#completed whump work

[quietly-by-myself]

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 33 (FINALE)

Masterlist

Well, it's been a long journey here, huh? I hope you have all enjoyed this story as much as I have. I've loved writing this, seeing all of your reactions and love for the story. Just, thank you all for your support.

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for elevating this series through her beta reading. And for cheering me on and helping make good decisions.

Thank you to the following people for cheering me on: 🐘 anon, @flowersarefreetherapy, @oddsconvert, @whumpsday, @pumpkin-spice-whump, and @verkja. Y'all are awesome

CW: none

===

The car ride was long back to Hope. New York was never a big state in Cyril’s head. He was from a small town not far outside Oswego - not far from the United States-Canada border, not far from Lake Ontario, and not too far from New York City. It was easy to forget the expanse that was New York State in that small town, in that small cabin.

Trees blended into one and the conversation between Sacha and his parents was hopeful. Sacha and Cyril had both said that they didn’t really want to talk about what happened, so his family did the talking. They couldn’t stop telling Sacha about everything he’d missed while he was gone, how happy they were to have him back. Soon, the conversation changed to what they wanted to do for his birthday. Cyril would chip in when asked or when he thought of something to say, but he mostly stayed quiet.

Finally, they arrived at Hope. The sun had started to set, but that was only natural - it was winter after all. They’d driven through snow-covered trees in the Upstate.

Sacha’s home wasn’t big. In fact, it reminded Cyril of his cabin more than the houses he saw when he worked in Syracuse. It was a ranch with a dirty door and windows, but the garden in the front was netted - probably for the deer. Cyril recognized the tomato plants. It must’ve been a dormant vegetable garden.

Sacha’s mother hurried to open the door to welcome the two of them in. “I’m sorry for the mess. We didn’t really have time to clean,” she said with a chuckle.

Cyril chuckled, too. The house was almost perfectly clean inside and smelled of vanilla. 

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Sacha’s mother led them all to the living room, while Sacha’s father brought over four bottles of craft beer.

He smiled at Sacha. “You’re finally old enough to drink.”

Sacha chuckled a little. Cyril thought over any medication that Sacha might be taking, but then remembered that Sacha wasn’t taking anything more than acetaminophen and ibuprofen. He chuckled a little to himself, which drew a look from Sacha. Cyril was quick to wave his hand dismissively.

“I just remembered something.”

Sacha nodded and accepted the beer from his father. The four of them toasted then all took a sip of their beers. Cyril hummed a little. He missed craft beer, all those years in the mountains.  

After a little beat of happy, content silence, Sacha’s mother spoke. “I’m headed to go make dinner.” She looked at Cyril. “Don’t you dare ask to help. This is for us to do for you.”

Cyril laughed a little. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You just seem like the type,” Sacha’s mother said with a laugh.

Sacha and his father got talking about different things. Apparently the Buffalo Bills were getting a lot better recently. Cyril wouldn’t know. He wasn’t into sports. However, to see Sacha’s face light up and for him to talk, actually talk, excitedly without hesitation made Cyril smile widely. 

However, after a while, a thought started to hang around in Cyril’s head. One that bothered him and needed to get out.

He stood up politely and said he was going to talk to Sacha’s mother. Clementine - if Cyril remembered correctly. 

Cyril knocked a little on the door frame. “Mrs. Matisse?”

Sacha’s mother smiled and looked back at Cyril. She was chopping up yellow potatoes and garlic.

“You aren’t asking to help, right?”

Cyril cracked a smile. “No, I’m not, Mrs. Matisse.”

Sacha’s mother waved her hand. “Call me Clementine.”

“Clementine, then. I, um, pardon. I’m not the best at talking.”

“Neither was Sacha. It… it took him a long time to climb out of his shell.”

Cyril swallowed a little. “I’m a doctor.”

Suddenly, he has Clementine’s attention. “Did he-?”

Cyril shook his head. “I left medicine for personal reasons a few years ago. I found him half-dead in the forest near where I live. I know the house he came from, now, but I wanted you to know that the man who kept him captive is dead. He died of an infection. Sacha almost did, too, but I healed him.”

Clementine’s knife fell and she turned to look at him. In fact, she didn’t just look at him, she came and hugged him.

“You, a total stranger, saved my son?” There were tears in her eyes. In the other room, the TV was on a football game and Sacha and his father were watching happily. “Even after you left medicine, you saved him?”

Cyril nodded. “I guess so.”

Clementine hugged him tighter. “Thank you. Thank you for being my son’s guardian angel.”

Gently, Cyril rubbed her back as she cried a little into him. “Was it bad? The condition he was in?”

“It was bad, yes.”

She went quiet again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never be able to repay you, but thank you. Know that if you need anything, you can come to me.”

Cyril took a breath. “About that, I had a question.”

“Anything,” Clementine breathed.

“I’d like to come practice here,” Cyril blurted. He took a moment in the silence that followed to put his thoughts together. “I know you hardly know me but I wanted to ask your permission. Sacha would say yes no matter what, but that doesn’t mean I’m wanted, you know?” He took a breath. “I can’t imagine living away from him anymore. He’s become like a little brother to me. I took care of him. I helped him break out of his shell and…” Made him ready to live in society again.

Clementine nodded her understanding, taking a step back with a warm smile that created peaks and valleys on her face. “We would love to have you. It’s a long drive to the nearest doctor out here.”

Cyril’s heart sang. “Are you sure?”

Clementine laughed. “Just make sure you get vetted as a Medicaid provider. There’s a lot of people out here on Medicaid and the nearest doctor doesn’t even take it.”

Cyril nodded, smiling. He’d intended to, anyway. “Thank you. I cannot put into words how much I owe you for that.”

“We owe you more, I guarantee that. I just have to ask, don’t you have any family or anything? Anyone who would miss you up there?”

Cyril shook his head, looking a little sad. “I was a foster kid, never adopted. Didn’t really get to know many people. My only real friend died maybe five years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Clementine gave him a kind look. “You can stay with us until you’re set up.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Clementine laughed a little. “Go with the other boys and watch some football. Even if you don’t like it.”

Cyril laughed a little. “Never did.”

Clementine laughed heartily. “I never did either.”

—

One month after Sacha’s homecoming…

Each breath that Sacha breathed let out a puff of white steam into the air. The Lake was just starting to ice over as Cyril and Sacha were sitting, feet hanging off the edge, looking out onto the water. They’d cleared a small area for themselves and brought two cushions.

The sky was dark and filled with stars. So far out from the city, you might even see the Milky Way if the night allowed. It was getting late and Sacha was getting tired, but it was tradition to stay up until midnight to open their presents. It was a long-standing tradition in his family for Christmas.

“Sacha,” Cyril began, turning to look at him. The two had hot chocolate warming their hands through their gloves. The winds were always cold on the Lake. 

“Yeah?”

“This is the first Christmas I’m celebrating since Oliver died. I… um, I used to celebrate with his family, but his family stopped wanting to see me after he died.”

Sacha nodded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Eventually, after an awkwardly long silence, Cyril spoke. “I’m really glad that I found you, Sacha. You’re my family now. Your family has been wonderful to me. Even standing up for me when the cops came to check me out.”

Both of them knew what Cyril was referring to. When news surfaced that the long-missing Sacha Matisse had returned home, the FBI had come to investigate. Upon looking at Emery Abberton’s mansion, they found the bodies of three other victims, victims like Sacha. Sacha was his sole survivor.

Emery’s mother had been covering for him and spilled the whole truth. After that and a quick investigation into Cyril’s connections, Cyril’s name had been cleared, in part because of the way that Sacha’s family stood up for him.

“I never imagined that I’d get out alive.”

Cyril patted him on the back. “None of that matters now. You’re a survivor. Now, you’re home.”

Sacha laughed a little. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now.”

Cyril got serious. “Study. Learn something. There’s got to be a community college close to here.”

“But what would I study?”

Cyril shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to you. You could become a therapist, a social worker. I can see you as a woodworker.”

The two of them sat in silence for a little while longer. “I was thinking about marine health. Something like environmental science but for the Lakes.”

Cyril smiled and laughed. “That suits you. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

Sacha laughed a little too. “I guess it does.”

Sacha’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. He always kept it on do not disturb except for certain family members, one of which was his mother.

Sacha picked up his phone, only to see the time was 11:55pm. 

“Where are you two?” Sacha’s mom sounded panicked, afraid almost. Sacha and Cyril had simply lost track of time, but Sacha was sure that it reminded her all too much of the night that her son disappeared.

“It’s okay, Maman. We’re at the dock. We’ll be there soon.”

Sacha’s mom took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We’ll see you soon.”

It was a ten-minute walk back to Sacha’s house from the dock, but once they got inside, they were hit with warmth and the twinkling of the Christmas tree.

Sacha’s mom was smiling warmly at the both of them. “Sacha, Cyril, we want you to open your presents first.”

Sacha smiled and nudged Cyril who was a little in shock.

Sacha’s father handed Sacha and Cyril each a box. They motioned for Cyril and Sacha to open it at the same time, which they obliged. Inside, there was matching carved goldfish made from wood, hand-finished and painted. Each one was almost the same, except for those little details that hand-finishing made.

Sacha’s mom was the one that spoke to Sacha first. “We wanted to welcome you both into the family. Sacha, we’re welcoming you back. We want you to know that we’ll always love you, no matter what. Okay? We’re just happy to have you home.”

“And Cyril,” Sacha’s father said next, not giving Sacha even a moment to absorb what had been said, “The goldfish is a symbol of our family. We wanted you to have one that matched Sacha’s. You’re a part of this family now. You saved our son. If ever you need a place to go, we’ll always be here for you. Regardless. Okay?”

Cyril bit his lip, tears forming in his eyes. Though Sacha had heard the speech about loving him unconditionally many times over the past month, Cyril was being welcomed for the first time. Cyril nodded a bit, struggling to absorb the information.

“Th-” his voice broke a bit. “Thank you. This means so much to me. Thank you.”

Sacha’s mom looked upon Cyril with kind eyes. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

Cyril nodded, but the disbelief was palpable. 

“Let’s move onto your other presents.”

For Cyril - all new gardening tools, scented lotion for his hands, and an invitation to work on the garden in front of Sacha’s house. Again, Cyril was emotional. After all, now he had two gardens - Sacha’s and his own.

For Sacha - a new, thick blanket and bed sheets for his room, a Buffalo Bills jersey, signed by a star player that even Sacha didn’t recognize but knew was important from his father’s pride, and a new cat tower for his room for Amber. 

Sacha didn’t have money to buy his mom and dad gifts, but Cyril had given them each $100 in cash, explaining that he didn’t know them well enough to buy them presents quite yet.

The two understood. Of course they did.

As the night wound down and the tiredness set in, Cyril went to the guest room and Sacha went to his bedroom that hadn’t changed much since he’d disappeared. 

Lying there, Sacha felt warm and loved in a way he hadn’t before. His mind went to Emery, but he quickly thought of the goldfish, of Cyril, of his parents, and of the content feeling that now rested in his chest. The image of Emery didn’t belong there anymore.

Sacha didn’t just own himself.

He was his own person now, with a brother and parents. He was happy. But, most importantly, Sacha was at peace.

That peace was worth more than gold and tasted sweeter than any nectar from the heavens.

===

Taglist: @whumpsday @i-can-even-burn-salad @pigeonwhumps @darkthingshappen @pumpkin-spice-whump @darlingwhump @maracujatangerine @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @flowersarefreetherapy @octopus-reactivated @quietshae @whump-blog @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @whumpkinz @roblingoblin285

[tswwwit]

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to. 

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.” 

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask. 

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples." 

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?” 

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time. 

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent. 

 Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

 In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out - 

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time. 

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out.  "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it - 

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha  ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.” 

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best. 

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder. 

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted. 

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details. 

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain. 

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -  

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach. 

Alright. So. He got most of the traps. 

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention. 

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground. 

Then -  because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing. 

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes. 

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience. 

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder. 

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow. 

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner. 

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument. 

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird. 

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face. 

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency. 

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.” 

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much. 

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention. 

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off. 

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder. 

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation. 

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper  elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it. 

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily. 

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise. 

Until his mind catches up with what he just said. 

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness. 

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.” 

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!” 

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say,  “I’ve done it before.” 

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.” 

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges -  Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels. 

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer - 

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes -  Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.” 

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick. 

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out. 

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it. 

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.” 

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face.  “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts. 

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him. 

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds, 

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.” 

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.” 

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents  - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close -  "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll - 

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal. 

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking -  “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. 

Crap, even his threat before was kind of - 

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

[plague-of-insomnia]

In/Exhale: Season 2: Now Complete on AO3!

Season Two has now joined Season One on AO3 as a complete work!

I’ll begin posting Season 3 soon, and I’ve also got a summary of Season 2, in case it’s been a while since you read it or you want to jump straight into S3 (which is the best season imo).

Rating: E | Words: 170,889 | Genre: Romance, Slice of Life, Coming of Age, Drama

Summary: Kai, Renee, Jon, and Vicky’s stories continue to unfold in the second season on In/Exhale.

Set in a small town in Iowa, follow our various heroes as they navigate life, love, illness, and family.

[dootplusone]

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(If the OP would prefer this post not link back to the OG post or is otherwise is not okay w/ this post in reference to theirs, please let me know in some form so I can delete/edit it as needed.)

Thinking. Abt this but with Bones. Like. Post-Tholian Web? Post-Mirror Mirror?

For AOS, could be after Into Darkness and/or Beyond.

A Bones who's just. So anxious. So stressed. So overwhelmed that it starts taking a toll on his health. Maybe he doesn't even realise - or maybe he does and tries his best to push through it until it knocks him on his ass. Kind of in the vein of "You don't actually know how tired you are until you stop. And then you just physically cannot start again." It becomes his new baseline, a problem that just brews and storms in the distance.

And he just carries on. And keeps going and going and going until one day he realises that 'Oh fuck, I'm not okay' and has about 5 seconds of warning before he straight up collapses, doesn't matter if it's on the bridge, in the madbay, on a planet - he's going down. (Maybe a repeat of Tholian Web where he just straight up faints into Spock's arms? Full whammy, why not)

Maybe it's a high-tension situation getting resolved that does it. The pure relief of it reminds him of how tired he is. How tired he's been for a while. His body sees that momentary rest and goes "More of that, please. And I'm not asking."

And he's so rendered by it that he doesn't grumble about being coddled like he normally would when he wakes up. He knows not to fuck with the medbay staff - they're just as firm as he is on recovery, and that's not by accident - and he knows that Spock and Kirk will be hovering, because they see any problem as something they, too, should shoulder the burden of.

...And because they're some of the most protective people in the damned universe. And that goes for pretty much all the people on board the Enterprise.

In some scenarios, it's just a case of letting his body and mind rest properly. In others, there's a lot more recovery involved than anyone initially expects. Luckily for him, he has a found family who are determined to be there with him at every step. It just takes a couple reminders, every once in a while.

[justbreakonme]

I’m a writer cause I’m a manipulator, that is all.

[thewhumppodcast]

Podcast update: Alright guys, I've been avoiding making this update, but I'm very close to giving up here. Sorry, I did so many recordings trying to pull something together but I might just not be able to make a podcast. A whump podcast could be so cool, I really wanted it to work. I'm going to keep trying but I understand if you guys are disappointed and don't want to wait around when it might not happen.

[spookyboywhump]

Generally I find it hard to feel disappointed or let down by people who I never expected anything better from but at this point it’s not even disappointment it’s just. Plain confusion I guess. It’s hard to comprehend the fact that there are people offering the last dollar they have if it will help someone they’ve never met, people finding ways in between shitty work schedules and general life bullshit to raise awareness within their community, people with little time, little resources, little energy doing whatever little things they can to hopefully add up to some change, and all the while there are these people who could easily make a massive difference, even just in raising awareness or a show of solidarity, at very little cost to themselves, and they just simply choose not to. And it shouldn’t be confusing because I know why, they don’t care because they don’t have to care, it doesn’t benefit them or their goals, it doesn’t effect them so they choose to ignore it. But even though I know that’s the reason I still find it hard to understand how they can just be okay with that while others far less privileged than them are doing the absolute most they can with what they have and still worrying that it’s not enough.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

All the movie directors prior to January of 2017 really said “Hurt; no comfort,” huh?

[quietly-by-myself]

Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos - Chapter 24

This is the final chapter.

Thank you to everyone who's been with me for the journey.

I will be hosting an AMA regarding this story after this is posted. Please feel free to drop any questions you may have.

I'm not entirely happy with this ending, but I don't think I'll be happy with any ending to this story.

Thank you again.

CW: illness, emotional characters

===

Briac regarded Silvanus with a quiet sort of patience. As time went on, Silvanus was starting to realize the type of person that Briac was beyond what he’d gone through. So much had been clouded in the early days that Silvanus often wondered if he really knew Briac.

“Sounds like you would’ve liked this First Keeper,” Briac commented with a mischievous smile.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Silvanus got treated to Briac’s playful side. He wondered, sometimes, if Briac was an even more playful person before he found out he was fae.

Before they tortured you and stripped everything away.

“I think that the two of us would’ve gotten along.” Silvanus looked down a bit. His heart felt heavy and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Did he long to meet a long-dead person? Did he doubt his actions? Did he feel like he’d let down someone he’d never met? Silvanus wasn’t quite sure.

“Regardless, what you’re saying makes sense.” Briac let out a small sigh. Silvanus could see the anxiety on his face, the ruffle in his eyebrows and the way his crow’s feet pinched. “What do you want to do, Silvanus?”

Silvanus wasn’t entirely sure himself. However, if there was one creature on this planet that he could trust to help him know if he was doing the right thing, that creature was Briac.

“I want to publish her notes.” Silvanus held up his hands. “I need to explain myself. I want to publish them because I think that alchemists have lost their way. Everything we’re doing is a contradiction of her vision. I was outcasted because I followed her vision. I- I think that life would be better for everyone if I did that. I want to be the last Keeper who kept her notes a secret.”

Briac was quiet for a long time. Silvanus could hear his heart beating in his ears, though he didn’t know if that was his own anxiety or Briac’s.

“Gods, this is going to sound so stupid.” Briac took a deep breath. “Silvanus, all I ever wanted after I found out that I was fae was for everything to be okay. To feel like I could have a life. I wanted hope.”

Tears formed in Briac’s eyes. “What I found, Silvanus, is more than that. You and Dubheasa and everyone else… you all really care about me. You helped me find parts of myself that I like. You helped me feel alive and that there was hope for me. I’ve achieved everything I want to. Now I just want to pay you back.”

Silvanus was entirely taken aback. At first, he didn’t know what to think. Then, the tears found his eyes.

“Briac- you- it’s not necessary for you to pay me back.”

“You gave up so much for me! Of course I have to pay you back. I want you to be happy, too.”

Happy. 

Briac was happy.

After everything he’d been through, all the ways in which Silvanus had failed him, he was happy.

Silvanus couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. “You’re happy, Briac?” he choked. 

Briac gave him a puzzled look. “I would never ask for a different life.”

Silvanus opened his arms, tears streaming down his face. It was all worth it. Every moment of pain, every time he’d sacrificed - it was all worth it. 

Briac, little Briac who wasn’t so little after all, pulled Silvanus into a tight hug. For once, Silvanus was the one who’d broken down crying. Part of him felt pathetic. The other part felt relieved. He’d found his place in the world. That place wasn’t the Hall or the Repose. It was next to Briac.

Two opposites - a fae raised by humans and a human raised by fae; a Southeastern-bound soul and a Northwestern-bound soul - put in unison were never better than next to each other. 

“That’s the answer to curing the Seelie Queen.”

“What is?”

Silvanus wiped the tears from his eyes. “We’re opposites. Together, alchemy and magecraft, curse and restoration, can save the Seelie Queen.”

Briac looked at Silvanus, surprised for a moment, before understanding washed over his face like a tidal wave. 

“I see. But you can’t use your alchemy, Silvanus. How can you cure the Seelie Queen without your alchemy?”

Silvanus was thoughtful for a moment. “I felt blocked off from it before. I… I think I understand my place in the world now. Before, I felt lost. But, I’ve realized. I don’t have to be lost. I’m not alone. Together, you and I can get through anything.”

It was Briac’s turn to be moved to emotion. He pulled Silvanus back into a hug. 

“We’ll leave soon, then.”

“There’s one thing I need to do with you this time,” Silvanus said with a smile. “I’m going to have Maximilian publish the First Keeper’s Notes. I have an argument he can’t refuse. But, I want you there with me.”

Briac smiled. “Of course.”

Silvanus smiled back at him. “We’ll meet with Maximilian tomorrow. For now, let’s go get some drinks. I think it’s time to celebrate.”

—

Maximilian stared at Briac with hatred in his eyes. Briac shifted uncomfortably, but found himself not afraid of being hurt. He used to be, when people looked at him like that. However, now, Briac knew he was strong enough to withstand their abuse. He was stronger than them for having survived and built back a life with Silvanus.

“Maximilian. I have a few parting words for you.”

“Why bring your fae with you for that?”

Silvanus looked back at Briac. His eyes spoke words of reassurance.

“Because I don’t plan to be an alchemist anymore.”

Briac’s blood ran cold. It was Silvanus who wanted to be an alchemist again not that long ago, right?

“You bring your fae to tell me that?” Maximilian spat. 

“I’m telling you because the First Keeper would’ve never wanted this. We need to publish her notes, Maximilian. It will be my last formal act as Keeper. There will be another Keeper after me, I’m sure. But, the alchemists are not what she wanted them to be. I think… the last thing I will do as Keeper is to publish her work, as she intended for her work to be. You’ve read her notes. Her words will guide alchemists for generations.”

Maximilian stood quietly. Briac didn’t often doubt Silvanus’ judgment. However, he doubted that Maximilian would listen to Silvanus. Could Silvanus really have misjudged his old mentor so severely?

“Silvanus, I-” Maximilian was becoming emotional. “I’m reaching the end of my life. I might not have the time to train another Keeper. I raised you for that. I failed you.”

“You never failed me. Publishing her notes is the best way to preserve both of our legacies.” Silvanus looked Maximilian in the eyes. “You’ll always be the man that raised me. The human that showed me what humanity could be.”

“Enough.” 

Briac looked at Maximilian, startled. For a moment, he was afraid. He remembered that word all too well. 

“I’ll publish her notes. However, you are to never show your face around here again. I never want to see you again.”

Silvanus looked at Maximilian, frozen. Tears formed in Silvanus’ eyes. Briac’s heart broke for him. 

Briac knew that feeling well. 

He would do anything to stop Silvanus from having to feel it as deeply and as painfully as he had, all that time ago.

“Fine,” Silvanus said with a raspy, tear-stained voice. “This is goodbye.”

Briac finally found the courage to say something. “Let’s go, Silvanus. He doesn’t deserve your breath.”

Silvanus looked back at Briac, then nodded at him a bit. 

Silvanus didn’t spare Maximilian another glance back.

—

Briac could hardly believe his eyes as he stood in front of the cabin in front of them. It was absolutely beautiful. Briac could hardly believe that it was for him and Silvanus.

“You’re a powerful mage, Silas,” was what the Seelie Queen had said. “You can live on your own. You’ll never be alone with Briac at your side.”

Briac had smiled. It was true. He would help Silvanus through anything.

As a reward for their sacrifices and curing her, the Seelie Queen had insisted on building them their own home. After all, Silvanus and Briac had nowhere to go but the Repose. Even then, the Repose wasn’t quite the right home for the mage-alchemist and his changeling fae. 

The cabin was made from the forest distorting itself around glass. Branches built the walls and roof, like the earth itself had birthed their home. Warm lights danced from inside. 

Silvanus put a hand on Briac’s shoulder. “Are you ready, Briac?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Briac responded with a nervous chuckle. Why was he nervous? He was going home. A true home. With people who loved him.

And with a Briac that loved himself.

Silvanus opened the door. The smell inside was of warmed, mulled soft cider. Briac smiled.

“I’m finally home,” Briac whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

Silvanus smiled and pulled Briac into a hug.

It was true.

Briac could not have asked for a better life.

===

Tags: @hold-him-down, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @thegreatwhodini, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @nicolepascaline, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @myhusbandsasemni, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @albino-whumpee, @whither-wander-whump

[off-brand-likes]

Painting to Exhaustion

Coincidentally, I didn't sleep much on the 23rd/24th and was too tired to write this. Then of course having skipped one day, all the rest didn't matter (additional excuses may apply).

But! I will get through all the prompts eventually! Starting with this one!

Staring at the blank wall was not painting. Of course if Ezra asked, Sabine would tell him she was laying out the new design in her head. She'd throw in some Mando'a art terms so he'd make that face like he'd found something new about her and go look them up.

But Ezra wasn't going to ask. Not for a while, anyway. The longer he stayed gone, the longer it seemed like he would take convincing the purrgil to bring him home.

She'd started the first arch before she had any word-thoughts about it. Now she had the shape of it in her head, in her style. It flowed from her to the wall. She felt like she was watching her arm do the work all by itself.

It kept getting too into the details, though. Her usual bright abbreviations and clear simplicity didn't feel like enough for what she wanted this piece to be. It hurt her throat and stung her eyes, how finite and small a little wall art was compared to everything Ezra had done, and everything he still had left to do when he got back.

Something between her wrist and her elbow was getting very tired making narrow grass blades and tiny dots of stars on one side and rays of sunlight on the other. Usually so many fiddly little pieces would feel tedious to the rest of her, too. But she was so tired. Maybe she needed a little repetition.

She needed to put off the last stroke, maybe. Her head didn't ache that much, neither did her wrists and her arms and...

Two heavy knocks startled her, putting a jagged crimp in what should've been a natural curve. Well. Natural things were sometimes jagged too.

She'd apparently taken too long to open her door, because Zeb opened it just enough to stick his head and drooping ears in, with a cloth tied over his nose and mouth so the paint fumes didn't burn him. "'Bine, can I borrow your--"

When she turned around, she expected Zeb to be awed and amazed at the mural, but he was staring at her with some mixture of horror and pity. She wasn't any more paint-covered than... She glanced down. Actually, that was more paint on her than she was used to seeing.

"What?" The question sounded angrier than she meant it to.

"You've been painting, not sleeping, huh." Zeb didn't phrase that as a question.

"Is it morning?" She'd put her helmet in front of her clock.

She twisted around to look at the clock without putting her paint-covered hands on her helmet and staggered as all her muscles protested the change in position.  Zeb hooked his arm under her shoulder for balance.  "Whoa, easy now. It's afternoon." Zeb looked around her room without giving her mural any more than a glance. "That's all paint water, isn't it? Karabast. You get soup, Hera gets soup, everybody gets soup and you'll like it, too."

"Okay, okay, but will you at least tell me what you think so far?" Sabine gingerly waved her sore arms at the painted wall.

Zeb took a firmer grip on her arm while she looked, like she might fall if he took his eyes off her. She wished she could see his whole expression for a moment, but then his ears drooped more and his big eyes teared up and if Sabine could see his lip trembling without that cloth in the way then she'd start crying again too.

"The, uh." He looked the purrgil over, and Lothal's grassland with Loth cats' ears and tails sticking out of the grass, and she was pretty sure he bared his teeth at Thrawn comically (someday, she hoped) tangled up in purrgil tentacles. But Zeb's gaze kept going back to Ezra standing triumphantly on a purrgil's back, grinning like he knew he was doing something awesome and he knew you knew too.

So obnoxious. She couldn't believe she missed it this much.

"It looks just like him." Zeb's sad and exasperated tone meant she'd gotten Ezra down just the way she saw him in her head.

"Well, yeah." Sabine didn't manage her usual energy and pride, but that's what she usually said, so...

Zeb's ears flapped against his head as he turned it forcefully away from the painting. "Soup time. Come on."

Sabine squinted in the bright lights outside her room. It took her a moment to pick out Hera sitting at the table, and Kallus's short ponytail in the doorway to the tiny galley. Hera gave her such a tired smile that she must've been doing barely necessary maintenance on the Ghost all morning, until Zeb came and got her too. Grease stained her shirt where she touched her belly when she thought nobody was looking.

But none of them had to see each other to know what they were all feeling right now, or to know that wherever Ezra was, he'd spare a thought for them. Sabine knew just where to put the rest of the crew when she got back to the mural, after she convinced Zeb she wouldn't pass out on it.

[somnus-in-law]

[continued]

He knows he's been caught. Ranpo knew the moment he entered that clinic that the doctor who ran it wasn't as dumb as every other adult, not as smart as him of course but smart enough to uncover the truth behind his sudden pregnancy.

It took a long time to convince the President that he wanted their relationship, that he wanted him. He had to break him down with good behavior, sweet words, and if he could get away with it, chaste kisses to any part of the man within access.

Once Yukichi had given in, Ranpo only needed to bide his time.

He only did what he did because he was scared, he would reason with himself every night, this was the only way to make sure that the President would never leave him. Yukichi would take responsibility for what he did, what he turned Ranpo into.

"I have an idea of what you did but Fukuzawa-dono deserves to hear it from your lips."

"I.. I put a hole.."

"you..?," Yukichi stumbles, pulling the doctor with him.

Ranpo hunches further, face covered in shadows. Shame. He is the perfect picture of shame.

Mori sighs. He isn't a stranger to these types, humans that would do anything to chain someone else to them.

"Lay down on the cot, Ranpo-kun," the doctor directs the teen, "I'll return Fukuzawa-dono to you in just a moment."

The boy nods as the President is dragged by his arm out of the room, the man's face stuck in disbelief.

He only did what he had to do. This was the only way.

He repeats those broken words to himself in an attempt to drown out the two men's argument down the hall, the door doing its best to muffle their words.

it was the only way.

[whumpacabra]

*head in hands* it turns out the link limit for a post is 100

[hold-him-down]

lmao see below the cut for what COULD be considered spoilers for the hospital scene, but really fucking feels like it’s the VERY most on brand thing that ever existed

how the chaos outlines look when ive had a fever dream of an ‘epiphany’ and don’t want to lose my *stars emoji* important thoughts *stars emoji*

[cakeinthevoid]

I was rereading an old work to continue and I just had to share my favourite part I wrote so far :)) Content: Interrogation scene excerpt; slightly inhuman whumpee; muzzled (not explicit); detention; restrained

The detective leaned forward. “See, I don’t think that makes sense.” 

Dang. Guess not. 

“So why would you lie about that?” 

Double dang. 

He stayed silent, clearly wanting her to speak up. 

Auretta resisted and counted the seconds. 

About two and a half minutes later he stood up. Auretta jerked back. 

“Relax, I’m leaving.” The buzzer sounded. “I’m leaving ,” he repeated. 

Auretta felt a panic bloom. 

“Wait,” she coughed out, interrupting her rhythm. “Wait, don’t, I’m sorry, please don’t go.” She coughed and tried to restart her breathing pattern through gritted teeth.

The man sighed. “I want to help you, I really do, but this only works if you’re answering truthfully. You’ve lied, at least partially, at least three times in the past however many minutes. Not to mention the obvious limitation with the mask—” 

“I’ll speak. I’ll talk. Please don’t go.” If she were alone, she would only be able to focus on the chains, the muzzle —no, at the very least, she needed the stimulation.

The detective looked sad. She only caught the expression for a moment before he masked it with unreadability. 

“Okay.” He sat back down. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Continues here! 

[writewhatyouwanttoread]

Not me writing a chapter that's like AT LEAST 20 chapters ahead of where I am....no I'm not doing that at all

[ayatai]

My house is a mess.

I’ve been staying up too late.

Nothing on my to-do list is getting done.

WHUMPTOBER HAS CONSUMED MY LIFE

In other words, a boatload of content coming soon to a Tumblr near you.