#SO MUCH WHUMP

[wolfeyedwitch]

Prompt idea. You might have to buckle up for this one because it’s been building like a volcano and I’m about to let it all out: I’ve seen a lot of Damian-Danny twin AUs and most of the time, the reason Danny didn’t go back to Damian was some variation of either 1) he heard of Damian Wayne later on and just, didn’t go to Gotham bc his brother has a better life now idfk, 2) he thinks Damian is dead, 3) he thinks his brother is still a part of the League. Now 3 is an interesting one because when the inevitable Danny-gets-attack-by-his-parents happens, Danny usually writes off Damian as an option for help because…well, the League of Assassins. But here’s what I want to see: I want to see a now homeless, injured, alone Danny with nowhere else to go who just wants his brother. Imagine Danny trekking all the way to Nanda Parbat because anything is better than this, and at least punishment means he can be protected again…just to discover that Damian isn’t there. He’s still alone and in pain, now under the harsh control of the League, who now know there is another heir still alive, who keep him more as a hostage than an heir. Maybe they dip him in the pits and Danny pretends to be suggestible, full of pit rage, when in reality it’s the equivalent of a week long food poisoning. Back in Gotham, Damian hears wind of the new Demon’s Heir back from the dead and knows. Cue the reveal with the batfam and then: the mission. No brother left behind. They hunt down Danny and save him and, because it’s the most iconic thing ever in all the brother POVs I’ve seen, the other bat brothers are wary at first because they can only picture Damian hopped up on rage juice- and then shocked to find out that Damian’s twin is actually this super sweet, occasionally sassy but mostly adorable little twink with an inferiority complex and all immediately adopt him and vow their wrath on anyone who even thinks of touching their new adorable baby brother.

Yup. There it is. If anyone writes this for me I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER ❤️❤️❤️

I....

Yeah, you said it best. If anyone writes this, I will LOVE YOU FOREVER and will be all over it like:

Because that sounds AWESOME. Such a different take on the usual "Danny reveal gone badly" and "Danny and Damian are twins" setups!

[koraesrambles]

Gotham War: Red Hood Issue #2? More like Everyone in Gotham is Horny for Jason Todd.

Get it girl.

Everyone is asking, "Where is Red Hood?" but does anyone ask "HOW is Red Hood?"

spoiler alert: He is Not Good.

Everyone: Well Gotham War is problematic because --

Me: Yeah yeah yeah, but have you considered that I'm having a great time watching everyone fight over Jason Todd?

Rose is the only person in the world who understands Jason like I do.

Some Scholar: Well I read comics because of their commentary on --

Me: Well, I read comics because I want to see a bunch of silly people dressed up in silly costumes fighting over my favorite character while he goes insane, okay? Good.

[tenderlywicked]

Broadchurch aesthetics

[blackrosesandwhump]

I'm thinking of creating a prompts list for a whump writing challenge. Should I do a theme for it, and if so, what should it be? Gothic whump? Lab whump? Something else?

[spell-cleaver]

AU where luke overhears owen and beru talking about how his father is darth vader. luke, who is still kinda ignorant about how bad the empire is but knows they're evil, sets out to save his father. A few months later, Darth Vader is kidnapped by an Imperial engineer :)

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Vader knew the stowaway was there before he even got onto the shuttle. The troops who were meant to accompany him on his diplomatic mission to Tatooine stood to attention when he strode into the hangar and didn’t dare to question him when he waved them away. They could take a different shuttle.

He was bored. He was angry. If he had to spend the afternoon negotiating with Jabba rather than simply rolling into Hutt Space with the Imperial Navy and taking what he wanted, then he would at least spend the morning finding out what pathetic sort of trap this was and crushing it. The presence on board was clearly Force-sensitive: was this an attempt by the dregs of the Jedi to assassinate him? He would enjoy putting it—and the stowaway—to rest.

So, pretending not to have noticed the presence, he sat down in the pilot’s seat and smoothly took off from the hangar, feeling his troopers’ baffled stares after him. They would follow in a transport soon after. He wanted to have this chance, first. The presence sparked with joy and excitement when they took off: the Jedi must think their plan was succeeding.

It wasn’t long before the trap he was waiting for was sprung. The controls of the shuttle started to wobble, and their trajectory pitched to the right. Vader growled. Their current course would take them away from Mos Eisley, towards the Jundland Wastes and towards…

His mother’s grave.

The autopilot was engaged. That was exactly where they were taking him, when he checked: the programme had been fed coordinates that Vader well-remembered inputting once before, in another life. When he made to override it, the navicomputer beeped at him angrily.

Passcode protected. Vader spent a scant thirty seconds trying to break through, but the Jedi’s tech skills were at least passable. He could work at it harder and correct their course, but first he wanted to see what plan they had shoved into actions.

He stood from the pilot’s seat and looked behind him. In a lambda shuttle, there should be nowhere to hide. There was the cockpit, the engine room, and the hold, where both cargo and troopers would be stored. Nowhere else should be large enough to hide a humanoid.

The cockpit was empty other than for him, and to enter he had had to come through the cargo hold. That left the engine room—but at a first glance, that was empty too.

A challenge then. And one with a time limit, before they reached his mother’s grave and whatever nefarious plot this was came to full fruition. He let rage soak his chest, lit his lightsaber, and stalked forwards.

“I know you are here, Jedi,” he boomed. “What game do you think this is?”

A flicker in the Force—almost like a giggle. Vader snapped his gaze around the engine room and peered behind the engine itself. Wires tangled in and out of his peripheral vision, tubes interlocked throughout like a grid, but the Force saw clearly. The Jedi was directly behind—

He stopped. He’d reached the back of the room. There was only a metal wall.

He reached out to rap his fist against the wall.

The resounding echo was hollow. The Force betrayed the wince and discomfort from the Jedi, but more importantly, his own ears betrayed the moment when they started scrambling through this vent they’d found to hide in and ran.

Darth Vader was never going to let his prey escape. He drove his lightsaber into the rigid metal like it was water and slashed down. The Jedi screamed. Vader slashed along the other side, uncaring as to whether he amputated a limb, or a head, or a torso, and the metal buckled and bent as he seized the Force in his fist and flung it backwards.

The panel slammed past him, into one of the metal tubes throughout the engine room, and clattered to the ground in a twisted, charred mess. The Jedi tumbled out of the vent in the wall to land at Vader’s feet. He didn’t have the time to lift his chin before the edge of Vader’s blade lingered at his throat.

The Jedi was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, so the Imperial engineer’s uniform he was wearing was laughable: it was several sizes too large for him, and it horrified Vader to think that his men could have let such an obvious imposter infiltrate the Devastator without noticing. Heads would roll for their incompetence. The boy’s hair was long and shaggy, as sun-bleached and yellowed as bones forgotten in a desert. His pale eyes moved slowly along the length of Vader’s lightsaber, from one line of smoke that snaked up from his uniform collar where the blade was at his throat, to the other line of smoke that rose from where the tip of the blade punctured the floor.

“What did you hope to achieve by this, Jedi?” Vader spat. “Why are you taking me here?”

The boy swallowed, set his jaw, and glanced up at Vader. “To bring you home,” he said earnestly.

Vader extinguished his lightsaber. The boy didn’t have time to telegraph his relief on his face before Vader telegraphed his rage on his face instead. Feeling cartilage crunch under his durasteel fists was a satisfying sort of violence, second only to seeing someone squirm in mid air as they realised how fragile their grip on oxygen was. Vader lowered his fist, and the boy’s knees rammed into the floor. He spluttered blood.

“What?” he asked. “I—”

Vader seized him by the throat. The boy stopped talking. His nose twisted in on itself like an ingrown jogun, and his cheekbone didn’t exactly look straight, either. He audibly gulped—for air, perhaps, as the blood blocked up the access through his nose, though his terror was a sudden bright, sharp thing.

It cut Vader to the bone in an instant. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want to.

“This,” Vader hissed, his fury crashing like cymbals through his helmet, through the Force, until the boy looked dazed from the experience of it, “is not my home.”

“But—”

Vader threw him. In the engine room, there were many things to hit, and he hit at least three of them. His head slammed into a pipe, his spine into another one, and his foot even crunched with unpleasant finality against the thrumming engine itself. He lay limp on the floor. Consciousness flickered out for him for a moment—but only for a moment. Vader reached out to seize him and drag him back to the waking world with an ease that surprised even him.

He was not yet finished.

“What do you know?” he demanded, stalking forwards. The boy jerked sluggishly upright, staring blearily at him—then scrambled backwards as fast as he could. “Where did you find out—”

The boy got to his feet and made a run for the door, back to the corridor. Vader indulged him: he made it to the doorway of the cockpit before Vader seized his neck with the Force and yanked him into the air, kicking and lashing out. A hand gouged deep scratches in his throat, as if he could unpick Vader’s grip on him, Vader’s grip on the Force, Vader’s grip on reality and the truth of how he had lived for nearly sixteen years. It did nothing. A strangled cry was all that escaped Vader’s chokehold.

Vader stopped in front of him and quieted himself to speak almost calmly. “Where,” he said, voice still with promise, “did you find out about this place?”

The shuttle set down with a resounding thud. They had landed. Vader didn’t bother glancing out of the viewport: it would be the same desert, the same worthless farm, and nothing of import would ever be found there again.

The boy was trying to speak. Vader gritted his teeth—if he did not control his frustration, he would kill him and lose any chance of discovering what the Jedi knew about Skywalker’s past—and loosened his grip.

Tears streamed down the boy’s face. They cut through the mangled mess of blood left behind from Vader’s attack. White bone gleamed in his cheek.

“I…” he got out. “Live here.”

That was unexpected—and insulting.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would the Jedi settle here?” His mother had remarried, had she not? Perhaps whatever farmers had dared to monopolise her affection had decided to throw in their lot with random Jedi, in memorial to the Jedi who had failed to save her from her fate…

“Not. A Jedi.”

“Not a Jedi?” Vader tightened his grip again, and the boy’s cry was near-silent. “Your presence is unmistakeable. Who are you, what do you know, and what do you intend by bringing me here?”

He loosened the grip to let him speak.

“Skywalker,” the boy said.

Vader threw him into the viewport. The whipcrack of his skull against transparisteel was also satisfying. He slid down onto the console, several functions of the ship whirring into action as he landed on them.

A cool breeze blew through the cockpit—increased circulation. He’d opened the vents, and the eddies blew his hair back from his face, so that his eyes were clear and uncovered when he locked them on Vader’s mask and finished, “Luke Skywalker.”

Vader’s fist froze halfway to closing.

“I’m—not a Jedi.” He coughed; Vader could see the muscles in his throat spasming from here. “Don’t know what that is.”

Vader lifted a finger. “You—”

“Thought you were my father.” Luke’s eyes spilled fresh tears down his cheek. Down his soft, ruined cheek. “Must’ve been wrong.”

When Vader reached out to connect to that Force presence, as powerful as any Jedi’s but—now—blaringly obviously untrained, he felt it settle somewhere in his chest. Pain followed. Pain, he was used to, but not this pain.

“You are Anakin Skywalker’s son,” Vader said.

“Overheard my aunt and uncle saying you were… him. Empire’s evil. Like Hutts. Thought you’d be… a slave again.” His head lolled, the effort of keeping it up clearly gargantuan. “Didn’t realise you’d be a Hutt.”

“What do you mean by that?” Vader snapped. Luke flinched. “I am here to negotiate with Jabba, to destroy him if necessary—”

“I came to save you,” Luke muttered. “Didn’t—didn’t even let me explain…”

“You were a stowaway on my ship! What sort of naïve, ignorant child are you? Have you no concept of danger? Of violence?”

“Didn’t expect a Hutt,” Luke muttered again. “Seen them get violent, but—”

“I am not a Hutt!”

Luke didn’t respond—because he didn’t want to, or because he couldn’t, Vader didn’t know. He just kept looking up at Vader through pale lashes, head lolling without the strength to be lifted.

“Thought you were my father,” he said.

“I am your father.”

Luke closed his eyes, then. A thin wisp of a sigh wheezed from his lips. “Oh.”

Vader stormed up and towered over him. “You are a fool,” he hissed. His finger sprang out to jab in his face. “You—”

Luke flinched and turned his face away.

Vader’s tirade stumbled to a halt.

“Maybe,” Luke mumbled. “Dunno what I was thinking.”

But Vader knew what Luke was thinking. It was written into Luke’s thoughts, projected into his mind like a slide-by-slide presentation. It was something that Vader would never, ever have considered. He had never thought he’d get away without being caught. He’d just trusted his father, a man he loved without knowing him, not to hurt him.

He'd had no idea how capable his father was of violence. Now, though…

Now he knew it intimately.

“You require medical assistance,” Vader said awkwardly.

Luke coughed. “Probably can’t afford it.”

“I will provide it.”

“You don’t have to. I…” His heart was audibly breaking. “I get it.”

“You most certainly do not.”

“I—”

“You do not have a choice.” Vader moved for the comlink set into the console and typed in the frequency for his personal medic on the Devastator. “You will require urgent attention if you are to be saved.”

Luke snorted. “I came here… to save you.”

“You cannot save me, Luke,” Vader said. “What was done to me, and what I have done, is written in blood. Anakin Skywalker is dead. You are not.”

Luke cracked his eye open to peer at Vader for a moment, just as his personal medic responded. “No,” he said, almost with amusement. “I’m not.”

Vader wouldn’t realise what that meant until later.

Later, when they returned to the Devastator, and Vader realised a few minutes into Luke’s surgery that he had to get painkillers or anaesthetics for Luke, because Vader’s own droids were not equipped to provide them. He ran for the first time in over a decade, because he could not interrupt the surgery, but Luke was screaming, screaming, screaming, and the sound tattooed itself on his eardrums. He heard it even as he sat in the chair beside Luke in the medbay and watched his sleeping son.

Anakin Skywalker was dead. He had long since been exposed to the violence of the galaxy, the betrayal it was capable of, and he had returned it tenfold.

But because of him, Luke Skywalker was not.

Vader had long since lost any innocence. He had torn it from the hearts of civilians in his campaigns. He had beaten a lot of Luke’s out of him, as well. But not all of it.

Protecting someone had never been something Vader cared about. Even the Empire was not something Vader protected; it was something he served. But after all he had done, Vader would crawl through another universe of torment to sit at his son’s bedside and listen to the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor assure him that he still lived.

Luke had wanted to bring him home. He had succeeded in that, at least.

[glimmerglanger]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: after the war, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Whump, Sensory Deprivation, Torture, Rescue, Established Relationship Summary:

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Cody spat, mind racing, wondering what they’d try to get him to give up. He knew very little anyone could care about.

“Now, now,” the humanoid said, “never say never. Anything is possible, I assure you."

OR, the one where Cody falls into the hands of someone determined to get some information out of him.

[bannedbookreader]

My Tom Bronson fics

One shots:

Lend Your Lungs to Me

Ted Grant has lost three kids. He can't lose a forth

Defiance

Whumpril Day 5- Roulette has a payout Ted can't refuse

Shiver

Whumpril Day 10- Max and Tom are stranded

Friendly Fire

Whumpril Day 12- Grant mistakes Tom for the enemy

Support

Whumpril Day 13- Ted needs support

Self Treatment

Whumpril Day 17- Jake attempts to fix himself up

Sensory Deprivation

Whumpril Day 20- Tom is taken

Let's Get You Cleaned Up

Whumpril Day 22- Tom comes home bloody

Sharing Clothes

Whumpril Day 23- Unsurprisingly Tom needs some clothes

Short on Time

Whumpril Day 26- Tom tries to comfort Grant

Forced to Kneel

Whumpril Day 27- Ted will do anything for his children

Scar Reveal

Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal

A rewrite of the moment after the Gog story where Tom finds Grant by himself instead

Collar

Whumptober Day 10: Collar

King Inferno wants Tom

Kitten Pile

Ted discovers his children in a pile and decides to join them.

Nest

Ted sees his kits together in his nest for the first time.

Encore

Tom is poisoned in an exhibition match with Ted.

Multichapter:

The Queer Village

Maxine is determined to get Tom to go to Pride with her

Wildcats and the Cradle

Ted Grant loves his kids dearly. But they certainly make his life interesting.

Or

The Wildcat family and their adventures

This Body Doesn't Fit Me

Tom has something important to tell his father...if he can get up the nerve.

Many Hearts Make a Home

"Tom knew what the constant shiver down his spine meant, especially accompanied by the slow dotting of sweat on his forehead. Not even a week after meeting his father and his body was deciding to make him more miserable than he already was. Black cats were notoriously unlucky after all."

Or Tom's heat hits and his family helps.

The Grand Investigation of Tom Bronson

Tom decides to find his brother. No this isn't an unhealthy coping mechanism why do you ask?

[belligerentmistletoe]

Alternative flogging scene.. Don’t… ask… why …. (But blame the discord server and @luxshine… she made me)

[whumpybucky]

A little while ago @softersteve mentioned how there is so little sick Steve content and that it made her sad. I felt like that needed to be fixed so this is for her.

3.5K of an idiots-in-love grad school AU with Steve being so sick with a head cold and so sad pining over his best friend, Bucky, who is so soft for him and also pining. There’s a happy ending I promise.

“Hel–” Steve had to break his greeting to clear his throat, which turned into a rough cough. He winced, half with pain from the lingering ache in his tonsils, half from embarrassment. “Sorry, hey, Buck.”

“Well, now I know why you’ve stood me up for the first time ever. How’ya feeling?”

Steve closed his eyes and rolled back onto the pillows he had been dozing on for the past two days. His brow was furrowed as he rubbed his palm across it.

“I’mb fide,” he replied, cringing at the rounded consonants. “Is it Thursday? Gosh I’mb really sorry—snf SNFF! Coulda sworn it was Wednesday…” Steve trailed off, the statement directed more to himself than his friend.

He and Bucky always met up on Thursdays during the break before his weekly seminar and Bucky’s TA office hours. They started the recurring date (though Steve had to constantly remind himself it wasn’t an actual date) at the beginning of the semester. Thursdays quickly became Steve’s favourite day of the week.

His head immediately filled with the image of Bucky sitting at their favourite loveseat, two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of him, getting lost in people watching as folks hurried past the café, bundled up in wool and scarves and toques. Handsome, brunette Bucky, alone and waiting for Steve to show up.

His chest tightened with guilt for standing his best friend up. And a longing seeped between his ribs at missing out on their time together.

“Sorry, pal, but it’s definitely Thursday. Jeez, why didn’t you tell me you were this sick, Stevie?”

Steve’s heart clenched at his friend’s concern and the nickname. “It’s ju-huh–SNFF! Just a cold, Buck.” He grabbed a handful of fresh tissues and pressed them to his nose, hoping to quell the buzzing in his sinuses.

“A cold that I gave you, so I know for a fact that it’s a bad one. How ‘bout I bring our tea date to you?”

Steve could feel the tingling intensify, it was a losing battle. “H-hold on Bu-huh!… HUH’shiew! EHShhh! HUUHTSCHOO!”

The triplet fell out of him before he even had time to cover his mouth fully with the tissues. Instead, he made the most futile attempt at directing the increasingly strong sneezes away from the phone. After catching his breath, Steve blew his nose a few times before returning his focus back to the conversation—though the action brought little relief and only seemed to move the congestion around his sinuses.

“Guh, sorry, that mbust have sounded gross.”

“Poor Stevie. Don’t apologize, you don’t sound gross, you sound so sick. Speaking of which, what tea do you want me to bring you?”

Steve almost whined at how sweet Bucky was being, acting as if he wasn’t completely disgusted by what a mess he obviously was.

“Really, you don’t need to come over, Buck– snff SNFFF! –I’mb just going to sniffle and sneeze and cough at you and then probably end up falling asleep. Again.”

Steve cleared his throat which immediately turned into another dry, weak cough, as if his body was trying to help him prove his point. He heard Bucky sigh through the receiver and his chest tightened more.

“Just like I did with you last weekend. Remember last weekend? When you came over and watched movies with me and took care of me for two days straight? Seriously, Steven–” another sigh, “I feel so bad for getting you sick. Let me at least bring you tea. Or soup? Or maybe that natural apple juice I always tease you for still liking?”

The soft pleading in Bucky’s voice nearly pushed Steve over the edge.

The love he felt for his best friend since high school had become a challenge to suppress on the best of days. But now that he was on day three of the worst cold he’d had in ages, probably running a low grade fever, and feeling absolutely miserable? Well, it was too much for the blonde grad student to bear.

Why did Bucky have to be so nice? So caring? So sensitive? So thoughtful?

In that moment of pure and utter weakness, Steve was grateful Bucky had phoned him instead of a video call. Otherwise he would have had a difficult time explaining the stream of tears suddenly making a path down his flushed cheeks.

He sniffled into the ball of tissues he was still holding before responding. “I…sn-snffff… I’ll be fide, Buck. Really. Y-you don’t n-need SNF! don’t need to...”

Steve’s breath was hitching as he tried to quell the threatening sob bubbling in his throat. He hoped to the powers that be that it sounded as if he was about to sneeze rather than burst into tears.

“But I want to,” Bucky insisted. Soft, quiet, with a timbre of sadness.

Bucky’s admission hung between them as Steve sniffled into his crumpled tissues and, for a fleeting instance of relief, calmed the ache in his chest that wasn’t from his cold.

Maybe he could try to get off the couch and clean himself up a bit. Maybe take a shower. Tidy up the mound of tissues he had accumulated over the past few days that now surrounded his nest of blankets. Maybe he could give in to being taken care of by his best friend. Maybe he could let himself have that.

But a final sigh from Bucky broke the pause.

“Look, I don’t want to push you, especially when you’re not feeling good. But please text or call me if you need something. Anything. Promise?”

Dammit.

“I promise,” Steve replied, his congested voice weighted with defeat.

“I’ll call to check on you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Get some rest, Stevie.”

“Thangks, Buck.”

Steve pressed the end call button just as the dam burst.

He knew crying was only going to worsen his symptoms but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The stress of nearing the end of term. The pending holidays. Being in love with his best friend who he was certain didn’t love him like that. It becoming increasingly harder to be around said best friend because of said unreciprocated feelings.

Throw in a horrendous cold with a persistent low grade fever and Steve found himself smack in the middle of the perfect storm for a total and utter emotional meltdown.

He sobbed and sniffled his way through the remainder of the last box of tissues he had, having to reuse the balls around him until the skin around his nostrils was so irritated and his cheekbones and forehead were so sore from the combination of congestion and crying and fever that he simply fell asleep with a fist of used Kleenex pressed against his nose.

__________

Bucky dragged his feet into his shared office with his fellow TA, Natasha. The two had met during their undergrad, while Steve was out of state on scholarship. They became fast friends, almost like siblings, eventually getting an apartment together just off campus.

It hadn’t taken long for Natasha to put two and two together about Bucky’s feelings for Steve. And if there had been any doubt, it was dispelled during second year when Natasha watched him plummet into a deep depression when Steve told him about a brief fling he had with a cute engineering student named Tony.

When Steve moved back home and started grad school at the same university as them, Natasha had warned Bucky that she wasn’t going to spend grad school watching him pine over his best friend. Three terms in and that’s exactly what she was doing.

“I can feel you moping from here, Barnes,” the redhead murmured without looking up from her laptop. “Did loverboy cancel your tea date?”

Bucky’s brow crinkled as he removed his jacket and shoulder bag, the faded royal blue canvas one that Steve had bought him last Christmas that was becoming worn in all the right places. He slumped into his chair with a huff.

“I told you not to call him that. You’re going to let it slip one day when he’s around.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” Natasha smirked over the screen of her laptop.

Bucky sighed into his hands, rubbing his face in frustration.

“We talked about this. No meddling. Besides, he didn’t cancel…” Bucky’s hands dropped to his lap as he shifted his gaze to the small window of their office. Students bundled up, crossing the quad. A faint flurry swirling around them. “He didn’t show up,” Bucky mumbled.

That made the redhead finally give Bucky her full attention. “James, I’m sure there—”

“He’s super sick,” Bucky cut her off, turning towards his roommate to meet her gaze. “He didn’t even know what day it was, Tash.” His blue eyes were a sea of worry as he subconsciously rubbed his hands up and down his jean clad thighs.

Bucky flinched at the sound of Natasha’s laptop slamming shut. The smile on her face at least told Bucky he wasn’t in for one of her I’m done with your lovesick pining lectures.

“So you’re here because why, exactly?”

“He kept saying I didn’t need to go over. I didn’t want to push him…” Bucky suddenly felt like a scolded child and his head dropped into his hands again.

“Jamie, roomie, bestie. We’ve been over this.”

“I knoooow,” he moaned, looking back up at his friend. “But what if—”

“Nope, not doing this again. He’s literally sick because he doted on you all weekend long.”

“He’d do that for anyone.”

“Not a chance. Remember that summer when we were all at the cabin and Tony, Sam, and I all got some stomach bug that somehow evaded you two?”

Bucky nodded.

“He wouldn’t even come near us and made you two sleep in a tent outside because he didn’t want to risk ruining your vacation.” Natasha emphasized the last part with her best impression of Steve’s concerned voice.

Bucky stared blankly at her, a faint blush stroke appearing across his cheeks.

“You like him, he likes you, stop stalling and go take care of the poor guy,” she directed, opening her laptop again.

Bucky could have sworn he saw an eye roll. He sat still for a moment, processing everything Natasha had just told him. Then he shook his head. “But office hours. I have—”

“I’m merging them into my schedule as we speak. Go, before I change my mind.”

This was it then. In one fluid motion, Bucky jumped up from his chair, hopped over to Natasha’s desk and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head—which she batted away—then turned and scooped up his jacket and bag as he rushed towards their door. He paused for an instant, free hand on the knob.

“Thanks, Tash. Really.”

“Go get the guy, Barnes” she smiled, a rare moment of softness shining through her normally surly exterior.

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice. He nodded once before turning on his heel and out of their shared office.

__________

Steve was suspended between sleep and waking. He was vaguely aware of the dull ache in his head and sinuses, the scratch in his throat. But there was also something soothing. A gentle touch running through his hair. A soft voice, luring him to reality.

Was he dreaming?

A dry cough that only seemed to irritate his throat more pulled him fully awake. Then the voice.

“Hey Stevie. Sorry to wake you, but I think you might need some meds.”

Definitely not dreaming then.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open as he finished coughing into the ball of tissues he had fallen asleep holding. Everything still felt delayed.

“Hey Buck,” he croaked out. Though as soon as the greeting left his lips, his eyes widened as his brain finally caught up to the fact of his friend’s presence.

Bucky. Was here. In his apartment. Sitting on the chaise part of the couch Steve had fallen asleep on after his sob fest over his unrequited love. The best friend who was carding fingers through his probably very greasy hair. The best friend who was looking down at him with the most heartwarming expression, despite being surrounded by clusters of Steve's used tissues.

“Oh mby god, Buck!” Steve sputtered as he pushed himself up into a half sitting half leaning position, trying to put distance between them in hopes that Bucky hadn’t fully registered just how disgusting he must look at this moment. The movement caused a sudden shift in congestion and he felt his sinuses start to tingle. He pressed the tattered ball of tissues into his chapped nostrils.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Bucky offered, his hand falling back down to his lap.

“Snf SNF! What are you doing here?” The question came out more as a whine.

“You’re sick, I’m here to take care of you.” Bucky reinforced the matter of fact statement by holding up a canvas shopping bag that Steve hadn’t noticed until now. He then dropped the bag on his lap and started sorting through it as he continued, “Brought you some meds, the ones left over from what you brought me last weekend. The tea you always order when you’re feeling low. That raspberry oat muffin you like so much. A jug of apple juice. Soup. And some tissues—the soft ones you never buy yourself—which it looks like you need,” he finished, not unkindly, as he lifted his head up and noticed Steve’s fluttering eyes.

“Y-you didn’t ha-ha… hngxxt! Hngsht! Hngxxxsshh!”

Bucky quickly fished out the new box of tissues he had brought. “Don’t stifle, you know that just makes you sneeze more. Here,” he instructed as he pressed a handful into Steve’s palm.

Steve nodded in gratitude, eyes closing as he descended into another fit.

“Hshhmmpfff! Hngtshhh! Eishh! Tishh, tshh, ISHH!” His breath was suspended, hitching desperately as he finally brought the fresh tissues to his face. He dropped the used ball he had been holding and cupped both hands around his face just in time.

“HUH… HUUUH’HURRSSHOOOOO!” The last sneeze took him over so completely that Steve slumped sideways into the back of the couch in defeat. He muttered an “oh mby god,” before blowing his nose several times, giving up on trying to protect his friend from the grossness that was his body at this point.

“Jesus, Steve. Bless you, like ten times over.”

“Don’t have to keep count,” Steve huffed between nose blows.

Bucky chuckled at his friend’s annoyance. But he didn’t hesitate to continue his caretaking, leaning in to brush away the hair that had fallen into Steve’s face during the fit. Though upon making contact, his brow furrowed and he placed his palm across the blonde’s forehead once he had successfully pushed the hair back.

“Definitely feels like you're running a little temperature there. When was the last time you took something?” His inquiry was laden with concern.

Steve was done putting up defenses and leaned into the cool touch. Then he sniffled and coughed feebly into the now crumpled tissues before finally dropping his hands into his lap. He blinked at Bucky, simultaneously trying to recall the last time he took something and still reeling from the fit.

“Snf! Don’t know… mbabey yesterday? Or the day before?” His voice dropped and his eyes went down to his lap before adding, “I ran out.”

Bucky sighed. “What about the last time you ate something?”

Guilt flashed across Steve’s face as he looked up again. “Last night I think.”

Another sigh left Bucky’s mouth. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before moving his palm to cup Steve’s rose flushed cheek. Then he responded, barely above a whisper, “You should have called me.”

Steve returned the sigh. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother, sweetheart. You’re my guy.”

Sweetheart? My guy? Maybe he was dreaming.

An unexpected sneeze surfaced out of nowhere, forcing him to pull away from Bucky’s touch and turn his mouth into the couch cushions.

“Snf! Sorry, snfffff!”

“Nothin’ to apologize for. I should be apologizing to you, since I’m the reason you’re so sick.”

Oh, so that’s why he was here. Steve’s heart sank.

“Don’t need to feel guilty, Buck. Would’ve happened eventually. SNF! You don’t need to do this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I want to.”

Even though he had a low grade fever, mixed with the low blood sugar and the grogginess of being couch ridden the past two days, it was his friend’s soft words and touches that seemed to squash every insecurity he had that was making his head spin.

Surely he was reading this wrong. Bucky was just here ‘cause he’s a good guy.

“But… but I’mb so gross right now. I’mb sure you have better things to do.” Steve brought the fresh tissues that Bucky had placed into his hand after that last sneeze up to his nose, hiding behind them.

“Like what?”

Steve sniffled, nerves delaying him from voicing what was running through his head. “I dunno… going on a date or something?”

Bucky balked at that, a look of genuine offense rippling across his face before his features softened once again.

“And who would I go on a date with?” he pressed. He really wasn’t going to let Steve win this one.

The gears turned as Steve tried to figure out a way out of this hole of a conversation he had dug himself into. “What about that guy Clint? From your first year lecture. You two went out a few times, no?” He asked sheepishly, still hiding behind the tissues.

“Oh, you mean the guy that confirmed that I only have room for one hot blonde in my life?” Bucky’s smile was unfaltering, if not slightly mischievous.

Steve shook his head, unsure if he heard his friend correctly. The action must have bothered his stuffy sinuses because a triplet burst out of him before he even had time to register it was coming.

“Huh’shmmph! EISHhhhh! HURSSHHIEW!” He blew his nose before finally letting the tissues drop. “God, this cold! This is the worst.”

He knew his complaining was allowing him to avoid the elephant in the room, but he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t bear it if he was interpreting this all wrong.

“I dunno… might not be all bad.”

Steve scoffed.

“I mean, I’m here aren’t I?” Bucky asked softly, brushing a thumb across Steve’s warm cheek.

The blonde’s breath hitched at the intimate touch. “Buck,” he whispered.

“Steven,” Bucky answered, sounding so sure of himself.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Could it be?

“Sure you do, Stevie. I want to take care of you. And not just now, but… always. If that’s what you want.”

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Tears pooled at the corner of his already red and puffy eyes. “Buck… I…”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me, I know.”

“How… how long?”

“A long time. Too long,” Bucky admitted. He let his hand drop, but Steve caught it mid air. A heavy pause hung between them as they searched each others’ eyes for a sign. Anything that might show uncertainty. Neither of them found one.

Steve’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would break through his ribcage and out of his chest at any moment. He finally broke the silence.

“I want that. You have no idea how much I want that.”

The relief that flooded Bucky’s face was palpable. “And you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.” He clasped both hands around Steve’s.

“God, if it wasn’t for this cold I’d—”

Steve was cut off by Bucky’s lips crashing into his. They were soft, tender, warm. They kissed him slowly, hesitant at first, but then assured and strong without being forceful. It was just like Steve had imagined in early morning hours in bed, only infinitely better. It made his stomach flutter and warmth pool in his abdomen.

“Could get used to that,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s lips before breaking the kiss to allow his congested friend to catch his breath.

“That was…” Steve couldn’t find the right words.

“Yeah, it was.”

Before he could stop himself, Steve turned his entire body and wrapped his arms around Bucky, pulling him so that they were both leaning against the couch. He pressed his head into Bucky’s chest and sniffled wetly, overcome by the emotions of it all.

Bucky melted into the embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around Steve, one hand rubbing his back while the other gently stroked the nape of his neck. “My poor sick guy.”

They sat in quiet for a long while, holding each other, reveling in one another’s warmth.

It was Bucky that finally broke their silence, after leaning down to press his lips into Steve’s forehead and feeling the warmth still radiating.

“Babydoll, you need meds.”

“Hmmm, like those names,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s sweater.

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah? Good. But seriously, let me go for just a sec so I can get you some water and something to eat with it.”

Steve only tightened his grip. “Five mbore mbinutes, Buck.”

Bucky sighed contentedly into the firm embrace. “‘Kay, Stevie, five more minutes. Then meds.”

“Deal,” Steve agreed, before adding, “Just got you. Not ready to let go yet.”

Bucky readjusted his arms as tight as he could around Steve. “You’ve always had me, sweetheart. And always will, for as long as you want me.”

[aziraphalesbookkeeper]

When a storm blows Garp's ship off course, it's less than ideal. A small headache that comes with the Grand Line's strange weather patterns. Bogard's seen it all before; it's nothing to raise an eyebrow at. Their ship getting blown up, though? Yeah, that's a cause for concern. Especially when the man who did it takes a special interest in killing off their nosey cadets - starting with Koby.

[icypantherwrites]

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...

BOTTLED OCEAN RETURNS!

The Patreon exclusive fanfiction Bottled Ocean, which will measure over 250,000 words once completed (at 225k right now!) and become my second longest fanfiction ever (ciao, Sin!) is coming back bigger and better than ever for all supporters of my Patreon in February!

Not a member? Let me cast a line and lure you in ;) Check out this whale of a tale (tail?) summary for this Mer!Lance fanfiction featuring all the goodness Icy is known for: whump, angst, hurt, comfort and featuring of course Lance but plenty of all the above to go around for Shiro and Keith too! If you love action, adventure, tales of the high seas, piracy, slaves, torture, brotherhood and all the found family feels, consider yourself baited and caught!

Bottled Ocean Summary:

Lance knew the moment he saw the one-armed Human man in pain, bleeding and tied up like bait in the ocean that the people on the nearby ship were the ones Mers like him were warned to stay far, far away from. Lance knew the moment he saw the one-armed Human man in pain, bleeding and tied up like bait in the ocean that the people on the nearby ship were the ones Mers like him were warned to stay far, far away from.

But even with such a warning there was no way of knowing how dangerous this particular ship, belonging to Night Elf Captain Lotor, could be.

And even had he known, Lance’s actions would have been the same. The man, Shiro, needed help. Shiro’s younger brother, a half blood Human / Night Elf and fellow abused slave needed rescued. And Lance could not, would not, turn away from those in need.

But all actions have consequences.

Lance is captured and now the fate that awaits him is as a test subject as Lotor seeks to unravel all of the legends, the mysteries and the magic of the Mers. His only hope is an escape alongside Shiro and Keith. But the clock is ticking as Lotor’s experiments and methods grow more cruel, more violent, and if they don’t escape soon… the only freedom any of them will find will be in death.

All new chapters (36 onward) will be available for any current tiers new supporters can join ($10+ tiers will get updates on Sundays and $5 tiers will get updates on that following Thursday). Older chapters (1-35, totaling a little over 90,000 words) can be read by joining the Iced Chai Tea Latte Tier (which grants access to all of my Patreon exclusive fanfictions, of which there's currently over 360,000 words of stories available) or by purchasing Chapters 1-35 in the Patreon shop. Bottled Ocean is a Patreon exclusive fanfiction, meaning it can only be read on Patreon; it will not ever publish on AO3.

Questions about the fic? Ask away! I love chatting about my violent, whumpy but magical and fantastical AU world of Mers and Night Elves and these poor unfortunate souls that inhabit its ocean!

Want to join in on this grand adventure? Sign up for my Patreon here!

[tenderlywicked]

An unexpected side effect: after binge re-watching two seasons of Broadchurch I started thinking with a Scottish accent :)

[dinosaurswant2rule]

I originally started this story in 2021 for Whumptober, but have recently done an update so I thought I’d give it some love on Tumblr. 

@teddythecat1234 I hope this latest chapter wrecks you a little, I had a lot of fun writing it : D 

@panchostokes - the latest chapter might appeal to you :) 

@saplesss-tree - you write such good whump I’d love to know what you think ! 

Our favourite gang of heroes has been captured and Murdoc forces Mac to make a horrible choice

Mac had his arms out to keep his balance as he stepped forward. Suddenly he was on the very edge of the rocks and was trying hard not to look down or fall. This wasn’t an easy feat under normal circumstances but burdened by handmade climbing gear on both his legs made this horrible task even more difficult.  He almost didn’t need to look at the forest floor below him, the air whistling below told him all he needed to.

“Come on MacGyver! Turn around so I can see your charming face”

[feral-renaissance-cat]

And we're back with the LuciBren Terrible Telepathic Boyfriends AU, except in this chapter it's the...Terrible Blumentrio? But just Bren and Astrid? The point is Bren reveals a terrible truth and everything is awful. Poor kids.

[gumnut-logic]

Was poking around in my fic folder and found this. Not sure if I have posted it before? Maybe? Dunno. But anyway, random whump, complete with whump warning. Small mention of blood.

-o-o-o-

Somebody was testing them.

Or perhaps someone was torturing them.

Scott sighed enough to fog up his helmet and regretted it immediately, blinded by his own breath.

His suit’s systems soon caught up and cleared the plexiglass so that what little he could see came fast back into focus. Sprawled on his butt in the cold snow of their tiny bolthole, that did not amount to much.

“Scott?”

He jumped.

That was not a good sign. He needed to be alert.

Virgil needed him.

His brother lay propped up against a partly fallen wooden wall, the pallor of his complexion only increased by the poor lighting. Like Scott he still had his helmet on, but unlike Scott, he had a nasty broken leg.

“Sorry, what?”

Dark eyes probed Scott like a medical scanner. “You sure you’re okay?” Virgil held up a hand. “Give me the medscanner.”

“Virg-“

“Now.”

Scott sighed and handed it over. He was a fool to attempt to keep it from Virgil. Might as well put the medic’s mind to rest. After all, there was nothing wrong with Scott at all, bar the headache.

“You have a concussion.” His brother frowned at the scanner readout, lips a worried line. “You need to rest.”

What?

The flicker of yellow light passed over him again, his brother’s obvious worry increasing by the moment.

“Scott, come here.”

The snow under Scott shifted as he moved. “I need to see to your leg.”

Virgil’s eyes darted at him. “You need to rest.”

“You’re bleeding, Virgil.” He reached for the rest of his compact medkit.

“Hardly.”

“Your leg is broken.”

“This is not a competition.”

“Unfortunately, triage is exactly that.” Scott forced himself to concentrate and his head complained loudly. He realised that Virgil might be onto something with that concussion diagnosis. How the hell did he get that while wearing his helmet.

By falling down a mountain.

Focus.

His grapple gun made a good torch, but he did not like what it lit up. Virgil’s lower right leg was bent at an awkward angle, both bones obviously broken. One had pierced the skin, but not his brother’s uniform, an ominous lump in the blue fabric of Virgil’s jumpsuit the only indicator of what the medscanner had revealed to be a very nasty break that was leaking precious blood into his brother’s clothing.

They were in a small cavity buried in snow. Scott blinked. They had been evacuating an alpine lodge. Both One and Two had been on site. Another slow blink. But only Scott and Virgil. Alan and Gordon were up at Alphie with Uncle...Uncle...

“John, Scott is deteriorating. Any chance of getting help here sooner?”

“Doing my best, Thunderbird Two.” John? John’s voice was harried. Worried. “I have recalled Thunderbird Three. Alan, Gordon and Captain Taylor are on their way back. One and Two are under Eos’ control. The local GDF are caught up in the same incident that prevented them from attending this one in the first place. Working on it.”

“I know you’ll do your best, John.”

Scott had the distinct feeling he should be doing something, but his head was in a painful fog. Virgil was hurt. John was harried. Scott was Commander. He needed to do something.

“Scott, come here.”

“Have to fix your leg. You’re bleeding.” He shuffled closer to his brother.

“You need to rest. I will take care of it. Come and sit next to me.”

“I’m going to wrap the wound. We need to stop the bleeding.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine. But do it quickly and take it easy. You aren’t well yourself.”

“I have a concussion. I’m not dying.”

Virgil grunted, but Scott ignored him and adjusted the output of his grapple gun to its lowest setting. There was a sizzle and a horrible smell as he cut off Virgil’s pant leg. Red splattered onto the white snow, harsh in the light.

The sight of his brother’s injury was worse and despite his seasoned status as a first responder, Scott’s stomach roiled.

This was his brother.

His little brother.

“Hey, hey, Scott! Look at me!” Virgil grunted as he shifted, reaching over to grab at Scott’s arm. He tugged hard, forcing Scott’s attention to him.

Dark eyes, taut with worry grabbed his own. “Scott, please come here and sit with me.” Virgil tugged at his arm again as his breath hissed between his teeth.

Scott found himself blinking again. What the hell was wrong with him?

Lacking answers, he let himself be tugged up closer to his brother. Virgil’s arm reached around him and pulled Scott against his side.

His head was lowered to his brother’s shoulder and Virgil absently ran a thumb up and down his arm.

It was reassuring.

It was warm.

Virgil was always warm.

“Hey, stay with me.”

Virgil’s voice was as warm as he was. He could always rely on Virgil. He could…

-o-o-o-

TBC?

[glimmerglanger]

six sentence sunday

been awhile! but i have a wip! and it is full of pain and whump! (and eventual codywan!) here is a little bit of it:

Cody had to find out what was still bleeding and make it stop. That had to be first. Check for signs of shock. Get him stable. Cody had been - trained to handle field medicine. The focus had been blaster injuries and amputations but--