balsa was slippery, was an understatement.  Nureyev had seen people like them before, knowledge brokers, able to root out and twist any grain of truth to their heart’s desire.  This was not someone he wanted to be investigated by.  Juno would be a veritable beacon.  Public employees were so easy to track-

Mx. Balsa took their time in testing the program.  Rita informed them when she’d gotten the virus set up in their system, it didn’t take her long at all.  Now they just had to play the wait game.  They fained interest in the intel, made up a story to satiate their curiosity and asked enough questions to avoid suspicion.  All the while Nureyev could feel his health take a steady trend downwards.  

Once or twice he thought they shot him a knowing look as his attention began to wonder, or that Jody was leaning in a little too closely.  He tugged at his collar absently, the sweat plastering his shirt to him under the corset.  It was hard to gauge if the pressure of the boning was having a positive or negative effect on the nausea.  If they knew he’d been poisoned, what would they do?  Would they try to revoke their deal?  Detain them?  Hurt them?  Hurt Juno?  

He could not let that happen, would not.  

Juno squeezed his thigh, startling him out of his thoughts.  Mx. Balsa was pushing a new chip towards them, the one with the information they’d spent the better part of a day mulling over.  It was encased in a silver embossed box, flashy and probably manufactured to ensure no one could scan its contents.

Nureyev took out his comms once more and clicked it into place.  It was all there, Rita checked for them.  Thank the stars it wasn’t another test.  After all, it would be suspicious if they left with only half the intel.  

“I believe that concludes our business.” he smiled, rising gratefully to his feet.  

“We’ve kept you so long, won’t you stay for dinner?”

“Dinner my ass.” Juno grumbled for only Nureyev’s ears.

“Didn’t quite catch that-” Mx. Balsa frowned.

“Ohh Sorry, we’ll pass, don’t feel like dying today.” Juno smiled, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Ahh, Pity.”

Nureyev’s laugh was cut short from a stabbing pain in his abdomen.  He started again, swaying, hand pressed to his stomach.  Certain he’d find blood.

“Everything okay there Mr. Tillerson?”

Glancing down revealed only the pristine pearl embroidery of the corset.  No blade, no blood, he was…. fine-  

He released his death grip on the chair, quickly filing away that sensation best he could.  Their mission was nearly done after all, no need for theatrics now.

“Perfectly.” He smiled wider, displaying sharp teeth.  “We’ll show ourselves out.”

Jody made a big show of opening the doors for them so that the muscled chords of his biceps were on full display.  They’d just managed to step before slamming it shut at their backs.  

The smile Nureyev had been wearing, dissolved into a grimace. He set a brisk, if uneven, pace to the exit.  

“Hey- Ran-” Juno groaned “Tillerson!  Wait up!” Juno clacked to his side.  

“Apologies Micah, I merely-ah!” he stumbled over his feet, Juno caught him in his strong arms.

“Hey- are-are you alright?”

His head was still spinning and there was that question again.  He had no desire to deal with it at present. “I-”

“The truth this time.” Juno pressed, ever the persistent Lady.

“Just a tad under the weather-” he admitted.  

“Babe, why didn’t you say something-”

“Something I drank.  It’s fine love.”

Bone deep tiredness pulled him down.  He wanted nothing more than to surrender himself to the arms of his goddess.  It would be safe there, warm.

Juno looked like he was going to ask more questions but was interrupted.

A shrill cry tore through the hall.  It sounded like Mx. Balsa.

“What the hell?” Juno craned his neck to look.  "You don’t think they found it yet?“

"Let’s- not check.”  Nureyev entwined his arm with Juno’s, setting up a brisk pace towards the doors.  Relying on the Detective as one might a crutch.

There was a wash of hurried footsteps, people shouting, blasters charging- the only thing that made sense was security-

“I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome Detective!” Nureyev said.

“Ya Think!” Juno yelled back, voice cracking from the force of it.  Even so- he withdrew a fist full of blaster from the dress slit.

But Nureyev wasn’t focusing on Juno, wasn’t focusing on the escape.  Jody was barreling on through the guards, weapon raised and charging and trained on-

“Micah!”  He slammed into Juno just as the bolt whizzed past striking another employee.  They rotated so that he could serve as Juno’s shield while giving him time to line up a shot.  It might have worked too if he’d been a little quicker-  

The next thing he knew he was violently ripped from the Detective.  A strong, bulky arm wrapped about his throat, crushing it.

Jody-

It had to be, few could make Nureyev’s toes leave the ground.  His chest quaked with strain of forcing air in and out of his constricted windpipe.  He kicked for purchase, skiving off the panic by attempting to worm his forearm up through the choke hold; the other diving into a pocket for a blade.

“Tillerson!” Juno shouted.

“Important to you isn’t he.” Their voice was surprisingly soft and high for their bulk.

Juno fired two shots beyond them, he must have hit his mark because there was the sound of something hitting the floor.  

Jody jerked back, causing stars to burst in front of Nureyev’s vision.  Fear clouded his mind, making him claw at the bodyguard.  Even so he blindly groped for the familiar curvature of a handle-

“No more of that-” they warned “Or I will be forced to-” but what they’d be forced to do was lost.  

Nureyev found a knife amongst the stashed trinkets and baubles, he had just enough wherewithal to mouth ‘ ready- ’ before manically plunging the blade into the brute’s thigh.

They howled, dropping Nureyev.  Juno sent a stunner straight to their chest as soon as his partner was clear.  The lady darted forwards, catching the thief under arm and hauling farther along the passage.  Nureyev, for his part, gulped down air and forced his sluggish legs to take his weight.  

They had no choice but to run.  Nureyev readied fresh blades, easier to locate now his brain had a proper supply of oxygen.  Pressed for time as they were, he couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t recovering like he ought to.

They rounded a corner and “Damn it” Juno hissed, taking in the thick ring of guards round a door “There’s too many-”

Manny there were.  But they also appeared green, scared.  Nureyev didn’t need three decades of experience reading people to know they could be intimidated.  

“Perhaps-” he puffed, flashing a wiry smile.  "Let’s see what they are made of.“  It was all the warning he gave before sprinting towards the group.  

It was a foolish plan, a desperate one.  There were screams and shouts as Nureyev’s blades flashed.  He had to give them a little credit, they held ranks far longer than he’d imagined them capable.  That all changed with the first spray of blood.  Typically he’d aim to wound in Juno’s presence; but with the way his hands shook he was taking any opening that presented itself.

Distantly he could hear the bite of Juno’s words as he called out and could feel his presence joining at his side.  The two of them versus the small army of guards.  He allowed himself to get caught up in the simple rhythm of the moment.  

For the first time since the mission started, Nureyev’s mind cleared.  All there was was the ache of his breath, the burn in his limbs and the death defying dance with Juno Steel.  

They shot and sliced their way to an opening; clawed a path to the hall, the entrance way and the street beyond and-

Sweet escape-

This - this moment right here, was what Nureyev lived for.

The dizzying rush of the night air spurred the pair on until all sounds of pursuit faded.  Despite his long legs and penchant for running, Juno easily kept pace.  He could feel it now, the sickness worrying away at him from the inside.  He didn’t know how much more he could take before his legs would give out or lungs burst.  Still he pushed harder, dug deeper, counting his steps to drown out the complaints of the body.  

At long last they stumbled into an ally way; a narrow thing that reeked of misuse.  

"Okay- What the Hell!” Juno rounded on Nureyev, eye flashing in the dim light of the dome.

Nureyev swallowed, hardly able to keep his focus on the Detective.  The light cardio had left him feeling queasy and weak.  Wrong.  He supposed poison on an empty stomach would do that to you.  Not to mention how tender his throat was after Jody’s mistreatment.  

He put a hand to his clammy forehead, swaying a little.

“I thought I was the reckless one,” he lectured “the one that went off half co- babe?  Nureyev?!!!”

He’d doubled over, retching earnestly this time.  Just as before, there was nothing to bring up-  The cruel dry heaves cramped his core and set his eyes watering, legs folding under the crushing weight of it.  

“Babe, heyheyhey, hey~ I got you-” strong arms wrapped around him, propping him up, “I’ve got you.” Small circles worked into his back as they waited for it to end.

“S-sorry-” he gasped between convulsions.  They didn’t have time for this, they didn’t have time for any of this.  Yet here he was endangering Juno with his own ineptitude.  “I’m- ss-”

“Ugh-uh, no, you’re not doing that.” Juno cut him off.  “Hell, when you said you weren’t feeling good-”  Nureyev made to apologize again, but Juno gave a warning “hun”

He slumped against the brickwork, trembling and breathing heavily.  

“Done?”

Nureyev gave a non committal hum.  It was all he trusted himself to manage.  

All the same, a moment was afforded to him to clean up with a moist towelette.  Again his makeup was ruined, but he was far from caring.  The important thing at present was to leave this city behind.  

Juno seemed to be thinking along the same vein.  “Think you can stand?  Or should I contact Jet?”

“No need for that love.” Nureyev smiled weakly, nausea churning within “Just give me a hand.”  

The Detective obliged, neatly entangled their fingers and pulled him along using his comms to navigate.  He was mighty grateful for the assistance, between the stomach ache and the weight in his limbs, he was having difficulty remaining upright.  

Nureyev eyed the nooks and crannies of the back streets.  Had he been alone he’d likely of spent the night curled up in one of those charming locations.  Cold and cramped, but out of sight.  He sighed, surrendering himself to the guidance of his goddess.  

“Hello Ruby.” Nureyev greeted wirily.  It chirped in response alerting Jet to their presence.  The door swung open of the Ruby’s own volition and the pair slid in.  “Jet-”

“Ransom.”  Jet acknowledged.

“Hey big guy.”

“Are either of you injured?” he asked, glancing back in the rearview mirror.  “I ask because of the blood.”

“Don’t think so.  Had to get a little rough on the getaway.” Juno explained glancing down at his gore streaked dress and coat.  “Honestly, if we could move out, that would be great.  I don’t really fancy meeting up with those nut jobs again.”

Nureyev hummed in agreement.  Doing his level best to keep his expression neutral and his breathing measured.  He must look a mess judging by the way Jet kept eyeing him.  

Turbulence made him gasp as pain blossomed in his abdomen.  His composure slipping and rearranging like water.  He slouched lower, trying to get some relief-

Juno was talking with Jet, or talking at him more like.  Nureyev stopped listening after the first few moments, lulled instead by his Lady’s warm voice and the way it crackled at the edges when he became impassioned.  He was just so tired-

Before he knew it, the thief was leaning on the Detective’s shoulder, sinking into his side, bloodshot eyes fluttering shut.  Normally he’d be loathed to sleep at the end of a job like some worn out child.  But he couldn’t fight anymore.

It was a sunny day

SO, I finally wrote the accident. God I had so so many doubts about this part. But hey, its ok. its just for fun. 778900´s POV first before we dip into Robert´s.

This is a series, here´s the Masterlist

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @boxboysandotherwhump

TW// dehumanization, slavery, human trafficking, narcotics and syranges, death, child death, car accidents, dub-con, dub con touching (sexual), kind of spicy, blood, conditioning, defiant whumpee, curse words, This one is messed up, so please be careful when going through it.

It had been two years.

778900 had been waiting for two years for someone to take him. As the days passed, as he tried completing his training with as little “incidents” that ended up in him getting yet another set of fresh bruises, the hope of getting out was starting to die out.

He tried being good.

He tried to do everything the handlers ordered him to do. Did his positions, however humilliating they were, ate the flavorless nutrition meals, kept his head down and his attention sharp. But it was useless. One way or another, he would fail.

So he payed attention to even the tiniest detail.

How the handler´s watch would always mark 5 am when they were told it was night, how the blond handler´s hands always stayed a moment longer than necessary when he was on position training, how the cooking classroom was essentially the handler´s meal prep, the direction all handlers walked to when they talked about “going for some fresh air”; How the handlers would shift the camera in the hallway next to the handler´s room after taking a boy with them for whatever lame excuse they would put and finally, how the medic at the facility kept syringes with a powerful narcotic in her coat´s pocket just in case.

You signed up for this

A voice inside his head told him, before he stared at the handler´s clock and found the needle pointing at five, just as expected. As he went to the medic´s office to receive his daily dosis of vitamins. “Special treatment” was not quite the reason he had to take them. It was just them making sure the precious money and time spent training him, wasn´t wasted on a defective product.

He didn´t remember anymore, but he had come weighting half the acceptable for a boy his age and size. It was no surprise he fainted with just a stretching routine. It had gotten better with the vitamins, but the handlers were forced by the medic to not beat him if he fell to the ground.

He was deeply thankful for the woman to go that far for him even with the handler´s threats. So, so very thankful he got vitamins thanks to her kindness. Or so he made it seem, as she allowed him to give her a hug. Not sensing at all his hand taking out the syringe before responding to her “take care” with a bright smile on his face that distracted her from his hands.

You wanted to not make any decisions for yourself.

He heard deep inside his head as he added something to the sauce for the dish they cooked at class that day. The trainee sneaked glances at the blond handler coming to his table to watch him clean up after cooking, noticing the last boy went through the door with his handler, he knocked the sauce all over him. Loudly. So fashionably eye catching, the blond whipped his head to laugh at him.

“I-I´m sorry, I didn´t see it and…I´m so sorry” He stumbled on his words, acting as if he was cleaning himself up. Smirking to himself, the man pulled him up and started cleaning him.

“Jesus, what a waste. How can you be that clumsy?” he asked him, not exactly sounding annoyed to put his hand over his chest. Slowly, 778900 took the man´s hand and passed it down his torso.

“Thank you…” he said with a honey toned voice, making sure he pressed his hand right above his crutch, noticing the hungry look the man gave him, he rocked his hips on his hand, letting out a breathy moan. With his hand teasing the edge of his trainee shorts, the albino leaned to whisper on his ear, “…For helping me clean up” he finished with a little pop, “We have position training after this, but I will need a bath…” almost to emphasize,  The boy pulled the man´s dripping hand and pressed it to his lips. 778900 gave him a kiss on the cheek as he pushed one glaced digit into the stunned man´s mouth. “Please. I wouldn´t like anyone but you to do it” he had said in that needy voice he would hear romantics talk in sometimes.

He took off his finger to let him speak, but he could still feel the warmth of his tongue licking him clean.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” the man asked him wetting his lips, before the trainee gave him a bratty pout and leaned on slightly closer.

“Does it matter?”

The man had bitten the bait. Or more accurately, licked it. Directly or from his hands. The boy had even moaned to encourage him to continue. In his bliss, the man was completely taken by surprise when the albino put his hand over his mouth and felt something puncturing his skin and then warmth began spreading through his body. He felt his limbs growing so heavy suddenly, he slouched over the boy. 

“Shh” the albino trainee whispered on his ear as he passed his fingers through his hair “Be a good boy and go to sleep for me” he said, putting away the empty syringe while staring at the turned off camera on the edge of the room the whole time.

A moment later he had crawled below the man and started undressing him after futilely trying to cut off the shock collar on his neck with a kitchen knife. The boy took his clothes and covered his hair with the little cap with “WRU” embroided in bright blue, making sure to cover his neck properly.

You signed up for this

His mind rocked back and forth as he kept his head down. Navigating the halls to the handler´s room in a quick, anxious pace that tried to avoid every suspicious eye. The trainee waited a second for the men to come out of the handler´s room to sneak inside. He couldn´t make up any letters as words without a migraine attacking him. So he guided himself with the drawings on the level map.

Silently, he came out of the room with the elevator on the far right on mind. He walked the same direction as them when they said they would “go get some fresh air” but found a handler and a few boys cleaning the halls. It was part of their training. He quickly noticed the handler´s eyes fixing on him. So, he took one boy and quietly directed him to clean over a spot on the other side. Far from them. The boy obediently followed his instructions and he patted his back before walking to the elevator.

I signed for this

He told himself as he extended the card over what he assumed was a card reader. There were no buttons but to open and close, so the only way to get out was only through the handler´s and executives cards, each designated to an specific floor. Of course, that was something the panicking, albino trainee didn´t know. He only had the Handler´s card by pure chance, but for his audacity, he was rewarded with the doors closing to feel the vertigo from going up.

And I fucking regret it.

There was a loud ring when the doors opened up again to a floor, and he prayed, it was the highest point. That there was a door conducting outside.

And it was.

He pushed it open and found above, the almost forgotten sky. The sun was already high up and just a few clouds spotted the vast blue.

It was a sunny day.

He stepped out without letting go. The view of trees, the sun on his skin and seeing how blue the sky was, drove him to tears quick enough that he didn´t notice there were other handlers smoking there.

“Hey, got some reds? I ran out” one of them asked, eyeing him for a second before a frown formed on his face, “Who are you? I have never seen you” He ignored him, heart throbbing on his ears as he tried walking past them, into the woods, “Hey!” one of them launched himself to grab his wrist, pulling on the uniform enough to find the barcode and numbers. “HOLY SH-” the man couldn´t finish before 778900 whipped his hand back and sprinted towards the forest. As quickly and as far away from their screams and their batons and the range from his collar as his feet could carry him.

Unknowingly, going straight into the highway.

He could hear their yelling getting lost behind him. Adrenaline helping him to outrun them. He jumped and knocked over a few bushes on his way. Tearing the clothes apart in his rush. Sweat made his forehead slippery enough for the cap to get lost somewhere on the way, but he couldn´t stop.

So he kept running until finally, he felt concrete under his oversized boots. He didn´t know how far he had run, but he knew he wanted to collapse right there and then as the haziness of hunger overcame him. He couldn´t stop now, but he allowed himself to catch his breath with his hands on his knees.

It was a second.

Just one second.

However, it was all it took to pass from breathing triumphantly that he was out to be in front of a van driving pass the limit.

It was one second when he curled into himself and the van turned to his right, avoiding him by mere centimeters and crashing violently into the other side of the highway. Turning and turning and turning.

The boy rose to his feet when he stopped hearing the metal crashing into the pavement. The world seemed to slow down then. As his chest heaved making his wayt to the turned around car, hoping there had only been one person aboard, his heart leaped. He had seen too many shadows, too many clothes scattered around.

Then, he heard the screams.

For a hot second he stayed still, considering he could simply turn his back on it. He would be in serious problems if they found him… but he had provoked it, hadn´t he? It would be his fault if something happened to the poor people inside the van. If they died… they would have died on a sunny day.

People shouldn´t die on sunny days.

A voice different from the usual, a voice that made him irrationally sad, told him.

So, he tried to rush to help, but felt the familiar bolt of pain on his neck. So much stronger than normal, he fell to the ground, his hands up on his neck before he could register he had screamed. There were a row of convulsing bolts that pinned him down. The electrifying pain took away his consciousness bit by bit.

He let out a whimper as someone grabbed him by the uniform´s shirt and started beating him. Reflexes too slow to put up his hands to defend his head or face. It took little more than two hits to draw out blood. To make his ears ring and his eyes to mud everything. But he didn´t need to see or hear to know it was the blond handler, pissed out of his mind.

He was barely awake when his head was pressed against the concrete, while he was roughly handcuffed on his back, before being pulled up. Only to be slapped when he couldn´t stand for himself, and then, thrown into the unforgiving cold of the van´s floor.

The car started so quickly, as he tried to pull himself up the ground, he couldn´t avoid slamming the back of his head against the door´s sharp edged lock.

From then on, it was black.

—-

“Yeah, yeah. I called an ambulance” the man shouted into his phone as he drove back to the facility. A pissed voice on the other side yelled at him loud enough to make him separate the phone from his ear, “Do you fucking think this was on the manual? They´re supposed to be fucking broken! How the hell did he get his hands on a narcotic? How the hell did no one notice? He´s white like a paper sheet for fucks sake!” he screamed back, hearing attentively to the voice “What? No, he´s fine. Just some scratches and- FUCK” The wheels burnt when he stopped the car to whip his head towards the blood pond on the back of the van. Fuming, he passed his hands through his hair, failing to hold a frustrated scream as he slammed open the doors and checked for a pulse. 

He sighed in relief before he passed the barely breathing boy to the front, wrapping a discarded scarf around his head before fastening the seatbelt and driving back.

“Jesus, kid” he shook his head, eyeing the unconscious boy next to him   “Couldn´t you have tried to escape in a less flashy way?”

When he got back, he begged the doctor he had stolen the narcotric from, to treat the boxie. To give him the strongest serum they had, because it wasn´t only him risking losing his job or worse.

She had no other choice than to agree. In the worst case, he would have brain damage. Putting aside the possible motor damage luckily they would be able to fix before anyone noticed, however, a colateral would be damage to his short term memory. Meaning, he would do things without being able to recall them later. In the optimistic side, it wouldn´t last forever. He would remember some things eventually. Hopefully much time after he was bought. When he wouldn´t be the company´s problem anymore.

Hoping it would be that way, she began treatment.

The man made his way to the handlers above, then. The men laughed at his incompetence, but he had made up his mind.

“I´m gonna quit”

“Right call” one of them said.

“None of you will talk about this. EVER. Nothing happened. I´ll even pay you, but none of this ever happened, understood?”

The men exchanged looks before smiling at their ex coworker “And what are you gonna do about the van?”

“Bad accident, four people died in situ. A four year old between them I heard”

“And the doctor too. The one that CEO´, was marrying on March. Heard CEO´s on the hospital as well” the blond handler gulped. “Guilty, Sanders? Want some serum to forget like the boxie?”

“Nothing. Happened” The men said through gritted teeth. The other two stared at him before pulling their hands up. What did they care anyways? If they had cared about humans pain, they wouldn´t be in that line of work. Well, beyond their own amusement.

When Sanders went away to write his resignation letter, both handlers stayed there for a while. Looking at the sun go higher and higher. No clouds on sight. It was the kind of day kids would use as an excuse to go outside. The perfect day to go on a picnic. To grab your partner and have a nice date. One of them wondered if they people on the van were going to do just that when the boxie jumped on the highway.

“What a pretty day to die though” he said, sipping on their cigarette looking up at the sky.

—

A few months later, “nothing happened” made the freckled twenty year old college student, the costume order box boy for a broken hearted CEO and two years later, a lonely, grieving woman take out 778900 out of his box.

I’ve Got You

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), possible Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2020, i've got you, Support, Carrying, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Dark Era (Bungou Stray Dogs), Soukoku | Double Black (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu Takes Care of Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), First Aid, treating a wound, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together Series: Part 3 of Soukoku Whumptober 2020 Summary:

Dazai and Chuuya are being hunted after a mission. They have to reach their hideout while Chuuya is already exhausted from using Corruption. And their pursuers don't mind shooting at two teenagers.

Ao3

  Dazai stumbles behind another tree, dragging the barely conscious Chuuya with him. His partner is doing his best to keep up, but he already has trouble staying awake. Corruption, as always, has taken its toll. Chuuya sinks down, leaning against the tree, while Dazai looks for the approaching enemy.

This whole situation is Mori's fault. He had explicitly requested that Chuuya use Corruption to take out the enemy base. Dazai had tried to argue that they might find a more suitable approach while at the scene, but no. Mori had shut him down without even hearing him out. And now it turns out that the enemy has, in fact, two bases. One of which Chuuya demolished, and the other now hunting them down for revenge. Fantastic.

Dazai takes another look around, deciding that they should get going. They put some distance between them and their pursuers, but that wouldn't hold long. He nudges Chuuya awake and pulls him back to his feet. The other teen barely manages a groan of complaint. "Come on, partner," Dazai says, pulling Chuuya's arm around his shoulders, "I don't wanna get in trouble for leaving you behind." Chuuya mumbles something that Dazai decides to interpret as approval, and they start moving.

It's annoyingly slow, but they do make progress, wandering through the woods. That comes to a sudden stop when they reach a clearing. On the one hand, they could just walk around it to stay at least partially hidden. On the other hand, their prepared hideout is not that far off, and if they manage to get through the clearing in one go, they'd safe a lot of time. Dazai looks at Chuuya and decides to risk it. His partner might not be able to stay awake long enough for the long way round.

They are about halfway across the clearing when he hears shouting behind them.  Dazai breathes a curse and tries to speed up. Chuuya is almost leaning his full weight on him at this point, and they can't afford to get caught. At least the other is a bit more awake at the moment. He's looking back occasionally, trying not to drag Dazai down too much.

Dazai mentally measures the distance to the treeline. 100 metres if they're lucky.

"Dazai," Chuuya abruptly says, pushing into him. Dazai ignores him. They're almost there, they can make it. "Dazai," Chuuya says again, voice strained. Almost. There.

Suddenly, Chuuya slips out of his grip and moves behind him. Dazai doesn't have time to react. A shot rings through the air, Chuuya falls into his back. They both tumble to the ground.

Dazai takes only seconds to orient himself. They're lying in a shallow ditch partially hiding them from view. Chuuya is next to him, not moving. Almost tentatively, Dazai reaches out to shake his shoulder. His hand comes into contact with warm dampness. It's red when he pulls away. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he rolls his partner on his back. He's still breathing.

Dazai releases a shuddering breath before grounding himself. Time to get out of here. He pulls out the last smoke bomb he had brought with him. It would have been more effective in the woods, but he needs it now. Before their pursuers come close enough to actually see them again. He peeks through the grass, making sure no one notices him throw. The moment the bomb hits, Dazai pulls Chuuya onto his back. He knows that it's only thanks to the adrenaline that he manages the sprint to the tree line while carrying his partner. His breath comes out in little huffs when he finally reaches the cover of the trees. "How are you so heavy?" he mutters to Chuuya, not expecting an answer.

Dazai presses on. He doesn't dare go directly to the hideout, but their pursuers seem to have lost track of them for now.

He's shaking with exhaustion when he finally reaches the shelter. It's hidden inside a small hillside, almost invisible if one isn't aware of it. Chuuya is still unconscious; Dazai can feel his breaths against his neck. He enters the security code after checking his surroundings one last time. The hidden door swings open wide enough to let them in, before locking again behind them.

Darkness closes around them, and Dazai curses as he searches blindly for the damned light switch. He's going to complain to Mori about automating the lights once he's back. His fingers finally find the switch. The sudden brightness blinds him temporarily. When his eyes finally adjust, Dazai takes a careful look around. If this place has been compromised, he'd rather not get taken by surprise. The room is small, with one bed, a small couch, a pantry in the corner and some necessary kitchen utensils. Dazai knows that a bathroom is behind the door opposite the entrance.

Everything looks undisturbed, so he carries Chuuya to the couch. He breathes a sigh of relief when finally laying the other down. His back already hurts. He sighs again. No time for rest yet. Dazai heads to the bathroom, making sure that nothing looks out of place. First, he washes his hands, glad to get the grime of the woods off. And the blood. Next, he grabs a small bowl and fills it with warm water before throwing a clean cloth into it. He takes the first-aid kit, which is mandatory in every Port Mafia hideout. Finally, he takes two towels with him.

Now properly equipt Dazai heads back out of the bathroom. He finds a stool to sit down next to the couch and lays everything out. Chuuya is still unresponsive. That might actually be for the best.

Dazai starts by first removing the other's jacket. He could just cut it off, but then he'd have to deal with Chuuya complaining. Besides, an intact jacket draws less suspicion than a cut one. Or they'd have to get rid of it. It's honestly less hassle to just undress Chuuya. The wound has bled through the white shirt underneath already. Now, Dazai is even more glad to have kept the jacket in one piece. This way, Chuuya can cover up later.

After getting the shirt off as well, Dazai takes a closer look at the injury. The bullet only grazed Chuuya's shoulder instead of penetrating. That's good. It's still bleeding, so Dazai takes out some gauze and applies it with gentle pressure. He needs to add two more layers of gauze before the top finally stays clear.

Once the bleeding has stopped, Dazai removes the gauze. He takes the cloth out of the water bowl and starts cleaning the surrounding area. He's far from a medical expert, but he sees no need to suture the cut. For now, he places one of the towels around it. Dazai fills the largest syringe he can find with warm water. When he starts squeezing the water over the wound, Chuuya grumbles something into the cushion. Dazai continues refilling and emptying the syringe until the first towel is soaked through. Only when he replaces it with the second one, does Chuuya turn his head. "What're you doin'?" he slurs. "Irrigating the wound on your shoulder." Chuuya stares blankly for a while. "What?" Dazai sighs. "I'm cleaning the place where you got shot." "Oh. Is it bad?" "No, the bullet only grazed you." Chuuya hums in acknowledgement and turns his head back into the cushions.

Once the second towel is soaked through as well, Dazai removes it. He takes everything except the first-aid kit and heads back to the bathroom. There, he fills a glass with water, while leaving the rest behind.

Dazai taps Chuuya on the uninjured shoulder, earning a quiet groan in return. After another tap, Chuuya turns his head towards him with a scowl. "What?" "Sit up. I can't bandage your shoulder with you lying down." Chuuya sighs but complies. Dazai helps as best as he can. As soon as Chuuya is sitting, he already slumps over with a groan. "Fuck," he mumbles, face in hands.

Dazai waits until the other finally manages to look up again. "I've got painkillers if you think you can keep them down." Chuuya considers this for a moment. Finally, he nods. Dazai takes out two pills from a blister pack and hands them over together with the glass of water. He's glad to not have filled it completely; Chuuya's hands are shaking. He takes back the still half-full glass when Chuuya is done swallowing. Dazai sets it down on the ground. Then, he takes out some fresh gauze and a bandage. He places the gauze on the injury and starts wrapping it. Chuuya wordlessly complies with every direction he gives.

When he's finally done, Dazai sighs. "Chibi's causing me so much trouble again." Chuuya glares at him but doesn't answer. Dazai hides a frown. Instead of annoying his partner further, he sighs again. "Let's get you to bed." He helps Chuuya get up from the couch. They take a detour to the bathroom before finally reaching the bed. Dazai's still assisting his partner, even going so far as to take his shoes off. It helps that Chuuya is barely conscious at this point.

When the other is finally taken care of, Dazai heads to the bathroom himself. He's exhausted, and they need to stay the night anyway. He quickly washes up and gets himself ready to go to sleep. Speaking of which, he takes one long look at the couch, before heading to the actual bed. "Move over." Chuuya grumbles something in response but does as he's told.

Dazai slips under the covers. The bed is too small to avoid touching each other, so he doesn't even try. Besides, he can feel his partner shivering already. With a final sigh, he pulls the blanket tighter around them both. Chuuya's breathing soon evens out, and Dazai allows himself to put one arm around his smaller partner. Just to safe space, of course.

Positioned like this, Dazai falls asleep quickly. And despite the circumstances, neither of them have any nightmares this time.

My Experiences and Safety Concerns on the Whumper Gathering and Niji  Discord Servers

      A content warning for this post: I am discussing a real case involving sexualization of a minor and predatory behavior by an adult. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to these issues. I remain as vague as I can be throughout the post while still accurately describing what happened and capturing the gravity of the situation.

     I want to start this out by saying I hate cancel culture. I hate it, I hate witch hunts, I hate call out posts, I hate bitching about people on the internet for no good reason.

     But I draw the line when there is a reason. I draw the line where other people, especially minors, are legitimately at risk.

     There have been many posts on the topic of the Whumper Gathering server. Two that explain the situation well are this one and this one. I won’t pick the server itself apart piece by piece here, as I only intend on sharing my own experience there and why I am so concerned for everyone still in the server, and for those who interact with its’ owner, Yume.

     I first joined the Whumper Gathering server in November of 2019. Back then, it was a welcoming place, serving as a hub of roleplay and character discussion. There were a few bumps along the road, but they were routine server issues that Yume handled delicately. Everything was fine. I made close friends there.

     The issues involving me began around the end of January. Yume approached me on the 31st asking if I’d like to be a moderator of the server. I accepted quickly, overjoyed to be a bigger part of the community that I loved so much.

     Unfortunately, that conversation was when everything started to go downhill. The first instance where I felt incredibly unnerved by Yume’s behavior toward me was when she asked this incredibly off-handed question right after I agreed to be a moderator:

     I am a minor. At the time that this conversation occurred, I was thirteen. Yume was completely aware of this, she knew it from my introduction in the server, yet she still somehow considered it appropriate to ask me a question with romantic implications.

     I was extremely confused and taken aback in the moment. I just laughed it off because I didn’t know what else to do.

     Yume’s conduct toward me did not stop or change after that. If anything, it worsened. After I made one joke in the server implying that I wanted to go to college to be a trophy wife, she gripped onto the name for months, and called me HER trophy wife hundreds of times despite the original joke having nothing to do with her. I was too afraid to call her out on how inappropriate it was for her to talk to me like that when she was an adult and I was, by every definition, a child. I tried to drop hints that I was uncomfortable, and while it isn’t her fault for not being able to read between my lines, even when I did finally gain the courage to flat out say I was uncomfortable, she completely brushed me off. A few examples of this behavior are below, the last being her excusing her behavior after I finally told her I didn’t want to be called her trophy wife. *Please note that the names and profile pictures of others involved in the conversations have been crossed out, because they did not consent to being involved with this post in any way, and did not do anything wrong.

    These are just a FEW examples. Again, I don’t want this to be a witch hunt, so I am only providing necessary examples and not leaving unnecessary screenshots to gawk at. Also, there is a 10 image limit per post and I’m trying to fit everything.

     More rather disturbing screenshots that go further than the “trophy wife” deal:

     The first: Completely unpromtedly implying/saying that she wanted to cuddle with me, at the time a 13 year old. I just wanted to talk about bringing my blanket to school.

     The second: Calling me the “titty police” and going on to talk about me in relation to breasts further. 

     This is just what happened in public chats.

     One of the scariest instances of her conduct toward me happened in a moderator chat. I do not have any screenshot evidence for this, because Yume deleted the entire moderator chat after people began to call her out for her behaviors, but I do have the word of the other former moderators who witnessed this happen.

     Soon after I was appointed as a moderator, we had a situation with a user making inappropriate sexual comments/requests in our roleplay channels. This person by all means could’ve been considered a predator. Yume quickly decided that this person needed to be addressed. There were 3 adult moderators at the time, as well as myself and another minor moderator. We all banded together to figure out a message to send to this person as an immediate warning to stop their behaviors.

     Everything went well until it came to who had to send the message. By now, only Yume and Kekune, Yume’s best friend, were online, along with myself. Yume immediately said that her anxiety was too bad to send it, and said it wasn’t a possibility. Kekune also counted herself out on the grounds of simply not wanting to. That left me, a minor, to go privately DM an adult who was breaking rules in an NSFW manner. I was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but was pressured into it by both Yume and Kekune and guilted about Yume’s anxiety until I gave in.

     Later into my time as a staff member, when I was a promoted to a co-admin, Yume refused to turn off the “administrator” permission for my role. This meant that I could see all of the server’s NSFW channels. I immediately muted and collapsed them, and told her that I was uncomfortable even being able to view them, but she refused to change the permission for weeks because she preferred to just click administrator and it was anxiety inducing for her to do the permissions individually.

     Yume has also engaged in multiple explicit NSFW roleplays in main roleplay chats and refused to move them to a section where minors could not view them, but I will not elaborate because though I was there and witnessed it, it was not a personal matter to me.

     After I finally left the server in July, Yume proceeded to gossip about me privately with other adults and spread misinformation to the members in her server. I have had multiple adult acquaintances tell me they had to shut Yume down from ranting about me to them on many occasions, and rationally, I can assume there’s many more people Yume talked to about me who did not tell me. Below is a screenshot of Yume spreading blatant misinformation about me in the main chat of Whumper Gathering, saying I sent her hate anons when I could not have possibly done so, since she blocked me.

     Again, I want to reiterate this is the surface level of things. There have been many, many more instances of Yume behaving inappropriately toward me or speaking about me in an inappropriate way. 

     What makes this worse is Yume and some members of her new staff team’s responses.

     Yume adamantly denies any wrongdoing and mongers people around her to agree with her by guilting them with her anxiety, triggers, and sex repulsion. She repeatedly tries to use her asexuality to excuse her actions, or to say that she couldn’t possibly be a predator because of her trauma. She denies every aspect of this situation and blames me.

     She blatantly lies about stopping calling me her trophy wife, as the nickname usage did not stop until I left the server and had no further contact with her. She also completely makes up me implying all asexual people are predators. That never happened. She calls my statements contradictory and tries to explain away her actions, taking no personal responsibility for the situation. She tries to use her sex repulsion as an excuse, and does not own up to being at fault for any part of the situation.

     This is just one of her many, many “apologies”/public statements.

     I rejoined both Whumper Gathering and Niji in July with the intention of shedding light on how dangerous of a person Yume was. Niji was originally an RWBY fandom project, but quickly devolved into Yume’s side server and personal venting space.

     I was met with the support of many members, both in Niji and Whumper Gathering, but Yume’s new mod team (not any of the mods I worked with, there was a mass walk out shortly before I rejoined; this is a newly hired set) had some particularly disgusting responses to me. I was attacked, called a liar, and demeaned, particularly by Kekune. Kekune, who is also an adult, said extremely nasty things to me and completely defended Yume and her actions while also flat out attacking me. She blamed me for everything in relation to Yume while trying to garner support from other server members.

     As you can see, Kekune not only excuses Yume’s behavior, but lies about the facts of the situation, and blames me, the literal child in the situation, for every aspect and states that I should‘ve prevented myself from being sexualized by an adult. “She didn’t mean it like that” is just one of many excuses made during this conversation.

     This entire situation has been extremely emotionally and physically exhausting for me. I’ve put off making this post out of fear of backlash, but at this point, I am more concerned about general and minor safety of the whump community than about whatever hate I may receive. There are many, many other horrible behaviors and things Yume has done in the WG and Niji servers; these are just my own personal experiences, as I think the posts I linked above do plenty of explaining, and I don’t need to beat a dead horse.

     My message and point with sharing this is simple. Do Not Interact, particularly if you are a minor. If you are still in WG or Niji, leave. Yume is a dangerous individual, as are many of her mods.

     Yume has over a hundred side blogs. The ones I know she uses most are @/whump-dream and @/midian-alexandra. I urge EVERYONE, particularly minors, not to interact with her or either of her servers. It is not safe. You could end up gaslit, manipulated, and/or verbally abused. It’s not worth being there for entertainment or to “watch the drama.”

     All of the above words are mine and mine only. No one else edited this, or even saw it before I posted it publicly. You are welcome to reblog for signal boost if you’d like, but I ask that you please do not add any comments and message me privately with any concerns, because I do not want this to turn into a witch hunt or a flame war against Yume or her staff, and again, this post is 100% from me. Please be safe, friends. The whump community is meant to be safe and welcoming and individuals like this prevent that from being the case.

-Sara (nowhumponmain)

FANDOM: ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence

RELATIONSHIPS: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun, Established Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun

CHARACTERS: Sawamura Eijun, Miyuki Kazuya, Kuramochi Youichi, Kominato Haruichi, Furuya Satoru, OC - Character

ADDITIONAL TAGS: Kidnapping, Torture, Blood, Gore, Whipping, Needles, Syringes, Horror, Rehabilitation, Sawamura is self-sacrificing, kazuya is having none of it, Protective Miyuki Kazuya, Whump, Violence, PTSD, poor treatment of wounds, OOC, Hurt Sawamura Eijun, Hurt Miyuki Kazuya, Scars, Facial Scars, Probably Excess Amounts of Blood, Electrocution, Near Drowning, Near Death Experiences, No Character Death, The Goal is for a Happy Ending, Injury, Baseball community in shock, Cuddling, Branding, Body Trauma, Handjobs, Stitching, POV Outsider, I Pretend I Know Medical Things, Nightmares, Minor Kominato Ryousuke/Kuramochi Youichi

“Are you okay?” Kazuya asked, heart in his throat, as he crouched down beside Sawamura who was slowly pushing himself up; face towards the ground with the fringe of his hair blocking Kazuya’s view. Droplets of blood steadily drip down to create a splotch of crimson on the concrete. Kazuya raised a hand to brush the hair out of his way so he could assess the damage; however, the sudden contact must have startled Sawamura as he whipped his head towards him, only to sigh quietly in relief upon setting sights on Kazuya. In return, Kazuya had to fight back the urge to take the pipe to the man's face once more upon seeing the damage done to Sawamura. Already, his right eye was beginning to swell and will probably be completely swollen shut in the following hours as well as several shades darker. Again, blood flowed from Sawamura’s nose that led to even more concern of it being broken after the close call prior. And lastly, hidden underneath the blood that smeared across his mouth and down his chin, was a gnarly gash at the left corner of his bottom lip.

         Kazuya was furious.

         “I’m fine…” Sawamura managed to mumble weakly, belatedly, after processing that Kazuya had asked him a question. It was an obvious lie; one that Sawamura himself couldn’t have believed, but it was so ingrained at this point for them to put up a front, that it became a knee-jerk response. Kazuya was guilty of it, too.

         “Can you walk?” Kazuya hesitantly asked. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to allow Sawamura a chance to rest or to even wait for his nose to stop bleeding, they didn’t have the time. They couldn’t stick around longer than absolutely necessary. There was no telling how long they had before their kidnapper woke up, and the more distance they put between them, the better.

         “Yeah,” Sawamura replied much more steadily this time. Kazuya grabbed his bicep and slowly helped him to his feet. A hiss of discomfort passed through Sawamura’s teeth while his free hand quickly clutched at his ribs, the same side Kazuya had seen the man kick. “ Ow ,” he grit out breathlessly. Kazuya leaned down to squint at the small space of skin he could see peeking between Sawamura’s fingers, but it was hard to say what was the beginning of a bruise or what was shadow; and Kazuya wasn’t going to try and pry Sawamura’s hand away for a closer look, not here, at least.

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Can I be THE FIRST person that asks for your offline h/c fic recs? 😍 hurt/comfort is my absolute FAVOURITE genre, especially if Sherlock is the one sick/hurt....I’m a terrible human I know >_

Hi Nonny!!

AHAHAHAH OKAY SO HERE’S THE THINGS:

 I just realized I lied and I HAVE actually posted some H/C fics before, so those will be below. I’ve Emotional Hurt/Comfort as well, but I’m going to assume that y’all are looking for Whumpfort, LOL.

I have a LOT OF H/C fics, and because of that, I have to split them up into manageable chunks, so I’ve currently 2 sets of H/C fics already sorted offline. Both are updates to other H/C lists I have, so I’m going to pick the longer of the two. This one has some nice shorter fics, so you can probably yum up this entire list in one day, LOL

And because you mentioned Sherlock Whump, I’ll link you to that list as well :D

So YES. I really gotta get my shit together and finally post all the chunks of H/C fics I have so that I have so I can finally remove that giant list from my Angst list LOL. ANYWAY, here’s what I’ve got for you today!!

HURT / COMFORT Pt.2: 5K to 10K WORDS

See Also:

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2 

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 3 

Sherlock is Sick/Hurt (Sherlock Whump) 

Sherlock Whump Pt. 2

Angsty Fluff

Self Harm, Danger Nights, and Drugs

Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attack, & Mental / Emotional Turmoil

Sick Fics Master Post (May 2019)

Bed-Sharing Between Flatmates by testosterone_tea (T, 5,053 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Bed Sharing, PTSD John, Science, Whump, Insecure Sherlock) – 5 times Sherlock had an excuse to share John’s bed, and the one time he didn’t need one.

Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5,178 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Angst, Magic Realism) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.

I think You Need A Doctor by TheGoodDirector (M, 5,254 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Sherlock Whump, Mistaken Couple, Humour, Platonics, Mary is Nice) – John’s not been to Baker Street in four months and returns to find a bleeding Consulting Detective. John can’t help but take care and put up with him. Set after The Sign of Three/Before His Last Vow.

The Refining Fire by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 5,451 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Friendship, Alternating POV (Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock), Worried Sherlock, Hospital Recovery) – Fire can burn things to ashes, but it can also burn things together.

Sleepless nights by El loopy (T, 5,467 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares/Insomnia, Panic Attack, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock has a nightmare and John wants to know what it was about. Set during season 1. Three-shot.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Sherlock Holmes, RELATIONSHIP: n/a by blueink3 (M, 5,533 w, 1 Ch.. || Hurt John/3G, Fluff & Angst) – The first time John Watson’s emergency contact is called is the first time Sherlock Holmes finds out that he has the job. Part 1 of The Emergency Contact Series

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: John Watson, RELATIONSHIP: Saint by blueink3 (M, 6,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt Sherlock, 5+1, H/C, Caring John, Scars) – The first time Sherlock Holmes realizes he needs an emergency contact is the first time he mentally appoints John Watson with the job. John, of course, does not know this and neither does the local hospital. Part 2 of The Emergency Contact Series

Life and Death by patemalah21 (K+, 6,457 w., 3 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Sherlock POV, Sherlock Whump, Fun With Words) - Sometimes a small incident can lead to unexpected results. Sherlock and John explore their friendship. A bit humourous in this too, ends with a giggle.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

When We Sleep by PrincessNala (K+, 6,660 w., 1 Ch || Post-TGG,  Alternating POV, Bed Sharing, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs) – Sherlock needed to feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was the only way to completely assure himself that John was alive and right there next to him, and not dead, no, never dead…

Bound Into the Fire by Tara Laurel (T, 6,672 w. || TEH, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Bonfire Scene, John Whump, Mary is Nice) – “John sometimes compared Sherlock Holmes to the flaming beast in his mind…Not such a bad way to go, John mused. Being consumed by Sherlock. Dying in his fire. No. This was different. He was burning alive. Not figuratively. Not some flowery metaphor. Burning.” There was no two minute stay of execution. “Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.”

Lost for Words by notactivesherlockaccount (T, 6,709 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Temporary Mute John) – While on a case, John temporarily loses his ability to speak, and he and Sherlock have to find a new way to communicate.

A Kiss and a Cuddle should be Sufficient by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 6,853 w., 3 Ch. || Gay Sex Club, Fake Relationship, PWP, Orgies, Rimming, BJ’s, Violence, Case Fic, Voyeurism) – Going undercover, Sherlock and John pursue a vicious killer to a gay group sex party. Not unexpectedly, things get a little out of hand. Set after Baskerville, but before the Fall.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – ‘I should warn you,’ Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.’ And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

Not Alone by taliapaxton (K+, 7,034 w., 6 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, MCD, Euthanasia) – Alone on the Water from Sherlock’s point of view. Inspired by the wonderful fiction, “Alone on the Water”

Inconvenient Timing by TheMadKatter13 (M, 7,072 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega John/Alpha Sherlock, Romance, Public Heat, Scared John, Protective / Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Post-TBB AU, Caring Sherlock, Pre-Slash, Happy Ending) – When John’s heat failed to appear three times in a row after he was shot, he figured it was just another broken piece off the broken toy soldier. So he was rather surprised to feel it start out of the blue…and not at all pleased with it starting while he was on the tube.

In Which “John” Becomes a Synonym for “Help” by asignoftwo (T, 7,391 w., 1 Ch. || Injured John, Worried Sherlock, Fluff) –  After the fall Sherlock returns to Baker Street and is reunited with John. When John is injured on a case Sherlock is faced with the reality that he could lose John again, and it tears him apart.

Drowning in Darkness by chappysmom (T, 7,575 w., 4 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped John, Post-TRF Hiatus / Reunion, John Whump, Angst with Happy Ending, Depressed John, Background Case Fic) – He couldn’t decide if it was a relief or a curse that he’d been left completely, absolutely alone. You couldn’t fight darkness with your fists, and no matter how strong your will-power, it could be beaten down by the constant monotony of nothingness. Nobody needed John.

On Favors and Keeping Score by Ewebie (G, 7,622 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff, John Whump) –  John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.” Part 7 of Tumblr Shorts

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn’t even noticed. Right…?

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

A Dangerous Mix by thebakerstreetgirl (K, 8,077 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Whump, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort) – During a case, John gets attacked and Sherlock and Lestrade find him with a mysterious drug running through the army doctor’s veins.

Beyond the Vow by tunteeton (M, 8,994 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-S3, Explosions, Mary is Good-ish?, 3G, Infant Death) – Being a sociopath was never this emotionally exhausting.

With This Ring by Quesarasara (E, 9,121 w. || Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Embarrassing Hospital Visits) – Sometimes even the best of plans go wrong. And sometimes wrong turns out to be exactly right.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

Incapacitation by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 9,424 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Sick Sherlock, Doctor John, Appendicitis) – The doctor had just asked how bad the pain was when the pain spiked. Sherlock’s initial response was a gasp that evolved into a whimper. “Ten,” he gasped. “Ten…”

Drive by lifeonmars (M, 9,537 w., 1 Ch. || Virginity, Awkward First Times, Minor Injuries) – John and Sherlock are stranded by the roadside, and John is injured. They need to spend the night in the back of a humvee. Sherlock is confused. John is understanding.

Half Hearted

A mysterious stranger rescues you from an untimely demise at the hand of some Qliphoth roots. Over the course of the ensuing month, a whirlwind romance quickly develops—only to be snatched away just as quickly.

Some things aren't meant to last.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader Characters: V (Devil May Cry), Griffon (Devil May Cry) Content Warnings: Blood, Background Character Death, Near-Death Experiences

Written for day two of whumptober as the tags say, prompt was 'Explosion.' I, uh... I'll admit the prompt only looses relates to what actually ended up being the whump in this fic, but uh, technically it was inspired by the prompt, so good enough. 

Fic under read more.

When the infernal tree had first invaded Redgrave City, many of your family members and friends had fled. That was probably the wise thing to do, you mused as you picked your way through rubble and debris, the best way to keep safe. You had seen what the demonic roots did to their victims, and it was far from a pretty sight; a nightmarish vision that you were sure would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

Still, you found you couldn’t leave with the others, a soul far too kind and compassionate for its own good tying you to the ruined city. You may have had a chance to run, but others were not so fortunate. Your heart bled to think of those who were alive but trapped, who, without outside assistance, had no hope of escape. True, death by the tree’s roots was an unpleasant way to go, but at least it was over quickly. Death by starvation, dehydration, infection and who knows what else… such a fate was not so kind.

Today saw you combing through the ruins of what you believed might have once been a church. You had never spared much of a thought to religion, but you wondered how many people were praying desperately even now to a God that seemed deaf to their pleads. You couldn’t imagine putting so much faith into a belief that was anything but concrete, but whatever gave people their hope; it was scarce these days.

You were violently snapped out of your thoughts when you saw a small pool of blood trickling from out behind a pillar. It looked fresh, and with a gasp, you ran to check the source. Sure enough, a middle-aged woman was collapsed against it, her life draining from her through an uncountable amount of gouges in her skin, chunks of flesh completely torn away.

Hands trembling, you fell to your knees besides the woman, blood soaking your pants as you reached into your bag for your first-aid kit. You knew it was a futile attempt right from the start, that she was practically already dead, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try. “What happened to you?” you whispered as you worked at bandaging up her stomach, which seemed to be where most of the blood was coming from.

“Demons…” the woman rasped, the action causing even more red from dribble from the corner of her mouth. “You… should…” You didn’t hear the end of her sentence as her head lolled forth onto her chest. Cursing under your breath, you placed two fingers against the pulse point in her neck—nothing, as expected.

You drew back from the body, shaking your head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” you whispered. “Rest in peace.”

You stood in silence for a moment as you debated what to do now. It didn’t take long for you to decide that you couldn’t just leave the corpse lying around to become a demon’s next meal, so with great effort, you dragged it up and slung one of its arms around your shoulders, beginning to drag it towards the exit to the church. You were well aware that this literal dead weight made you a sitting duck if any devils decided you looked like a tasty snack, but what else could you do?

As it turned out, demons should’ve been the least of your worries. Before you could make it more than a few steps, the ground heaved underfoot, and the architecture around you, which was barely standing in the first place, shuddered and collapsed, the dust and debris settling with a note of finality. You were trapped.

The nightmare hardly ended there. From underneath the rubble, a writhing mass of the infernal roots emerged, their razor sharp tips glinting as they sought out new prey, fresh blood. Sought out you.

You couldn’t stop the scream that was torn from your throat as you dropped the body you were carrying, backing up frantically only to slip on a slick patch of blood. You slammed your eyes shut as you crashed to the ground, throwing your arms up to shield your head and curling into fetal position as if that could save you from your imminent death.

A primal growl filled your ears, followed by a wet squelch. You didn’t know what was happening and you didn’t dare to look, but after a few seconds, it finally registered with you that you were alive. There was no burning pain, at least, so—so you had to be alive, unless the screaming of the tree’s other victims had misled you. Somehow, you didn’t think that was it.

“Ey Shakespeare, this one’s alive!” a strange voice cawed from above. Cawed? You cracked your eyes open to see the weirdest bird you’d ever seen in your life fluttering in front of you. You were not sure how it made human sounds with its three be—oh shit, this was a demon.

“Do not fear.” You turned your head to see a man perhaps equally as strange as the demonic bird approach you, hair as black as the ink that swirled across his body, green eyes bright as he took you in. Behind him, you could see the roots turning to ash and crumbling. “We mean you no harm.”

We? He must’ve have been referring to himself and the bird. And… the cat, apparently, noticing what appeared to be a panther stalking into your peripheral view. You got the idea that, just like the bird, it was far from an ordinary animal.

The mysterious stranger followed your gaze and chuckled. “Cat got your tongue, it seems,” he remarked, before extending a tattooed hand to you. Still partially in shock, you took it, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Are you quite alright?”

A million questions swirled around in your mind instead of any sort of coherent answer. A human that kept company in the form of demons… Without permission, you found yourself blurting out, “Who are you?”

Your savior blinked in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his features, containing trace hints of a smirk. It made him look devastatingly handsome, and despite your situation, you felt your breath catch and your heart skip a beat. Surely no man on Earth could look this pretty, and yet here this stranger stood before you, looking like some kind of fallen angel. You almost didn’t catch his response. “You can call me V.”

V. Just one singular letter, and it only served to add to his entrancing mystery. Now that the shock of your near-death experience was starting to wear off, you could—

“Hey, get it together, lovebirds!” the devil bird interjected, cackling as it received an irritated glare from V. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but this is no place for chitchat!”

V sighed, extending an arm for his… pet? Companion? Friend? to perch on. “Griffon is unfortunately correct—”

“Hey, what do you mean, unfortunately?!”

V continued as though he hadn’t heard the outburst. “We must leave this place, post-haste.”

“How?” You glanced around once more to confirm what you already knew. The exits were all blocked, clogged by the initial destruction caused by the roots emerging. “There’s no way out.”

V gave you a cryptic smile. Like every other expression he made, it caused the wings of a thousand butterflies to beat frantically in your stomach. “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.” Before you could question what the hell that meant, V snapped his fingers. You could only watch in fascination as the color seemed to drain from his hair, leaving mystical white locks in its wake.

You nearly leapt out of your skin as there was a booming crash behind you. Turning, you found a hulking monstrosity of the slime variety had just broken through one of the clogged exits, clearing a path.

Looking back to V, you found he was smirking again. Goddammit, that smirk was going to be the death of you, the curve of those pretty lips… Once again, you almost missed his next words. “Shall we?” His hand was extended to you again, this time not a necessary help but an invitation. A choice.

An invitation you would be a fool not to accept, a choice that was easily made. You carefully slipped your fingers through his. “We shall.”

The look he gave you, full of wonder and intrigue, would have been reward enough. If V had departed after rescuing you here, it would have been disappointing, but it would have been enough.

He didn’t. He didn’t leave, vanishing into the night as with so many romantic stories of handsome saviors. V stayed.

And that was more than enough.

Until it wasn’t.

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

“There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet.”

A month had passed since V had rescued you from the Qliphoth’s bloodthirsty roots. After introducing you to his friends, the devil hunter Nero and the mechanic Nico, you had quickly fallen into a routine, and these days when you scoured the city for survivors, you had a rude bird, silent cat and a beloved emo poet to watch your back. Not that you’d ever called V an emo poet to his face, of course—it was an inside joke between you and Griffon.

With each day that passed, the bond between you and V only grew deeper and stronger. It started off innocently enough, furtive glances and secretive smiles that were laden with meaning. As time flew by, it became open, longing looks, touches that lingered a second too long, earnest conversation throughout the night, and Griffon shrieking for the two of you to leave room for Jesus, until it culminated in falling onto the couch together with a trembling, hesitant meeting of lips.

It was bliss. In the weeks that followed you were both subjected to endless snark from your companions, but it hardly bothered you. Why should it, when you were lucky enough to be able to call the embodiment of perfection yours?

Today found you laying with your head in V’s lap, his slender fingers carding through your hair as he read aloud to you from his book of poetry. His dulcet tones filled your mind like a pleasant fuzz, leaving you dazed and floating in the realm between dreams and wakefulness.

You didn’t notice he had stopped reading until he spoke, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Are you awake, my love?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Mm.” You fluttered your eyes open, greeted by the ever wonderful sight of your partner’s breathtaking smile, laced with hints of a smirk as it had been on the day you met. You had grown to love that smile, that almost-smirk. “Depends on if you’re going to go back to reading.”

V chuckled, a low sound that was more melodious than any bird song to you. His hand slipped to cradle the back of your head as he drew you in for a sweet kiss, a heavenly thing that left your lips tingling and bliss permeating your every sense of being. Kissing V was and would always be your favorite pleasure, always leaving you chasing more of that heady feeling. His kisses were more intoxicating than any alcohol, and if the last thing you ever felt was V’s warm lips upon yours, well, that would be just fine.

“Though nothing would bring me greater pleasure…” He was speaking again. Damn, you really needed to stop with the zoning out over him. “...I’m afraid I have a mission to see through.”

That caught your attention. Blinking, you sat up, studying his expression. “I’ll come with you,” you began to say, but V was already shaking his head.

“As much as I enjoy your company, this mission would be too dangerous for you, I’m afraid. I must go after Urizen.” Urizen. The demon responsible for ruining Redgrave City. The demon responsible for you meeting V. “He has been left unattended for far too long, and time is a luxury we can no longer afford.”

V stood and you did the same, chewing on your inner lip as your partner retrieved his cane. “Be safe, V,” you murmured, an almost pleading quality to your tone. “You’ll come home, won’t you?”

There’s a melancholy look in emerald eyes, and only you would notice the way his grip subtly tightened on his cane. “Of course, my love,” he replies softly, and as he steps out into the daylight and out of your sight, leaving you alone with nothing but the anxiety that gnaws at your gut, you think he might be lying.

(He does return, months later, but his features and expressions are unfamiliar to you and the name he calls himself—Vergil—is a stranger’s.)

it’s ba-ack: edit of argon chapter 3 1/2 part 8

Previously we were trapped in a seemingly endless yet curiously uninformative description of a scene involving an altar; some priests; and an idol.

The scene is STILL NOT OVER, and now... yeah, we’re back to the standard subgenre issues with women.

Two sentences in this paragraph -- I’m going to ATTEMPT both of them.

Deep breath.

At the foot of the heathen diety a slender, pale faced female, naked but for a golden, jeweled harness enshrouding her huge outcropping breasts, supporting long silver laces which extended to her thigh, stood before the pearl white field with noticable shivers traveling up and down the length of her exquisitely molded body. Her delicate lips trembled beneath soft narrow hands as she attemped to conceal herself from the piercing stare of the ambivalent idol.

...

Okay. I have a lot to say about some of the vocabulary, but first let’s zoom out for a minute. What is the key information being conveyed here? There’s a woman; she’s hot; she’s afraid. Dwelling on those together is... Like if you want to write a story featuring your kinks that’s your prerogative? God knows I’ve read whump fic that goes a good bit further. But this particular kink -- sexualization of female vulnerability -- has a lot of baggage, so just... be aware of that.

And I don’t know for sure, I suspect that the author wasn’t trying to write his kinks. I suspect he was imitating a ‘sexualization of female vulnerability’ trope which was very common in the subgenre he was inspired by. I think he just thought it was normal. But I’m not going to do the research necessary to confirm this impression.

So anyway, generally, if you are not trying to write something sexy, and you are not in a character’s point of view, don’t dwell on a character’s attractiveness. Think about whether they really have to be naked. What would you do if the sacrificial victim were an eighty-year-old man? Is there a difference? Why is there a difference? Just... know what you’re doing.

Since I did not sign up to rewrite for anybody’s kinks, we are just dropping the ‘hot’ references completely and giving the victim some clothes:

At the foot of the idol huddled a single person clad in sacrificial white. The young woman was shivering violently, hands over her face to block out the stares of the priests -- and worse.

There we go. One sacrificial victim, 90% less creepy.

Now for our regularly scheduled vocabulary complaints:

“heathen diety”: See all my complaints about “pagan” earlier in this scene. What does this mean in this context? Also you seem to be conflating the statue and the deity it represents -- unless the statue is the god? That might actually be the case. All right, I’ll let you off for that one.

“female”: We’ve talked about this. Again, just this kind of thing is why “female” as a noun has such a terrible reputation.

“harness”: I have no idea what this is referring to. An article of clothing? Bondage gear? A fancy prisoner restraint?

“enshrouding”: Now I have even less of an idea what the “harness” is. If there’s enough coverage to be “enshrouding”, it’s practically a shirt.

“huge outcropping breasts”: I always have the feeling that the people most obsessed with really huge breasts are usually people who don’t have much experience with any kind of breasts. Like there’s nothing wrong with liking big boobs, but using them as a universal signal for really super hot is... not a good plan.

“laces”: The structure of this... garment? is not getting any clearer.

“pearl white field”: Don’t know what this is referring to at all.

“exquisitely molded body”: What.

“conceal”: I’m not sure why she feels the need to cover her mouth, but okay then.

“ambivalent”: You are describing the idol as having mixed feelings. I don’t think this is what you meant to do. I’m not sure what the goal was, though.

Hello, you have been identified as An Awesome Writer™! Congrats, you rock! So that all of your readers can shower you with some extra love today, please tell us your favorite five (or as many as you want) stories of yours and why you like them and then send this to another five fic authors you think deserve this title! ❤

Gee, I wonder who this could be from? c; (Thank you so much I love you!)

Okay so I’m doing seven because as you all know from my zillion ships and characters I’ve written for/screamed about, I’m incapable of picking a specific favourite lmao. But it’s still less than half my fics so it’s fine. Also none of these are ranked, I enjoyed them all equally tbh. (Forgive my lack of heart emojis RIP, I’m on desktop for this one)The Troubles Rain Can Bring (Pers/ona 5) : Of course I have to bring this one up, since it’s the one I consider my first legit omo fic (Jade was my first foray, but since it’s unfinished and I picked a dead fandom specifically so I had less chances of getting mean comments, I consider it more of a practice run). This was my first time writing for a very active and current fandom, so it was really intimidating, but I was also really excited to participate in creating for a game I was so passionate about! Also that fic was just a total labour of self-indulgence and love (excuse for fluff with my otp? combining all my fav tropes? Gratuitous Akira Suffering? Including the others for fun towards the end? I was in hog heaven!) While I definitely can find parts where I could improve the writing now, I still love it for all of the effort I put into it, and I got such a lovely response that made me feel really welcome on ao3, the omo tag on tumblr, and in the p/5 fandom! It’s kind of nostalgic for me, even if it was only written like a year and a half ago, haha.All Bottled Up (Dang/anRonpa: THH) : I’m just really proud of this fic, and I had so much fun writing it! I think it’s probably one of the few fics I’ve written that was a completely smooth ride of inspiration and fun from start to finish, without any hitches in the writing process or me getting bogged down with other projects. Seriously I think I hammered the entire thing out in like a week or two lmao. I love Naegiri so much, and the idea was a treat to work with even if it’s some of the most cliché omo scenarios, it was just a nice relaxing bit of indulgence! Also I got to dig into Kirigiri’s character, which I didn’t get to do in my other fic of her (since that one was so short and oddly styled). My favourite bit was probably getting to mess with the drawbacks of her gloves/hand injuries, and of course those fluffy bits with Naegi! Getting Your Feet Wet (Pers/ona 5) : This one, hoo boy. Definitely one of my longest fics, and while at the time when I posted it I kind of hated half the stuff in it (just because I had been nitpicking it for so long lmao), now that time has gone by I can genuinely say I love it and it’s probably one I’m proudest of. Not only was it my first full dive into snut (and I’d like to think it isn’t too shabby), but I got to work with a rarepair that I’ve been intrigued by, with two of my fav npcs from the game! So fun times all around! It was great to imagine how Sae might have changed and opened up since the game’s ending, and what Tae could do to help draw her out of that strict shell while still making her feel secure and comfortable. Also I got to include pet/p.lay which is something I’d been dying to write since I started that account, so bonus points for that! And I got a way better response than I was expecting, so that was nice!A Sinking Ship (Pers/ona 5) : ((Okay I swear I still plan to update the other half of this one someday soon, I literally have the draft halfway done I just haven’t been able to get it finished to the level I want.)) Anyways, I have a soft spot for this one because 1. It’s Makoto, and you all know how much I adore her, 2. I finally got to write some legit palace battling and shenanigans, which I really enjoyed and want to include more of in future projects, 3. I literally put so much detail into this one, from the setting descriptions to the dialogue and going out of my way to include the entire team interacting with her instead of just one or two chars, and I’m giving myself a fat pat on the back for that. And then throwing in actual anxiety and plot issues instead of just making her desperate for the sake of it, which may have been ambitious (hence why it’s kind of on a cliffhanger right now while I finish the comfort half), but I really just wanted her to have one of my best fics possible because Makoto deserves the best (of the worst suffering oops sorry bby). Also did I mention The Shumako Bridal Carry scene? That was absolutely necessary to include okay? Also there’s gonna be quality Shumako bonding in the second chapter so I’m biased to love this in advance. Basically I love this one specifically because it’s my own self-indulgent bullshit, which is kind of every fic I write but this is definitely one of The Most Indulgent. I also consider this one my very best omo fic in terms of the actual omo writing/content, even if it’s long AF, because at least you’re getting desperation and wetting for pretty much the entire thing, even when other stuff’s going on around it. So yeah I guess if you don’t mind a cliffhanger ending (for now) and have a decent knowledge of p/5, this is the one I recommend reading!Conundrums Lead to Collapse (Doc/tor Who - 13th Doc/tor) : I really liked writing this one because of the whump, actually. I rarely have excuses to injure characters for Even Worse Omo Suffering/Comfort, so the fact that I could write based on a canon injury was the perfect excuse! Also I’m just weak for the 13th Doctor so I’m always down for omo of her, but it was also a fun excuse to explore her character. We hadn’t gotten to see her angry or broken down at the time it aired, so I enjoyed getting to play around with how things affect her when she does finally lose the positive attitude and confidence, and bringing a character as powerful (and semi immortal I guess) as The Doctor to the floor was just a fun exercise. Also it’s kind of hard to find whump fics focused on female characters that don’t involve a certain kind of violence (or just female whump in general actually), so I just really enjoyed using all of the fandom tropes I’ve read over the years in those fics to create something for those of us who wanted it the other way around! I would also like to say this one gave me the excuse for Found Family Coddling, everyone comforts and helps her towards the end which is perfect for my fluff-craving heart after all of the angst.Holding More than Cards (Ka/kegurui Compulsive Gambler) : Oh boy, I’ll be honest the reason I love this is purely because it’s pretty much the only fic for this pairing that I’ve found for my tastes and I had to make it myself dang it (They basically had a whole two episodes where Midari creamed herself for Yumeko and they had that scene where they held each other’s faces staring into their eyes, HOW is no one jumping on this ship??? There’s literally 5 fics total on ao3 I’m not joking). I really enjoyed getting to dig into Midari’s characterization for this one, especially since I had such a tiny bit of canon to go off of and had to set it after the anime’s s1 developments. I got to write Yumeko being a dom and dropping her cheerful attitude too, which was really satisfying. Also while this doesn’t have full on snut in it, it was the closest I’d come at the time, so that was an interesting challenge. This was a rare chance to indulge in unhealthy ships too (bc literally every ship in that show is unhealthy on some level lmao) so that was entertaining to try and navigate.Capture the Fly with Nectar Sweet (The Ch/illing Adventures of Sabrin/a) : I just posted this one recently but I’m adding it anyways, because I had an absolute blast working on it. It’s so starkly different from anything I usually write, because you all know I love close friendships and found family and all that quality fluff and caring. But instead this one was me staring at my laptop thinking of how I want to tell this character to go to hell, except that would be pointless because that’s literally where she came from. I really got to stretch my wings outside my comfort zone and dig around in the dark, manipulative side for a while, and it was so much fun to study one of my favourite villains (anti-hero? she’s such a mysterious mess idk how to classify her) and her relationship with Sabrina. I also got to attempt writing desperation from the outsider’s perspective instead of the victim’s, and while I feel like I definitely still have room to improve with that, it was a nice break from the way I usually write my omo fics. I also got to shift around my writing style for this one, using words like ‘betwixt’ (which I love but never get to use lol) and using a bunch of metaphors and similes to showcase how Madam views Sabrina. This is probably the fic that makes it obvious that Language Arts was my favourite subject in school and that I’m Extra when it comes to predator/prey comparisons lmao. (Note: Please read the tags on this one, the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning applies here.)

I actually don’t know who else to send this to that I haven’t already, since like half the omo tag has vanished and I’m blanking on usernames, so if any of y'all are reading this post and you write fics: consider this me asking you to do it so I can hear about your fics! :D

First Aid

Steelponcho + Actual First Aid + Zavala is afraid of needles + Suraya is best unofficial medic + Part 1 of maybe 2 or 3 or 7? I have a lot of ideas, ok?

For the prompt: “I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.” from @bump-of-whump

-----+++++-----

It starts with him bleeding on her freaking table, on her scouting reports. FOTC worked hard on those, and it isn't like she has copies lying around. Suraya wonders if he notices, until she sees him wince.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Zavala looks at her, startled and just a touch apologetic. “I'm fine.”

She raises an eyebrow and steps around him so she's on his right. The blood has saturated his clothes, pooling in the crook of his elbow, to the point where it's dripping from the tip of the joint below.

“I'm sure you are, tough guy. Surely that's what triage told you, too.”

“Triage?”

“Y'know,” She says, talking slowly as he studies the reports, reaching for the strap of his pauldron - of course, it's the huge one, “The place where the injured go to have a professional evaluate their injuries.”

“This,” He uses his left arm to motion to his right as he allows the clearly damaged limb drop so that it's straight and not dripping blood on her reports, “Is hardly an injury.”

“Maybe not,” She concedes, bracing his large shoulder guard with nimble, unnoticed fingers, “But it will be if you continue to let it fester under that heavy armor.” As she says the words, the last buckle falls away and he hisses when she pulls the the red, white, and silver piece of gear from his arm and drops it to the table with a clatter.

“Hawthorne!” He bites out, meaning to admonish but it comes out a bit more strangled and surprised.

She hushes him, looking at the stain on his arm. “This is an old wound, isn't it?” And, suddenly, without asking, she's pulling away the fabric from his skin and slashing it with a small, sharp knife pulled seemingly from nowhere. It burns.

He attempts to step away from her, but she's managed to put one of her legs between his. If he moves, she's primed for a takedown. Not that he couldn't take her, but certainly someone will hear and come running, especially since the animals in the stable have already fidgeted nervously at his sharp tones.

“How long have you been here again?” She asks, almost idly, as she peels away the fabric from his arm.

The Commander tenses, looks down at his arm. That's going to require serious patching. The fabric is mottled copper and black. It smells of methane and grime. He has not stopped since he arrived...

“Four days,” He answers, sound barely passing his lips.

She frowns. “You didn't have anyone look at this on Titan, did you?”

“There were more… pressing matters,” Namely setting up a command center overrun by the Hive, and losing more than half their forces to the worm-worshiping bastards.

“I'm sure.” She doesn't sound like she's placating him, either. “You need to get this cleaned up,” She finally says, after an uncomfortable few moments looking at his skin. His responding harrumph is an expected protest. “It looks infected.”

“The Hive is an infection,” He replies tersely.

Her tongue peeks out from behind her lips as she pushes on it, and he bites his lip to keep from hissing aloud again.

“I'll make you a deal,” She tells him, stepping back and withdrawing her hand from his arm. “I won't make a fuss about sending you to Triage for patching,” He looks at her like she's crazy if she thinks he's going, “If you let me look at it instead. I kind of think you need stitches.”

The lights that dance under his skin bleed away, making him look exceptionally pale. He shakes his head. “That will not be-”

She squeezes his arm, right above the ugly injury. He clamps his mouth shut, jaws all but grinding together to prevent the startled howl that tries to escape.

She smiles a smile so saccharine it makes him feel nauseous.

“Fine.”

Hawthorne hands him back his ridiculously sized pauldron. “Go to the Farmhouse and shower. I'll get supplies and something for you to wear while this,” She gestures to his battle-mucked undersuit, “Gets laundered.”

-/

Nearly an hour later, he sits on a bed in a room that he's never seen before in the tired farmhouse, feeling like a new Titan in the Vanguard Barracks. His arm is bleeding though he's tied some gauze around it to try and keep this new shirt clean - how the woman has managed to size him up is both concerning and impressive. The shirt and utility pants are standard issue, and hardly appropriate for wear under his armor stacked carefully in the corner between his scout and sniper rifles.

She enters the room with a gentle knock, her grubby poncho absent as well. She looks very small without it, all lean curves from the waist up. He can see her collarbones, the swell of... For some reason his cheeks feel warm.

She sets the white metal kit on the bed beside him and looks at the wound he'd cleaned gently moments before.

“Okay tough guy,” She says with a look that's strangely gentle, “Before I get to work here, how bad was it, before?”

He scrunches his brows. “What do you mean?”

She sifts through the large box of equipment. “Did your ghost heal it at all, or are we starting from scratch?”

He looks away.

“I'm sorry,” She says, turning so she's in his line of sight. “I was told to ask. I know it's a sore subject.”

“She could barely phase into me or maintain a neural link by the time we left the city. The others-”

“Got it,” She replies, hand on his good shoulder. “Say no more.” She opens a plastic container and pulls out a syringe of liquid.

He immediately tenses.

She looks down at her hand and then back. Then once more. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and say you do not like needles.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?”

Suraya nods. “If your ghost is unable to completely heal you, you're open to a ton of diseases. We've been vaccinating the survivors as they come in. Lots of people in a small space is a paradise for disease.” She shrugs. “Better me doing it than some of those medics.”

“Aren't they trained professionals?” He looks exasperated.

“Well, yeah. But they'll also say things like 'okay, you're gonna feel a pinch,’ and 'almost done, you're doing so great.’” She holds the vaccine in front of him, the syringe empty. “But, I just gave it to you and you didn't notice.” She smiles. “Could be worse.”

“Aren’t you supposed to prep the site beforehand?”

She nods, but doesn’t look back at him, instead continuing to rifle through the white metal kit. Gestures to a small pad of alcohol prep on which the used syringe now lies. “I did. You were too busy asking me if this whole thing were necessary.”

He blanches again as she pulls out a sealed suture kit. “I truly do not believe this needs stitches, Hawthorne. It looks fine. Surely a bandage can hold it in place.”

“Not as well as stitches, especially since you’re not going to walk around without your armor on.” She hands him the bottle of peroxide. “You want to do it or should I?”

He grits his teeth and takes the bottle from her while she grabs a pair of gloves and opens the kit anyway. He doesn’t make a sound as he splatters a gratuitous amount of hydrogen peroxide onto the ugly wound. The slash is actually pretty deep, and it froths and burns.

Suraya sighs, and dabs at it with a clean flannel. The skin is torn, and the tissue underneath as well. It’s deep enough that she actually should look to make sure there’s nothing underneath, and she does just that, peeking under the loose skin while he grimaces. “I’m sorry,” She says. “Just don’t want anything bad to happen because I’m a shitty nurse.” She douses the wound in something else that almost makes it sting less but then it’s back to angry and burning when she rubs a different flannel across the majority of the slash.

This time, when she pierces his skin, she positions herself so that she’s standing beside where he’s sitting on the bed, her torso blocking his view. She offers his pain killers but he refuses. Stubborn Titan, she thinks, as he flinches when she makes contact with the skin begins to stitch it back together.

“You aren’t going to pass out, are you?” She asks, when he’s sweating and she’s only gotten two of the estimated twelve to sixteen stitches it’s going to take to patch him up. His arm is huge. “We’re like maybe twenty-percent done.”

He inhales and it’s a wet sound. “No.”

“Breathe, Commander,” She says, stopping to tilt her head over her shoulder and look at him. “This isn’t that scary. The needle isn’t that big.” It’s actually kind of big, and hooked too, but that’s why she’s not letting him see it.  “Want to know what is actually scary?” He doesn’t look up at her but she tells him anyway, as she arcs the needle through tough, blue skin.

“Bears.”

He inhales sharply, a laugh mixed with discomfort. “How so?”

“One, they’re huge. Two, they’re stinky.”

“Those aren’t - erhm,” She ties a knot and cuts the thread of another stitch. “How is that frightening?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not. I’m sure you probably could fight a bear and win, Light or not.” The compliment doesn’t light his ego as it might have in the past. “But I think they’re positively terrifying. Used to try to sleep in trees to avoid them when I travelled. But the little ones,” She looks over her shoulder again, he’s listening intently. “They can freaking climb. Not okay.”

Something about the tone of her voice is soothing. The pain becomes duller as she tells him a story about how one time, she managed to be followed by a brown bear cub, with their mother close behind. She had been alone in the wilds for days, and ended up breaking into some random cabin she came across trying to get them off her trail. Her saving grace had been that the cub was too short to see into the tiny port windows and eventually lost interest. And the whole thing would’ve been fine too, if there weren’t two survivors in the cabin she’d let herself into, thinking she was some wayward bandit trying to rob them. By the time she’s done telling her tale of woe, the wound is almost completely mended, and the Commander is more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. She snips down the last of the stitches, wraps him up so that he won’t inevitably pull one of them out when he puts on his armor later, and smooths his shirt back down his arm.

“Your clothes will be ready in a bit,” She says softly, de-gloving, and throwing the used supplies into a wastebasket. “If you want to crash here until they’re done, feel free. I’d rather you not rip them out wrestling Shaxx or whatever it is you Guardians do for fun.”

“Actually,” He says, deadpan, “We wrestle bears.” She throws an unused roll of gauze at his face. Which he catches, with his big, dumb hand. His eyes are practically glittering they’re so bright. She makes sure to look away, lest she continue to feel their pull. Which, when did that start happening? Wasn’t he some stoic commander? What the shanks was this?

“Ugh! I’m going to find a big needle to chase you around with,” She says back. “You are absolutely the worst!”

-----+++++-----

She more sees his face than she hears the sound of his agonized half-swallowed yelp. Hidden behind him, the Shipwright - Amanda, she tells herself - is curled up into the smallest ball in which she can make herself, and Zavala is using a very questionable pipe to thwart some Fallen scalvagers who are trying to make off with the Shipwright’s very meager workshop. How in the world they’ve managed to get into their base this far is unknown, but it’s a definitive problem.

In the seconds it’s taken her to analyze this problem, they turn toward her. It’s for the best, anyway, because she’s already got her rifle in hand, and the first one goes down easily. The second, however, manages to thump Zavala hard in the side with the butt of its weapon and knock him down before Suraya can end him.

He’s grunting as he gets to his feet, ignoring his own injuries in lieu of making sure Amanda is alright.

She is, just terrified. There isn’t a scratch on her. But the wheeze when he breathes is a new sound the blonde is used to hearing from her beloved Commander. She gasps and begins looking him over, exclaiming that he must go get checked out. The look on his face says that is the literal last thing he would like to do.

She wonders why he’s so adverse to that. Ah well, she reasons. It isn’t her problem, really.

“Amanda, go tell the FOTC guys what’s going on, have them come check the perimeter,” Hawthorne hears herself say. “I’ll get the Commander checked out.”

The Shipwright looks thankful as she runs off and Suraya sidles up to him. “So, you find yourself on the ground a lot or is this new?” He glares at her as she continues, “Seriously. I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.”

“It was several days.”

The corner of her mouth pulls up in a little smile before she can help herself. “Same thing. C’mon, let’s go get you looked at.”

“Do we have-”

Placatingly, she quips, “I’ll take you back to the Farmhouse. No need to waste Triage’s time with the worst patient, ever.” When he sighs in relief, she chuckles. “You’re a mess, you know that right?”

The real mess is the fact that the good commander decides to forego changing before he allows her to address his wounds, instead peeling off the top half of his armor and standing there, decidedly nude from the waist up. She gulps as her eyes take in what seems like miles of musculature and sinew.

“Do you strip for every woman who patches you up? Or am I just special?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at her pointedly, as if to ask if she were really going to start this. Then flexes.

She almost - but doesn’t - ‘eep’s on the spot. Ridiculous bastard.

“To be fair, Hawthorne,” He intones cooly as she trails her fingers down his right arm to evaluate the damage, “There is no way for me to possibly allow you to look at my arm or side without devesting this much of my attire.” He cocks his head at her. “Watching you squirm is just an added bonus.”

She growls, digging her fingers in just a little too tight over his reopened wound. “You’re rather small without your armor.”

He straightens, smirks. Doesn’t make that hissing sound she’d hoped to get out of him. “Feel free to insult me to make yourself feel more in control of this situation.”

She’s shaking her head, but the laughter is bubbling up in her chest no matter what she thinks otherwise, so she plays it off with another half-smile and looks at the wound. “So, I think you’ll need at least another ten stitches.”

He jolts, and swings his arm around to evaluate it. It’s barely bleeding. He scoffs. “How so?”

The laughter brims and overflows as she snorts out, “I’m messing with you. I can just put a little bandage onto the end of it where you ripped the stitch. No needles required. It looks pretty good, actually.” Unable to resist, she adds, “You must’ve had a pretty incredible person patch you up.”

Zavala chuckles at that. “If by incredible you mean someone incredibly infuriating.”

“I’m sure you’re a real pain in her ass, too.” She sticks her tongue out, and retrieves the bandage he needs, a little butterfly one that adheres quick and easily. He watches her all the while, and when she’s done, she looks up into bemused eyes. His lips are set into a straight line, but his eyes are something else entirely, all glow and spark and smile. The patterns on his face swirl in somekind of contented hum that she almost wants to touch.

And just like that, she slams on the metaphorical brakes.

This is not the time.

And he cannot be the one.

I continue to read in Elf Problem fandom, just not terribly fast--which pretty much describes the pace of Tolkien fandom in general. (EXCEPT LATELY, HOLY CRAP, THE FALL OF GONDOLIN IS GETTING A BOOK, THAT WAS JUST ANNOUNCED TODAY!!) But I still have a lot of feelings and there's still some absolutely gorgeous, utterly rewarding fic being written, so here HAVE SOME ELF PROBLEM FEELINGS.

TOLKIEN FIC RECS: ✦ Bridges by Bodkin, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k       Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other... ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that. ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k       There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise. full details + recs under the cut!

✦

Bridges by Bodkin

, thranduil & legolas & ocs, valinor, 27.7k

     Legolas and his wife's father just cannot get on. But elven life is long - and understanding will grow in time. If only they can learn to listen to each other...

      I never used to think too much about reading fic with a lot of OCs, but Tolkien fandom (at least the Thranduil & Legolas parts of it) almost kind of demand it, if you want to build something for them, and I'm at the point where I hardly even notice it anymore and instead just jump right in with those authors who are really good at building up the world around them, while not losing sight of the characters that I'm really here for. So, Thranduil and Legolas and their family in the Fourth Age in Aman? Where Legolas is hurt and trapped in a cave-in with his father-in-law who doesn't really like him and they have to find common ground and a better understanding of each other, while the rest of their family searches for them? Sign me up for that! And it was like sinking into this nice, warm bath to read, it was so easy and comfortable and warm and spot on for what I wanted, that there was some satisfying Legolas whump, there was Elves being Elves, there was just really good, lovely writing and fantastic characterization (they all felt 

spot on 

to me!) and it was incredibly engaging. It was the right length for the story being told, it did a great job of balancing all that it was trying to put in there, and was just a really, really good read that got me back into wanting to read about these characters again! ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy, boromir & entire lotr cast & some ocs, 522k       Boromir awakens from his death and finds himself in an unexpected situation.       I do not know where to begin with this rec, because I'm not sure how to encompass everything that this fic is! When I first picked it up, it sounded like it could either be great or it could be terrible--such an unassuming title and summary, using a first person narrative, the importance of an OC in the beginning, a truly impressive length at well over 500k. All of these seem like red flags being thrown up, if you've read much fic over the years. But I thought, well, I can just read the beginning, see how it goes, it's long enough that I can read quickly and not have to worry about savoring it. So, I started to read and was nearly instantly sucked in--and maybe it wasn't until a chapter or two later that I realize it, but this fic is masterful. Every choice the author makes in this fic is one that I support--the OCs are absolutely necessary, but even more than that are wonderful, I came to care about Boromir's new friend just as much as any canon character, he was beautifully written and the friendship between them tugged at my heart something fierce. The first person narrative is actually a great choice because it allows for getting into Boromir's head in a way that a third person fic would not, it allows the fic to show so much more of his character than could have otherwise been achieved. And, holy shit, the length was pitch perfect. This fic never flagged, it never felt overly drawn out, every scene was a joy to read, everything contributed to the greater whole, the pacing was fantastic so that I kept wanting to read what was coming next, no climax felt like an ending or the aftermath a let-down. Instead, I can scarcely look back to the beginning and see how far these characters and this story came without it feeling like I started the fic another lifetime ago, in the absolute intended way that I should feel looking back on this fic.        It covers so much of the events of LOTR, but from the point of view of Boromir in Gondor, unable to return to help the rest of the Fellowship, to give new events that found the perfect balance of what happened in canon versus how things would change in this AU. The events themselves were true to the spirit of the story and the narrative, I 100% believed this fic every step of the way--and the author showed their work, making every step clear how things happened and unfolded and made it so interesting along the way. The blend of action versus the moments between the fighting, the rebuilding of Gondor and Boromir's life, all of it was incredible.        But, oh. The best thing about this fic. The characterization was magnificent, every single step was brilliant for every single character. Boromir himself is breathlessly perfect, but also the characters around him shine with such fascinating presence, from the Hobbits to the other Men to the rest of the Fellowship, everyone is seen through Boromir's eyes, how he feels about them, but also you understand that he comes with his own biases. It was incredible to read every single scene with Aragorn, how human he is in this story without making him anything less than the incredible figure of the books. It was fucking awe-inspiring how well Denethor was written, how complicated and difficult and charismatic he could be, how Boromir saw all his faults, how he was not an easy man to be around, but you also saw his strength and his motivations and what drew people to him. I never doubted why Boromir or Pippin or the rest of Gondor loved him so much.        I've been reading this fic over the past two months and it's been my comfort place, the fic I pick up when I just want to read something that totally engrosses me, the fic that just made me happy to read, even when things were difficult for the characters. I could have easily read another 500k or more of this fic, I feel a little bereft now that it's gone from my life, and it still stuns me how well used everything is, how everything is so incredibly true to the canon, and everyone is so layered and individual and fascinating. It might seem daunting or not that interesting, but it's truly one of the best fics I've read in any fandom, not just this one, and the length doesn't matter because time seemed to lose all meaning while I was reading, it just slipped by me as I was engrossed in the world this author created. Everything is done to perfection and I honestly am sad that I have no more of this author's work to read. ✦ The Dragon of Rohan by French Pony, faramir/eowyn & appearances of aragorn & gimli, 11.2k       Following the first real fight of their marriage, Faramir learns a little bit about Éowyn's past, which prompts a change in their relationship.   ��   I enjoyed this story so very much, both for the building of Faramir and Eowyn's relationship as well as the glimpses into her past, why she feels so strongly about a certain element in her home. I love how their relationship is portrayed here, it's not perfect, but it's so good , they're still somewhat getting to know each other, but they manage to work things out and make everything even better between them, and I'm just delighted by the sense of a beginning here, how they're building their home and their marriage and their life together. The addition of Aragorn and Gimli in their respective scenes was further a delight and it made the whole thing just an absolute joy to read. ✦ Quenta Narquelion by bunn, feanor & maedhros & maglor & elrond & elros & feanorians & cast, 119.5k       Fëanor, dead, watches the First Age unfold and from time to time, joins in. Canon-compliant character death and a detailed account of the Eastern Front of the War of Wrath.       Rec #1: When I first picked up this fic, I wasn't really sure what I was going to get or where it would be going, with Feanor's spirit refusing the call to Mandos and how that would affect things and what it would all mean. What I got was a bit of an exploration of what it meant to be a bodiless spirit in Middle-Earth, but then more and more an exploration and expansion of the storyline of The Silmarillion from that point on. It's gorgeously written and pulled me in hard, it gives such detail and depth to the storyline and the events that happen, especially once the attack on the Havens happens. It's also an exploration of what the Oath does to the sons of Feanor, how they do/don't react to it, how it drives and directs them--in a way that's woven around all the other plot stuff that's happening. This is fascinating all the more because Feanor himself is watching as a spirit, one who cannot really speak with the living without danger (as the living and the dead should not speak to each other) and this gives him the breathing room to step back from his anger and really see how his actions have created this tidal wave of effects. It's beautifully done for how it doesn't excuse Feanor or his sons or their followers, it doesn't try to make villains out of the people they attacked, but still makes you understand why they do what they do and have such deep sympathy for them. You understand why Elrond and Elros love them so much. You understand why the Dwarves are such longtime friends of them. You understand why many Men are longtime friends of their as well.       This is also in a fic where there's such thought put into the magic and arts of the world, the music and spirits that linger and the words of power and how they're tied to the fate of the World and what it means to be Elves. It's a fic that has so many moments from The Silmarilion given life , like what it's like to be in that part of the world when the Valar themselves finally come to fight Morgoth and the devastation it leaves in their wake, what it's like to spend that many years fighting and fighting and constantly having to struggle to get up when you have no hope left, all of it wrapped up in really beautiful, thoughtful characterization. I wasn't sure I'd like another fic (at least not for a long while) after Return to Aman hit so many of the buttons I wanted, but this one just knocked me over and wouldn't let me get up until I'd read my way through all of what was available (and I'm recommending this now because it's regularly updated, so even as a wip, the rec will stand!) and it's one of those that makes this fandom satisfying to be in!       Rec #2: I wasn't sure what to expect when I first picked this fic up--Feanor as a spirit watching over the events to come? And what I got was one of the most satisfying pieces I've read in awhile, that it starts as a Feanor piece, but it's also just as much (and sometimes moreso) a story about giving detail and breathing life into the story of the First Age, the story of the Feanorians. It's got gorgeous worldbuilding (the use of songs and various abilities, the power in words and voice, the touching of minds, the ability to call on things, all of it is blended together with the story in a way that utterly made sense to me, it felt like Elves, especially ones from the First Age) and it's gorgeous characterization and it's gorgeous canon gap filler. It's a story that takes the frame of canon, then builds and builds on it, so that it's this really coherent narrative, both in terms of the worldbuilding and in the characters--you get why the Feanorians do what they do, your heart breaks for them as they slide more and more into evil, because they aren't evil, but they have done so many evil things that they are inseparable from it. It doesn't dismiss the terrible things they've done, it doesn't deny that they truly did evil, but also it shows why they're so beloved, why Elrond and Elros love them, why their story is worth telling. On a narrative level, it's kind to both sides and that gives the story such depth and brilliance that a flatter reading of it (one side or the other being entirely ~bad~) would never have reached.       I enjoyed the story for the structure of it, the building up of various abilities (the Elves' magical powers just fit so well into the world that I could easily take it all for canon) or the Dwarves or various other Elves (besides the Feanorians or the Peredhil), all of that is gorgeously done. But the moment I will always remember most came in the second to last or last chapter, with Feanor watching over Maedhros and Maglor at the end of all of this, that got me. It got me so hard that I sat there in public, with tears welling up in my eyes, because I was affected by these characters and their journey, the way they were written. It's a beautiful piece for the Feanorians, you can feel the affection for them as characters without losing what makes their story tragic, that they have become evil through the sheer scope of the things they've done, and yet I want so, so badly to save them, because I fell in love with them over the course of the story all over again. And it's not just me being a fan of the characters, it's truly that the writing is gorgeous, that everything the fic sets out to do, it achieves, and I wish I could articulate it better, how much I loved reading this, how good it was, how well it did everything, because it really helped me through some tough times when I needed it, just by being so good. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan, maeglin/finduilas & eol/aredhel & melian & cast, 31.2k       Maeglin and Aredhel never flee Nan Elmoth for Gondolin. Twenty years later, Maeglin finds himself in Menegroth on a mission for his mother, seeking another road to freedom. But he is unprepared for what awaits him there. AU.       I did not know how much I needed this AU fic until I read it and had such trouble putting it down! Maeglin accompanies his father to Menegroth, a letter from his mother hidden on him to ask for help, and there he meets Finduilas and tries to find the best way to speak to Galadriel and pass her the letter without his father noticing. There's such thought and care given to the worldbuilding of Menegroth and the Elves here, what that place must have been like, what it's like for the Elves living there, what it was like for Maeglin and his limited experience. It's such a great piece for his character, it really does such a fantastic job with this poor kid who has been hidden away and is so inexperienced and so ground down, but still desperately wants to do something , even amongst his fear. It's a really lovely look at how things could have gone better for him if he'd met someone more suited to him, the dynamic with Finduilas just sparkles here, it was a relationship that I absolutely fell in love with and it had such a natural grace.       But also Menegroth as a whole! The little details of how it affected Maeglin, the stars on the ceiling, the pulsing feeling of everything, the way Melian was so otherworldly, like she was there and yet not, the way she felt alien and such a heavy pressure to her. She's like Menegroth here--there's something genuinely terrifying about her, yet also beautiful and wonderful. The way such life was breathed into Finduilas as a character, she had such a vibrancy about her that you could believe everything here was plucked straight out of canon! It's a fic that achieves everything it set out to do and, sure, I'd loved another 30k for a sequel fic, but also I was satisfied with what was here--it was fascinating and a beautiful piece to read. ✦ Three by Geale, aragorn/legolas/arwen, nsfw, 7.3k       One is unbearable, Two is desirable, Three is completion. Legolas left Minas Tirith soon after the War to spare himself the pain but when duty calls him back, everything has changed.       Every time I read Aragorn/Legolas/Arwen fic it just further cements that I really do love this trio more than any single pairing and this fic just fed further into that. It's wonderfully balanced, especially the way it starts as more Aragorn/Arwen + Aragorn/Legolas, but eventually does become a trio, because, you know, Elves. It's a blend of angst and happiness, it's aching to read at first, but such love comes through that I felt entirely warm after reading it. There's a brief bit of sex that's lovely and hot, too, but it's mostly that I believed this scenario for them that really got me. ♥ ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - Estel en-Aderiad by Fiondil, celeborn & galadriel & elrond & glorfindel & elladan & elrohir & legolas, 3.4k       A group of Elves journey to Mordor at the end of the Ring War to find closure and something else.       This wound up being one of my favorites in this fic collection, where a group of Elves journey to Mordor to see for themselves the land of their fallen foe. Once again, the balance between all that's been lost, the heart of things, and the hope found amongst the rocks and hard ground, is wonderfully done. The moments each character gets to think on what (and who) they've lost, the aches they still carry with them, but that eventually they pull through to a lightness of heart again, it's very Elven and had me eating this fic up like candy. It's nicely done as a group piece (which is not always easy!) and as an aftermath piece. ✦ Tales from Vairë's Loom - The Blue Wizards’ Dilemma by Fiondil, the blue wizards & ocs, 3.7k       They were sent to bring help to the tribes of Men who had rebelled from Melkor-worship in Middle-earth. They were doing well in their mission until a fateful invasion put an end to their plans. Now they had to come up with a new one.       Given how little we know of the Blue Wizards, it could be difficult to come up with an interesting story to tell about them, but given how much I've enjoyed the other fics in this collection, I was perfectly willing to give this one a shot as well. And it is interesting to see what the author did with the scraps of information we have, how much was built up in such a short time, how the focus on these singular moments in the middle of greater plot machinations tell so much and how humanized these characters (both the actual humans and the wizards both) were. Even going in knowing very little, I felt like all of this absolutely made sense to me and that's a great achievement. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "in sickness, in health" by Mira_Jade, beren/luthien, 1.6k (for this chapter)       It came upon her slowly, like a whisper of the wind before the rains came.       This was a really lovely and sweet moment with Beren and Luthien, how she gets sick for the first time after becoming mortal and how it's kind of quietly terrifying, but she embraces it in the way she always does, as well as Beren is just so kind and charming here, you can absolutely see why Luthien loves him so very much, why this life with him is so very worth living. It's a sparkling, warm-hearted piece that really captured one of those quiet moments that shows just how much deep and true love there is here. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "who touches the pupil of my eye" by Mira_Jade, aule/yavanna & saruman & namo/vaire & thingol/melian & luthien & nerdanel, 1.5k (for this chapter)       Prompts: See, Hear, Touch, Sense, Smell       This is a series of shorter ficlets connected through a themed prompt set as well as a sense of loss and difficulty, how each of these characters deal with such things. Aule's loss of Mairon, a favored pupil, Namo trying to understand the process of death in the early days, Nerdanel mourning her losses, and so on. It's a lovely set and adds these little touches of something you can really empathize with when it comes to all these characters. ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "so there will be no forgetting" by Mira_Jade, bilbo & glorfindel & thorin, 3.2k       Magic, Gandalf had said when they entered the valley, but Bilbo Baggins was quite certain that the Grey Wizard was mistaken. For this had to be more than even that.       One of the most frustrating parts of Peter Jackson's movies is what they've done to the Elves, especially the Hobbit movies, even having set them from the Dwarves' point of view. This is a lovely look at Bilbo learning a bit more about the swords they carry from one who is very familiar with them and then another lovely look at Bilbo telling Elven tales, showing the depth of them to some who would like to deny it. It was a nicely cathartic read for me, as a fan of these characters and this history, but it's also a really great look at giving depth to the time Thorin's company spent in Rivendell, fitting between the scenes of the movie very nicely! ✦ Return to Aman by bunn, elrond & maglor & cast, 151.6k       A loosely associated series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth.       I don't even know where I'm going to begin with this! I read this entire series over the course of about a week, the only thing that kept me from devouring it all at once is that I didn't want to run out of it too quickly--and, yet, here I am all caught up and desperately wishing I had another 80k+ to read through right now. It's a collection of stories about Elrond and Maglor journeying to Aman in the Fourth Age, about healing and humor and what comes next for the Elves, now that their time in Middle-Earth has ended and they have to actually deal with seeing a son of Feanor again, that Maglor has to deal with the Oath and what he's done and his sorrow over it. I'm interested in these things just for themselves, of course, but this fic series has been absolutely incredible at giving such sharp personality to everyone, that Finrod has such an incredible sense of humor and rolls with a joke, that Nerdanel has such common sense, that Elrond may be younger than most of the Elves here but he's Seen Some Shit as well as he has an incredible way with building bridges between people, that Bilbo and Frodo are such Hobbits and genuinely feel different from the Elves, that Nimloth has to be experienced rather than described, that Celebrian seems so delicate and yet has such strength to her, all of it is incredibly sharp and brilliant. I came to this fic for the concept and the lore, but wound up staying even more for the sheer gorgeous characterization and deftness at which this really feels like these characters' thoughts, feelings, and actions.       Which isn't to say that the lore isn't incredibly well done, too! The story feels just a little bit formal in the way the Elves speak to each other, there's just a touch of poetry in their words and actions, but in a way that's incredibly smooth and engaging to read! And the bits of worldbuilding, the way they see into each others' minds or the way their power works, that Maglor knows he could use his harp and voice as a weapon possibly even more deadly than his sword, that the Oath is a burning thing in the minds of Feanor's sons, that the time in the Halls of Mandos is not so easily described. All of this add such richness to the story being told, all of this is why I'm fascinated by the Elves! And I wish I could write a better rec for this series, I wish I could write a rec for each of the (at current) eleven stories, because they deserve it, because they utterly enraptured me and satisfied me on an emotional level. It's a story about forgivenes and where that line is, that Maglor has regretted so many things, that they weren't just monsters, they were thinking and feeling creatures as well. That he has to live with the fury that's aflame around so many Elves that he hurt, but also that he struggles with pride and his own wounds, the loss of family.       It's a story that makes the Feanorians sympathetic again, that doesn't excuse what they've done, but that holding onto grudges never heals anything. I'm incredibly on the side of the people that they hurt, but this fic got me feeling things for the Feanorians all over again, especially because it's so very clear that Maglor loves dearly and hates what happened, that it destroyed him in a way he'll likely never recover from, especially not with the strength of Elven memory. But it's still a road worth walking, coming back to life and healing. And, oh, even the one conversation between Nerdanel and Feanor here had me practically rolling over in my bed to clutch my reader to my chest for the sheer amount of feeling it gave me. It's a fic that's so beautifully written all the way through, that has such care put into it and different perspectives considered and finely written dialogue that it really, really earns the slow burn redemption that it's going for. It's an incredible story that I'm so glad I'm getting to read. ✦ Oropher, Thranduil, Legolas by KayleeArafinwiel, thranduil & legolas & cast, 1.1k       Snippets and bits about the journey of three scions of the House of Elmo, the burdens of lordship and kingship, and the joys of fatherhood and childhood.             These were very short snippets of fic that were lovely to read and I picked them up because I, too, headcanon that Oropher was from Elmo's line, though, I don't think you really have to be that familiar with The Silmarillion to enjoy this! They're shorter fics and really cute scenes, very much about the care and feeling between the Elves, just little details to fill in the world and connections between them all. It was a lovely read today! ✦ This Taste of Shadow - "made for whispers" by Mira_Jade, celeborn/galadriel, 4.6k        There were times when the knowledge of just how far away from home she was caught her by surprise.        I have definitely been on a Celeborn/Galadriel kick lately, especially takes on their early courtship days and how the reveal of the Kin-Slaying events and the tension between the Noldor and the Sindar would have affected this relationship. It's a look at such a strong character like Galadriel, who has her pride and her sorrow both, that she feels stained and cursed, that in a way she truly is, and doesn't want to spread that to this Elf she is coming to love, but also will not settle for crumbling under the weight of what she bears. The way she moves from Artanis and Nerwen to Galadriel, the way she is proud and unbreakable, the way she grieves for what they've all been through, all of it is so Galadriel. And the way these two interact with each other, the sharp connection between them, the pull that neither of them could possibly deny, the strength and elegance and grace of both of them, the sheer might of both their presences in a room, all of it is very, very nicely done and suits them so well. I can easily see this as how things might have gone!