#“take it easy.”

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumptober 2023

No. 12 Insomnia | No. 29 Panic | No. 31 “Take it easy.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Hallucinations

“Can’ sleep again?” Daryl drawled, voice rougher than usual with sleep. He lifted his head from the pillow when he felt the mattress dip with your weight. You shook your head, not meeting his eyes. “S’been days, Y/N. Yer startin’ ta look like a walker.”

“You say the nicest things, Dixon.” You got up and stumbled over to the railing of his perch, looking out over the darkness of the cell block. Your body ached. Your head was fuzzy. You felt nauseous and short tempered. But sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how hard you tried. You could only see the faces of the ones you’d lost. Amy. Jim. Dale. Andrea. Shane. Lori. T-Dog. ‘I couldn’t save any of them.’

“Ya can’ keep holdin’ on ta all tha’.” 

You quickly looked at him over your shoulder. ‘Was I talking out loud?’

“Yeah, ya were.”

“Shit.” You scrubbed a hand roughly over your face. You really were losing it. Daryl was sitting up now, his knees bent under the thin blanket with his forearms lying over them. He looked genuinely concerned. “I don’t wanna be in this world anymore.” You admitted quietly. “I’m scared to be awake. I’m scared to sleep.” Your lip began to tremble, your body too depleted to fight off the sting of tears threatening to fall. “I’m so tired.”

The archer observed you quietly, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure why you came to him. You weren’t even sure where things stood with him. There had been gentle touches and whispered words, even a few kisses shared in secret, but most days, he just remained impassive and gruff. 

“I should let you get some sleep. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Your feet carried you quickly down the stairs, stumbling over the last step in your haste. 

The shower area was dark but the small windows let in just enough moonlight for you to at least see where you were going. Maybe you could just hide away there until morning. Your cell was too small, the terror and memories smothering you. The rest of the prison was inhabited by your small group and a few strangers. People you’d rather not give any reason to worry about you or your usefulness. You had already allowed Daryl to see too much. 

“He doesn’t feel that way about you, you know.” 

You spun around toward the voice to find the space behind you empty. You could have sworn—

“He doesn’t feel that way about anyone. Daryl is selfish.”

“Lori?” You whispered, spinning around again. And again you were met with no one. 

“You’re just a silly little girl. You’re not helping anyone. You never have, never could.”

“Dale?” You whimpered, the name barely leaving your lips before you heard Andrea just by your ear. 

“At least I was useful! You’re just a burden! They’ll be better off without you!”

“I’m trying! I just—”

“Try harder! Hell, you really wanna help, just go out past the fence and let the walkers take care of you.”

“One less mouth to feed, one less burden.”

“Shane, T… I’m doing my—” 

“Your best?” You heard Lori laugh mockingly as your back met the cold tile of one of the shower stalls, sliding down until you were on the floor. “Your best is pathetic.”

“Pathetic!”

“Pathetic!”

“Pathetic!”

Your hands flew to your ears, the word echoing in a flurry of voices and laughter. Your sobs grew louder, your eyes squeezed shut, and your back met the wall over and over as you rocked on the floor to try and get control over yourself. When you felt their hands on your arms, you screamed and flailed. They were gonna to take you to the walkers. They were going to laugh as you were ripped apart. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Easy.” 

The voices stopped suddenly and you pulled away, flattening yourself against the wall. Your eyes opened to find the space in front of you empty save for a concerned pair of electric blue eyes, the moonlight making them almost gray. 

“Take it easy.” Daryl’s tone was soft, his hold on your forearms was firm yet gentle in the most confusing way. 

“Daryl?” Your voice came out as nothing more than a small squeak being forced past the lump in your throat. 

“S’jus’ me.” When you threw yourself into his arms, he made no move to pull away. He simply remained crouched there, one arm around your shoulders, keeping you grounded for the moment. “Wha’ was tha’ all ‘bout?” He pulled back a little but you chased the feeling of protection he was offering, whether it was intentional or not. You didn’t answer him, but given the way he sighed, you thought he may have already known. “Okay.” He finally muttered and you thought he was going to move away and leave you there. 

He hoisted you up into his arms instead, backing out of the stall and then leaving the showers all together. You thought you could still hear whispers as the door closed behind you, your face instinctively burrowing further into his collarbone. 

“Is she okay?” Carol’s voice was full of concern, a small gentle touch brushing over the center of your back as Daryl kept walking. 

“She’s fine. Jus’ needs ta sleep.” He answered roughly. You were jostled slightly as he began to ascend the steps to your cell. You didn’t want to go there, not now that you had awakened everyone and proven those voices right. 

You were a burden. 

You sniffled and waited for him to deposit you and leave. Your back met the mattress slowly, gently, and the blanket was pulled over you a second later. But instead of the bottom of the top bunk, you saw the high ceiling of the cell block when you opened your eyes. 

You weren’t in your cell. 

“Daryl?” You questioned meekly, turning your head just as the blanket lifted once more and the archer crawled under it at your side. 

You were in his bed. 

“What’re you—” You blinked wide eyes at his chest when you were unexpectedly pulled tightly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head. 

“Try ta sleep now.” 

Your surprise dissolved into something else, walking the fine line between gratitude and guilt. You nodded minutely, wiping your eyes as best you could given the proximity. 

“Quit yer wigglin’.” 

“Sorry.” You muttered, sniffling again before you closed your eyes. You could actually feel the lure of sleep pulling heavily at your subconscious, your mind already growing blank and your eyelids too heavy to open. You felt safe and warm and right. You’d have to talk to him about what happened but that was a problem for tomorrow. “Daryl?” You mumbled, almost slurring the syllables. 

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” 

His eyes opened, staring at the darkness over your head while the tension left your body and your breaths deepened, soft snores already puffing out against his skin. The archer pulled you a little closer. 

“Don’ ever hafta thank me, Y/N. I gotcha.”

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #31

Trope of the day: “Take it easy.”

_

"Okay. Okay, I can do it," whumpee mutters as they prepare themself to get up from bed, their knees already weak. But they promised themself that they would get up today, no matter what it takes.

Counting in their head, whumpee manages to get off the bed at ten and feels the dizziness rush to their head, sight getting blurry and black. "Fuck."

But before they can collapse, someone catches them. Warm arms help whumpee stand upright again, they hold onto them with shaky hands.

“Take it easy,” caretaker says as they help them sit down on the bed again, whumpee already sweaty from their little try. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Tried to prove myself," whumpee mumbles as they rub their eyes, glad that they don't feel so dizzy anymore. "Wanted to get up after a week, but that's not enough apparently."

“Take it easy, kid. Your body needs rest.” Whumpee nods and sighs. They let themself fall backwards on the mattress and pat the spot next to it, waiting for caretaker to lie down next to them.

[what-the-whump]

Whumptober 2023 | No.31

Emptiness - Setbacks - "Take it easy."

Chris Black, aka Swaino in Sea Patrol - 4x05 - Paradise Lost

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 31

rated: t | wc: 875 | prompt: Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.” Steve staying with Hopper and El after the fight with Billy, and they both have to keep reminding him to take it easy.

"Woah, kid. Take it easy." The words flowed smoothly out of Hopper's mouth.

Steve had been expecting them, he'd probably heard it over a hundred times in the two days since he'd been discharged from hospital with a grade four concussion. He just felt like he had to be doing something productive. Anything other than lying on Hopper's couch, barely able to go to the bathroom to piss without needing assistance. He didn't even want to be stuck at Hopper's cabin, he would have been fine at home on his own. But no, Hopper insisted on following the doctor's orders, making sure Steve wasn't left alone in case his condition deteriorated.

El was in her room, and Hopper was outside, doing something that Steve wasn't quite sure of. He took the chance to at least make himself useful. He dragged himself into a sitting position, then had to stay like that for several minutes while he waited for the dizziness to subside enough for him to stand up. Once he was able to struggle to his feet, Steve stumbled into the kitchen. There was stuff kind of everywhere, from the chaos of the previous week, there hadn't been much chance for anyone to do some proper tidying up, and most things were just being left on the side after being pulled out of the cabinets.

Steve started on organizing what he could see, trying to figure out where everything went in the cabinets, not wanting to inconvenience Hopper and El by putting things back in the wrong places. He was stretching up to put some boxes on the top shelf when Hopper came in.

"What're you doing off the couch?" Hopper asked.

Steve startled at the sound of Hopper's voice, losing his balance and narrowly avoiding hitting his head- again- on the counter as he fell to the floor. He tried to push himself back to his feet, but the dizziness had taken hold again, leaving him barely able to move.

"Come on, kid." Hopper hauled Steve to his feet, the helped him back in the direction of the couch, taking most of Steve's body weight.

Steve tried to fight against him, wanting to be independent, not wanting to be seen as weak.

"Steve, you need to take it easy. You're recovering from a serious head injury, you really don't want to make yourself worse and end up in the hospital again." Hopper said as he deposited Steve back on the couch.

"But-" Steve started, only to be cut off by Hopper.

"No buts, other than yours on that couch. You need to rest, so I don't want to see you up again unless it's to use the bathroom."

"I need to help-" Steve tried to say.

"You're not going to be any help if you knock yourself out on the kitchen counter. Another concussion so soon could have awful consequences. If you want, you can help out in a few weeks, when you're better." Hopper replied with a note of finality in his voice.

Steve didn't try to argue back, just curled back under the blanket.

It'd been a few more days, and Hopper had had to go back to work. Steve was still feeling pretty rough, a dull throbbing ache constantly in his head, getting dizzy if he was stood up for more than a couple of minutes at a time, and the light making his eyes ache. But at least he could be upright without feeling like he was about to fall over. El was still spending most of her time in her room, so Steve got up to try to do something. There was stuff strewn across the room, most of it was Steve's belongings that he'd stuffed into a bag under the watchful eye of Hopper on the day he'd been discharged from hospital. But there was also some stuff belonging to Hopper and El, and some trash that just hadn't been picked up. He started with grabbing the trash, stuffing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. He had just bent over to pick up the last of the trash, when the dizziness hit him full force, causing him to stumble and lurch forward. He threw his hands out to catch himself, trying to stop himself from hitting his head again. He swore loudly as he tried to right himself, forgetting that he wasn't alone in the cabin. A hand on his arm made him jump slightly, turning to see El.

"You're supposed to. Take it easy." She said, her speech a little stilted.

"I am, I just-" Steve trailed off, wilting under her intense stare.

"Sit, watch TV with me." El grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the couch. And, how could he say no to that?

"How're you feeling now, Harrington?" Hopper asked after he'd got in from work.

"Okay. Better, at least." Steve replied.

"He didn't take it easy." El added.

Hopper turned to look at Steve. "You're still not healed."

"I. I'm not used to having someone who cares." Steve admitted after a moment. Something about El and Hopper made him feel much more comfortable, comfortable enough to talk about it. Something that made him finally let himself take it easy.

[celira]

day 31(!!!!!!!!!!)

Camilla stares at the wall. She’s probably memorized its contours at this point, if she’s actually been looking at it all the times she’s been looking at it, but it’s just as likely that she’s been seeing through it. Pyrrha hasn’t clocked the difference between her one, five, and thousand-yard stares yet.

Pyrrha eyes it briefly, herself. Standard-issue shitty drywall. The splotch at the top right looks like a shuttle, kind of, and looks like water damage, definitely, and either way, this is a waste of time.

“Hect.” 

Camilla doesn't flinch, exactly, but she gives the barest impression of a start, and the cold-earth eyes slant toward her.

"Take it easy. It can't hurt you."

The joke lands about as well as she'd expected and worse than she'd hoped, but it had been worth a shot. Camilla looks unimpressed – still, that's an improvement over the leashed misery broadcasting from behind an almost convincing layer of holding it together.

Almost. It's hard to convince someone who's had thousands of years to perfect what this kid has been working on for months at best. Pyrrha can't even bother pretending she doesn't feel an affinity for the untethered cavalier who she's been unlikely roommates with for a week.

She decides to deploy her second favorite tactic, which is to recommend that people do as she says and not as she does. "You're going to snap if you keep whatever you're chewing on bottled in, you know. It's not going to leave you better off – it just means you'll have less control of when and how it comes out."

Camilla says nothing for a long moment, and just when Pyrrha starts to wonder how stubbornly the younger woman can wait her out, she says, “I thought that I was getting better.”

Pyrrha doesn't ask what she's getting better about. She's seen the roughspun canvas pouch, has enough necromantic familiarity kicking around – doesn't even strictly need necromantic familiarity – to know that some kind of unfinished business around her and her necro is looming over her. She knows that feeling all too well, too.

"Well," Pyrrha says, "it can take more time. What do you need to get better for? Is it a problem I've got intel on?"

Camilla's eyes fix on her more firmly, and she gives her a measuring glance in the truest sense. Pyrrha can all but feel it, smothers her surprise at its intensity; if this is what it feels like to have Camilla Hect's full attention, after all, that means she hasn't truly had it before this moment, and she wonders again what kind of necro she had, to warrant such laser focus. 

Apparently she's found adequate, and Camilla squares her shoulders with the affect of a person making a decision, and upends Pyrrha's day with her next question. "What can you tell me," she says, "about the River?"

What in-fucking-deed. Pyrrha has a familiar feeling – the swoop of adrenaline that feels like her stomach sinking and her spirits lifting at the same time; the tone of voice with which some people say interesting, when it sure isn't healthy but it'll sure be a trip.

"Well. What are you trying to do?"

"Bring back someone who kept himself from going in."

Pyrrha thinks cold eyes, thinks landmines, and squares her own shoulders. Sooner or later, there's going to be an impact. 

For now, she dives.

(a/n: holy shit! this is my first time participating in and completing a month-long fanworks prompt exercise. thanks to those of you who have read along for any part of it! now, onto endless editing November...)

[isharaneith]

Whumptober 2023 – No. 31

“I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Like, reblog or comment if you save, please.

Poor Claire, Matt is way too stubborn to take it easy. I think the centre one really shows how she feels about it.

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023: Box in Your Heart

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

It's Halloween! Let's have a story set in a cemetery.

Warnings: angst, traumatic memories

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Word count: 4500 || Approx reading time: 19 mins

Box in Your Heart

Teaser: Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

I don’t tail Will every time he disappears. After the first time, once I realized where he was going and what he was up to—once I was satisfied that he wasn’t doing anything stupid—I just let him be.

Today, though, there’s a storm brewing in the distance. The early days of spring bring madness around here—as likely to usher in flurries of wet, sleety snow as to pelt the earth with vicious rain, and the steely clouds on the horizon don’t give any indication of which they’re bringing. All I know is that it’s still cold and wet outside, and if Will stays out too long, he’s going to get soaked to the bone, and then I’m going to have to contend with his sniffly, sneezing, complaining self for the next week while he whines and drives us all to distraction.

At least Verity might fall out of love with him if she realizes what a pain in the ass he can sometimes be—although, by some miracle, she hasn’t noticed yet, so it seems I just have to keep waiting until we skip town for her infatuation to break.

Will doesn’t turn around when I approach, and I have to wonder if he even hears me. “Hey.”

He stiffens, but doesn’t seem startled. “Hey.”

Not the warmest welcome I could have hoped for, but I knew that going in. All of us could see it this morning: there were green-gold storm clouds in his eyes, not just in the sky. I heard Jamie and Geoff muttering before I left to chase after him, and though I didn’t catch everything, I know I heard the word nightmare.

So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’s not thrilled to discover I’ve been hovering behind him.

“You all right?”

I have to smile, not at his gloomy silence, but at the way Will is perched on the ground. Without any of us noticing, he stole Jamie’s green scarf—old habits die hard, as they say—but he’s not wearing it; instead, he’s using it like a little pillow, keeping a barrier between his clothes and the damp earth. I can’t imagine Jamie will be delighted about getting his scarf back all muddy and wet.

Will flicks his gaze to me for only a second, his answer plain on his face—a face that’s pale and pinched, more so than I’ve seen in a while. He doesn’t say a word.

All right. It’s a silent treatment kind of day. Nothing I can’t handle. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, Colette.”

“Can I sit down?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

I bite back a sigh, grimace at the prospect of putting my body on the soggy ground, and take a seat, trying to fluff out my skirts as best I can. Wish I’d thought to bring something to sit on. He doesn’t pay me any heed, though, just keeps his eyes on the ground.

I know what’s here, and what he’s staring at, and why he always comes to this area of the churchyard. There’s no headstone, no marking whatsoever, and probably close to twenty coffins rotting away underneath the grass. The thought of Will and Jamie’s mother having had nothing more than a pauper’s funeral makes my throat ache. Probably, that’s not what Will is brooding about today, but it is the reason he always comes back to this spot.

The urge to prompt again, Want to tell me what’s bothering you? is so strong, it itches. I keep it inside, though, knowing he’ll spook and possibly fuck right off if I don’t play this carefully, but I have to tug a ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles out of my pocket for distraction.

“You look like an old woman,” he says, and I catch a glint of hazel as he sends another unimpressed glance toward me and my restless, looping fingers.

Perhaps I should be irritated by the comment, but the truth is, I despise knitting and I’ve only taken it up again out of the boredom these last few months, and to be fair, I probably do look like an old woman. “You want to take over instead?”

He scoffs. Looks away.

“Your loss,” I say, revelling silently in my victory when the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. “You don’t also want to look like an old lady?”

Biting his lip and attempting—royally unsuccessfully, I might add—to appear like he doesn’t want to laugh at least a little, he turns his face away before he asks, “How’d you know where I was?”

“Will.” It’s offensive, the suggestion that I wouldn’t be able to tail his grumpy, stomping footsteps. “You storm around like an elephant when you’re pissed off. Anyone would know where you were. Not just me.”

He hurls me a withering glare. “I don’t know what an elephant looks like.”

“If you ever picked up a book or any of the countless magazines Verity has delivered to the house,” I say, exasperated, “you might.”

To my surprise, the look in his eyes changes—a familiar, mischievous glint lights up. “Gotta assume they walk around real graceful and stealthy.”

“You would be incorrect in that assumption.”

Finally, he lets out a snort of laughter, and I have to suddenly entertain the possibility that maybe he’s pulling my leg about the elephant thing. “Why’d you follow me, then?”

It’s my turn to give him The Look. “To make sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Will.”

“Colette.”

“Fox.”

“Spider.”

“W—”

“I just needed a break,” he says before we can start going in circles again. “Okay? That’s it. I just… I couldn’t…”

His words fade away, and I let them. It’s hard to tell exactly what he meant: I couldn’t handle being in the house anymore. I couldn’t stay and wait for you all to pester me about my nightmares. I couldn’t bear the thought of more housework. I couldn’t look at all your annoying faces for a second longer.

He drifts off again, tugging tufts of grass and earth out of the ground, absently building a little pile in front of him, growing to collect rocks and twigs, too, as the silence drags on.

“Will,” I finally say when my patience for knitting and waiting for him to say something runs out, “it looks like it’s going to storm.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to be out here if it’s going to rain.”

“So go back, then.”

“I’d rather not go back without you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in and out. “You can. I don’t care.”

I shove out the next words before they can retreat. “I’m worried about you.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And I don’t think I believe you.”

He picks up one of the stones and throws it in the air, catching it in his fist, only to toss it again a few seconds later. “I know you were all talking about me this morning. All worried because I had…” So fast his arm seems to blur, he hurls the stone into the distance. It knocks against someone’s grave, clacking and hitting the ground with a dull thump. “Yeah. I had a fucking nightmare. It was bad. Okay? It was bad. I—I hate it. It… You know? I—”

I don’t have to ask what he saw in his dreams, what apparently had him in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, because I’m sure I already know, but I do anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll say it out loud. “Want to talk about what was in it?”

“Same shit,” he says, his back going stiff. “Back—there.”

Almost, Will. Almost.

“Bloody fucking Hatchett,” he says bitterly, reaching for another rock and lobbing that, too. “Bloody goddamn knife.”

Knife. Almost beyond my control, my eyes sweep over him, travelling over the clothes that conceal what we all know is there—the assortment of pale, fading scars. The ones on his arms and wrists I see most often, whitish pink and shiny. Jamie says the ones on his back are bad, and around his ankles, too, left by the bite of a cat-o’-nine-tails and unyielding iron chains.

“I thought by now…” He doesn’t seem to notice my once-over, just attacks another distant grave with his rage-fuelled aim. “I don’t know, I just thought…”

Another stone. Another sigh.

I wait. That’s all I can do, I think. Because he’s lost again, quiet and staring, done slinging stuff around but plucking through the bits of damp dirt and grass. Not seeing any of it.

A loud bark rushes the air, originating somewhere beyond my sight, and I jump nearly out of my skin, spitting out a frustrated, “Ah, shit,” when my skein of wool rolls off my folded legs, away from the safety of my lap and onto the mucky ground.

He doesn’t notice, even when I have to strain to reach the errant, runaway wool.

“Not long now,” he says suddenly.

With a final stretch, my fingers grasp the yarn, and I jerk it back toward me before it can roll away again. “Until what?”

“Till we leave.”

My muscles still, drawn to a freeze by the razor-thin edge of sorrow to his tone. “No.” I have to school my own voice to keep out the relief and joy I feel over our looming departure, sentiments it doesn’t seem like he shares. “Not much longer at all.”

“I know I should want to go.” No surprise—he won’t look at me. “Just fucking leave it all behind, right?”

Well. I doubt that.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. What the fuck happened, you know? I just…I mean….it’s been months—”

“Will—”

“And you’d think months later, I’d just—right? The nightmares and all that shit and it’s so stupid, you—I—”

“Will—”

Somewhere over the city centre, there’s a crack of thunder, making me jump again. I guess that answers the question about whether it’s going to be snow or rain. In response, it seems, to the gathering storm, a howl rises from amongst the stones.

“Fuck,” I squeak, quite unintentionally, at the sudden onslaught of noise.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says, and to my surprise, he’s laughing. “That’s just Ginger.”

“Ginger?”

“The dog,” he says, laughing even harder at the look of confusion and not-unwarranted concern on my face.

“Whose dog?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t tell if she belongs to anyone. But I’ve seen her here before.”

As if she can tell he’s talking about her, the animal he’s apparently taken it upon himself to call Ginger appears out of nowhere, bounding toward him in a rapid gallop, presenting a tongue far too slobbery for my liking. Unable to help myself, I stiffen at the sight of her.

I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m not.

But this one is careering toward us pretty damn fast, and it’s big, and we did just hear her howl an eerie, ear-splitting wail into the coming storm. 

“Relax,” he says as the dog skids to a stop in front of him, planting herself by his boots and immediately and enthusiastically beginning to lick the sleeve of his coat. “She’s sweet.”

She’s dirty is perhaps a more accurate statement. “Will, you’re going to end up with fleas. You don’t know where she came from.”

“Oh, shut up. She doesn’t have fleas.”

Based on the way she turns away from him for a hearty scratch, he’s wrong, but he’s also smiling, so I drop the matter and just watch him while he drifts off, showering affection on the dog. I’m still pretending to knit, of course. I mean, knitting. Actually knitting.

“Stop staring at me,” he grumbles after a while, once he’s cottoned on.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ginger yawns, revealing a gaping maw with at least two missing teeth, then curls up on the muddy ground, pressing herself against the side of Will’s leg. As he rests his hand on her flank, he heaves a long sigh.

Time to try again. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe with his favourite animal cuddled up at his side—fleas and all—he might be more amenable to talking about what’s bothering him.

But he just says, “Nothing.”

Another rumble of thunder. Not overhead yet, but I think I’ve lost my chance to make it out of here in dry clothes. But he doesn’t look like he’s moving anytime soon. “Listen to that. We’re going to die out here in this storm, tragically struck by lightning, caught out in the elements, and you’re lying to my face. You may as well just tell me now, since you won’t have another chance.”

He makes a face. “You’re being dramatic. And mor…” He paused. “What’s the word?”

“What word?”

“When you’re being weird and annoying and talking about how we’re going to die.”

Chuckling, I tell him, “Morbid,” which he remembers once I get to the b sound, and he ends up saying it with me.

God, what a relief to have a genuine laugh together.

“In all seriousness…” I try again once the giggles have faded. “You can tell me. If you want.”

He gives another long sigh, heavy enough that Ginger the dog looks up at him, affronted, when it bursts out of him.

“There’s nothing to say.” He’s mumbling, staring at the ground again. “Not really. I just… It was a bad morning. Started bad. Didn’t want to hang around, or I was going to end up punching Jamie in the face.”

“Why? What did Jamie do?”

“Nothing. He’s just the most annoying asshole in the world when I’m in a bad mood.”

Brothers. Good grief.

“Well, really, everyone was pissing me off, but I can’t hit Geoff. Or you.”

“That’s true,” I say. “If you ever tried, I’d break your fingers.”

“Yeah. I fucking know.” But he’s smiling, even though it’s sad and doesn’t really reach his eyes.

I venture a guess, one I’m pretty confident in. Maybe being more specific will help. “Is this all about us leaving?”

“I guess so.”

It’s a relief to get some kind of confirmation from him. I’ve no doubt our upcoming departure is part of it, but we both—we all—know that there’s so much more that eats away at him. The scars Baden Hatchett and the other constables left on his skin, they’re all covered up now. But he’s got more than even that. Scars on his soul, too. How often they crack open and bleed, set him on edge like they did this morning, how often he pretends he’s fine when he’s the exact opposite… I suppose only he knows.

“Never been anywhere else,” he says, rushing the words. “You know? Dad used to go around. With the railroad. Building it and whatever. But we were kids, and we obviously never went with him. So…”

So this city is all he and Jamie have ever known. The place that broke him time and time again, the place where people kept leaving him behind. And now, so we can all start fresh and get away from the constables who’ll wrap a noose around every one of our necks if we aren’t careful, he’s the one leaving instead.

“Come on, let’s hurry, before it rains.”

It takes me a minute to register that we’re not alone, and that a girl is winding her way through the gravestones, calling to someone I can’t yet see.

Happy to ignore her and whoever she’s talking to, I open my mouth to encourage Will to finish the thought he started, but he can’t hear me, not anymore. He’s off again, staring, his eyes fixed on the girl.

“Good god, Will, don’t stare like th—”

The girl calls to her companion again, wind whipping a dark blue skirt around her legs and sending wisps of dark brown hair crisscrossing over her face. At Will’s side, the hand that isn’t resting on Ginger’s mud-streaked fur clenches into a fist.

“It’s just going to be different.” It spills out of him, his tone suddenly frantic and unsure. “We’ll be gone and we might never come back. And it’ll be… If... We’ll be gone. You know, just in case…”

He clamps his mouth closed.

A little girl finally appears, sniffling, her hands covered in mud. A sister? A daughter? It’s impossible to tell. When the older girl turns to call for the child again, she notices the tear-streaked face and grime-coated fingers. “Oh…what happened?”

“I fell,” the kid whimpers, holding out her hands.

“Let me see,” the girl says, gently. “Oh, look at that. It’s a bit muddy, and I’m sure it stung, but you know what? I think you’ll be all right.”

Whatever the little one mumbles in answer, I don’t catch, but the girl feels in her pocket for a handkerchief, and when she produces it, she wipes the child’s hands clean. “See? Good as new.”

Ginger has sat up now, golden eyes fixed on the two in the distance as they pick up the pace again and head toward someone’s grave, quiet chatter drifting away on the wind. Will, like the dog, is still gawking.

“Stop,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

“Ow!” The jolt of pain seems to wake him up. “What was that for?”

“You were staring at them like a madman.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

He was, and he’s lucky the girl didn’t notice, because I don’t think she would have been happy to find a strange man gaping at her from across the cemetery. But I hold my tongue. “All right, all right, take it easy. You weren’t. I’m sorry.”

He resumes his grass-pulling and stone-throwing, quiet and pensive once more. Less angry now. Still sad.

“Do you want me to make you one of those?” I ask, pointing toward Jamie’s green scarf.

He blinks, coming back from whatever far-away land of daydreams he was in. “Huh?” I gesture toward the scarf again, and a tiny smirk slips onto his face. “You hate knitting.” He jerks his chin toward my mistake-ridden, misshapen, half-finished stocking.

“I know, but I’d do it for you. Anyway, scarves are one of the easiest things to make. Hard to mess up too bad.”

He chews his lip, still amused, tilting his head to the side, and I know there’s some kind of smartass comment coming my way. “I’ll ask Verity to make me one.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“She’s way better at it than you are.”

“I’m serious, William,” I say, brandishing my needles. “Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all I need—for Verie to read too much into an innocent (well, not exactly innocent, since he’s just trying to get under my skin) request from Will right before we leave, possibly forever.

“Forget it.” I roll my needles into the black wool and tuck the whole lot of it away in my coat pocket. “I’ll just teach you to knit and you can make it yourself.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” he says, laughing hard enough to earn a gruff whine and unimpressed look from Ginger. “No, thanks.”

“Jamie knows how to knit.”

He snorts. “Jamie’s Jamie.”

“And Geoff.”

“Yeah, but he knows how to do everything.”

“Even my father knows how to knit.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “No, he doesn’t. You’re lying.”

“I most certainly am not.” I cross my arms. “Justine wasn’t always around, you know. There were a few years where he was alone. After my mother...”

I let the last word disappear.

“I know your ma died, Colette,” he says tiredly. “I’m not a little kid. You don’t have to be afraid to say it.”

Ginger stands up, stretches, scratches, and wanders over to me, sniffing enthusiastically. Will grunts in annoyance when she knocks over his precious pile of detritus with her muddy feet. “Aw, Ginger, come on.”

Biting my lip, I try to nudge her away from me as gently as I can.

Out of nowhere, she stiffens, whirling away from me, a low growl in her throat.

“Will,” I say, inching away even though Ginger isn’t growing at me.

Frowning, he grabs onto her, apparently not even considering the possibility that she might turn, snapping and barking, to take a bite out of his hand. “No,” he says, so sternly it’s almost adorable, while he scans the graveyard, trying to figure out what she’s growling at. “You’re scaring Colette.”

Which she’s not.

I think he and I spot what she’s detected at the same time: a fleeting glimpse of a long tail, too fluffy and red to belong to a stray dog, as an animal disappears into the gathering gloom.

“That’s rude. We’re practically cousins. He didn’t even come by to say hello,” Will says indignantly, and as I’m preparing to remind him that foxes are predators with sharp teeth and he probably doesn’t want the thing to come by and say hello, I realize he’s making a joke.

A stupid joke, but a joke nonetheless.

He clings to the still-growling dog—whether for Ginger’s or the fox’s sake, I’m not sure—while we chuckle, and it’s as she calms and he lets go that the first droplets of rain begin to patter around us.

“It’s just water,” he says when I groan in annoyance. To prove his point, he leans back on his hands, tilting his face to catch the raindrops as they fall. “It feels nice.”

“We’re going to get soaked.”

He shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t move.

Ginger, now officially the smartest out of the three of us, huffs, whines, and strides off, presumably to find shelter. Jealously, I watch her vanish.

“Bye, then,” Will says, snorting.

“I’m not just going to leave you alone in the rain,” I say, exasperated, “even if I am pissed off about getting sopping wet.”

“What?” The look he gives me is utterly bewildered. “I know. I was saying goodbye to her.”

And then we’re laughing again, yes, laughing, while we sit in the churchyard on his mother’s unmarked grave, riding out his foul mood and being drowned in the cold spring rain.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re almost in the clear.

“I just wondered,” he says, rebuilding his little pile of stones, grass, and tree debris despite how soggy it’s all gotten, “if, you know, this might be my last chance. To come here.”

It’s been many long months, seemingly endless at times, of Jamie’s recovery, and Will’s too, and actually, you know what, all of us, leading up to our opportunity to seek real freedom somewhere else. At the cost, though, of leaving behind everything we know.

“She’d understand,” I day, even though I never met their mother and only know what Jamie and Will have shared.

“You think?”

Deciding to take the risk, I reach for his hand. It’s ice cold, but I honestly don’t think he even realizes. “I’m sure she’d want you to be safe. Right?”

“Guess so.” He frowns down at my fingers over his, but he doesn’t tug them free. I’m all right with that. I’d rather have him glaring at me a little than watch him fall back into quiet emptiness, that silent enemy that’s never that far away no matter how much time passes.

I grit my teeth against the chill, knowing now that I am locked in a battle with my stubborn mule of a friend, and whoever admits it’s time to go first is the loser.

And I’m playing against the champion, so I almost whoop with triumphant delight when he mumbles a few minutes later, “I’m kind of cold now.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” I say, holding back my entirely justified I told you so.

He agrees, shivering a little but appearing to be in far better spirits than before. Apparently, all it took was fresh air, a flea-ridden dog, a fleeting visit from a mangy fox, some peace and quiet, a few flashes of lightning, buckets of cold-ass rain, and some messy, disorganized attempts at getting him to talk about the feelings he so staunchly keeps locked away.

Nothing I couldn’t handle.

He stands, helping me up too since I haven’t let go of his hand, which I’m grateful for, as wet skirts are not easy or pleasant to move around in. Before we head toward the road, he pauses, staring out at the cemetery like he’s looking for someone.

“I’m hungry,” he says right before I tell him that actually, it’s getting really stormy now and it’s time to go, thank you very much. He turns to me, and whatever he was thinking about is lost and locked away again. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I say, trying not to laugh as I pull him away.

“What d’you think it’ll take to get Verity to bake me an apple cake?”

All it would take is a grin and a single word, but I’m not saying that. “Leave her alone. She’s busy.”

“But—”

“Make it yourself,” I say firmly.

“I don’t know how—”

“Well, maybe it’s time for you to learn something actually useful, you lazy ass.”

When this is met with silence, I cringe, wondering if I went back to bantering too soon.

“Well, teach me, then.”

Rain forgotten, I stumble to a stop. “What?”

“Teach me how to cook.”

“Bake,” I correct automatically, because I’m not sure I’m hearing any of this right.

“Whatever. To bake, then.”

He stares back at me, chin jutted out. Waiting for me to tease him, I think, to give him a reason to change his mind and say not to bother.

“Okay,” I say uncertainly, mind still reeling. “Oh…okay. Sure.”

I don’t understand him, I really don’t. Knitting is a no, but learning to bake—or cook, hopefully—is a yes. We’re leaving soon, but he’s asking now.

Best not to question these things too much, I suppose.

“Hurry up, then, if that’s what you want,” I say, tugging him along again. “Still gotta make it home in one piece first.”

I want to look at his face, see what expression waits there, but I’ve got my head ducked now, trying to keep the rain out of my eyes.

“Here,” he says, dropping his hat onto my head. “See if that helps.”

It doesn’t, but I tell him it does, and even though he lets go of my hand after a few minutes, I catch a rain-bleary glimpse of him at my side. There’s no smile, not exactly, but the storm that was in his face before has moved on, slapping us with real rain and wind instead. As I watch, blinking water from my eyes, he tilts his head back again, relishing the scouring embrace of the storm as he draws in a long breath and keeps moving forward.

Chapter 48 | Chapter 49 | TPOT Masterlist | Are You Nobody, Too? | Finale Part 1

Whumptober 2023 Prompts Fulfilled

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.” | Storm

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding. | Scars | “Let me see.”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.” | Bloody Knife

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

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” | Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

[stellarcoachman]

Chapter 31 of Twisting Tracks

Prompt: Setbacks | "Take it easy." CW: Nightmares, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Touch Aversion, Referenced Injury, Referenced Torture Summary: Ingo wakes up from a nightmare in a state of panic, only to find Emmet having a similar problem.

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 31:

"I thought that I was getting better."

Emptiness | setbacks | "Take it easy."

Fandom: Camp Cretaceous

Prompts: vaguely all

Short and sweet with a hint of Whump. Rewatched the last episode and was like 'damn tv 7 my ass' for the millionth time. Anywho, a short piece on how trauma bonded kids would not just return to normal the minute they return to their loved ones. I think it probably took them awhile to get to the time skip point in which they were. I may rewatch and do some rewrites or missing moments or added moments lol. This show was just too good.

TW for Panic attack (vaguely) and thoughts of death (mostly just near death experiences they faced, but also a little idealization in there.)

…

Darius doesnt like making assumptions about his friends. The island showed him exactly what damage that could do- even when he hadnt meant to, hadnt known he had been, but it was no excuse- he made a promise to himself to treat them right. His only friends.

So when his nightmares come back with a vengance, he doesnt breathe a word. They all went through hell and back on those Islands, they were all slowly settling back into their lives, they practically lived at eachothers houses- rotating through them because between their parents and themselves, they need the ability to verify the safety of eachother- but Darius sees them adjusting, trying to take back their previous lives with the new knowledge they have. And Darius had been right along with them, writing about their experiences and the lessons learned-

But now here he was.

He awoke quietly, far to use to the need of stealth and the light sleepers around him, he could still feel the hot wet breath of death encompassing. Its hard with a trembling body, but he manages to make it around the other sleeping teens and to the bathroom down the hall. They're at Yaz's house this time around, her mother's room on the second floor while they reside in the basement so hes not worried about her hearing him.

He slides down the wall as soon as he closes the door, theres soft moonlight coming from a small window above the shower, but the room remains mostly shadows. Theres cant be light, it will attract-

No. There could be. He just has to stand and hit the switch, because there is power here and no dinosaurs. He stares blankly at the cabinets instead, what use would light do him anyway? He was just gonna sit here like a lump anyway. He didnt need any light other than the moon, shining off tile, while he sits doing nothing. There is nothing productive to do now, no planning or night watch, no fighting bad guys or identifying dinosaur noises. Just his own breathing as a dream that mixed reality and his worst fears, plays over and over in his mind.

He had made so many mistakes.

He can think of so many instances where something he did had put one of his friends in danger. Things that had them almost dieing, heck Sammy practically had! And Ben, and Brooklyn, and Yaz and Kenji and Doctor Mae and-

And so many people had died.

Ones perfectly fine killing kids.

And others… who had just come to a park to have fun.

He had come so close multiple times too, but… if he had died instead of one of the others than, would that have been so bad?

Kenji rolls over, eyes squinting open, expecting to see the familiar form of his sleeping brother, the empty space that meets him instead has his heart rate spiking and his breath catching. He sits up- too quickly, it startles everyone else, but Darius is GONE- eyes tracking the entire room before he's reminded his brain of the fact they are NOT on the Islands. Darius hasnt been eaten by dinosaurs, but the panic still lingers that they CANT FIND HIM.

"Maybe… he just went to the bathroom?" Sammy offers, although shes already starting to stand.

"The lights off." Yaz is already standing at the hallway, "Doors closed though."

Kenji ventures forward first. Brooklyn close behind, and the others just behind her.

He knocks lightly, frowning further at the lack of response, he glances behind him and gets several nods, opens the door slightly. As expected, it's dark inside, the moon's glow barely illuminates the figure against the wall.

Darius doesn't react to his presence, his stare is blank, body motionless except for the slightest breath. It's terrifying to see such an emptiness in usually such bright eyes. There's raised red marks on his hand, wet and crusting with blood, Kenji's lips purse sadly. Swallowing thickly, he reaches out a careful hand, touches his knee lightly, expecting the flinch,

"Take it easy." He says softly, "You're safe."

It takes several moments, all of them crowded together on the floor of the bathroom- Ben actually sitting in the tub to make more space- allowing Darius the time he needs to come back to them. When he finally makes eye contact, it's hesitant, as if waiting for something.

"Hey bud, how you feelin?" Kenji's voice is gentle, nothing extra in his voice, his eyes hold a worry to them- they all do- but no judgment or anger.

Darius wants to tell them he's fine. That he's sorry. That it's nothing and they can go back to sleep. That everything is proceeding forward as it's supposed to. He opens his mouth to say just that,

"I thought that I was getting better."

That is not what he wanted to say. Seriously brain what the heck?? He can't be bringing them down like this-

"Hey, you are, we all are Darius. Setbacks are normal, and together we can make sure they don't last long." Brooklyn's soft voice breaks his thoughts, and his head snaps up to stare at her.

"You want to know my first thought when I couldn't find you?" Kenji asks, drawing his attention next, the curious look has the corners of his mouth twitching up before they fall again, "I thought you might of been eaten, or being chased, I-" he swallows the emotion, blinking back the wetness in his eyes, Darius reaches out and takes his hand.

"Sorry." And he means it, puts as much emotion as he can into the word, directing it at the room at large.

They were all healing. They all had moments of weakness. But they were a team, they had each other's backs, and for every step backwards, someone would be there to pull you forward again.

[mrmustachious]

Forest Fire

Summary: A careless act leads to something disastrous.

Day(s): 10, 17, 24, 30, 31

Prompt(s): Stranded, “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”, “I thought they were with you.”, Bridal Carry, “Not much longer...”, “Take it easy.”

Amy rubbed her hands together over the fire as she shivered.

"Ugh, it's so cold," she moaned.

"Should have brought a jacket," Sierra teased as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. She didn't appear cold in the slightest, and Amy glared at her.

"I didn't know we were going to come out to the woods when I left my house this morning. I thought we were going to the mall."

When her friends had called her that morning saying they had an idea to hang out today, this was the last thing on her mind.

"C'mon, it's fun!" Callum said from where he was crouched next to the fire pit. He was throwing on a few more sticks as the fire grew. "I made a fire."

"It's still cold." She was so close to just heading home.

"I have something that will warm you up." Sierra reached into her backpack and pulled out a can, which she handed over to Amy.

When she saw what it was, her eyes widened.

"How did you get this?"

"Stole it from my brother," Sierra shrugged. "I got a whole six pack."

"Hey, pass me one." Callum held a hand up, and Sierra tossed the can over the fire.

Read on AO3

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober - Day 16

Chapter 12

Prompt 31 - "Take it easy."

All things considered, Ar’alani was doing pretty well.

Her left leg was broken in three places and she had a fracture on the rise side of her pelvis. So while she wouldn’t be on her feet any time soon, her life wasn’t in any immediate danger and the doctors said that she would be able to walk again, given enough time, treatment, and rest.

“Sensors are back online, but repairs are still ongoing and will take at least a few more days to complete. Some of them will have to wait until we can get back to a shipyard,” Eli was saying.

Once Ar’alani had woken up, she had immediately asked for a status report. Eli did his best to relay all of the information he had.

“Sensors show that the Springhawk crash landed on the planetoid, and so did another ship.”

“What?” Ar’alani attempted to sit up, but Vah’nya, who had joined Eli after a while, placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down.

“You need to take it easy, Admiral,” she said.

Ar’alani sighed, but nodded for Eli to continue.

“The ship must have come in with the purrgils – the creatures that ran into us. Scans have it crashing on the other side of the mountain range from where the Springhawk is. Plus, it ejected multiple escape pods and other ships before impact. Except for a few which were destroyed, the rest made their way down to the surface.”

“Do we know what ship it was?” Ar’alani asked. “One of ours or an alien craft?”

“We’re not sure. Our scans weren’t able to gather that information and there’s been no attempt from whoever it was to contact us, if they even know we were here in the first place.”

“We can worry about them later. Our first priority is to get this ship back up and running and to send rescue teams down to the Springhawk.”

Assuming there was anyone left to rescue. Eli knew they were all thinking it, but no one voiced the fear aloud.

“Mid Captain Octrimo is already working on that,” Eli said.

“I need to join them,” Vah’nya stated suddenly.

“Out of the question.” Ar’alani didn’t even have to pause and think. But Vah’nya pressed on.

“I need to,” she insisted. “Thalias and Che’ri are down there and I know they’re alive. I don’t know how I know, but I’m certain of it. And…those visions I had. I’m remembering more of them. I need to go down there.”

“Just like we needed to be here so we could be attacked by space whales?” Ar’alani bit out. Vah’nya’s face fell instantly, guilt written over every feature. Ar’alani sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t blame you for what happened.”

“I know things aren’t good right now, and I’m sorry all the same,” Vah’nya continued a bit hesitantly. “But I know this is still where we need to be. Whatever it is we’re looking for is on that planet. I think…the others I saw in my vision are there, too, and they may know more. Please, Admiral.”

Ar’alani stared at her for a long moment. Then her eyes darted to Eli.

“You will accompany Navigator Vah’nya and Borika and you will protect them with your life, is that understood?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Inwardly, Eli breathed a sigh of relief. He had been going to ask to go along with them anyway.

Ar’alani nodded. “Report to Mid Captain Octrimo for further orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both said.

“And may warrior’s fortune smile on your efforts.”

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Nell realizes she's an empty-nester.

[hansoeii]

crowley

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 31: "Take it easy."

Warning for Overworking, exhaustion, seizures, medication

[crimeronan]

like this post to receive a boop :)

[beybuniki]

they should go on a fishing trip pt.1