#Borrowed Clothing

[lunityviruz]

It’s soooo easy for white people to make posts about shoplifting and encourage other people to do it. Do you know how many white girls have done “borrowing hauls” and how many people support them and see it as a quirky little hobby but will clutch their pearls at the thought of a suspicious black person? Do you really think that a white person who steals (for whatever reason) is gonna get treated the same way as a black or POC who steals?? Don’t be fucking stupid 💀🤦🏾

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1303

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Any prompts for a whumpee who gets kidnapped and goes missing for two weeks and their older sibling, not even their love interest, is the only one who figures something is wrong and searches for them?

And when they do find them, whumpee is bruised, maybe even branded, and suffering from the effects of having cold water dumped on them at least twice with no change of clothes.

I'll add:

Maybe the older sibling immediately notices something is wrong when the whumpee doesn't bother them (by messaging them, barging into their room, or stealing their clothes etc). But of course, no-one listens. They just assume the whumpee is out somewhere causing trouble/started a new task/lost track of time.

But the sibling still doesn't hear from them for a few weeks, they try to put it to the back of their mind, but it's their sibling.

When they are found: the whumpee contacts their sibling first. "You promise not to be mad?" / "You promise not to tell mum and dad?"

Bonus points: "I owe you a new jacket... they ruined this one."

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Unexpected Company

whumptober23 day 30- borrowed clothing fandom- dp x dc TW- none summary- Dick meets Danny

ao3 whumptober23 masterlist part 8 of DLM

Jason stared at where Danny had been, as he heard one of his brothers, probably Dick climb in through the window.

“Jason! Are you okay?” Dick came over and started looking over the places he’d been hit, hands fluttering over Jason like he wanted to perform a physical examination.

“I’m fine, Dick. The kid got me out” he heard someone shuffle off to the side, but avoided looking in that direction. He pushed himself to a seating position, his torso only protesting slightly. Guess his wounds weren’t one-hundred percent healed.

“The kid?” Dick looked around. “Where is he? And who were those agents?”

“Those agents are called the GIW, or ghost investigation ward.” Jason said he avoided looking at where he thought the kid was. If he could prove Nightwing could be trusted with the knowledge that Jason was part ghost, then the kid would be more comfortable showing himself. He just hoped Dick responded right.

“Ghosts?” Dick said a bit skeptical, but not outright denying the possibility. They had seen some pretty strange stuff because of their vigilante careers.

Jason nodded. “According to them, I’m part ghost.” “But,” Dick said, looking a bit sad now, “you’re alive.”

Jason nodded and shoved down all his worry and intrusive thoughts. This was for the kid. “I am, but science I died, I’m still dead adjacent, and that’s enough for the GIW to hunt down. But they also,"Jason said to make sure he was perfectly clear, “hunt down full ghosts, which are actually real.”

Dick paused. “The kid told you this?” He didn’t say it skeptically, but with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, and I believe him.”

Dick nodded. “Okay. Ghosts aren't that far fetched considering aliens and demons are also a thing. Where is the kid?”

Jason tilts his head and waits, Dick looks confused for a moment but then Danny, still with glowy hair and eyes, appears beside the couch. He’s fidgeting and biting his lip while avoiding eye contact. But Jason counts it as a win that Danny showed himself.

Dick, for his part, only startles a little bit, but then he smiles. “Hello kid, I’m Nightwing.”

Danny glances at Jason before turning back to Dick, “I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you.Thank you for saving my brother, he tends to get into a lot of trouble.” “Hey!” 

Danny smirked, “I can see that.”

Fine. Jason would be willing to withstand some teasing if it made Danny smile.

“And are you okay?” dick continued. “These GIW agents didn’t shoot you?”

Danny shook his head, “Nah, but I should probably head out. That’s what I was doing when I saw they’d found Jason.”

Dick tried to hide his concern, but Jason knew him well enough to see it. “Where are you heading off to? You got a place to stay?”

Danny fidgeted. “Not really. But you don’t need to worry. I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine.”

Jason felt his emotions go out to the kid. No kid should be on their own, it shouldn’t be their responsibility to take care of themselves. He’d protect this kid, make sure to keep him safe, no matter what.

Danny gave him a strange look and Jason felt exposed. He shifted on the couch and cleared his throat. “You can stay here, Danny. We can have people watch for any more agents and lock up any who try to get into Gotham.”

“You don’t–”

“Nope. I may not need to, but I want to. Consider it, thanks for saving me.” Jason said, staring at Danny and trying to convey his honesty.

“Great,” Dick said, moving towards the kitchen. “I’ll get you some tea, Jason. Do you want some Danny?”

“No thanks.”

“You better not burn my apartment down.” Jason called after him.

“I know how to use a microwave.”

“That’s debatable.” Jason muttered.

He noticed Danny staring at him, and turned toward the kid.

“Do you really trust him?”

Jason pushed down the Pit, whispering to him that Dick never cared, and answered the question with the answer that he believed on good days “Yes, I do.”

Danny stared at him for a moment, and then turned to stare off toward the kitchen. 

Jason could swear his eyes glowed brighter. It reminded him of the Pit, and he had to push down those thoughts and remember that Danny had explained that the Pit was probably just contaminated ectoplasm. 

Then Danny nodded, and a ring appeared around his waist, before splitting and traveling up and down him. After the light show had faded, Jason was left staring at the version of Danny he had met.

“Wow, you’ve got your own magic girl transformation scene.”

Danny blushed, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I guess.”

Dick chose that moment to come in. He froze for a second staring at Danny as the kid fidgeted, before Dick smiled and handed Jason the tea he had made. Jason took a sip, it was drinkable.

“So, Jason, I guess you're the one who ended up inheriting the adoption gene?”

Jason nearly spit out the tea he had just taken a drink of. He glanced over at Danny. The kid looked confused but also slightly amused.

When Jason could finally breathe again, he ignored his brother and turned toward Danny. 

“Since you’ll at least be staying the night, which you are, you probably want to take a shower. Dick can get you some clothes you can borrow, while I work on making us some food.”

Danny glanced at the window once more before nodding.

“Great. Dick if you’ll show him the bathroom, I’ll get started on some stew.”

Jason carefully made his way to the kitchen, being careful of his still aching torso. He didn’t know how deep Danny’s healing had gone, and wanted to make sure he didn’t aggravate any internal bruising. 

Jason herald the shower turn on, and a moment later Dick stepped into teh kitchen.

They were silent for a moment before Dick spoke up.

“Does he know you’re identity?”

“Just my first name.”

Another moment of silence. “So,he’s also a ghost adjacent?”

“Yeah, but you’ll have to ask him for specifics.” Jason said as he started pulling out ingredients. 

“Of course.” Dick leaned against the counter as Jason began tossing ingredients in the pot. 

Dick shifted and Jason glanced over. “I know,” Dick started, speaking softly, “you may be more comfortable in your apartment, but the manor will be easier to protect, especially with those agents after you both.”

Jason tenses and fights down the immediate instinct to argue. What Dick is saying is true. They don’t really know who these GIW agents are, and if they’re also targeting Jason then it would be best to have more people around to help protect the kid.

He sighed, “We’ll stay here for tonight, and I’ll talk with him in the morning.”

“That’s all I ask, Jaybird.” Dick said and ruffled Jason’s hair.

The only reason Jason didn't shove him off was because he was in the middle of stirring his stew and didn’t want the ingredients to stick to the pan, or at least that's what he told himself.

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 30 - borrowed clothing

Warnings: (Christmas?)

Word Count: 3.7k (a long one friends) (Gifs not mine)

Summary: Christmas at the avengers tower

A/N: Please be kind to your fic writers. We are doing our best. Your words and comments mean so much. So if you enjoy it let us know (if you didn’t keep scrolling). One to go after this. <3 <3 thanks for being on the whumptober journey.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2014

NEW YORK

CHRISTMAS

Natasha eyes the Christmas tree. Everyone was asleep, she’s sure of it.

She holds off on asking Jarvis, instead tuning into the cadence and quietness of the house.

It’s Christmas.

She knows the presents inside carry things inside them, but she’s taken back to the night in Ohio and compulsively picks one up to shake it.

It rattles and she feels her breath slow.

It’s not Santa, but Tony is just as good as.

There’s a tiny package wrapped in newspaper, her name written on it with a black marker.

She’s sure it’s from Yelena.

She even thinks she knows what it is.

“Come to bed,” she hears, and Clint stands in the doorway, his hair disheveled and face tired.

Natasha pads towards him.

“I got you something,” he says, pulling her close, “and now it’s Christmas, can I tell you what it is?”

Natasha nods.

“Only if I can give you something?” she replies.

Clint disappears, and Natasha finds the package she had wrapped in paper.

“You go first,” she says quietly.

“What are you doing on the 27th?” he asks, laying down and pulling her down next to him.

“I don’t know? Did Fury give us a mission? Do we need..”

He puts a hand to her lips and then reaches into his pocket.

“Nah, but we may be getting married,” he proposes.

Natasha’s heart stops as she eyes the rings.

One has a tiny arrow, and the other has a tiny hourglass engraved.the rings they had decided on months ago, she had completely forgotten about.

“What?”

Her voice gets caught in her throat.

She’d all but given up on the idea that they would ever be able to. The hope she had all gone and the presentation of the rings brought it back as a flush.

“We’ve organised most of it, Pepper and I, but she’ll need to talk to you tomorrow or the day after, just around how you want it to go…”

Natasha flings her arms around him.

“What— hey,” he laughs,

“We’re getting married?” she asks.

He nods, a tear pricking in the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” he tells her.

“Let’s get married.”

.

The food is what Steve feels he is drawn to. The Christmas meal has him sitting in the kitchen as he works alongside Pepper and Bruce to cook potatoes and green vegetables.

The two turkeys cooking smell so soothing that he keeps looking to the ovens to check it’s not just a sense memory.

They never had turkey, but they did have chickens his neighbor killed and gave them some of - a Christmas gift to the family.

In return, Steve’s mother had darned all their clothes to look presentable at church.

He smiles at the memory.

The community felt like the tower in this moment as he sets the table and hears Clint and Natasha talking and an heated conversation between Tony and Yelena about something he has absolutely no idea about.

He lays the last piece of cutlery down.

The man - Gus, Clint’s friend approaches him.

“Hello,” he greets with a friendly smile.

Maria wanders over to Pepper and Bruce and Gus sits down with a groan.

“Hello,” Steve replies.

“I keep trying to help, but everyone tells me to sit down,” Gus tells him, unprompted.

Steve nods.

“I think they have it covered,” he tells him, looking around, “would you want to come sit with me? Maybe you can tell me how you know Clint?”

Gus laughs.

“That’s a long story, did you know I taught him the magic he knows?”

Steve looks at him intrigued.

“Magic?”

Gus nods, then pulls two coins from Steve’s ear.

Delighted, Steve takes them and gestures to a seat near where Clint and Natasha are talking.

“Will you teach me how to do that?”

.

Bruce looks over to Pepper, feeling nostalgic cooking with someone else.

“Did you know in Kolkata there is a dessert that they’re famous for?”

Pepper looks up intrigued.

“Sandesh,” he smiles, the memory strong of the sweet treat.

“We would eat it all together sitting on the floor, telling stories. More so on special occasions, but it’s times like those become memories, you know?”

Pepper smiles and places her hand on his.

“What did you like doing in Kolkata?”

The conversation flows easily, he’s never spoke a lot about his time there, but as he chats and laughs to Pepper, then as Maria joins in too; Bruce takes a moment and enjoys the feeling of happiness.

He knows it doesn’t come often, and likes to take stock when it does.

Bruce looks to Tony who holds a drink up in acknowledgment, and he nods back with a smile.

The man who made this all possible.

A man who, didn’t seem to judge Bruce on his alter ego- rather he embraced it. He had no context for this friendship. These relationships and community that surrounds him.

Pepper taps him on the back and hands him a plate of potatoes, then together they begin to set the food out.

.

Maria spent time in Japan in her first rotation in the military. She remembers some of it, but the food, god the food she remembers the most.

She doesn’t remember having this conversation with Tony, that rice balls and ramen were her favourite foods but they sit in front of her on the table alongside a host of other foods, some that Pepper and Bruce prepared and others that had been catered.

The others slowly gather, taking their seats at the round table.

Tony and Pepper sit side by side, Bruce sits next to Tony, Steve on Bruce’s other side.

Maria watches as Natasha smiles, a rare sight. Holding her sister’s hand, almost dragging her to sit down, next to Steve, then Clint sits her on her other side.

Gus, the older man, who liked a chat, and brought a bit of magic to the table pulls out a chair for a Maria and nods to the food.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Maria smiles.

“I hope everyone is hungry.”

Tony stands once everyone is seated, holding his glass up and commanding attention as he so often does.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he opens, “given the attack, the… mission and everything that’s happened in the last month, it didn’t feel right to be celebrating.”

He looks down to Pepper.

Maria sees, when she really looks at Tony, the scared man that just wants to do right by his people. They were wrong to accept Ironman onto the Avengers and not Tony initially.

“It still doesn’t.”

Everyone looks somber, and Natasha holds his gaze.

“But where better to be than together?”

He shrugs with his one good arm.

“We aren’t alone in this.”

He sighs, “I’m glad we are all here and together, and I’m grateful for the company.”

Maria knows the truth under the words, and everyone nods in agreement.

He smiles, a fake one, Maria thinks.

“Let’s eat,” he announces, sitting back down and handing Pepper the broccoli.

.

Gus hadn’t known that there'd be so many people here when he’d agreed. He’d tried to back out, stay elsewhere but Clint had insisted that he stay.

He feels he owes the child more than he knows.

The blow of his brother being dead had brought them closer together but it had clearly been at a cost.

He sees Clint, and is proud of him, and from the others stories tell, the people here in the tower see his goodness and strength of his character.

Clint moves away to talk to Bruce, leaving Gus leaning back wondering when he’d last eaten so much.

“He wants to give you something,” Natasha tells him, coming up behind him and sitting on the chair’s arm.

“The watch, he kept it safe,” she nods.

Handing him a drink, Gus looks up at her; Clint’s fiancé and smiles.

She seems so normal… despite the obvious.

He’s glad of it, though

Nothing like Edith, and nothing like Howard.

Someone… different.

She smiles easily and he feels immediately at ease as she continues.

“He told me what you did for him when he was little,” Natasha pauses, “I know it’s not my place, but I want to thank you for it. You became a safe person in a place of uncertainty and it saved him, and without you he wouldn’t be here with me.”

Gus takes her hand and kisses it.

“You credit me with too much,” he comments lightly.

“The only person that saved Clint was himself. If I had a small part to play in his life, then I’m glad for it.”

“The watch, it was given to me when I needed it. For Clint, he was always so fascinated with the story.”

Natasha laughs easily.

“It can’t be true, that story? The one you told Clint about the watch? Is it?”

Gus nods.

“Of course! Shall I tell you my version and not Clint’s abridged version?”

Natasha sits fully in the chair listening to him as he launches into the story.

It’s nice, Gus thinks, to be around people.

.

After dinner, before presents, Pepper pulls Natasha aside.

“Can I show you something?” she asks, looking nervous.

Natasha feels the nerves but still follows Pepper into the tower, with a small look back to check on Yelena.

She’s talking with Clint and Natasha feels better that she’s not alone.

Pepper leads her into a room, a large one that Natasha hadn’t been before, painted a soft blue. Clearly, they had been staying in this room and not on their floor which was, perhaps; still being repaired.

There’s a large bag that looks suspiciously like it’s covering a dress.

Pepper notices Natasha looking, and pauses in front of it.

She lets her actions speak louder and unzips it to reveal a wedding dress, lacy and white.

“It’s beautiful,” Natasha says softly.

Pepper swallows.

“My mother, uh. My mother is dead,” she opens. Natasha had known this, but had never pried, Pepper had never seemed to want to talk about it and the subject of mothers was one Natasha felt was personal.

“She married my father, they were married til she died. She made this dress.”

Pepper swallows and brings the dress down. Gently she touches the intricacies of the lace and the way it blends into the skirting.

“I wasn’t sure if you had a dress, but if you want to, it’s yours to wear,” she offers.

Natasha’s stomach bottoms out, the generosity not lost.

“What?”

Pepper nods.

“It served her well, I want it to serve you well too,” she nods, holding it up and holding it to her.

“I think it will fit, but tomorrow… if not the dressmaker can make any alterations you need.”

Natasha starts shaking her head. It’s too much, too much to repay.

“No, I can’t, what about you? Don’t you want to wear it? Don’t you—“

Pepper holds up her hand.

“What better honor to share a dress with someone I know and love?”

In that moment, Natasha feels the tears and moves to hug Pepper.

“Do you want to try it on?” Pepper asks in the hug. Wordlessly, Natasha nods.

Taking the dress, Pepper points to the ensuite.

It takes a moment, before she exits.

“You look beautiful,” Pepper breathes.

She steps around, and pushes Natasha to a mirror.

Natasha can feel her gaze, burning directly.

“You can ask,” she tells Pepper quietly.

“Do I want to know?”

Pepper looks scars that moves from Natasha’s back, to her ribs; the four gashes gnarled but white and old.

“You can know.”

Natasha turns in the mirror and reaches across to touch them.

“Was it… was it from the Red Room?” Pepper asks tentatively.

Shaking her head, Natasha turns.

“The Red Room knew how to remove scaring, anything to make us perfect and unblemished.”

She touches the closest one.

“Clint and I were on a mission in Bucharest, we got captured by a militant group that enjoyed using whips as torture. When they saw how much it affected Clint when they touched me, well..” she pauses.

“It looks a lot worse than it was, and Coulson came for us. It’s just that those four were the deepest. There’s probably something they can do to fix it, just like the red room used to, but I don’t mind them.”

Pepper hugs her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers

Natasha smiles.

“Don’t be, I’m not. I like my scars.”

Taking one last look at herself in a wedding dress, she swallows and leaves to get changed.

“You’ll wear it?” Pepper asks, taking the dress and hanging it back up

Natasha nods.

“Only if you’re sure.”

The laugh that breaks from Pepper is one of joy, and she links arms with Natasha and leads her back to the others.

.

He wishes it were different. Not the intense sense of dread that has been with him since the tower.

Pepper had helped, the movement of tower, how she’d moved things around so that it wasn’t the same.

The small differences that made it so he knew it was his home but also enough that it wasn’t the place that hydra infiltrated.

He didn’t want them here, but he’s glad they are.

He didn’t realise how much he valued his friends.

Adjusting his sling, he grows annoyed and takes it off.

He wonders just how hard it would be to build a motorised arm, and creates a schematic in his head as he watches everyone eat.

He wanted this.

He’s glad for this.

The people milling around him.

Pepper sees him, and even as she talks to Steve, she smiles at him; and despite the sorrow that pulls at him he smiles back.

Bruce hands him some water, and then his sling.

“You should be wearing this you know?” His friend berates.

“Got annoying,” Tony responds.

“It’s okay, you know? To fake it?”

Tony looks across.

“What?”

Bruce points to the mountain of presents and then gestures to the tower.

“Sometimes, faking it helps us to reset and allow others in so we can talk about what really matters and how we really feel.”

Tony looks down.

He doesn’t want to ruin anyone else’s Christmas with his sadness. And he supposes that it is sadness.

He’d usually just drink, but he’d promised Pepper to do better with that.

Be better.

So here he sits.

“The tower is your home,” Bruce continues; “and we all know what it means to you, to all of us.”

Bruce looks intently at him, like the next words are the ones that matter.

“I’m sorry they hurt it,” he says and the words hit deep.

“It’s silly,” Tony mumbles.

“Nah,” Bruce replies, “it’s not. Why do you think we have all worked so hard to be here? It’s our place too.”

It shouldn’t mean anything to Tony, but it does.

He watches Pepper and then Natasha and her sister.

The acknowledgment makes his heart slightly lighter. All the decoration and work Pepper had put into making this day what it was, brings him out.

It matters, not just to him but to everyone around him.

.

The abundance is phenomenal.

Yelena takes a moment to absorb it all as she wants into the room. The tree and presents, the meal, the people. She watches as Natasha smiles easily, holds her drink and easily talks to those around her.

Only having talked to Tony and Clint, she stays more to the side, watching the others.

She doesn’t know what it is but breathing becomes difficult, she takes a step out, the balcony providing shock of fresh air.

She doesn’t belong here, amongst her sisters friends.

It’s too much.

The day has been too nice.

Everything too much.

She doesn’t deserve this.

The thought perseverates in her head.

Looking out over the skyline of New York, she feels sick and her vision blurs.

She feels a body at her side, of course Natasha knows.

“I don’t deserve this,” she says with belief; not wanting to look back at the abundance of food and gifts.

“I don’t…” she gasps, feeling Natasha hand grasp hers.

The hand drags her down to sit on the cold concrete.

It’s slightly a shock.

“I’ve done bad things,” she tells her sister.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, instead she pulls her close, arm around her and rocks her gently.

“Breathe,” she says quietly.

“After all it’s..”

“The secret to life,” Yelena finishes.

The old saying from the martial arts instructor, who seemingly never left the Red Room, does help to slow her breath.

Being held by Natasha on the roof of a tower in the middle of New York in America seems so surreal.

Maybe that’s the point if it.

“You’re exactly where you need to be,” Natasha tells her, hugging her closer.

“It doesn’t matter what’s come before, all that matters is now. Okay?”

It takes a second, but Yelena nods.

The moment is what matters.

She doesn’t deserve this abundance.

But she knows, she’ll likely never have it again.

The moment is what matters.

.

“Hello, old men,” Clint goads at Steve and Gus, laughing as they both frown.

“I’m not old,” Gus says indignantly, “and this man must be…”

Steve holds his hand out.

“I’m 94, theoretically, “ he laughs,

Gus looks aghast.

“It’s a super soldier thing,” Steve clarifies and Gus looks to Clint.

Clint nods, laughs, and passes two beers across, that both take gratefully.

“Come on, we’re going to open presents.”

Gus stands, “I didn’t bring anything?” he grumbles.

Clint clasps him on the shoulder.

“That’s because we said just yourself, now come,” he ushers pushing them toward the great room.

.

There’s more presents than there were last night, Clint is sure. Tony stands dramatically at the balcony on the stairs with a fake bead and a Santa costume tailored to his body, and claps.

It takes a moment but everyone looks, and Tony looks smug.

“They’re colour coded,” he says happily, “so find a present and pass it around.”

As it turns out, Clint gets passed the purple presents and Natasha shrugs as she’s passed the red ones.

He watches Yelena get surprised with blue ones, and Maria with orange.

Bruce’s are predictable green, whilst Gus’ are yellow and Peppers are gold and shiny.

Clint wants to hold this memory.

Remember it forever as he watches his friends smiling and laughing.

He looks Tony who had descended the stairs and helped pass out the presents.

The presents that aren’t colour coded take a few more minutes, but no one goes without, as everyone starts to open them.

Tony’s pile of presents is not colour coordinated, he didn’t bother to get anything for himself, but the presents that sit in front of him are perhaps more sentimental because of this.

Clint sits back, wanting to just watch.

He’s happy.

Despite the trauma of the last week, the frustration of losing the sceptre, he watches his friends; his family smile and laugh.

Natasha sits next to Yelena.

The tiny package in hand and she passes it across.

He watches as Yelena opens it, and freezes.

He thinks she’s overcome with emotion as her bottom lip turns up, and she looks to Natasha for assurance.

The little photo frame with both of them as children sitting in it.

Natasha then shows her its matching pair, one for each of them.

It was an idea she thought of as she looked carefully at the pictures.

It was his turn he supposed.

He turns to Gus opening a present of engraved playing cards, the man looks delighted

Clint holds out his own.

“Open this next,” he prompts.

Gus looks at Clint and looks to the present.

“I think I know what it is,” he says, taking it from Clint and opening it carefully.

“This watch,” he says slowly, “is not mine any more, it’s yours.”

Clint shrugs.

“I said I’d get it back to you?”

He promised, and a Barton always keeps his promises. This one anyway.

“Fine, but you have to wear it one more time, okay? Something borrowed.”

Clint laughs and nods, then hands him another present.

“This one next? It’s from Natasha,” he smiles.

Gus looks slightly overwhelmed, and takes the gift from Clint.

It seems it’s not the only photo frame she’d had made up.

The picture of Gus, Clint and Barney standing under the big top with them all looking serious, gives him pause.

“How did she—“

Clint smiles at his joy.

“I think these things are a lot easier when you know technology and have some super computers behind it,” he admits.

“I’ve got to thank her,” Gus says, standing and leaving Clint to look on.

As far as Christmas’ go, he’s glad for the memories of this one.

.

Natasha watches Tony, worried at how pensive he looks.

He leaves for the balcony and she follows him.

The others seem to mull around them, some cleaning in the kitchen, other sleeping on the couch.

Steve plays with his new iPod, sitting with Maria and together loading songs into it.

She doesn’t know why but the scene makes her smile.

She catches eyes with Clint who sits close to Yelena, both of them throwing Yelena’s new throwing knives at a target, with Yelena growing more frustrated at Clint’s inability to miss.

She nods and he smiles and grabs a blanket as she steps into the cold.

He turns to her and nods.

Sometimes things don’t need words.

Sometimes it’s about those who have lived lifetimes with you.

She wraps the blanket around them both, sitting on the swinging chair and listen to the sounds of the other and sounds of New York.

“We’ll get them, you know?” she promises.

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly.

“Merry Christmas Tony.”

“Merry Christmas, Nat.”

[omgiamwish]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30 - Borrowed Clothing

[firstdegreefangirl]

Pretty Much Perfect

They’re both laughing as Tim fumbles the car keys. He tries to unlock the door, but the little remote is soaking wet and slippery, so he almost drops it into a puddle instead. Finally, he presses the button and they climb into the truck, drenched and breathless with laughter.

“OK, so we didn’t drown.” Lucy sags into the passenger seat and pushes limp strands of wet hair out of her eyes. “That wasn’t in the forecast.”

“You’ve got a …" Tim reaches out and brushes something away from her cheekbone. “Mud, it looks like?”

Lucy grimaces, but leans into his touch. “Let’s just get out of here. Kojo’s smart: he wouldn’t let you drag him out of bed this morning.”

“He loves hiking!”

“Not in the rain! He must have known something was going to happen.”

“How could he have known?”

“He’s very smart. Let’s go congratulate him.”

Read the rest on ao3 here!

[sam-loves-seb]

real love baby

“I hate this,” Mickey says quietly, his head pounding. Ian rubs soothing circles onto his back. “So take some medicine.” “Since when do we have fucking flu medicine?” “Since I went out and bought some this morning.” Mickey slowly blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the bright light coming in through the window and only grunting slightly. He looks up at Ian. “You did?”

// post-canon: mickey is sick, and ian takes care of him

whumptober 2023 -- day 30

prompt: borrowed clothing

[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]

[kybercrystals94]

Regroup

(Part 3)

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

[Part 1 & Part 2]

Whumptober 2023 | Day 31 | Prompt 30: “It’s okay to say ‘I’m not okay.’” | Borrowed Clothing

Rating: T

Words: 1,555

Summary: Tech asks Omega about her past.

Omega helps Tech sit upright, then holds up a new shirt. Tech stares at it quizzically, and Omega smiles. “It’s one of Wrecker’s. Something loose.”

Tech makes a face but relents to Omega slipping the borrowed shirt over his head. “At least tell me it’s clean.”

“It was in his drawer.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

Omega releases a tight laugh, and helps Tech find the arms of the shirt as he tries not to disturb the fresh bandages. When she moves to help him to his feet, he realizes how lightheaded he still is, vision going grey. He stumbles forward, and Omega catches him, pressing small hands against his chest to keep him upright. Tech grips the arm of the pilot’s chair. “I will be alright once I’m seated,” he says.

He doesn’t see if Omega nods, but she doesn’t verbally agree. She holds his forearm and steadies him until he finds the chair seat and sits down. His vision clears enough that he can see the waiting message light on the console. The coordinates.

“You will be my copilot, Omega,” Tech says, turning slowly to face forward. “I’ll try to give you clear instructions, but please let me know if you need further clarification.”

He hears the copilot’s seat shift and squeak next to him as Omega climbs into it. She says, “Are you sure you’re alright to fly?”

“We don’t have any other options, unfortunately,” Tech says.

Tech opens the coordinates and transfers them to the ship’s nav system. He can’t quite make out the screen’s ETA reading, his vision still unbalanced, everything shifting in and out of focus. If he hadn’t lost so much blood, this would have been substantially easier.

“Alright, Miss Omega,” he says, putting as much confidence as he can muster into the reedy sound of his voice. “We are going to prepare for the jump into hyperspace.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The Marauder’s familiar output of energy presses against his senses, drawing Hunter’s attention skyward. “Get ready, Wreck,” he says to his brother. “Our ride’s here.”

“About kriffing time,” Wrecker huffs, shifting at Hunter’s side. They’d found unfortunately tight quarters to take cover in while they waited for their siblings to show up.

Tech’s voice filters through their comms. “Approaching your location. Prepare to board.”

“Roger that,” Hunter replies, relieved to hear that some strength has returned to Tech’s voice.

The ship glides into view with the recognizable reckless ease of Tech’s hand at the helm. The ramp lowers, and Omega is leaning out, waving to them. Hunter and Wrecker break from their cover, running for the ship. As soon as their boots are clambering up the ramp, Omega calls out, “We got them, Tech!”

There is a sound of reply, and the ship begins to lift along with the ramp behind them.

“Are you both alright?” Omega asks them worriedly.

“We’re fine.” Hunter takes off his helmet, looking down at the girl with his own eyes. The scent of blood immediately assaults his senses, and his eyes go wide when he sees that her clothes are stained with blooms of deep red. “Are you hurt?” he asks, kneeling to her level to check for himself.

Omega quickly shakes her head, pulling away. “I’m okay. It’s Tech. One of the mercenaries got him in the side with a blade. It wasn’t deep, and I was able to do sutures. But he shouldn’t be flying.” She glances warily toward the cockpit.

Hunter nods sharply, standing and making his way to the front of the ship. He hears Wrecker behind him, double checking that Omega isn’t hurt, his booming voice gentle.

“Tech?” Hunter asks as soon as he comes into the space.

His brother turns his head slightly and slowly, as though even the small movement is taxing. “Hunter,” he says, voice thin, “I think it would be best if you took over.”

Hunter slips into the copilot’s seat, switching over main controls to his side. He calls over his shoulder. “Wrecker! Come get Tech.”

“I think I’m more than capable of just sitting here,” Tech protests.

“How about you let me decide on that, trooper,” Hunter returns firmly. “You’re on bed rest until we can check you over.”

Hunter glances over in time to see Tech weakly roll his eyes, and Hunter knows that he’s going to be okay.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Omega, I wondered if I might ask you a question.”

The words are spoken into a comfortable stillness that has settled over the Marauder. Although Omega still isn’t exactly sure how they pulled it off, their brothers were retrieved, just as Tech had promised. Now, Wrecker and Hunter are in the cockpit, having banished Tech to the bunk room to rest, and Omega has been appointed as his guardian to make sure he actually does.

She sits in a nest of blankets on the floor by his bunk, data pad propped on her knees, reading through the lesson plan Tech made for her a few days ago. Omega looks up at the strange request. Tech doesn’t usually ask questions...he answers them. And the questions he does ask are typically rhetorical.

Omega has a feeling she isn’t going to like this question.

“Sure,” she says, trying to keep her voice light.

Tech hesitates. Another anomaly to his character.

Dread finds a hold, claws digging into the pit of her stomach. Omega knows she isn’t going to like this question.

“I seem to have inadvertently upset you earlier,” Tech begins. He doesn’t look at her face, but something just over her head. “When I commented about your medical training.” His flicker to hers briefly. “I wondered if you might help me understand why that upset you?”

Omega swallows and she finds herself gripping fistfuls of soft blankets, data pad forgotten in her lap. She knows her brother is only concerned about her, wants to comprehend her better; however, the question opens a childhood of secrets she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. She wants to be happy. To forget what was, embrace what is.

Her brothers are her world now.

Not Kamino, not Nala Se. Not anymore.

Telling Tech will cause these worlds to collide, and she will never, ever be able to separate the pieces again. But then words echo back to her, words Tech said just before he passed out, putting his life quite literally in her hands. I trust you.

And she trusts him. All of them. With quite literally her life.

A deep breath. A slow exhale. “I haven’t told anyone this before,” she says, “but I trust you.”

Tech is watching her, and she sees his calculating gaze soften with her words.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter finds Tech still awake hours after Omega has gone to bed. He watches him from the bunkroom doorway for a moment, observing the furious way Tech is pouring over whatever he is reading on his data pad.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Tech visibly startles, then mutters a curse, hand going to the place he was slashed earlier that day. “I was feeling fine until you came in,” he tells Hunter irritably.

Hunter grins apologetically. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me...I wasn’t paying attention and your sudden presence caught me off guard,” Tech responds, voice stiff.

Hunter rolls his eyes, but lets the matter drop, entering the room fully. “You seem upset about something. What’s up?”

Tech’s frown deepens. “Omega and I had a discussion about what her medical training on Kamino entailed. From what she describes...” Tech trails off, looking down at his data pad.

“Tech,” Hunter prompts, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Tech doesn’t look up, fingers gripping the data pad so tight his knuckles pale. “She’s just a child, Hunter. The assignments Nala Se had her complete to practice medical procedures...fully mature medics would be haunted by. She worked with cadavers, Hunter. Deceased clones! She said she still clearly remembers how cold they felt.” Tech is angry. Furious. Hunter can hear the fire eating at the frayed edges his carefully even voice.

It is catching.

Hunter feels the rage boil in his mutilated blood cells, but before he can articulate the words to voice his absolute disgust in their sadistic creators, Tech speaks again.

“And then I so callously called on her to utilize her skills,” Tech says, fevered tone redirected. He distractedly puts a hand back over the wound. “She should never have been put in that position. If I had been more attentive to our surroundings during the mission, none of this would have happened.” His hand curls into a fist.

“But it did happen,” Hunter says, carefully regulating his temper, not wanting Tech to think for even an instant it is directed at him. He sits down on the edge of the bunk, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “I hate what Omega had to go through before we found her, but I am thankful she was prepared to do what needed to be done to save our brother’s life.”

He hears Tech swallow, a painful, emotional sound. “I am thankful as well…” he admits hoarsely. “Without her, we would not have been able to return to retrieve you and Wrecker.”

“And we have her now,” Hunter says, “she’s under our protection.”

“With our lives need be,” Tech agrees.

END

Author’s Note: Wow! The end of Whumptober 2023! I can’t believe I actually did it…31 prompts in 31 days! But I so very honestly couldn’t have done it without all the kind words and support from those who read, commented, liked and reblogged (both on Tumblr & Ao3) all my crazy, random, traumatizing stories…so a HUGE thank you to all you wonderful people! This community is the best, and I am so happy to have had the opportunity to share my love of writing and Star Wars with you all!

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List!✨

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 30 - "Creature Comforts" (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

A wholesome one for today's @whumptober fic

~~~~~~~

Prompt Used: Borrowed Cloathing Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5 Characters: Team Bucciarati

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~

1: Abbacchio

Bruno Bucciarati had seen a lot of desperate men in his line of work, but few who looked as depressing as Leone Abbacchio, standing in the foyer of his apartment, soaked to the skin and dripping like a stray cat.

"You can shower if you'd like—there might still be hot water this time of night," Bruno told him, tucking the umbrella beside the door. "I'll find you something dry to wear."

The man shook himself and nodded, taking a hesitant step toward the bathroom door as Bucciarati pointed it out.

One he had provided him with a towel and showed him how the shower worked, Bruno hurried to his room and tried to find something for their guest to wear that might actually fit—Fugo definitely wouldn't have anything.

Bruno sighed, rummaging through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweat pants that were slightly long on him and a plain t-shirt.

It was then he found the lump in the back of his drawer, fingers tangling in soft knitted cables. He hesitated slightly, but pulled the sweater out, holding it up. It was still definitely too big for Bruno, always had been.

Part of him wanted to put it back in the drawer and keep it for himself, but his father had also instilled in him the importance of helping those in need. So, Bruno would pass it on to someone more in need than him.

When he heard the water turn off in the bathroom, he knocked on the door. "I'm leaving some clothes out here for you. You can come to the kitchen when you're done and I'll get you something to eat."

He set the stack of clothing down and headed to the kitchen to start making some coffee. Even he was chilled after being out that night and he'd remembered the umbrella.

It was a few more minutes before Abbacchio showed up with wet hair and the too-short sweatpants. The sweater however—a dark blue wool with chunky cabling down the front and an open ribbed collar—fit him just about right. If not slightly long in the sleeves.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Bruno asked.

Abbacchio winced, still standing there as if unsure of what to do. "I—thanks, sure," he mumbled. "Thanks for the clothes too. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's not a problem," Bruno assured him as he went to fill a cup. "Cream or sugar?"

Abbacchio shook his head. Bruno set the cup on the table, urging him to sit down. Abbacchio took a hesitant step before he finally took a seat, tugging at the sweater. "This is really nice, I'll get it back to you once I can get back to my apartment tomorrow."

Bruno hesitated, but finally waved his hand. "Keep it. It was always too big on me anyway, and I'm sure you could use some warmer clothes? Besides, wool keeps you warm even when its wet So if you forget an umbrella again…"

Abbacchio looked up at him with some confusion for a long moment before he pulled the cup of coffee closer and took a sip. "Okay then. Thanks. I appreciate it."

Bruno smiled back and decided he was glad that the sweater would finally get some use.

2. Fugo

It had been a long stakeout in the cold. Stealth had prohibited them from turning the heater on in the car, and Abbacchio felt pretty terrible seeing just how much Fugo was shivering by the time they finished, the drive home with the heater on full blast hadn't even been enough to thaw either of them out.

Not to mention that their heater wasn't functioning fantastically in the apartment either, so it wasn't much warmer there.

"I'll make some tea, you should go get something warm on," Abbacchio told the kid worriedly. Fugo was so skinny that Abbacchio was afraid he might catch cold—though he would never say that to Fugo's face unless he wanted his nose broken.

He went to throw on a sweatshirt and thick socks before he started boiling some water.

Fugo showed up in a few minutes, still shivering, in a long-sleeved shirt with a thin cardigan over it and a pair of sweat pants.

Abbacchio eyed him briefly, but didn't want to embarrass the kid by asking him if he was warm enough. He simply took out two mugs and some tea bags and poured the water over them when it started to boil.

"Want to work on the report together?" Abbacchio asked him.

"Sure," Fugo replied, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He went to get paper and pen and Abbacchio sat down with his notebook where he had written down observations and snatches of conversation that night.

The tea worked to warm Abbacchio's core and he got to work compiling info with Fugo for their report.

He reached for a pen at the same time Fugo reached for his tea and Abbacchio's hand brushed his, feeling like ice.

"Jesus, kid," he hissed, pulling his hand away sharply. "You're actually freezing!"

Fugo glowered, hunching his shoulders as he pulled his hands back and clasped them around his mug, still shaking every once in a while. "It is freezing in here, you know."

"Don't you have anything warmer to wear?" Abbacchio asked genuinely.

"Nothing comfortable," Fugo huffed. "Just my overcoat."

Abbacchio frowned and stood up. "Hold on, I'll be back."

He went to rummage around in his closet, trying to find something warm for Fugo to wear. That was when he spotted the dark blue sweater. He'd almost forgotten about it—the one Bucciarati had given him the first night he'd dragged him back to this apartment. That would be warm enough.

Abbacchio brought it back out and handed it over to Fugo. "Here, try this."

Fugo took the sweater, looking somewhat embarrassed, but he tugged it on and pushed the sleeves up over his hands. Abbacchio watched as his shivering finally stopped all together and Fugo let out a soft sigh of relief. "Thanks. That is better."

"No problem," Abbacchio replied and nodded to the sweater. "You can keep that too, it was just something Bucciarati gave me. You'll need it if the heater doesn't get fixed soon."

Fugo offered a very small smile, huddling into the sweater as they continued with their work.

3. Narancia

"I'm…so sorry."

"Just shut up," Fugo snapped, feeling mud squelch in his shoes—they were probably ruined by now. But at least the mud had been relegated to his lower half. Narancia was practically covered in it. He didn't even realize you could find that much mud within the city limits but any calamity seemed possible with their new recruit around.

He fumbled his keys out of his pocket and opened the apartment up, cringing at the thought of all the mud they were about to track inside. The car was already a disaster.

"Just don't touch anything you don't have to," Fugo muttered.

Narancia tip-toed delicately into the apartment after ditching his shoes by the door.

"Probably the best thing is to dump the muddy clothes into the bathtub so we can rinse them out before putting them into the washing machine," Fugo said.

"Uh, yeah okay," Narancia replied. "But, um, problem—I don't have anything else to wear. I left my wash in the washing machine and I only have my pajamas pants.

Fugo sighed tiredly. "Just…throw your stuff into the tub and I'll loan you something to wear."

Narancia perked up and Fugo hurried to dump his clothes in the bathroom, washing briefly before grabbing a towel to wrap around himself to go find something clean to wear.

He dressed quickly, hearing Narancia swearing as he struggled with his mud-covered clothes then turned with a sigh to his dresser, digging around for something Narancia could wear.

A bundle of dark wool caught his eye and he pulled the sweater out, remembering how Abbacchio had given it to him when he had been freezing that one night. It had kept him warm through the winter, but he could do with passing it on now, especially since Narancia really didn't have that many clothes.

He grabbed a pair of his sweatpants as well and set the neatly folded pile outside the bathroom door.

"Clothes are outside," he said before going to make a call to Bucciarati to tell him the mission was finished.

He was just grabbing the laundry basket in prep to take the clothes down to the washers when Narancia reappeared, practically swimming in the sweater, sleeves slipping down over his hands. But he was grinning, waving the floppy sleeves around.

"Dude this is so cozy! Thanks for loaning it to me."

"Oh, you can keep it actually," Fugo replied. "Abbacchio gave it to me so…it's not really mine."

"Really? Thanks man!" Narancia hurried off as Fugo yelled at his back.

"Narancia get back here! You have to go finish your own laundry—I'm not going to do it for you!"

Narancia hurried back and grabbed the basket from Fugo. "Yeah, yeah, I'll meet you down there."

Fugo shook his head and went to gather the muddy stuff before he realized Narancia had run off with the laundry basket.

4. Mista

Narancia wasn't entirely sure what to think of the new guy yet. He'd been nice enough if not a little out of place with all of them, and Narancia didn't exactly understand why he hated the number 4 so much but he wasn't one to judge.

Still, Guido Mista had a habit of moping around when he wasn't given a task. Narancia could understand that. He'd been the same after getting out of prison. It was hard to adjust back to normal living when you'd had your days so regimented for a long time.

Narancia was currently relegated to the apartment due to a minor injury and that day it was just him and Mista there. The new recruit puttered around in the kitchen getting coffee for a while in the morning before he sat on the old couch in the living room, staring at the wall.

It was…kind of driving Narancia nuts. He didn't understand how someone could sit still like that doing nothing. At least Fugo was usually reading, he could understand that; even if reading didn't keep Narancia's attention for long, it was still doing something.

He didn't want to be annoying, but he poked his head into the living room.

"Hey, um, can I do anything for you?"

Mista looked up. "Nah. I'm good."

Narancia fidgeted. "Aren't you like…bored?"

Mista shrugged. "I don't know. It's just nice to be out of prison." He stood up. "I guess I'd like to take a shower though."

Narancia nodded and went to make lunch as he heard the shower running. Mista returned when he was halfway through eating in just his pajama bottoms and a towel slung over his shoulders.

"Hey, um…I still need to go shopping for some new clothes. Could I borrow some change so I can do a wash?"

"Oh sure," Narancia said quickly and pointed over to a jar on the counter. "Bucciarati keeps that for laundry and stuff."

"Thanks." Mista said and hurried out of the apartment.

Narancia thought about what he had said, and got up to head to his room. He grabbed a box of VHS tapes from under his bed and rummaged in his drawer until he found the oversized sweater he was looking for.

When Mista returned, Narancia tossed him the sweater.

"Here! You can have this for now," he said.

Mista held the sweater up, surprised. "Oh, hey, thanks man. I really appreciate it."

He slipped it on, tugging it down. "This is really nice. You sure you want me to have this?"

Narancia nodded. "It kinda gets passed around between us. You can use it for as long as you want. But only if you answer a question."

Mista cocked an eyebrow as Narancia presented the box he had been holding under his arm. "Do you like movies?"

Mista's face lit up. "I love movies! Hey, you got some great stuff in here!"

"Then let's watch something! Then you don't have to just sit around doing nothing all day," Narancia said. "Pick whatever you want, I'll grab some snacks."

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies and chatting and Narancia thought that he and the new guy were probably going to get along really well.

5. Giorno

Mista roamed the safehouse after everyone had gone to sleep, making sure everyone was okay. He checked in on Narancia last, but the kid was sleeping soundly, knocked out from pain pills and exhausted from his still-healing body. He'd been able to leave their makeshift infirmary yesterday though so he was doing a lot better.

Speaking of…

Mista headed down the stairs to the guest room they had made into their designated infirmary while their teammates were recovering. Bucciarati and Abbacchio were still usually unconscious and hooked up to IVs aside from a few times they had woken.

Giorno was sitting beside Bucciarati's bed as Mista figured he would be. The blond had been watching tirelessly since they had gotten to the house three days ago and had barely left the room.

He looked up briefly as Mista poked his head in.

"Hey, can I get you anything?"

Giorno shook his head, reaching up to rub his face. "No. I'm okay."

Mista nodded slowly, taking in Giorno's exhausted frame. "You really should sleep. They'll be okay for the night. They're stable, right?"

"Yeah, I just…" Giorno sighed, before he finally stood up. "Maybe you're right. I'll catch a couple hours on the couch."

Mista frowned as Giorno passed him, noticing that he was still wearing the same lavender suit he had been wearing the whole mission. It had the look of being washed, water thinned bloodstains visible around a couple tears, but Mista realized he'd never seen Giorno put on anything else.

"Hey, um…you want me to wash and fix that suit?" Mista asked. "I think there's a sewing kit somewhere. At least until you can get a new one?"

Giorno looked down at the suit. "I, um…I don't really have anything else to wear."

"Oh." Mista blinked and then realized Giorno hadn't brought so much as a backpack with him. "Hey, I'm sorry man, I should have asked earlier."

Giorno shrugged. "It's not really a big deal. I'll get something soon."

"No way, you need to be comfortable. Stay here, I'll be right back."

Mista hurried up to his room and dug through his duffle bag until he found—ah, there it was.

He took the bundled sweater and a pair of sweatpants down to Giorno, dropping them into his arms.

"Keep these. I've got more changes of clothes."

Giorno smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mista. I really appreciate it."

Mista gave him a salute and a grin. "Anytime. How about I make you a cup of tea? I was just gonna get one myself."

"Sure."

Mista headed to the kitchen and by the time he got to the living room Giorno was curled on the couch, bundled into the big sweater, fast asleep.

Mista chuckled and set Giorno's mug down on the coffee table before throwing a blanket over him.

"Sleep well, GioGio."

6. Trish

Giorno was up late reading one night when he heard the back patio door open and shut. It was right below his bedroom and he had his window open. He figured someone might just be getting some fresh air, but then he heard the soft, unmistakable sounds of someone crying and frowned, getting up to go see what might be wrong.

He pulled on the heavy sweater Mista had given him and padded downstairs and toward the back of the house.

Through the glass door he could see Trish huddled on the steps leading into the garden, shoulders shaking. Giorno hesitated a second, not sure if he would be intruding or not, but he ultimately decided that Trish shouldn't have to be alone if she was upset and if it turned out she really wanted him to leave, he would go.

He stepped outside, the sound of the door opening causing Trish to turn around, hurriedly wiping her eyes.

"Oh, hey," she said quietly.

Giorno silently went to sit next to her. "Hey. Are you okay?" he asked.

Trish looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I…I guess."

"If you don't mind me saying so, you don't really look okay," Giorno responded. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Trish took a shuddering breath and scrubbed a hand against her wet eyes. "It's just…Now that everything's settled down it's kind of hitting me, you know? That I'm not going home—that I don't even have a home anymore."

"I know it's a lot," Giorno said quietly. "I didn't…really have anything to leave, but I can understand how you must feel, being forced to leave everything."

Trish sniffed. "And I miss my mom. I didn't even really have the time to mourn her, so…I guess it's all hitting now, three months later."

She curled around herself, shaking slightly, breath hitching.

Giorno didn't know if she was cold or not, but the weight of the sweater was comforting to him so he tugged it off and looped it over Trish's head.

She looked up in surprise, before a small smile turned up one corner of her lips as she sniffed. "Thanks." She tucked her arms into the sleeves, letting them fall past her hands as she dabbed her eyes on the sweater.

"I'm sorry about your mother," Giorno told her quietly. "But you're wrong, you know."

Trish sniffed again. "About what?" she asked sounding slightly offended.

"That you don't have a home," Giorno replied, nodding back to the house. "This is your home. It's all of our home, and you never need to go anywhere else unless you want to."

Trish looked at him for a long moment, eyes wavering, before she simply leaned forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Giorno that's…that's such a sweet thing to say," she said shakily.

Giorno smiled, hugging her back, letting her cry for a few more minutes before she pulled away and wiped at her eyes again.

"Thank you, that…I feel better now," she said.

"I'm glad," Giorno replied. "I'm always here to talk if you need."

"I appreciate it," Trish said as she stood. "Thanks for letting me borrow the sweater too. It's…really comforting."

Giorno waved his hand as he also stood. "Keep it for now. Mista gave it to me when we first got here, but you should use it now."

Trish smiled with a grateful blush and waved to him as they got inside. "Good night, Giorno. And thanks again."

"Good night, Trish."

7. Bucciarati

Trish was having a hard time sleeping that night and decided to run down to the library to grab something to read.

She had thought everyone had already gone to bed, so she was surprised to find Bucciarati sitting in there in the middle of the floor in his pajamas, a box of photos open and spread in front of him.

He startled as she walked in and Trish stopped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were up."

A look passed over his face and Bucciarati cleared his throat and said, "It's okay. Can't sleep?"

Trish shook her head, feeling a little like she was intruding as she cautiously stepped into the room. "Not really. You either?"

Bruno gave her a small, sad smile. "Just…looking through some old memories."

Curious, Trish came over and knelt beside him. "May I?"

Bruno waved a hand and Trish picked up a picture of a young boy holding a large fish up proudly. His black hair and blue eyes told Trish that it was obviously the man beside her.

"This was you?" she asked with a smile. "You were adorable!"

Bruno let out a light laugh. "Thank you. It was… a long time ago. I…haven't looked at these for a while but…"

There was a weight to his words and Trish watched him carefully, finally realizing that his eyes were slightly red, the lashes damp as if he had been crying.

"Bucciarati? Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

He cleared his throat again. "I'll be okay, Trish. I…it's been four years today since he died. I just thought…I would take a moment to remember him."

"Oh, Bucciarati, I didn't know," Trish said softly, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing.

"I usually keep it to myself," Bruno replied simply.

Trish was silent, wondering if he wanted to be alone, but, she thought about how she felt when she remembered her mom. How alone it felt. And it was too sad to think of going to bed when Bucciarati was sitting here alone with the pictures of his past.

"Would it…be okay if I stayed here to look at the pictures with you?" Trish asked hesitantly. "Unless you'd rather be alone."

"I wouldn't actually," Bucciarati replied, voice slightly raw.

Trish felt a little relieved, but stood. "Okay, I'll be right back, I promise."

She hurried away to make some hot chocolate, and as an afterthought, ran to get the sweater Giorno had loaned her a while back when had had found her crying. She always put it on when she was feeling bad now and thought that maybe it would comfort Bucciarati too.

She brought the items back to the library and Bucciarati looked up in surprise.

"I made hot chocolate—thought you could use some," she told him with a small smile, setting down the mugs before holding out the sweater. "And this. It's so warm and cozy it…"

She trailed off at the look on Bruno's face when he saw the sweater, eyes wide, mouth parted as if in awe.

"Bucciarati?"

He reached out to take it from her, holding it carefully in his hands, fingers curling into the chunky knitting.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Um…well, Giorno gave it to me, he said Mista gave it to him before that."

Bruno laughed lightly, eyes wet. "And I gave it to Abbacchio a long time ago." He turned to Trish with a small smile. "It was my father's. I had…actually forgotten about it but it seems to have made its way through the team somehow."

"And back to you," Trish replied. "Where it should be."

Bruno slowly tugged the sweater on over his t-shirt, running his fingers over the hem, eyes full of nostalgia. "Funny how things have a way of coming full circle when it means the most." He turned back to her, eyes wet. "Thank you, Trish."

Trish couldn't help herself and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly in the comfy sweater. "I'm glad it came back to you when you needed it most," she told him.

"It did. But anyone is welcome to borrow it at any time," Bruno said. "Perhaps it's best that it belongs to all of us." He smiled "I think that's what my father would have wanted."

Trish hugged him more firmly and genuinely felt at home.

~~~~~~~

Check out my Whumptober Masterpost HERE for more stories!

If you want to follow me on other social media or ask about fic or art commissions, find my info on My Carrd

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Whumptober No. 30: Borrowed Clothing

Whumper dressing Whumpee up in their clothes ♡♡♡

Whumpee hates the style Whumper forces on them. It's too flamboyant, suiting a queer coded Disney villain, not day to day wear. Whumpee doesn't understand how Whumper dresses like this every day. But Whumper says Whumpee looks much better this way compared to their old casual style.

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 30:

"It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'."

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | "Not much Longer…."

Fandom: Bat Family

Prompts used: All

Ive been reading dpxdc but am not confident yet, so heres some OOC Bats, based mostly on Wayne Family Adventures, tried angsting some new people for once! I have only read Duke in WFA so hes probably the most OOC forgive me. But let me know, Id love to hear from ya'll on any of my posts :)

TW for blood and injuries, near death experiences

…

"I am never letting you talk me into this again."

Tim glares at the far wall, hanging by his feet, arms tied to his chest. He's in civvies, and his brothers WILL owe him a new outfit after this.

"Oh come on, you were the perfect bait!" Jason's voice comes through the comm, barely holding back his snickers.

"Hush Little-Wing. I'll take you to your favorite coffee place- at a reasonable time- to make up for it BabyBird." Dicks voice is far more sympathetic and even tinged with the anxiety that comes with seeing his brothers in harm's way.

"Then Jay owes me a new outfit." He murmurs a tad petulantly.

"TT, I still think we should have snuck in instead of this, convoluted, plan."

"That would have been fine if we had known where they were located, hence this plan." Duke yawns as he finishes his sentence, pulling a double shift for this case.

"Next time, someone else can be the hostage." Tim grumbles as a headache grows with all the blood rushing to it.

"Whatever you say Timmy." Jason placates mockingly.

"Is anyone else concerned about how long they've left Red Robin alone?" Barbara's exasperated voice comes through the comms, bringing everyone back.

"The lack of blood in my legs should definitely be considered." Tim comments, swinging slightly to try and look around.

"Well, it looks like everyone is-"

"Leaving the building!" Duke cuts Dick off, Jason curses,

"Looks like we got some rats to catch!" He calls, leaping from his hiding spot before the others could react.

"Hang in there Tim, we'll be back!"

"I regret my existence."

"TT is that all?" Damian is a millisecond behind Jason, Dick and Duke give each other an eye roll of comradery, before they are following.

They put up a fight. Seemingly desperate to escape- though it's not super odd- they seem more scared of not being able to leave than of the Bats themselves.

"Not much longer…" The anxious mutter comes from the goon closest to Signal.

He’s quick to pin him, nerves flying in his gut, telling him that they were missing something important.

“Until what?” He pulls his best Batman voice, tired gravel helping him hopefully.

Pinned against the building, Signal doesn’t really need an answer from the goon, the light gives him a glimpse of exactly what he needs to know, but the answer comes anyway,

“B-bomb...”

“Guys, we’ve got a situation! I’m going in for T- the hostage!” Duke catches himself throwing the guy to the nearest Bat, “Find the bomb!” He dashes into the building.

“A bomb?” Tims voice groans, “I am owed several coffees, thank you.”

“Maybe focus on not blowing up first?” Duke's voice is strained, not yet so nonchalant with these types of threats.

“The goons are ready for transport, we’re headed to the device, just stay calm Duke.” Dicks voice is level, and Duke takes a breath to match it.

Tim is partway untied, having been working on it since he’d been hooked, his face is flushed but he gives a lopsided grin- likely to comfort Duke.

“Signal, my man, come to hang out?”

“Har har, let's get you down.”

He steadies him as his feet touch the ground, head spinning and body reorienting, they haven’t even taken a step yet when the whole building shakes, rickety floors and creaky walls groaning with the effort.

“Uh, guys?” Duke cautions, worry skyrocketing again.

“Time to move!”

Duke doesn't need to be told twice, he scoops Tim into his arms with a grunt and finds himself sprinting once more.

“Blushing bride was not on my list.” He mumbles, hand holding his head as the other tires to keep him stable.

“Don't worry, sure it doesn't count when the blood had no other option.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The floor is crumbling as another tremor wracks the old bones of the place. He makes the decision to find the nearest window, taking the Bat route out, and sending a prayer to whoever listened that they all made it out.

“You’re ok… ‘s good…” Blood is a second skin, Jason's jacket torn to shreds as glass and wood alike protrude from his body.

“Todd.. you're…” Damian looks up at the unhooded vigilante, minor damage to himself as he see the crushing weight his brother keeps off him.

“Relax kid… Won't die frem the same ting twice.”

“Jay! Damian!” Dick coughs, the bloody hero shoving at the beams across Jays back until the two can get free. “Are you guys okay?”

“S’fine, lets get baby brat outta here.” The slur comes and goes from his tone, whether from a given effort or otherwise they can't tell. Shifting nearby has them tensing, before a light shines at them,

“Oh thank the Gods.” Duke is dusty but unharmed, moving debris ever so carefully to give them a path out.

“M’place s’closest.” Jason murmurs, leaning heavily on Damian who hadnt moved from his side.

“I can not carry you Todd, stay awake.” The youngest mutters despite his stance.

“M-“

“It's okay just to say ‘I’m not okay’.” Duke interrupts quickly, taking the lead as Dick takes the rear.

“...could be better.” He concedes.

“You are not this much bigger than me. How?” Tim swims in the borrowed shirt and sweats, as does Damian, but neither seems keen to take them off either as they plop onto Jason's couch.

In the kitchen, Duke, Jason and Dick patch each other up carefully, channeling Alfred as best they can until they decide the trip is worth it. Jason grits his teeth as another stitch pierces his skin, Dick muttering a thousand quiet apologies in several languages. Duke keeps his eyes on his own job, if for nothing else than to keep from cringing and hurting Dick.

“We’re bringing the girls next time. This never happens when they're around.” Tim grumbles, ice pack on his face.

“I beg to differ.” Dick mutters.

“Is night shift always like this?” Duke ties off his last bandage and goes about cleaning up.

“Meh.” He gets several, so so hand gestures and a tutt and groans to himself.

“We’re alive, goons apprehended, I'm calling it a win.”

[cyhyr]

Whumptober Day 30. Borrowed Clothing

Power outages? In the MHA Verse? Who knows!! It's happening here. This is another case of "are they or aren't they" established bkdk, but y'all know which way I'm leaning. Tagging for whumptober: @atereal @oneinist

~

“Here, put this on.”

Izuku gets a faceful of black sweater as he sits under Katsuki’s thick duvet. The power’s been out in the city for three days due to the ice storm, and they can only rely on electrical quirks so much to keep generators running. 2-A’s turn without power is tonight. They were informed to sleep in pairs.

He slides into the sweater. It was designed to be large on Kacchan; on Izuku, it slips off of his shoulders. He shivers and opens his arms for Kacchan to lay down beside him.

“Get some sleep, Nerd,” Katsuki murmurs.

[whumpookies]

Day 30 title: It's okay just to say "I'm not okay"

Prompt: borrowed clothing (days after being stabbed, after bleeding through his shirt another is provided)

[faofinn]

No. 30 "It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'."

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | "Not much longer.”

"I could have said you look awful." 

She slapped him good naturedly. "Finn!"

"I said I could have!" He protested, but quickly softened. "You do look exhausted though. Did you get any rest?"

"Maybe? I must have, I came down here earlier, you woke me up." 

"You didn't look comfortable in the slightest." He admitted. "I was worried about you. I am worried about you."

 "I'll always want you to wake me when you get in." She took a breath, rubbing her face. "I might head back to bed though. I do feel a bit rubbish."

"You look it. That's all I meant. I'm just worried about you."

She forced a smile. "I'm fine."

"Mm. Well, I'm tired. You coming to bed with me?"

"That's how we got in this mess." She teased. 

Finn offered her his hands, smirking with a hint of pride. "I know."

She laughed, taking his hands and pulling herself up. The dizziness that was always there got so much worse, and the ringing in her ears was deafening. Against her will, her legs gave out, her vision blurred and darkening. 

"Whoa, hey. Careful, I've got you, I've got you." Finn helped her back down, his arm around her back. "What's wrong?"

She could see Finn talking to her, but she couldn't make out his words. She squeezed her eyes shut, moving to lie down in hopes it would help. Finn carefully swung her legs up, brushing her hair from her face. 

"You're okay, it’s okay. You're okay." As worried as he was, she didn't need the stress of him showing it. With his other hand, he called Fao, just in case.

Fao had just crawled into bed, exhausted after a long night working with Fred and the others, when his phone rang. Groaning, he reached for it, only to see Finn’s name on the screen. He was literally downstairs, why was he calling?

“Finn?”

“Can you meet me in the basement? Jess has done a you.”

“I don’t appreciate that expression.” Fao grumbled, but swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“Thanks, Fao.” He hung up, moving to carry Jess. “We won’t be downstairs long.”

“I’m fine, really.” She protested, though her words fell on deaf ears as she leaned into him.

“Mhmm. You’re only proving my point.” He teased.

She grinned. “I know.”

She laughed, taking his hands and pulling herself up. The dizziness that was always there got so much worse, and the ringing in her ears was deafening. Against her will, her legs gave out, her vision blurred and darkening. 

"Whoa, hey. Careful, I've got you, I've got you." Finn helped her back down, his arm around her back. "What's wrong?"

She could see Finn talking to her, but she couldn't make out his words. She squeezed her eyes shut, moving to lie down in hopes it would help. Finn carefully swung her legs up, brushing her hair from her face. 

"You're okay, it’s okay. You're okay." As worried as he was, she didn't need the stress of him showing it. With his other hand, he called Fao, just in case.

Fao had just crawled into bed, exhausted after a long night working with Fred and the others, when his phone rang. Groaning, he reached for it, only to see Finn’s name on the screen. He was literally downstairs, why was he calling?

“Finn?”

“Can you meet me in the basement? Jess has done a you.”

“I don’t appreciate that expression.” Fao grumbled, but swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“Thanks, Fao.” He hung up, moving to carry Jess. “We won’t be downstairs long.”

“I’m fine, really.” She protested, though her words fell on deaf ears as she leaned into him.

“Mhmm. You’re only proving my point.” He teased.

She grinned. “I know.”

Fao met the pair of them downstairs, already grabbing a couple of bits he thought he might need, the bedspace ready for Jess. He met Finn at the door, leading him through to set Jess down on the bed. 

“Right, what’ve you two been up to? I’d just got into bed.”

“Can you sort some fluids, antiemetics, and some sleeping meds?” Finn asked.

“Got the fluids and antiemetics out when you said she’d ‘done a me’. I’ll go grab the sleeping meds.” He said softly. “Anything else going on that I should know about?”

Jess rubbed her eyes. “Finn’s just fussing.”

“Yeah, he does that, but it’s usually justified.” Fao said, slipping out for a second to get the rest of the meds. “Can you do some obs, Finn?” 

“Yeah, course.” He pottered around Jess, ignoring her protests and placating her with a soft kiss to her temple. “The quieter you are, the less you fuss, the sooner we can go to bed.”

“I don’t need all this fuss anyways.” 

“You know you do, you’re just being stubborn.”

“Just because you're right for once, it doesn’t mean you get to have such a shit eating grin!” She shot back.

“Somehow, even though I think I won that, it was my feelings that got hurt.” He teased.

Fao came back with the meds after a few moments, shaking his head at the pair of them. “Finn, you argue with a criminal defence lawyer and you’re still surprised she beats you?” He shot back, looking over the numbers on the screen. Shit blood pressure, but nothing that was screaming at him. “Mm, no wonder you feel like shit. Can I get a cannula in for you, get you some fluids?”

"Do I have a choice?" She laughed, holding her arm out. "Go for it."

Fao laughed. “You always have a choice, you might just get bollocked for making the wrong choice.” He joked, slipping the tourniquet round her bicep and finding a vein he liked the look of. “Sharp scratch.” He warned, and neatly got the cannula in. He got it taped and secured, happy it flushed, and then could start running the fluids. 

She hummed. “Thanks, Fao. Sorry for getting you out of bed. Yous must have been busy, Finn looked exhausted.”

“I still don’t look as bad as you.” Finn shot back.

“It’s okay, I probably wouldn’t have slept anyways.” He said. “And you’re nice to me, Finn’s usually a dick when I have to treat him.”

"Get some meds and join me?"

"You're both being dicks! And now you're asking Fao to join you in bed." Finn teased with a laugh, though pretended to be mad. "Maybe I should just go find Ely."

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Fao shot back. “I’ve got tablets for the antisickness and the sleeping stuff. Think you can take them?” Fao asked. 

"Yeah, sure."

“As much as I’m sure you want your bed, it’s probably best if you stay down here with those fluids running.” He said, offering her the antisickness with a cup of water. 

"Thank you."

“Want to take the sleeping tablet now too? And get some rest down here?” 

"Maybe I should. "

“I can offer you plenty of blankets, and I think Finn left a hoodie down here?”

"Here, have this one." Finn pulled it over his head, holding it out for her. "It's warm, too."

Jess grinned, taking it happily. "Thank you, Finn."

“That’s settled, then. Sleeping tablet is here, and I’ll go grab those blankets for you.” Fao said, standing up. 

Finn helped her pull the tubes through the hoodie, and then hopped up on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry you're struggling so much with our Bean."

She nestled in. "I'd say it's not your fault, but…"

"You're half at fault too, and anyway, you enjoyed it."

"Finn!" She laughed, shaking her head. "You need to stop using that as an excuse every time!

Fao had just reappeared with plenty of blankets, and shook his head in disbelief. “You two are the worst. Here are your blankets, I’m gonna go and pass out on the sofa. Shout if you need me.” He draped the blankets over the pair of them. 

"Mm. Thanks, Fao." Finn grinned. "Why not use the bed? Better than the sofa."

“Yeah, let’s see how far I get.”

"You need to look after yourself too." Jess murmured, surprisingly starting to feel the pull of the meds. 

“Get some rest, you two. I’ll be around if you need me.” Fao said, and slipped off to get some rest himself. 

“Y’know, Jess, it's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'." Finn said softly, moreserious than he had been. “You need to put yourself first for a change.”

“‘m sleeping, Finn. Don’t be mean.” She tried to joke, though there were tears in her eyes as she looked away from Finn.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. “No, I know, I know. It’s hard, I know. You’re doing brilliantly, if only you’d see what we do. You’d see why we love you so much.”

[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.”

[bumblingdragon]

Whumptober - day 30 - Borrowed Clothing

they frew up... 🧍‍♂️