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dreemurr-skelememer · 7 months

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Inktobertale 2023 Day 9: Arguing

hayyyy im a wee bit late but i swear im catching up, just been busy and taking breaks! anyway more rsp :)))

#inktobertale2023 #undertale #sans #ink sans #resurfacing past ink #resurfacing past #utmv #undertale au #inktobertale #inktobertale 2023 #kia doodles shit

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whumpypepsigal · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 | No. 29

Troubled Past Resurfacing

Prodigal Son s01e12: “What were you so desperate to forget?”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #prodigal son #gifs #whumpedit #whump #trauma #childhood trauma #angst #ptsd #painful memories #emotional whump #malcolm bright #tom payne #my gifs #i miss my whump king #gotta continue the tradition of posting at least one malcolm bright gifset for whumptober <3

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 4 months

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Whump Prompt #1329

Anon asked:

Do you happen to have any prompts for characters who were fighters/victims in the past, and have suddenly been roped back into that life?

I have a few ideas:

They’re in denial at first. Of course they are. Or maybe they’re compliant - their mind going blank as they’re given the news and forced to go back into the arena. They remember exactly what it was like, and their brain screams at them to stop, but their body keeps on moving.

They carry the numbness with them. They’re blank faced through every interaction and interview, but they could lose themselves completely if they’re given the chance to train.

If they were a successful fighter: when they’re in the fighting ring/arena, the cheers, the atmosphere, and existing pain and scars has their heart thumping, but not out of anxiety. A feral smile draws on their lips as the routine slips into place. They see red. And before they know it, it’s over. Maybe they’re horrified at their cold, calculated speed and clinical ease at which they win. Maybe it affects them for the duration, maybe it doesn’t, but they’re more worried at what their friends think when they see the footage.

If they were not a successful fighter: they're running purely on survival mode. They're scared and panicking, and constantly on edge. Just like last time, they're bullied by the guards and other contestants. However, now they have the knowledge and experience. They're stronger and they know someone on the outside will help them get out. They know the routines well, but the new fighters are far more threatening. Maybe this time they fight just to prove that they can, not just because they need to.

You get bonus points if the friends don't know about the whumpees past.

#whump #writing #prompts #angst #forced to fight #fighting #gladiator arena #ideas #injury #remembering the past #troubled past #troubled past resurfacing

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losthavenmine · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 Day 29 || Troubled Past Resurfacing

The Mummy (2017)

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #the mummy 2017 #gifs #body horror tw #russell crowe #tom cruise #filmedit #moviegifs #fyeahmovies #userfilm #cinemapix #cinematv #whumpedit

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gierosajie-art · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 Prompt List | No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.” | Troubled Past Resurfacing

[Genshin Impact | Collei Voiceline - Chat: Memory]

"When I don't have much to keep me occupied, old thought patterns start to creep back in, and— Soon as I start talking about it, the flashbacks start..."

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #genshin impact #art #fanart #the art drawer #genshin impact collei

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alicewritingstories · 6 months

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Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 10: Failure

~Also on AO3~

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.” | Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

Alt 2: Aftermath of Failure (Replacing 16)

Warnings: Discussion of past failure, implied trauma and flashbacks, mention of injury

Central character(s): Time, Wild

The battle was effectively over; even as Time looked around, sword at the ready, the last gold bokoblin fell to a combined attack by Wind and Four, leaking black blood on the ground for a moment before it exploded into smoke. Time sighed and nodded to himself as the others instinctively gathered around the wounded: Wild had been trampled by a lynel as it made its final charge - he'd shot it in the throat just before impact - but was stirring feebly under Sky's hands. Warriors was pulling an arrow out of Hyrule's shoulder while Legend held him down, telling him firmly that he was to accept healing for himself before going to check on Wild and that squirming was just making the wound larger. They all had the usual collection of cuts and bruises, but overall had got off lightly apart from those two.

"I'm going to check there are no more lying in wait," he called.

Twilight had joined Sky kneeling over Wild and was uncorking a potion, but he looked up and nodded. Four and Wind also looked round from hovering between their injured brothers and Four hurried to a ruined wall to climb up it and get a good vantage point. Wind stayed where he was, looking around carefully, his sword still in his hand.

Time smiled proudly and set off.

The battle had taken them into the edges of Wild's Castletown: a sad collection of ruins that, unlike other ruins in Wild's Hyrule, had not been taken over by nature. Only a few green shoots were starting to sprout between cracked stones and the shadow of the deserted castle fell ominously over everything. Once Time had turned a few corners away from where his boys were recovering from the battle, it was mournfully quiet.

Familiarly so.

As Time looked around the ruins of Castletown, destroyed by Ganon while its hero was deep in a magical sleep, his armor suddenly felt strange. He almost thought he heard Navi's voice in his ear, so clear that it made him look round for her.

In the distance he saw Vah Medoh, resting peacefully on its perch, and that reminded him that he was in Wild's Hyrule, not his own. That he was a grown man, no longer a child suddenly thrust into a teenager's body.

He shook his head hard and hastily continued his patrol, just watching for movements and trying not to look too hard at the empty, roofless houses marked with scorch marks.

He couldn't get back to the others too soon.

They had set up camp a little way further from the town and both Wild and Hyrule had been healed. Time smiled and spoke to them in something close to a daze, ate dinner without really being aware of what he was putting in his mouth, brushed off concerned questions, and went to sit on a rock overlooking the town. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew sitting and looking at a standing reminder of the moments after he had left the Temple of Time wouldn't help anything, but he felt drawn to it despite himself.

With a sigh, he picked up his ocarina - not the Ocarina of Time, but his own - and started playing it softly, settling into Zelda's Lullaby to stop himself drifting to the Song of Time.

"Time?"

He startled and looked up as Wild came and crouched down on the rock next to him, balanced on the balls of his feet. The champion nodded a greeting to him, then looked out over the ruins with a sigh.

"How are you feeling?" Time asked softly.

"Still bruised, but barely worth mentioning." Wild shifted to sit down normally and rested his elbows on his knees. After a long moment he said softly, "I hate coming here."

Time looked round at him again.

"I don't remember it except ruined and full of Malice and guardians. I've been back with Zelda a few times - she has big plans to rebuild - and she tries to tell me what it was like before, but…" Wild shook his head.

"What does she say?" asked Time, curious and glad of the distraction.

Wild shrugged. "Busy. Colorful. It sounds like it was a lot like your Castletown, actually."

Time looked back at the ruins. "Yes. It does remind me of my Castletown."

He could almost feel Wild's stare, but wasn't sure how to elaborate.

"I suppose… the fountain is in the same place? Relative to the castle?" ventured Wild.

Time sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, it's… difficult to talk about. You remember I told you that when I took on Ganon the kingdom was already in ruins?"

Wild nodded.

"Well… Before that happened, the sword made me sleep for seven years while Ganon triumphed. When I emerged…" Time gestured to the maze of crumbling stones in front of them and the dark mass beyond it. "This was what I found."

Wild looked back at the ruins. "How many times did you defeat him? Ganon, I mean?"

"I hardly know the answer to that myself any more."

"But he never defeated you. Well…" Wild's eyes flicked back towards the camp, where a sudden peal of Legend's laughter had just rung out. "I see why you don't like talking about it. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt."

Time chuckled. "Indeed. But to respond to what you're really saying, I did fail. I was a child and I couldn't stop Ganon and that's why I was forced to sleep for seven years until I was taller and stronger, but in the meantime Zelda and the people of Hyrule saw Ganon rise and suffered under his rule and when I emerged from my sleep a thriving town was a deserted ruin." He glanced at Wild and patted his shoulder. "Seven years, a hundred years, and it comes to the same thing in the end."

Wild scowled. "I wasn't a child, though. I just… I don't even remember what happened. Just a couple of moments that tell me we ran." He picked up a small stone and threw it morosely to rattle down the slope towards an empty street. "I don't know why. I don't know what I saw or what I tried to do or if I even tried anything to fight. You did, I assume."

Time remembered Ganon looming over him and laughing as he lay on the ground, a helpless child not even worth killing. "Oh, yes, I tried. But even if I might not recognise Princess Zelda's Appointed Knight, I know the Hero of the Wild and I can't imagine he was all that different. I can't imagine you didn't even try."

Wild made a noise halfway to a bitter laugh.

Time laid a hand on his shoulder and said softly, "It's OK, Wild."

Wild shook his head.

"Wild. It's OK."

Wild shook his head again, but this time he leaned a little closer and let Time wrap an arm around his shoulder. After a moment, he relaxed his head onto Time's shoulder.

"It's OK," said Time again, resting his cheek on the top of Wild's head. The silence stretched as they looked out over the ruins, but Time felt better. His Castletown and his Hyrule thrived. This one was as scarred and weary as its hero, but Wild was healing. One day his Hyrule would do the same.

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #Alt.2 #Aftermath of failure #linked universe #fic #trauma tw #my fanfic #linked universe whump #lu time #lu wild

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dreemurr-skelememer · 7 months

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Inktobertale 2023 Day 3: Medicine You've got a warm heart You've got a beautiful brain But it's disintegrating From all the medicine

rsp ink jumpscare! :)

#inktobertale2023 #undertale #sans #ink sans #resurfacing past #resurfacing past ink #utmv #undertale au #inktobertale #inktobertale 2023 #kia doodles shit

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lbibliophile-sw · 6 months

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Safety Briefing

Also on AO3 @whumptober-archive - day 29: troubled past resurfacing @clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard bingo: GAR versus Corries @clonefandomevents - 501st bingo: flashbacks

For a long silent minute, Fox just looks at him.

“Usually, I tell GAR transfers to follow contested territory protocols and put them on street patrols, and that’s enough to keep them alive as they learn our rules. But you’re a mutie and a Captain. So I think you’ll understand when I say we are closer to Kamino SOP.

“Don’t stand out, don’t draw attention. Ensure that everything you do is perfect and without fault. Know that sometimes that’s still not enough, and all you can do is endure until they lose interest.

“Welcome to the Coruscant Guard, Captain Rex.”

#it's even better if you assume that fox is a natural redhead #CG bingo #501st bingo #whumptober 2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #star wars #sw:tcw #drabble #referenced clone trooper mistreatment #natural blond rex #commander fox #captain rex #bingo fill

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maschals · 6 months

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Oct 29 - Troubled past resurfacing

I love me a tragic romance

#whumptober 2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #the sheridan tapes #sam bailey #allen gott

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ladywynne · 7 months

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My Way

Moon Knight. Jake steps in when needed. What a life he's led.

Based on the song "My Way" by Frank Sinatra. For Whumptober 2023 - Fills prompts "pinned down", "alleyway", "outnumbered", and "troubled past resurfacing". It is whump, but there is also love and joy.

CW: violence, child abuse, character death, blood, gun

Word count - 2004

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And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

Marc spat out the blood pooling in his mouth and struggled back into a boxer’s stance. He knows pain. He is not afraid of it, but he also knows he is reaching the end of his endurance. Not that these assholes can tell that from where they’re standing. The super-powered zealots of Set are hovering warily, none of them willing to go first despite (or maybe because of) his bloody visage. All of them sporting an injury or two from the last hours.

Marc huffs a laugh and straightens slightly, “That all ya got?” He spares a quick glance behind himself. The kids he is protecting are okay, huddled together against the dirty brick wall. Four boys, none older than ten. He’s not sure what the cultists want with them, it was mere chance he came upon the scene in the first place, but he is not willing to find out. He needs to end this quickly. End this and get them out of here. He never thought he’d miss Khonshu.

He goes another few rounds. He’s better than his opponents, better by far; but there are so many, and they have supernatural strength. His knuckles are bleeding, as well as his nose, and he impatiently swipes the sweat and hair from his eyes so as not to miss the next attack. They don’t strike where he expects.

“MISTER!” A child’s voice screams to him with shrill fear. Marc whirls, his eyes coming to rest on a new player, a woman, compact with an athlete’s build. She must have flanked him while he fought, and now holds the smallest boy by the upper arm as she drags him around the makeshift fight club. Marc notes she is armed, but the weapon is holstered as she deals with the boy.

Marc immediately turns in that direction, punching with renewed vigor, but he is swarmed by foes who seem so single-minded as to be almost in a trance. Damn it! There’s more of ‘em.

Marc can barely make out the woman through the mass of zealots as she nears a van with the child. The boy struggles, planting his feet and twisting wildly. When they reach the bumper the child bites the woman’s wrist, and she cries out with a curse, but she doesn’t release him. Instead, she draws back her free hand and slaps him with a crack that can be heard over the grunts and blows of Marc’s own battle.

Time slows and Marc’s vision tunnels until all he sees is that little boy. He sees red bloom across the child’s cheek, sees the fear on his face and the way his body goes still in shock. The woman shakes the boy for good measure before restraining his small hands and tossing him into the van to another grim adult. Then she turns back for the next child.

But Marc doesn’t see this last. He can’t see because he isn’t there.

He is the boy. The sharp sound of the slap registers before the hot swell of pain. His hand rises to cradle his cheek as he looks up into the cold eyes of his own mother. She is spewing words at him, venom no doubt, but they don’t register through the ringing in his ears and all he can do is stand dumbly, lowering his eyes to the kitchen linoleum. His mother scoffs and pulls him by the hair. He doesn’t fight her, but tears roll down his cheeks from the sting of her grip.

Jake is ready, would have taken the reins soon in any case. He shoves forward, flexing his fists to ground himself as the pain and exhaustion of the body overtake his senses. But the lapse in awareness, short as it was, has cost them. Enemies are all over him. He swings viciously to try and clear space but takes a hard punch to the eye. He feels many hands wrestling to control his arms. Jake fights for all he’s worth. This is life-and-death, the time for taunts is over. Apart from the meaty thwack of blows landing and occasional exclamations of pain, silence engulfs the alleyway arena. Jake feels a surge of fierce pride when it seems the horde is faltering.

Then there is a brutal kick to the back of his leg. He falls. Jake lands hard on one knee and immediately tries to rebound upward. It’s no use. Four men secure his arms as a cruel hand forces his head back. He struggles valiantly. Shit! Damn! Joder! Feckin’ HELL! But in the end he is forced to watch through swelling eyes, seething with rage, as the last of the boys is loaded into that van. Thank G-d Marc ain’t here for this.

Jake takes a stab in the dark, rasping out. “Khonshu, Embracer. Save the kids. You gotta have a new fist by now. Use them and help the boys.” No response, but a sudden breeze behind the van gives him some hope. He didn't expect more. They had not parted with the bird on the best terms.

As the dark vehicle drives away his curls are released, and Jake gives it one more go. He thrashes and kicks wildly backward from his knees, but all it gets him is his face planted painfully into the grimy pavement.

He freezes when he hears it – a sound he knows intimately well. A sound that has haunted his every nightmare since Cairo. The cock of a pistol.

🌙🌙🌙

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Jake’s purpose looked different according to the situation, but he always protected Marc and Steven. More often than not Marc had to be protected from himself - from the physical repercussions of his pain and self-loathing. When Marc longed for a permanent solution or subconsciously tried to shorten his life through drinking and bad choices Jake was there to stop him. Steven suffered in other ways, his clever mind quick to fill in gaps, but unable to cure his devastating loneliness. Jake tried to ease it with a date. Sometimes he was needed simply because the other two were bickering and making themselves vulnerable. It didn’t really matter why. He was always there.

When they were young, Marc took it all. Poor kid thought he deserved abuse, and he would never hurt their mother. Jake was a child himself then - hiding, confused, only called forward if Marc really thought she would kill them. Thank God he has more control now. Now he watches near constantly. Vigilant. He can’t afford another Cairo, can’t let sus estúpidos muchachos get in that deep again, can’t let them die again. He loves them too damn much.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

Jake had a lot of good times, more than Marc or Steven would ever have imagined for him. He loved. He had Gena and her boys, Crawley, and New York City. As a cabbie he met a lot of people, was tuned to the rhythm of the city and especially the nooks and crannies of Brooklyn. He knew the street walkers, the homeless, the policemen, the business owners, the elderly. And they knew him. Jake gave the body community. He fed that part of their soul.

He had freedom. G-d, the way it felt to drive Marc’s expensive car with the windows down, fast and free and unhidden. Jake never shied away from the world when he was on the outside, not unless it was for a mission. He embraced it all- the people, the smells, the sounds. It was part of why he loved to drive. He spent so much time unknown, silent, deadly and watchful and tough. But on the road, he could live. Make his own g-ddamned choices. Go where he wanted, as fast as he wanted. He would shift gears with so much adrenaline and joy coursing through him that no one, not even himself, could doubt that Jake Lockley took up space. Jake Lockley was fuckin’ real.

After he was revealed to the others Steven was sometimes with him as he drove. The Brit seemed to love watching him. Yeah mate, smashed that curve! And once Jake settled into the seat, his gloved hand relaxed on the wheel, the two of them talked. Surprisingly, it was a space where Steven and Jake found each other, experiencing the road together, learning what it was to be known.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say - not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

Jake loves Marc with all his heart. He always has. He supposes he was meant to love him, that guilt-ridden, violent, protective, beautiful soul that is Marc Spector.

Oh, Marc always knew he was there. It was a weird, cruel open secret in their mind. But Marc wouldn’t face him, feeling all his goodness had been poured into Steven, and afraid of what he would find in this last fractured part of himself. Jake never pushed it. He had witnessed Marc be backed into a corner far too often. Jake would never do that to him.

The awareness Steven gained in the Duat made it impossible to avoid reality any longer. Steven was an open book and he insisted on an open mind. So, finally, Marc looked inward, staring into the headspace with the ironic aid of a bathroom mirror, and saw reflected there the missing piece of himself.

Jake accepted his scrutiny, ready for the inevitable blame and condescension and loathing that he knew would not really be directed at him but at the tortured soul of the propagator himself. It did not come. Marc’s tense brows didn’t ease, but his fingers deliberately released their grip on the porcelain of the sink. And Marc straightened, brown eyes meeting brown eyes at last and finding within them a spirit common to them all. At last the corner of Marc’s mouth rose slightly in wry acknowledgement, “Got a name?”

For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

Yeah, Jake always knew he would be the one to take the final bullet. He knew because if it got bad and he had any time at all, he’d make sure of it. That is who he is, and he is damn proud of it.

🌙🌙🌙

A lot can happen in the final seconds of one’s life. They say your existence flashes before your eyes. It does for Jake, simply because Marc and Steven are there. Jake feels so many things - defiant, stoic, angry…but not lonely. It feels to him like Marc hugs him, grip tightening across his back and not letting go. And then Steven wraps around them both, impossibly encompassing them, a shield of love in this last moment. They understand. They are here with him. Together.

Dios mio. I must be the luckiest fucker on earth.

And Jake laughs.

Yes, it was my way

BANG