#Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

[nade2308]

I headcanoned Chasing Cars as an Ethan and Julia song a long time ago and when I saw the prompt for day 16 I knew I was going to make a gifset for these two. It fits them perfectly.

I love them so much.

@whumptober

@thethistlegirl

Ao3 link here

[oxideblack]

[sam-loves-seb]

we might never make it out

Ian answers. “Hello?” he croaks out, his voice raspy with sleep. “Hey,” Mickey says quickly, quietly. “Where are you right now?” Ian yawns. “What?” “Are you at your house?” “It’s one in the morning, Mickey,” Ian sighs. “Where the fuck else would I be?”

// s2: mickey shows up at the gallagher house in the middle of the night

whumptober 2023 -- day 16

prompt: Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]

[graviitron]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) 

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) 

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Running Away, Rejection, 5+1 Times, Angst with a Happy Ending, Extended Metaphors, Whumptober 2023 

Summary:

Crowley phrases running away a little differently, and a little earlier. A lot earlier actually. More than once. Before there’s even an Anti-Christ at all—but also a few times after that, too.

(Or; 5 times Aziraphale rejects Crowley’s ideas of running away, and one time where he doesn’t.)

jazz hands IM ON A ROLL!!!! THERES EVENGONNA BE ANOTHER ONE TOMORROW!!!!! :DDD

[ajpendragon]

Let Me Forget

Tears dripped slowly to the ground, gathering in a puddle on the stone floor. For once, he didn’t try to hide the emotion. He was too tired. It was too much to hide. Too much to carry.

His father had such high expectations for him, and he would never be able to measure up. And until he could reach that impossible standard, he would never be good enough. Be good enough for his father. Be good enough for his title. Be good enough for his kingdom.

As much as Arthur knew that Uther was not a good father, he still longed for his approval as much as any son might. He still spend his entire life trying to be enough, but being told he never would be. It was one thing when his father told him he wouldn’t ever be enough in private. But in front of the entire council?

The door creaked open, and he hastily brushed away the telltale drops. Turning away, he picked up a scroll from his desk, hoping if he pretended to be busy enough, he would be left alone. He was in no mood for company.

Of course the man at the door would pay no attention to his subtle hints. Merlin bustled in, not even bothering to knock. Why was he even here? He wasn’t working. The only thing he was accomplishing was being an annoyance.

Tears rolled down Arthur’s cheeks behind the paper, and he muffled a quiet sob. Merlin didn’t even notice, too busy prattling on about nothing of importance. He picked up and dropped a few random pieces of clothing, pretending to work, but not actually doing anything of use.

Arthur tried to subtly brush the tears from his face before they could fall and betray him. He tried to focus on the words in front of him, hoping to distract himself enough to settle his emotions.

He must have missed something, though, because suddenly the paper was pulled away from his face, replaced by Merlin’s worried eyes. “Arthur?”

“M fine.” He replied shortly, trying to turn away to hide his red eyes.

“You’re quite clearly not fine.” Merlin retorted. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me help you.” Merlin tossed the paper onto the desk, dragging Arthur up out of his chair.

Arthur let him move him, following until they reached the bed. Merlin let go of him to pull down the covers, then gently tugged him to lay down. He replaced the blankets and turned to go, but before he could move, Arthur’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay?” He pleaded. Merlin hesitated. “Please? Just lay here with me. Let me forget about the kingdom for just a few minutes?”

Merlin blew out the candles and climbed in next to him, settling himself on top of the blanket. He reached out slowly, as if expecting rejection, and gently ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, soothing the headache that had been building all day.

“I don’t know what he said to you, but he was wrong.” Merlin spoke with unusual confidence. “You have such a great heart and care for this kingdom so much. You are exactly what Camelot needs.” He kept stroking Arthur’s hair gently. “Just rest and forget. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

With the soothing repetitive motion, Arthur found himself growing tired. He had cried himself out. Nothing was fixed, but the reminder that he had someone at his back was enough comfort to let him rest. He let his eyes fall closed, and slept.

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

Merlin was still there when he woke up.

[splendidissimus]

January 2019 - Ghost

((Content warning: dying / terminal illness / acceptance, angst, physical weakness ))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 16: Would you lie with me and just forget the world? / "Don't go where I can't follow." ))

Genre: angst / romance

Romance level: high

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: tragic / calm

((words: ~900))

------------------------------------

"Maybe I'll become a ghost." 

Draco was lying with his head in Theo's lap, tucked under a layer of self-warming blanket, too weak to move. It was his week off the potions that kept him functional, something he now did only once a year, and it was terrifying to see. His breaths were very, very slow and shallow, and his heartbeat was very fast and faint. He couldn't eat. He couldn't stand. He could barely lift his head. Even his thoughts were slow and hazy, robbing him of that final fundamental spark of what made him Draco. He was a frail husk, a shell of himself.

"Wander around, talking to people…" His voice was barely a murmur, distant and idly musing. "I like doing that…"

Theo set his hand on Draco's arm, rubbing gently. "You don't want to do that." 

Draco didn't answer, and he turned his attention back to the Time Turner he was working on; Draco was too out of it to notice what he was doing, so he could work with it openly. 

He had it half-disassembled when Draco spoke again. He'd thought he'd actually fallen asleep, but apparently he was just thinking about it. "Maybe I do…"

He glanced down. "No one wants to be a ghost."

"Ghosts don't have to eat… or sleep… or breathe… I can have all the parts of being alive I like without all the bad parts…"

"Ghosts can't touch anything."

"That's okay."

"Rude." He ran his fingers through Draco's hair lightly. "Ghosts can't do magic, either. You love doing magic."

"Ghosts can't touch wands… Might be fun to test if they can do wandless magic… I can do wandless magic."

"Draco." He set down the pieces of the Time Turner and pulled Draco's hair back from his face, bending over to look at him. Draco opened his eyes to meet his. "Stop."

Draco didn't say anything, and that was the scariest thing of all — because that meant maybe it wasn't just a tasteless joke. Maybe it was actually a plan for his future. Or maybe it was just an insane idea for now, but when he properly had his mind back, it would stick with him and it would become a plan.

According to everything they knew, becoming a ghost was a rare and unintentional phenomenon, but if there was anyone who would do it intentionally through research and sheer willpower, it would be Draco. 

And according to everything they knew, it was a tragic, unenviable fate and could never be taken back… but if there was anyone who would, actually, enjoy that state of being… maybe it was Draco. Nothing he was saying was wrong. The lack of little pleasures regarded as the small tortures of ghostly unlife, the inability to rest or find simple joys in food and physical contact, he was already suffering most of them. He genuinely did like the idea of talking and socialising almost without end. He liked new experiences and would enjoy seeing how the world changed over time. Maybe it actually did sound appealing to him.

Theo couldn't bear that thought. Even more than the thought of him dying, the thought of him dying and then coming back like that, trapped forever in some parody of life where he could never grow or find rest… it was beyond horrifying. And the idea that he might actively chase that fate, do it to himself out of fear of death or some misguided idealisation… 

"I could haunt the Ministry," Draco murmured instead, eyes settling closed again. "Spend the next thousand years advising the Minister for Magic. I'll be the Ghost Minister."

"If that were allowed there would already be ghosts doing it." 

"But I'm a Malfoy. I'll change the rules." He smiled a little bit. "And then there will always be a Malfoy."

He was not reassured. He ran his fingers through Draco's hair again, wrestling with the uneasy feeling. "Draco," he said eventually. Draco's eyes opened again and looked up at him. "I don't want to be a ghost." Draco's expression grew solemn. He settled his hand on Draco's frail chest. "If you go there, I'm not going with you. You'll be alone." 

"I'll stay with you."

"And then I'll die," he explained patiently. "And your parents will die. And you'll be alone."

Draco was silent, and looked back out toward nothing, but he didn't look like that had reached him. Like he thought he could still get around that. "Unless you're planning to make me stay with you?"

"I don't want to do that," Draco murmured. He painstakingly worked his hand free of the blanket and held his. 

He lifted Draco's hand and kissed the back of it. "I know," he said, and then tucked it back against his chest so he could stay warm. "But it's okay. I'm not going to let you die anyway, remember? I made a promise." He took his hand back and returned his attention to the Time Turner.

"I remember," Draco said quietly. "You'll never leave me alone." 

"And I won't let you die," he repeated, carefully dumping out the sand. 

Draco was quiet. He got back into his work, assuming that he fell asleep again, although when he looked down some time later it was to find Draco silently looking up at him, and he ran his hand over his hair again.

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Day 16

@whumptober Some Steve and Robin goodness for this one! <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Stranger Things

It's Never Over, and We're Stuck Here Waiting

     Steve stared out the window, gaze distant as he absentmindedly clicked a pen over and over again. It felt as though the world around him was dimming into red-tinged grey, and he could almost see the ash falling outside the window while vines crawled over the brickwork of the building across the street. Something squeaked, but the sound mutated in his mind, becoming a screech that filled the sky a million times over.

     “Breathe, Steve. Everything’s okay.” The gentle voice broke through with a touch to his shoulder, and Steve shuddered.

     He blinked out of the waking nightmare, finding himself breathing too fast and hard as his panic wound down. He followed the hand on his shoulder back to Robin, and he followed her guidance as she gestured for him to take a deep breath in and let it go.

     “There you go. You were doing it again, Steve, that’s all. It’s over, remember?” Robin said, offering him a small smile.

     I know. That’s what Steve always said in response. It’s over this time, I know. A reassurance to them both.

     “It doesn’t feel over.” Steve breathed out in a rush, breaking their routine as his thoughts all spilled out, rambling in a fashion that spoke to just how much time he spent with Robin. “It’s never felt over. I feel like we’re just waiting for the next gate to open or for Vecna to somehow be alive. It feels like there’s a demogorgan breathing down my neck when I try to sleep, and sometimes I can’t breathe, and it feels like that demobat is choking me again.” Tears were falling down his cheeks, and Robin opened her mouth to speak, but Steve didn’t let her get a word in as he continued. “Sometimes when I argue with my dad, he yells, and I’ll think I’m right back with the Russians. I can’t stand needles anymore, like I can’t even look at them, and sometimes it makes me feel like I’m broken because I was never scared of them before.

     “And I hate guns, even the ones Nancy keeps because she nearly shot me once, and sometimes I still get nightmares where she shoots me for real, and I can’t even look her in the face after it happens because it’s so awful to think that she could possibly do that, you know? Because I know Nance, and she’d never hurt me like that, so that must make me a terrible person, right? To think something like that about someone I love? Even El scares me sometimes because she has powers just like his. And that’s terrible of me, too, because El doesn’t have a bad bone in her body, but sometimes I just can’t help but think that power could control her one day instead of the other way around.

     “Then sometimes I think I’m a horrible person because Eddie died, and it should have been me, you know? He was supposed to be safe with Dustin, and we were the ones meant to fight, and yet Eddie’s gone, not us, not me. But it makes me happy that it wasn’t us, even though I know that’s selfish because I don’t think I could handle losing you.” Steve finally stopped for air, breathing hard as he was pulled into a hug from Robin, his tears coming faster as he hugged her back.

     “Steve. You’re not a terrible person for any of that.” Robin murmured. “And you’re not broken, either.” She said as Steve melted against her, exhausted.

     “I’m so tired, Robs.” He sniffled. “I don’t wanna feel like this anymore.”

     “I know. I don’t either.” Robin said, pulling away slowly. “Come on,” She said, tugging him out from behind the counter and moving to turn the lock on the door and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ “Let’s lie down and just forget about the world for a bit, okay?”

     Steve blinked at her before nodding, settling onto the floor with her and lying down by her side. He stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes to the lights that suddenly reminded him of the mall. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning in Lover’s Lake again.”

     "Sometimes, I feel like I'm back with the Russians, just waiting for what comes next with no control over it," Robin said, and Steve relaxed a little at her understanding and acceptance.

     They let the silence fall over them for a bit, and Steve reached for Robin's hand, interlocking their fingers.

     "You're not going to lose me, dingus," Robin whispered, running her thumb over the back of his knuckles as she read his mind.

     "You can't promise that," Steve whispered back, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

     "Just watch me," Robin answered, determination filling her voice and warming Steve's chest with fondness.

     He opened his eyes and turned to face her. "Just promise me you won't go where I can't follow." He said softly, squeezing her hand.

     Robin's face softened, and she nodded, smiling crookedly back at him. "I promise. We're soulmates, remember? Not even the afterlife can split us apart." She told him, returning the pressure of his grip.

     Steve finally smiled, closing his eyes. "Love you, Robs."

     He didn't have to see her to hear the affection in her voice. "Love you too, Steve."

[lithium223]

[evillittlebirdie]

Implore (Astarion/Tav)

Warning! Major Character Death

TW: Death In Childbirth

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

***

"Raphael...I have come to make a deal..."

"Ah, little vampling...you must truly be desperate to show up to my lair, asking me for a deal..."

"I want Her back. And I will give you anything for Her. My body, my immortality, my mind, my-"

"Firstborn son?"

Part One

For once, Astarion was glad he couldn't see his reflection. If he had to look at the face of the incompetent wretch that failed Her, he would strike the mirror to shards. 

Hubris once clouded his vision. Astarion's love was an elf and a mighty hero. She would live for centuries. By then, they would find a way to immortalize Her body and mind. They had decades to walk under the stars, make love by moonlight, and hold each other through the night. They had years to explore the realm, make new companions, and finish adventures. 

She had a novel idea.

He remembered when She delightedly showed him the book. 'A child. Born of a vampire and a mortal. Our child.' Astarion's mind flashed with memories of the orphaned children at their camp. Astarion was jealous of the attention but couldn't deny the joy on Her face. Who was he to deny Her?

Astarion liked their life as it was. But what She wanted, She received. To Astarion, she was the God that answered when all others ignored him. He would have given Her the world. She wanted a Life.

'There is always a risk,' the midwife told them. But Astarion arrogantly ignored the crone's words. This wasn't some waif pushing out a sickly bastard. This was Her. She was the savior of Baldur's Gate, giving birth to a Dhampir. She brought down the Netherbrain. Indeed, She could handle what thousands of people did each day. 

As a male, Astarion was put out of the birthing room with only Gale out of everyone to keep him company. Shadowheart was allowed to sit with Her. The two had invited themselves over to help with the baby. She, in Her infinite kindness, welcomed them with open arms. 

Gale and Astarion sat awkwardly on the cushioned bench outside the doorway. Astarion was worrying about the threads of the fabric with his nails. Pulling, tugging, snatching. She was screaming, and he was drawn to Her. Gale kept patting his shoulder. Something about it 'being natural'. Childbirth was inherently painful. 

The smell of blood was thick in the air. Astarion could feel his mouth begin to salivate. He hadn't drank one drop from Her body once the midwife confirmed the pregnancy. Since then, Astarion was Her servant. She barely lifted a finger with him around. 

Astarion wasn't particularly excited about parenthood. His own parental memories were lost to time, fuzzy and untouchable. But if She wanted his participation, he would give it. There was a…fondness Astarion had for some of the tiefling children. Perhaps something more could form once he had the baby in his arms.  

At the very least, the baby needed to arrive to ease Her suffering. The pregnancy was difficult for Her. How Astarion resented the unborn child for causing Her pain and lethargy. But She loved this child and frequently spoke of Her excitement. She would be a perfect mother. 

They had finished decorating the nursery when She felt the first sign of labor. Hours later, Astarion waited impatiently outside as his love wailed. Something sharp and piercing cut through the air. Even Gale froze. The moans indicated something more than typical labor pains. The screams suddenly halted. Then, a baby's cry broke the silence. Long, strong, and healthy. Gale let out a relieved chuckle, "Congratulations, Astarion."

Something was wrong. A dark, imposing force invaded the area around them. 

Shadowheart was the open who finally opened the door. She held a small bundle in her arms. She couldn't hide that she quickly closed the door after her. She smiled, but the expression did not meet her eyes. It was too tight. Shadowheart murmured, "It's a boy. Purple eyes like his mother, but no mistaking that snow-white hair..." 

"You're not telling me something," Astarion pointed out. Something primal pulled from his heart to the bundle. He walked over to her, momentarily distracted by the tiny face staring back at him. It was true. The little boy had his mother's eyes, but his hair and ears were all him. "Oh...Oh..." Astarion whispered, sufficiently distracted from Her. Shadowheart extended the bundle to him. Hesitantly, Astarion took the baby from her, adjusting the little creature in his arms. 

"Well, handsome boy, aren't you? Of course you are. You're mine," Astarion cooed. The boy blinked his eyes at him inquisitively. The look in his eyes, that purple hue, reminded Astarion of the pending matter. 

"I'm not a doctor, but I believe the boy is supposed to be with his mother," Astarion pointed out, stepping forward. Shadowheart suddenly stopped him, avoiding his gaze. "Shadowheart...what aren't you telling me?" He challenged. She wouldn't look at him. Inflamed, Astarion shoved by her, cradling the baby in the crook of his arm before opening the door. 

Purple eyes, impossibly vast and blank, stared at him. She was on the bedroll in a puddle of Her own blood. The midwife and her words were irrelevant. Astarion only used her as a prop. He shoved the baby into her arms, ignoring the sudden cry from his son. People were calling his name, but it was irrelevant. Astarion fell to his knees. Fresh blood had never nauseated him before. He pulled Her into his arms, his ear pressed to his chest. He listened for the sound of a heartbeat. No, She just had to be weak and listless. She couldn't be gone. She was the Savior of Baldur's Gate. Something as mundane and typical as birth couldn't take Her from him. They had years, decades, and centuries together. And one day eternity. 

Something soft and faint reverberated in her chest. Astarion almost wept with relief and delight. "Oh, my love. I heard you. Please, again..." But Her heart would never beat again. Her slight body felt so heavy in his arms. She was gone.

And he wailed. 

[soleberlandieri]

@whumptober

@whumptober-archive

Title: Your thoughts are mine

prompts:  “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” Gurney; Flatline; “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Pairing: Kisame x Itachi

Summary

From the text: Kisame smiled, he was free now. He would never have imagined that having nothing left to lose would make him so peaceful. Anger and pain had been vented, he had stopped using Samehada to crush rocks, cut trees and dig craters in the ground. Now an extreme bliss had taken possession of him. His beauty sucked him into a funnel, he felt his feet leave the ground. “You will no longer feel pain, my love. And neither do I."

Kisame x Itachi; KisaIta

[predictablesloth]

Forget what we’re told, before we get too old… show me a garden that’s bursting into life.

[lanzadxr-verde]

@desgarron asked: ❛ i know we have our problems, but if someone ever tried to start something, i would fight for you. ❜

❥    𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓)(Accepting)

"Oh, Grimmy." Nelliel would sigh out as she shows a sweet smile. Of course he would say something like that. It was typical of him. Though on the other hand, it was very sweet of him to want to fight for her. Nel would feel the same way. She maybe a female, but she was still the ex-Tres Espada. She knew how to fight herself.

And she was willing to fight for him too.

"That means a lot to me that you're willing to do that for me. Honestly, it's always your fierce spirit that shines brightly. in my eyes." The ram hums as she lets out a small giggle. Stepping up to reach her hand to caress his mask fragment, she smiles widely,

"But just know, I will also fight for you. If anyone dares to bother my king, they will have to go through me!~" She would add in a playful tone. Her fingers tracing his mask.

"I promise you. I'll be by your side through and through!"

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 16

"Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

Bucky slid down along the wall, his eyes closed. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes,” Doctor Burrows said. “We did everything we could but…” she raised her hands. 

“How long?” he asked and looked up from where he sat at the ground. 

“Days,” she said. “Maybe a week.” 

“No,” Bucky breathed. “God, no.” 

“I wish I had better news,” she said and took a deep breath. But when Bucky didn’t move she nodded at him, turned around and walked away. 

“Why?” he whispered. “Why, God? Why?”  

He had no idea how long he sat there but eventually he rose, shuffled down the corridor to the room Clint lay in. His mouth was painfully dry when he opened the door. 

Clint lay in his bed, his eyes closed. He was pale like a ghost and thin, oh so thin. Bucky went over to him and sat down beside him. Clint’s eyes fluttered open.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“You didn’t,” Clint rasped. “I waited for you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said again. Clint scrutinized him. 

“Did you talk to Doctor Burrows?” he asked and Bucky swallowed. “You did. She told you?” 

Bucky nodded. Clint licked his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and Bucky’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Clint.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky blurted. “What are you sorry for?” 

“For… this,” Clint said and gestured at himself. 

“Clint, this is nothing you…” 

“No,” Clint interrupted him and closed his eyes for a second. “Don,t. Not now, not… will you… will you lie with me and just forget the world?” 

He looked at Bucky and tears welled up on his eyes. 

“Of course,” he said and smiled. And then he sat down on the bed beside Clint, lay back and wrapped his arms around him. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Clint murmured and Bucky kissed his temple.

“I love you, too.” 

[serickswrites]

Forget the World

Warnings: knife, stabbing, blood, mcd, grief, caretaker and whumpee

"Don't go where I can't follow, Whumpee," Caretaker had always said to Whumpee whenever they went out to hunt down a perp.

"I won't," Whumpee had always promised.

But as Caretaker rushed a limp and bleeding Whumpee to help, they weren't so certain Whumpee was going to keep their promise. To Whumpee's credit, they had stayed by Caretaker's side. Mostly. Caretaker had only turned to check down a different hallway for a few moments, had only let Whumpee leave their sight for less than five minutes.

And that five minutes was all it took to fall to shit.

It was the sound of Whumpee's scuffle with Whumper that had Caretaker spinning around. It was the sight of the knife in Whumper's hand already slick with Whumpees blood that had Caretaker's mouth going dry. And it was the sight of the knife plunging into Whumpee's side once more that had Caretaker charging forward.

As Whumpee collapsed onto their knees, hands going to try and staunch the flow of blood from their side, Caretaker was on Whumper. They pummeled Whumper until they were sure that Whumper wasn't going to get up again. Caretaker cuffed Whumper before they turned around to check on Whumpee.

Caretaker couldn't get a good breath once they did.

Whumpee was deathly pale, their skin almost grey, as they knelt in a puddle of their blood. Their hands weakly pressed against their side. "Caretaker," Whumpee whispered, "I....don' f-f-f-feel sooooo go-go-gooood."

Caretaker ripped off their own jacket and pressed it to Whumpee's side. "Hold this there." Caretaker called for an ambulance, knowing that one wasn't too far away, but that they would have to walk to where the ambulance could meet them. "Can you walk? We have to get you to help, now Whumpee."

Without waiting for Whumpee's reply, Caretaker pulled Whumpee to standing, hooking Whumpees arm around their neck. Caretaker winced at Whumpee's screech of pain. "PLEASE!"

"It's not far, Whumpee. Come on. I know it hurts. I know. I'm sorry, Whumpee." Caretaker knew they wouldn't be able to carry Whumpee. Whumpee was taller and heavier than they were, there was no way. "I'm going to get you to help, but I need you to help me."

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut and nodded. "'kay," they said shakily.

Caretaker moved as quickly as they could to where they knew the ambulance would be waiting. They could feel Whumpee struggle to take each step. Could hear Whumpee's ragged breathing grow fainter with each step. Could feel Whumpee's hot blood coating their own hands more and more as they moved. "Not much farther, Whumpee. Almost there. Hang in there. Remember, you promised you wouldn't go where I can't follow you. You hear me? You promised."

"Y-Y-Yes," Whumpee exhaled.

Caretaker could see the flashing lights of the ambulance. Relief filled them as they trudged forward, Whumpee's weight leaning more and more on them. "We made it, Whumpee," Caretaker said, relief filling their voice.

Whumpee didn't reply as their legs gave out. Caretaker slowed down Whumpee's fall, but was unable to keep them upright. "HELP!" Caretaker roared, hoping that the EMTs could hear them. "Whumpee. Whumpee. Open your eyes. Whumpee." Caretaker frantically tapped Whumpee's cheek.

Caretaker was pushed to the side by the EMTs. The EMTs quickly lifted Whumpee onto the waiting gurney, hooking Whumpee up to various leads and lines. The monitor flicked to life in one continuous shrill cry that Whumpee's heart wasn't beating. That Whumpee had flatlined.

Caretaker watched in horror as the EMTs frantically got to work. Caretaker watched, feeling ever distant from their body, as the EMTs started CPR. Caretaker watched as they repeated their words to Whumpee over and over under their breath. Don't go where I can't follow. Don't go where I can't follow. Don't go where I can't follow.

They couldn't tear their gaze from Whumpee's slack face. They hadn't kept an eye on Whumpee and that was all it took for Whumpee to end up bloodied on a gurney fighting for their life. Caretaker wasn't sure how long they stood there unable to hear anything but the shrill cry of the monitor. They jumped when one of the EMT's put a hand on their shoulder. Caretaker didn't want to hear what they were saying, didn't want to have the terrible words spoken into life.

"I'm so sorry. We tried everything we could. We couldn't get them back."

The words echoed in Caretaker's ears as their world crashed down around them. Whumpee was.....but they couldn't think that. Couldn't bear to think that they would exist in a world without Whumpee. Caretaker let themself be guided so sit near Whumpee's head. They couldn't hear the murmured words around them. They could only hear the terrible words that the EMT had said. "Whumpee is dead."

Caretaker cupped Whumpee's rapidly cooling cheek. If Caretaker only looked at Whumpee's face, they could lie to themself, tell themself that Whumpee was only sleeping. Because Whumpee did look like they were sleeping, albeit they were deathly pale.

"You promised me," Caretaker whispered as grief clawed its way up their throat. They couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. "You promised me you wouldn't go where I can't follow. You promised me."

But Whumpee didn't reply.

"I can't follow you there," Caretaker sobbed, the reality of everything finally setting in. "Oh God. I can't. I can't follow you. You promised!"

And still, Whumpee did not reply.

[one-piece-aus]

Hi! Can i ask for Uta x male!reader spending some times on an islad togheter? Hope you will have a nice day/night! 💕

Sure, hope you don't mind me using it for Whumptober ^-^

Whumptober Day 16

Uta x Male Reader

Tw: mentioned needles and implied human experimentation

"Uta, what are you doing out here?"

"I'm looking at the stars, [Y/n]," Uta said remaining still on the ground she laid on.

"Oh." You stand near her and glance up at the sky. "It's certainly full of stars."

"Hey..."  Uta finally turned to face you. "How come my power doesn't work on you?"

You frown as the phantom touch of Vegapunk and Caesar Clown brushes the back of your head. The weight forces you to sit on the grass and you tug your cross legs close to your form. Even after washing ashore on this island when you escaped years ago, their presence still lingered around.

"I don't know... it might be the needles' contents I was stuffed with," you shrug.

"Oh...sorry." Uta averted her eyes for a moment, though before silenced could join you two, she spoke again. "You know you're the only person it doesn't work on...sometimes it makes me sad because then I can't give you happy dreams."

You half smile, recalling the first time she tried. Gordon was trying to calm you down from your night terror, Uta came in worried and after being told you had a bad dream, she started singing. Gordon falling over in a deep sleep startled you enough to get off your cot and try shaking him awake. Uta was dumbfounded, but you were too worried about the old man to notice.

That didn't stop her from trying to catch you in her realm. She followed you around the island, snuck up behind you, interrupted your studies and your meals, and if she wasn't cute or had a wonderful voice, you would've been irritated by it long ago.

"It's not like you didn't give me good dreams," you said without thinking until it hit you and smacked your face with your palm, you could only pray she didn't hear-

"I do?" Uta turned back to you, the moon highlighting the surprise displayed on her face.

"Well kinda... I hardly have the dreams of the scientists anymore. Gordon thinks it's because I'm finally out of the infirmary area but... I think it's because of your singing."

Uta stared, a faint pink glowing on her cheeks when she pouted, "It's still not because of my power."

"Maybe because you can't make me fall for your charms," you teased.

"What? Of course, I can make you fall for my charms!" Uta protested sitting up. "I made all sorts of boys fall for my charms, Shanks had to keep me away from them all."

"Sure," you laughed. She puffed her cheeks and turned away from you, crossing her arms. Your laughter died down, noticing her back to you. "You wouldn't have to try hard if you really wanted me to fall for you."

"What?" Uta perked up.

"Nothing..." you lied, eyes bouncing around everywhere but on her.

"No, I heard something like I wouldn't have to try hard to get you to fall for me," Uta smirked leaning on you.

"You're just imagining your dreams."

"I actually can't imagine people in my dreams," Uta stated, the teasing tone quickly draining from her voice. "I've tried."

"Really?" You tilted your head.

Uta shook her head. "They can only be in my dreams if I sing to them and put them in the dream realm."

"Oh..." You noticed silence creeping up but stopped it from going any further. "You still have me here." You held her hand to reassure her.

Uta smiled at you and let her head rest on your shoulder.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023, Days 16 & 19: "Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: Happy Whumptober. There's no whump in here. Enjoy!

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Word count: 3000 || Approx reading time: 12 mins

"Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

Teaser: She brushed her fingers over the tiny blue flowers that almost shimmered in the silver light. “I think it translates to…” She paused, thinking. “Something like ‘memory flower’? Does that sound right?” He shrugged and nodded, as if to say, How would I know? “You might give it to someone you love before saying goodbye, before a long time apart.”

“I only wished to love her.”

“Here,” he said. “What about this one?”

She looked over at him, steeped in moonlight, laughter resting so precariously on her lips but not quite spilling over. “Which one?”

“This one.” He was a historian, not a botanist; he spent little time thinking about the plants that made up the palace gardens. Or, rather, he hadn’t. Not until recently.

“I’ve told you about this one before,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

He did, but he didn’t mind being told again. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

Shooting him a look that said she knew he was lying, but apparently opting not to argue, she brushed her fingers over the tiny blue flowers that almost shimmered in the silver light. “I think it translates to…” She paused, thinking. “Something like ‘memory flower’? Does that sound right?” He shrugged and nodded, as if to say, How would I know? “You might give it to someone you love before saying goodbye, before a long time apart.”

He waited, knowing what came next, and hid a laugh when she added, “And you might wear it at funerals.”

“I remember now,” he said. “Your favourite flower. Because you’re strangely obsessed with death.”

“I’m not!” she said, laughing. “I just think they’re beautiful.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not a death flower. It’s for happy memories together.”

“You’re trying to tell me it’s not morbid of you to say it’s your favourite?”

Crossing her arms, she said, “Sentimental, maybe. Not morbid.”

She moved on, meandering. The soft hiss of her feet against the ground drew his attention, and this time, he couldn’t stifle his laughter. “When did you take off your shoes?”

“A long time ago.”

“Why?”

She gestured to their surroundings. “Why would you want to wear shoes in here when you could feel the grass under your toes?”

Not for the first time, he pondered how refreshing—and bewildering—it was to talk to someone who hadn’t been raised as part of a royal court, who could do such odd things as wandering around barefoot without worrying about what people would say. “You want to get your feet dirty?”

“I work in the dirt,” she reminded him, laughing. “If it bothered me, I’d be in real trouble. And out of a job.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

She waved at his legs, still firmly ending in a pair of shoes neatly laced up shoes. “Not even going to give it a try?”

“I think not,” he said, imagining what people would say if anyone else saw him traipsing through the gardens in bare feet.

She shrugged, unsurprised and unbothered, and moved further on, trailing her fingers over bark and leaves and petals as she passed them, her touch barely forceful enough to make them shiver. While she wasn’t looking, the scholar paused in front of the blue flowers she loved so much, strange as it was.

“Keep up,” she called, but she didn’t turn around. How she could tell he had stopped walking, he wasn’t sure, but it made him smile.

“I’m right behind you,” he said.

She turned then, and he slid his hand into his pocket just in time, right before she caught him in his lie. “Right behind me, huh? That’s not what it looks like to me.”

In a few strides, he caught up. “No idea what you mean.”

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Smart Boy,” she said, flicking him on the arm.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said, horrified.

She breathed out an amused but patient sigh, leaning forward and standing on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I’m just joking, silly.”

“Oh.” How could the night air, so refreshing only moments before, suddenly feel so hot? “I knew that.”

“Mmm-hmm.” With a disbelieving smirk, she resumed her stroll, her fingers brushing against his as she turned. The loss of her closeness and the cruel tease of her skin kissing his nearly sent him to his knees.

Silence, or the closest semblance of it they could grasp with a party still thriving inside the palace, with music and laughter and footsteps and chatter spilling through the open windows, blanketed them as they walked. It was comfortable, and the scholar found he was grateful for the lack of conversation. For now. It gave him time to recuperate and recover his senses.

Well, as much as he could. He wasn’t sure he ever would, fully.

“Strange,” she said, pausing by a gently trickling fountain, swirling her fingers through the water, her voice musing and dreamy.

“What is?”

She scooped a handful of water and let it fall back down, eyes on the glittering cascade from her hand. “To think this is almost over now. That we’ll be heading home soon.”

Home. The scholar’s stomach twisted. Tonight was the royal wedding; the day after tomorrow, she’d be gone with her nation’s delegation.

When—or whether—they’d see one another again, no one could say.

“And we’ll be saying goodbye before we know it.” She shook her fingers free of droplets, peppering the cool grey stone of the fountain with new speckles. “It’s gone by fast.”

“It has,” he said. As his throat went dry, as every word he’d ever known in his language and hers promptly exited his head, he ran a hand through his hair, forgetting that he was supposed to look nice for the queen’s wedding and that tousled hair was fine in a university or a library—less so for formal occasions.

Eyeing him, she said, “You’ve gone and messed it up now.”

“I’m sure it looks fine,” he said, the only words he could think of when she was watching him like that.

“Want me to fix it for you?”

He shook his head, but she was already reaching up.

“It’s really all right,” he insisted, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. How could he, the way her fingers brushed so tenderly against his scalp?

“Hey, I’m leaving soon. May as well take advantage of this before I’m gone. You might never have tidy hair again.”

“I resent the insinuation that it always looks untidy.” He did not. He didn’t resent anything she said. He didn’t resent a single thing about her.

Grinning, she teased, “Well, it always does.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe if you didn’t spend your time stress-reading old, depressing history books and falling asleep on library tables, it wouldn’t.”

“When have I ever once fallen asleep on a library table?”

She shot him a dubious look.

“That you were there to see?”

She burst into a laugh, prompting him to do the same. The air, warmed again by mirth and the still-tingling touch of her fingers, curled around them in balmy whorls, thick with the fragrant scent of summer.

“Well, this is almost goodbye, I suppose,” she said solemnly when their laughter faded. “I hope you’ll remember me as the person who made sure you didn’t embarrass yourself at the queen’s wedding with a head of messy hair.”

“Yes.” He glanced down at her bare feet, peeking out from under the hem of her pale green dress. “Thank goodness I’m getting some help from an expert on courtly manners.”

She wiggled her toes. “At least if this is goodbye, you’ll have fond memories from tonight to remember me by.” She held up a hand. Pinched between her fingers was a single stem with a shimmering blue flower on its end.

Somehow, she’d beat him to it.

“Oh, good,” he said, wondering if she could hear how his heart pounded so thunderously in his chest, if she knew how it raced nearly beyond control, if she could tell it took all the energy he had to make it seem as if he were perfectly calm. If she noticed how his hand shook as he plucked from his pocket a matching sprig, glimmering blue-violet in the moonlight. He held his flower up to hers. “Look at that. It’s a bouquet.”

He watched the corners of her mouth stretch and tip upward—watched her head tilt as her gaze shifted from their twin blooms to his face.

“Tiniest bouquet I ever saw,” she said. Her voice hitched. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” Gods, could she feel that? That feeling—like flame—like lightning—cracking between them, raw energy, almost like pure magic—

She pulled away.

It almost stung, the way she suddenly turned from him, but she was still smiling. With fingers deft and gentle, she tucked the flower she had picked for him into the red sash at his waist. “Now you can’t forget me.”

“I wouldn’t, anyway,” he said, his voice too loud and too quiet at once.

Her head jerked up at these words.

He was a man of books and letters, not of courage. His mind screeched at him to stop, stop, stop, because he was being a fool, he was being unfair and irrational and setting himself up for inevitable pain and he should not, no, absolutely not, do what he was about to do.

The scholar slid the tiny flower behind her ear, watching her eyes widen and her lips part slightly as he grazed the silk of her skin and the sheen of her hair.

“Now you can’t forget me, either,” he echoed.

Her eyes followed the path of his hand as it slid away, leaving the flower that bound them in memory to one another, as far as he was concerned, forever, and she spoke.

He was a man of words, and he knew exactly which ones she would say.

“I wouldn’t, anyway.”

***                                                                                                

She was staring up at the moon, silvery light bathing her face.

“Are you all right?” His voice came out far too loud for the gentle peace of the gardens.

“Me?” She frowned. “Of course I am. Why?”

Already, heat was creeping into his face, even though she was the one who’d said Me? when there was no one else there. “You’re just…”

“Enjoying the beautiful night?”

“Staring.”

She pulled a face. “So are you, apparently.”

“No, I’m n—”

“Anyway,” she interrupted with a laugh, “I’m thinking. Isn’t that your favourite thing to do?”

“It’s not my favourite—” He stopped as he realized she was just teasing him again. “What are you thinking about?”

She fiddled with the end of her hair, twisting the lock absently until a fluffy S shape was left at the end, which she brushed lightly over her lips, seeming utterly unconscious of the movement. “You really want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“You won’t like it?”

“Why shouldn’t I like it?”

She grinned. “I was thinking of lying down right here to get a better look at the stars.”

Before he could even react, she did.

She sat first, the gentle green of her dress milling around her like a pale emerald ocean—still beaming and watching his face for a reaction, he noted—tilting her head up so the moon’s glow caught every facet of her features.

“What if someone…”

With a shake of her head, she admonished, “You care too much about what everyone else thinks.”

Well, that was undeniably true, but that didn’t make the prospect of court gossip fixating on him any less nerve-wracking. “What if your clothes get dirty before you go back ins—”

“Oh.” She laughed and waved her hands dismissively. “I’m not going back in there.” She tossed an unimpressed glance toward the castle and the wedding celebration roaring within.

His heart sank. “Why not?”

“That’s your world,” she said. “It’s not mine.”

“You weren’t having fun?”

“Neither were you,” she shot back.

“No, but I’m just me,” he said, running a hand through his hair and realizing too late she’d have to fix it for him again. “You don’t have to hate parties, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that. And I don’t hate them. But that’s all… It’s all too much, isn’t it? All queens and princes and…royal tutors.”

“Former,” he reminded her.

“Mmm hmm. Either way, I’d rather be out here. Away from all the strange, stuffy folks with too much time and money.”

Tentatively, he sat down. It seemed quite the futile hope that she would stand up from the grass anytime soon. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Not with hair like that,” she said, patting his disturbed locks into place. “The rest of the time? A little.”

The corners of her mouth teased upward, though. As her hand dropped, her fingertips grazed the skin of his cheek, light as air.

“There’s a part of me,” she said quietly, “that wishes we didn’t have to leave.”

“Really?” Those were only two syllables he could muster, because the ones in his head melted together, forming some messy semblance of I wish you didn’t, either, that he couldn't get past his lips.

Back to her home, back somewhere he could not follow.

There’s a part of me…

“Mmm hmm.” She laid down, sinking into the grass with a soft sigh, spilling her hair across the ground. “So I’ll just stay here and stare at the stars and forget it for a while.” She watched him from where she lay. “You’ll stay, too?”

He nodded, his muscles making the choice for him as he lay down next to her.

“I’m glad,” she said. Heat leapt from her fingers, a distance from his that might be measured in a single leaf of parchment, they were so close.

“Really?”

“Of course,” she said. “You don’t need to spend any more time indoors than you already do.”

He laughed, and she did, too.

The time was fluid, and perfect, and also not, and it halted at a standstill, and it went all too fast, and it was entirely mixed up in a collection of contradictions the scholar didn’t want to face.

She was there, but she was already gone.

“I suppose I should go back soon,” he said. To his disappointment, the celebration inside did not seem to have calmed at all.

“I know.” She turned onto her side to face him. Every star glittering above them was, it seemed, reflected in her eyes.

An inane thought, if he’d ever had one.

“I don’t want to.”

“I know.” Those eyes didn’t leave his face. “Poor, hard-done-by professor. Summoned to his perfect nightmare by duty.”

He did resent the social obligation to return to the party, but what was to be done? He had his loyalty to the royal family he’d served until the youngest prince aged out of schooling, and naught was to be done about the wedding celebration. At least he could console himself that it was almost done—and that he’d escaped most of it to be out here.

“Will you dance when you go back?”

“I think not.”

“No one you’d want to dance with?”

He swallowed. Not in there. “I think you know me well enough to agree that I do not and should not dance.”

“How would I know? I’ve never seen you do it.”

“Then you should consider yourself fortunate.”

She rolled her eyes at his self-deprecation, but she giggled. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Indeed.” He sat up, the pull of his obligations tugging more fiercely now. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back in?”

Fervently, she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“You’re not going to stay out here by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Alone?”

“I’ll just watch the fireworks from here,” she said, reminding him yet again that he was supposed to be with the royal family when the display began, and he was probably going to get an earful if he didn’t hurry. “And then I’m going straight to bed.”

He hesitated. “But you’ll be—”

“I’ll be fine.” She pointed toward the shimmering sky that was due shortly to be exploding into the most splendid display of colours the nation had ever seen. “What’s to be afraid of? A bit of noise?”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

She clasped his hands, and the fireworks began, just not in the sky. “You worry too much. Go inside, enjoy the show, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He should pull away, he knew. He let his fingers linger, entwined with hers. “I can walk you back?”

“I’m staying to watch the fireworks,” she repeated. “Now go on. To the royal family with you.”

At the moment, a royal family he’d happily curse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “And I refuse to say goodbye. We’ll save that for the actual end.”

The end.

“All right,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

He looked back as he walked away, more than once. The first few times she was watching him go, still sprawled on the ground like a child, nearly glowing. The last time he glanced back, her eyes were fixed upon the sky.

The scholar could not shake the feeling that he had neglected to do something important. Trying to determine the source of the needling worry, he ran a hand through his hair, remembering too late that he had no one now to tidy it and no mirror to use himself.

Wonderful.

Extra frustrating was the revelation that he needn’t have rushed back. The youngest prince was waiting with the queen, grinning and evidently having a wondrous time at his sister’s wedding, but the eldest had not yet arrived.

“Where were you?” The youngest prince chuckled. “Been rolling in the dirt, have you?”

“What? No.” The scholar felt heat rush into his face.

“You sure?” the prince teased.

“Quite sure.”

He should have lingered outside a little longer, he thought rather gloomily. The eldest prince was the last to arrive, making them wait, and by the time he did, the scholar was certain he could have squeezed in at least another conversation before heading inside.

The fanfare blared to signal the last event of the night, the shimmering fireworks illuminating the sky, and the scholar watched with gratitude for all he had gained in recent days and melancholy for all he was about to lose, watching the lights explode into brilliant stardust before his eyes and fall into the deepening night.

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