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goneahead · 1 year

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so **shuffles feet** @cowandcalf and @stephmcx tagged me way back when Tarquinus was still king. In my defense, it was summer and I was summering. (estivation really should be a hobby. just saying)

Five fic recs of my own personal fics (under the cut ‘cuz I got long-winded)

note 1: All of my fic is on Dreamwidth, some of it has been cross-posted to A03.

Click for lists-> Masterpost of A03 fics Masterpost of all my fic

note 2: My dreamwidth account is friend-locked, but you can drop me a DM if you need an invite.

note 3: fic titles are clickable links. The USDA recommends consuming a minimum three fanfics a day in order to stay properly hydrated.

O-Ate-Four

Addams Family and Avengers 530 words

pairing: none, gen

Why I wrote It: Because my muse is a seductive temptress. And also because I’m convinced the Addams family has to exist in the same world where **checks notes** people fight aliens with pointy sticks.

Why you should read it: Natasha, Wednesday, French cemetery. Come on, what else do you need for a perfect Halloween fic?

Talking about pointy sticks, I may have written an entire fic where Hawkeye renovates a cabin. My ability to write truly riveting plots is… questionable😜

Operation: Cupcakes 1,427 words

pairing: Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams but gen

Why I wrote it: Because the only thing better than writing about cupcakes is writing about red velvet cupcakes. No really, thats the plot. Did I mention my riveting plots?😆

Why you should read it: Because there is a serious dearth of McDanno baking fics. And because there are red velvet cupcakes.

Beam Me Up, Danno

Hawaii Five-0 42,995 (including sequel)

Why I wrote it: Either this was a whumptober fic that got out of hand—or my muse tied me up and threatened to put a Ceti eel in my ear if I didn’t write it. Take your pick.

Why you should read it: Because the world needs a Hawaii Five-0 Star Trek AU? Also, there is Cardassian poetry, diplomatic javelining, and aliens that love butter pecan ice cream.

Yes, this is my second ‘Hawaii Five-0 in space’ AU, and I’m totally done writing about aliens. **hides my Hawaii Five-0 MIB wip behind my back**

Care and Feeding of a Super Seal

Hawaii Five-0 59,934 words

pairing: Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams

Why I wrote it: This is my coda for the Hawaii Five 0 finale and all @cowandcalf’s fault. My muse agreed with all her points in this meta she wrote and… stuff happened. Also, I was obsessing thinking in a very normal fashion about how the ohana deserved better, too.

Why you should read it: I did my best to explain the ending, various plot holes the size of an spider crab, and a few other things that have bugged fans over the years. There’s also Steve!whump, some badass!Danny, and a generous sprinkling of ohana. Most importantly, the boys talk about diving, and get their happy ever after.

Beasts and Outlaws note: this fic is only on dreamwidth

Supernatural 145, 622 words

pairing: Dean Winchester/OMC

Why I wrote it: I’ve always wanted a paranormal fic that felt like it was set in the southwest, so I decided to write one cleverly disguised as a Supernatural AU.

Why you should read it: Where else are you going to get a fic with nagueles, rain gods, and the FBI? Also, Old Man Coyote makes a random appearance and Dean’s in love with a were-cougar.

And yes, I wrote a Hawaii Five-0 AU where I turned Chin into a were-leopard but its totally not the same thing😂

tagging: @itwoodbeprefect @simplyn2deep and @herveiwfromthefloor

#answered #goneahead fic #five recs #tag game

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clairelsonao3 · 1 year

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Happy Tuesday!!

Do you find AO3 OC friendly?

Also -

What scenes do you find the hardest to write?

Do you find AO3 OC friendly?

Happy Tuesday (Wednesday now!) Thanks for the ask! Wow, that's quite the question! Back when the Reddit Ao3 board was still a thing, I used to see questions like this a lot from people wondering whether Ao3 is a good place to post your original fiction. And my answer is always an overwhelming YES, with a few caveats.

My journey posting original fic on Ao3 has been overwhelmingly positive; the response has been beyond my wildest dreams, considering I only started posting Good Slaves Never Break the Rules as an experiment to see if anyone would read it. Over 3,000 hits may not sound like a lot when compared to fanfics from huge fandoms and popular pairings, but for original fiction, it is. And part of the beauty of Ao3 (as opposed to some other sites :cough: Wattpad) it has no algorithm that insists on only showing you what IT wants you to read instead of what YOU want to read. Thanks to the tagging and search system, everyone has an equal chance to be seen, and you almost certainly WILL get readers no matter what. Furthermore, some of my favorite fiction I've found in recent years has been original fiction I found on Ao3. There's great stuff out there!

You'll sometimes see people try to argue that original fiction goes against the Ao3 terms of service. Do NOT listen to these people. The ToS explicitly allows original works that are "fannish in nature," but the ToS also doesn't specify what makes a work "fannish in nature," which essentially means that they're leaving it up to you to determine that. In other words, you CANNOT be reported or kicked off the site for posting original fiction, as long as you're not violating any other part of the ToS. I feel like that's very important, because as writers we tend to stress about this kind of thing unnecessarily.

That said, Ao3 is, and will always remain a fanfic-focused site. For a writer of original fiction who obviously wants eyeballs on their work, that means that you have to keep in mind that the audience will largely be looking for the same tropes they look for in fanfic. (And of course, just as in fanfic, porn without plot tends to get the most hits of all [although surprisingly few comments], but for the sake of this post, I'll assume you're not writing porn and are writing standard fiction, whether or not it includes spicy scenes).

For example, GSNBTR, is a romance with slavery, whump, hurt/comfort, smut, angst, and pining/idiots in love, which are all tropes that show up frequently in fanfic and tend to be fairly popular there. That means that if readers are searching for those tropes in general and not in any particular fandom (which they do more often than you would think!), they'll come across my work. If your work doesn't have popular fanfic tropes (or doesn't mention them in the tags), it will be at a slight disadvantage, but it doesn't mean you're doomed. (If I'd included a tag like, say, BDSM, I'd probably have 10 times the hits I currently do😬). That's just simply the nature of the site. People are looking for certain things and they reward writers who give them those things.

So my first caveat is that if you're writing romance, Ao3 is THE best place to post your work if you want the best chance of finding an audience. However, if your story is fantasy or sci-fi and contains no romance or isn't focused on romance, you may want to check out another site like Royal Road, which is more focused on those genres and has a slightly different audience (I've read that the audience there skews male whereas Ao3 skews female, which would make a lot of sense). RR also has the added advantage that it allows you to monetize your work if that's something that interests you, whereas Ao3 (understandably given its fanfic focus) disallows that.

My second caveat concerns tagging. I gave myself a further advantage by learning how the Ao3 tagging system worked and using it effectively. That means tagging using standardized tags (many of the most popular of which can be found on this page), tagging using terms that people might actually search for, and not rambling in the tags (which just makes your tags harder to parse and doesn't help more people find your work). You can do this even if your work doesn't contain a lot of the most popular tags!

Thanks so much for the question, and I really hope this monster of answer helps! A good portion of what I currently read is original fic I found on Ao3, and for that reason, I think the site needs more, not less! Good luck with your journey!

What scenes do you find the hardest to write?

Sometimes spicy scenes are the hardest to write because well, you have to be in the mood for that! Other times scenes that require a lot of description to set the scene I don't find particularly fun, and usually, I save that type of writing for last (I think dialogue is the most fun, so I usually write that first!) Or sometimes, scenes I really WANT to write but I'm unsure whether I'll be able to pull it off, so I procrastinate. It depends on my mood!

#ao3 #original fiction #original characters #original character #romance #writing #writeblr #metapost #whump #tagging #asked and answered #answer #gsnbtr #slavefic #clairels teaches writing

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universestreasures · 2 years

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@crimsonkaiser (ITS WHUMP WEDNESDAY MY DUDES)

The world is unfair and cruel. It is a lesson Aichi Sendou has known all to well. His entire life he’s been bullied for petty reasons like his shyness, his good grades, or just because someone didn’t like his face. He can still feel the bruises on his skin, even if a good many of them have healed and no longer show physical marks. Though, what always remained were the emotional scars. They were ones, that sadly, probably won’t ever heal. How could they when they ran so deep?

Well, at least that’s what one would say if he hadn’t met...him again. The one person who made him feel happy, the one person who was kind and generous to him despite being a total stranger, had finally returned into his life for the first time in ages. He doesn’t know how the Cardfighter found him. All he remembers was feeling an intense pain all throughout his body, consuming his entire being until it slowly lifted as he awoke inside the safety of a sealed off and well-guarded room inside the Tatsunagi building he now laid in.

It had no windows. It had no doors. It had nothing but a bed, a table, chairs, an attached bathroom, and a small kitchenette. It was completely sealed off from the outside world, the cruel world that always had it out for him. He doesn’t mind this arrangement, however. In fact, he felt...secure inside this isolated place, this sanctuary from the harsh reality of what took place outside it’s walls that had no one who could hurt him, since the only other person who could enter this space was the only person left he could trust: Toshiki Kai.

After all, he had no other friends. His sister and mother, while he still loved them, he realized through Kai’s words that they had done little to help him, to protect him. They encouraged him to go out into the world, forced him to go to school where would just get bullied over and over. They just made things worse, as did everyone else in this cruel world other than the green-eyed teen who Aichi solely had been relying on to take care of him since he was found.

He lays down on the bed, the one Kai had offered to him, simply staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet and peaceful, two things that Aichi Sendou had never really known truly until he had been rescued. If he had been presented the choice, he’d choose to never leave Kai’s side and remain here in this safe haven forever.

After all, why would he want to leave the side of the person who he admired the most? The person who was the strongest? The person who promised he’d always protect him in order to return to that cruel outside world?

The person who he had deep feelings for ever since their eyes locked that day...

Sadly, his peaceful rest is interrupted as he feels a sharp pain in his forehead, one that causes him to scream out in agony. Dulled cerulean hues shut rapidly, but they do little to stop the pain and what came with it. Aichi’s mind was then flooded with images, images of people he doesn’t recognize. They are all shouting his name, all calling out to him, but they are then transformed into shadowy figures who then start to laugh earlier as they came closer.

His body moves to hit the back of bedframe, his screaming not ceasing for a moment. The sounds of these nightmare hallucinations and his thudding heartbeat fill his ears, Aichi then moving to place his hands over them. It almost feels as if his body is being torn apart, like when those bullies would constantly punch and kick him. That would certainly explain the red aura around his body that seemed to flicker to a blue color, like two sides clashing for control.

Little did he know that this pain was coming from a good source, one trying to save him from the darkness that clouded his heart, mind, and spirit...

“Kai! Kai, please help!” He calls out to the other despite Kai not being in the room at this moment, but Aichi knows he’ll come. Kai has always come to his aid when he was in trouble. He did when he needed the strength to keep living, and when he was found alone and cold the other day.

He’ll save him from this pain, this nightmare, from the friends monsters haunting his eyes, and he’ll be safe again. He has faith in the promise the other made. It is what he is sure of more than anything.

#crimsonkaiser #💎 Paladin Treasure (Aichi Sendou)#💎 Paladin's Treasured Homeland (Aichi Main Verse)#tw bullying #tw long post #(REVERSE KAICHI TIME? HECK YES #(YOU SAID DISNEY PRINCESS SO DEF BEING A BIT TANGLED INSPIRIED HERE BUT ITS OKAY #(IT WORKS XD #(ALSO IM GONNA SAY THIS LITTLE HEADACHE IS CAUSED BY THE REVERSE AND HIS PSYQUALIA FIGHTING EACH OTHER FOR CONTROL HENCE THE MIX OF MEMORIES #(AND IMAGES #(AND I BET KAIS GONNA SEE THE PSYQUALIA LIGHTS AROUND AICHI AND GO NOPE #(AND JUST PULL HIM IN SO HIS REVERSED ENERGY CUTS IT OUT AND STABLIZES AICHI #(ALL WHILE GETTING TO HOLD HIS TOTALLY NOT BF

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narutorarepairweek · 2 years

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Prompt List 2022

As per popular vote, the event will be running in September this year - specific dates being the 18th through the 24th. Each day will have two different prompts to choose from - as always, please keep in mind the following about the prompts and the event in general:

You can choose one prompt or both per day, or you can skip a day. There is no minimum or maximum participation requirement

You can take the prompts as literally or as loosely as you like

This is a tumblr event. We will not be making an AO3 collection, nor will we be on any other platform. You are, however, more than welcome to host your content on other platforms and share a link on tumblr for us to promote.

Please review our rules and regulations post - we've even made it cleaner for you this year

We've also updated our FAQ

No bashing of any kind, of ships, content, or people. Don't be a fucking bully, you'll get your ass banned and blocked so fast

Please review the unqualified ships list for this year before you start creating

Tagging rules will be below the prompt list, under a cut. Please remember to tag your content properly. The mod team is small, and the way we reblog/tag content is clicking OPs tags to quick add them - there is no way we could properly tag our reblogs otherwise.

By tags, we mean the actual tag section of a tumblr post. Putting everything at the top of your post is amazing and wonderful, and a practice we do commend, but it does not count in this regard. Use the actual tags section, or we will not reblog your content. If anyone has any questions about this, our inbox and DMs are open - we are here to help and want to promote your content.

Sunday 18th: Badass Kunoichi | Loss, grief, and death

Monday 19th: Role Reversal | Of Monsters and Men

Tuesday 20th: Song fic | Quote One*

Wednesday 21st: Fairytale retelling | Whump Wheel

Thursday 22nd: Enemies of the State | Fluff Roulette

Friday 23rd: Happily Ever After/No Happy Ending | Quote Two**

Saturday 24th: Free Day | Eternal Dreams

Quotes, as well as tag rules breakdown, below the cut

*"The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it." - Amanda Gorman

**"Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears." - Rudyard Kipling

Tagging rules

Tag which day your content is for using 'day one', 'day two', etc. That should be its own tag

Tag which prompt you are using as it appears in the prompt list. Exceptions being the * and the ** in the quote prompts, please use Loss Grief and Death since the tags cannot have commas, and only use Happily Ever After or No Happy Ending depending on which fits your story. This includes the prompts Whump Wheel and Fluff Roulette - you do not have to put which specific prompt from the wheels you used.

Unlike previous years, Mods will Not be putting the content creator's name in our tags when we reblog this year. As the event grows and the mod team does not, this is simply something that is unnecessary and added extra work for us.

#prompt list 2022 #event info #event info 2022

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ailendolin · 2 years

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Whump Wednesday - 25 - BBC Ghosts

Title: The Letter [AO3]

Fandom: BBC Ghosts

Characters: Humphrey, Sophie

Prompt: “I wouldn’t admit this normally, but I think I really need a hug." For Humphrey - Prompt by the wonderful @thespacebetweenmoments can be found here.

Warnings: off-screen minor character death related to childbirth; unhappy marriage and everything that entails.

A/N: I hope you enjoy your prompt fic, dear! As you can see, I went with Humphrey and Sophie for you prompt. I also had to change the way it was phrased a little to make it fit the dialogue better - I hope you don't mind!

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

The Letter

The letter lay on the table, just in front of the blue vase with the carefully arranged white and yellow daffodils. Its seal, dark red and achingly familiar, was broken. Many things were, nowadays.

Too many.

A hand reached out and turned the letter around so the fateful words, written only a few days ago, were facing the old mahogany wood instead of the ceiling. It trembled. Hiding the words wouldn’t change the letter’s message or undo the tragedy that had befallen his family so many miles away – Humphrey knew that. But it made it easier to pretend, just for a little while, that the world was still as it had been an hour ago – not perfect, but whole.

A tear dripped onto the table.

Humphrey sniffed and wiped his cheek dry before more could follow. Crying would not help. It never had. He’d cried the day he’d gotten betrothed, the evening he’d been forced to consummate his marriage, and every night after when the terrible loneliness of this too big house closed in on him on all fronts and it had never changed a single thing. He’d still been forced to marry Sophie and live a life he hadn’t asked for. His wishes and wants meant nothing, never had and never would. His family didn’t care if he was unhappy being shackled to these godforsaken acres. What mattered to them was his obedience and so far, Humphrey had always been a good little boy and demurely agreed to every decision made on his behalf.

He wished he’d found the courage to rebel, just once. Perhaps his life wouldn’t be so miserable, then. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d smiled – and not just the shadow of the thing but a real smile that made the eyes sparkle and crinkle in the corners and had the ability to light up a whole room. But then again, there hadn’t been much to smile about since he became the lord of the household, and on days like this it felt there never would be again.

Humphrey’s eyes drifted back to the letter.

Oh Margery.

He had to press a hand against his mouth to stifle the grief welling up from deep within.

For the longest time, Margery had been the only person he’d had in his corner. Their family had forced her into an arranged marriage too but unlike him, his sister had managed to find love there, or at least something that came very close to it. Her husband was a kind man – always courteous, always gentle, and most importantly always ready to offer her the world. Humphrey had been very happy for his sister when she had written to him, years ago, that she might grow to love this adventurous boy with the mischievous sapphire eyes, but he couldn’t help but envy her too, just a little. He’d been married to Sophie for five years by the time Margery had married Edward – or Ned, as she’d soon started to refer to him in her letters – but no matter what Humphrey had done, no matter what he had tried to get to know Sophie, he’d never managed to bridge that gulf between them.

In a way, he and Sophie were two ghosts, stuck forever in a situation out of their control and mourning what had never been; or like two ships sailing the same ocean yet always passing each other by; two birds who greeted the same sun every morning but hours apart.

He’d given up hope long ago that would ever change.

On most days, Margery’s letters were the only thing that brought Humphrey comfort. She wrote to him weekly, sometimes even daily, and he anxiously awaited the arrival of every new and neatly written down account of what she, Ned and her children had been up to, if only to escape the monotony of his own life.

Until today. Today, he wished he hadn’t received a letter.

The moment he saw his name and address Humphrey had known something was wrong. Instead of his sister’s neat and cursive penmanship, the letters staring up at him had been bold and shaky. Even though his brother-in-law had rarely written to him personally, Humphrey still recognised Ned’s hand at once. He’d felt his heart in his throat when he broke the seal. He knew Margery was with child again – “This’ll be the last one or so god help me,” she’d written in her last letter – but that didn’t necessarily mean the unthinkable must have happened. That’s what he tried to tell himself, at least. Perhaps Margery had just taken ill or the baby wasn’t adjusting well to the wet nurse; Margery’s oldest son had been fussy like that, giving them all quite a scare when he refused to drink at first.

But in his heart, Humphrey had known the truth long before he gathered up the courage to unfold the letter: he would never hear his sister’s laugh again, never see her smile at him so lovingly as she was want to do or receive another letter that made him wish for a life like hers. A life that had now been brutally cut short.

She had been only thirty-four.

Tears began to sting his eyes again and this time Humphrey didn’t try to stop them. He let the grief roll over him, let it burn him from the inside out until there was nothing left but smouldering ashes. His shoulders shook with the force of waves crashing against high cliffs and the walls around him echoed with a heartache that couldn’t be put into words and would never end – not tomorrow, not in a year, not in a million lifetimes.

On the other side of the room, the door quietly opened. Humphrey forced himself to lift his head and his breathing hitched when he saw Sophie standing there, holding a candle in one of her thin, pale hands. He hadn’t realised how dark it had gotten, how late. It must be nearly time for dinner.

Sophie regarded him silently for a moment – she was always so awfully quiet even though she had such a lovely voice, especially when she sang. Her eyes fell to the letter on the table and her brows furrowed in something Humphrey would be tempted to call concern if he didn’t know better. She crossed the room and reached for the parchment only to hesitate at the last second.

“Go on,” Humphrey said hoarsely, nodding to the letter. “Read it.”

He didn’t think she would be able to understand its meaning but she must have picked up enough English over the years to get some of it because her eyes widened in shock halfway down the page and flicked back up to his face.

“Oh Humphrey,” she said softly. “Je suis désolé.”

Humphrey had no idea what that meant but there was something about her tone that made his eyes well up again, made him wish he didn’t feel so alone in her company. He wrapped his arms around himself before he whispered, “I know you can’t understand me. And that’s fine. I don’t think I would say this if you could but – I could really use a hug right now.”

His shoulders began to shake once more and he bowed his head, trying to hide his tears. Sophie already thought so little of him – she didn’t need to see him crying openly like a child on top of everything. Expecting her to leave now that she knew what was going on, Humphrey waited for the tell-tale sound of footsteps but to his surprise it never came. Instead, he felt the slightest pressure on his right shoulder. For one brief moment in time, Sophie rested her hand there and everything became still and quiet. What little hold Humphrey still had on his emotions at that point dissolved when she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and whispered those soft words from before again. “Je suis désolé.”

He broke down, then, utterly, completely, and Sophie stayed by his side until the worst had passed – a beautiful pale rock in a storm, steadfast and untouchable. Humphrey didn’t think he’d ever felt as close to her as he had in that lowest of moments and it took everything in him not to reach for her and beg her to stay when she gave his shoulder a final squeeze and let go. She walked away from him without looking back and it was only when the door had fallen shut behind her with a soft click that Humphrey managed to raise his head. He drew in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes on his sleeves, doing his best to pull himself together.

His gaze fell to the letter again, its tragic contents laid bare for the whole world to see. With the warmth of Sophie’s touch still lingering on his shoulder, Humphrey found the sight a little easier to bear.

#I know opinions on Sophie vary but I do believe she actually cared for Humphrey #I always interpreted her keeping the plot a secret as a misguided attempt to keep him safe #that obviously did not work but I think beneath all the coldness and distance between them #Sophie would have been there for Humphrey in an hour of need and vice versa #humphrey bone #sophie bone #bbc ghosts #whump wednesday #wwff challenge #my fic

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comfy-whumpee · 3 years

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Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

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fictitious-little-stitious · 3 years

Text

Masterlist

Hi! I write for Pedro Pascal characters. My fics are/will be in the G to PG-13 range, no smut. But my blog is very much 18+ only. Each fic is posted with its own warnings.

Thank you for visiting and reading! If you enjoy what you read, please support me and other Tumblr creators by reblogging our works! 💞

🌟 Latest Fic: Drink to Regret (Jack/Whiskey, angst) 🌟

🌿 Tag List is right here and in my bio

🌿 AO3: search fictitious_little_stitious or look right here

🌿Fic Recs: A reblog = rec by default. I read non-Pedro characters sometimes, tagged # misc character fic and the character’s name.

🌿 I’ve organized my masterlist by:

Character (alphabetical by first name)

Fic Type

Title - relationship, general themes and/or warnings

Individual parts or chapters - themes and/or warnings

Agent Whiskey / Jack Daniels 💙

Drabbles (I use this term very loosely lol)

Breeze — x GN!Reader. Fluff, parenthood

Drink to Regret — no relationship. Angst, depression. Heed the warnings.

Gonna Lay Down the Law — x GN!Reader. Fluff, cheeky humor. Flufftober 2021

Oneshots

Hotcakes and Holding Hands — young, ranch hand Jack x GN!Reader. It will be a single oneshot that takes place over ~7-10 days, but I have posted 2 days so far.

First Friday (teaser) - Meet cute, fluff

Thursday - Writer Wednesday 08-25-2021. Fluffy fluff.

Series

Ten Seconds in the Saddle — & GN!Reader, platonic

Part One: The Cowboy

Part Two: The Stranger (in the works)

Part Three: The Clown (in the works)

Part Four: The Winner (in the works)

Dave York ⚫️

Drabbles

In the Quietest Moments — x GN!Reader, romantic domestic fluff. FLS Birthday Bash request.

Patience — x GN!Reader, Dave’s spouse. Suspense, serious. FLS Birthday Bash request.

Din Djarin 🤍

Drabbles

Well Loved — x GN!Mandalorian!Reader. Established relationship, fluff. FLS Birthday Bash Request.

Ezra 💚

One Shots

Letters in the Sand (in the works)

Series

Solivagrant (in the works)

Frankie “Catfish” Morales 🧡

Drabbles

Our Walkin’s Done — x GN!Reader. Angst, alcohol mention, separation.

Javier Peña ❤️

One Shots

Desperado (in the works) - the one that started it all. ❤️ When I finally complete and post it, I will feel like my child just graduated.

Reimbursements — Javi and GN!Reader, plantonic best friends. Fluff, suggestive humor.

Teaser / WIP What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve — xGN!Reader. Angst, miscommunication, meet cute.

Marcus Moreno 🟣

Drabbles

A Promise is a Promise — Marcus and his younger sister. Whump, happy ending. FLS Birthday Bash request.

Marcus Pike 💜

Drabbles

Postcard Proposal — Marcus x GN!Reader. Friends to pen pals to lovers, cheesy fluff.

Short Series

A Marriage that Was - x Ex-wife!Reader. (title taken from lovely @oonajaeadira’s Sunday Seven recommendation of “In Love’s Debris”)

In Love’s Debris - Her perspective. Angst, doubt, separation.

When It Came to an End - His perspective. Angst. (in the works)

Maxwell Lord 🟡

One Shots

Sandstone Skylines - Writer Wednesday 07-21-2021. Maxwell reflects on his life choices and how he’s going to change.

Pero Tovar 🖤

Drabbles

The Great Lookalike - Writer Wednesday 07-28-21. GN!reader x unnamed M!partner. Pero’s character is referenced. Fluff.

One Shots

Letters Unwritten — x GN!reader. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning. Flufftober 2021

Miscellaneous 🌈

This little WIP post from June 2022

Characters: Ezra, Frankie, and Jack/Whiskey

Pedro Pascal Character Headcanons

Go To Karaoke Songs - Mostly silliness. Brief mentions of death and lewd humor.

Characters: Dave York, Din Djarin, Ezra, Frankie Morales, Jack/Agent Whiskey, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Maxwell Lord, Max Phillips, Oberyn Martell. Shane “Dio” Morrisey, Zach Wellison

Line dividers by @ firefly-graphics

Header made on Canva, adapted from a lovely Save the Date template lol.

Banner created by @ acrossthesestars 💚

#this is basic as hell but it will do the job lol #this is my writing alright #fls masterlist

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

Oh oki “fire and brimstone” for Jameson maybe?

CW: Some talk about fundamentalist Christianity from perspective of someone who left and had a bad exprience with it, memory loss, backstory hinting for Jameson, recovering whumpee, mentioned domestic and child abuse

“Every Sunday, rain or shine,” Jake is saying, the skillet in front of him sizzling so loudly with the frying crumbled-up sausage that he has to raise his voice to be heard. “All of us right there for Sunday School at 9, service at 10, on a good day we’d walk back out at noon to go eat.”

Jameson watches him, and thinks, I didn’t come down here to hear your fucking life story.

They’re the first two up, the sun rising in pinks and purples slowly giving way to blue. Jameson had stayed in bed for a while, watching the sky turn gray first, thinking of Allyn’s eyes.

He’d padded down here to get something to eat, only to find Jake already in the kitchen, pulling out a cylinder of breakfast sausage wrapped in plastic, heating up a flat black cast-iron skillet. Jameson hadn’t asked, but Jake had said it was a gift from his mother.

Pretty sure you’re not allowed to move out where I come from without at least one. Jake’s voice is cheerful, sparking lemon bursts underlaid with something deeper, darker, that Jameson can’t name. Something smoother.

He’s trying to be friends, Jameson thinks, and he doesn’t want to be friends, not with anyone, but... his mouth is watering at the scent of the sausage cooking and there are biscuits already in the oven, warm dough smell overlaying everything else.

White Lily Flour, Jake said, patting the bag of it on the counter. I was raised right.

Jake’s lemon voice took on a hint of bitterness. Jameson wonders, sometimes, if he tastes changes in emotion, or if it’s just his brain malfunctioning, sparking off-key. He thinks he tastes the right things. Nobody’s ever asked him about it. He’s never told anyone.

None of this - baking, cast-iron cooking, church - means a fucking thing to Jameson.

Except... it sort of does.

“Some days,” Jake says, pushing the sausage around with a wooden spoon, breaking up large clumps that are still pink in the center, “We didn’t get out until one. Just depended on what he was pissed off about that day. Then Monday my dad had men’s group, my mom had women’s group on Tuesdays, we had another service Wednesday night - short one, though. Then Youth Group on Fridays once I was old enough... I wasn’t in it for long, though. We left a few months after I was old enough to join.”

Jake stops, for a second, staring down at the sausage. He picks up a small measuring cup and shakes out some flour, stirring the sausage round as it picks it up.

“Your family get sick of all that fucking sitting?” Jameson asks, just to fill the silence.

Jake swallows. “Nah. Just my mom and I. Got sick of all that fire and brimstone being aimed at us.”

Jameson’s eyebrows come together. Jake’s voice dips, caramelizes, the lemon is sticky-sweet and feels like fuzz sticking in his head. There’s something here he doesn’t get, and he definitely doesn’t give a fuck, only...

He leans forward. “What’s that mean?”

Jake turns the heat down on the stove, and Jameson watches the gas flame flicker and become smaller. Then he pours milk in from a carton Jameson drank out of yesterday, not that he’s telling anyone, and watches as it heats.

The timer over the oven dings. Jake pulls on his oven mitt and pulls the tray of golden-brown biscuits out, setting them on a folded towel to cool on the counter while he finishes up the gravy.

For a second, Jameson thinks Jake isn’t going to answer him.

“My Papa - dad’s dad - was head of the men’s group. He’d been a church deacon for decades, preacher’s right-hand man. Nana Stanton ran music, played the organ, organized the choir. My dad was everybody’s favorite son, you know? Preacher and his wife had six daughters. My dad was prob’ly supposed to marry one of them. He married Mom, instead. My mom and I... we caused trouble for him.”

This is weird, and yet Jameson can’t stop the sense that the hair on the back of his neck is standing up. Something is whispering to him, from deep in the recesses of his thoughts. He doesn’t care.

He has to know.

“Trouble how?”

Jake takes a breath, lets it out. Slow exhale. “My Dad’s a piece of shit, that’s all you need to know. Spent a whole fucking bunch of my childhood in the ER, for me or for Mom.”

Jameson feels himself rock forward, like a hand clapped him on the back too strongly, like the handler slapping the deep red welts just to listen to him moan, right on cue, in reply.

Me, too. I did that, too.

No. False memories are a result of the Drip, of training. He knows that. He knows-

Wait, no, it wasn’t me. It was-

I had to-

Slid a piece of paper across the table with what she needed to escape, money for college and an apartment and a plane ticket as far away as she could get, happy birthday, you got this, never think about this bullshit family again, and the woman sitting at the desk had smiled and said, I think we can make this work for everyone involved, Mr.-

“... needed help,” Jake is saying, as he cooks down the gravy. It had boiled at some point, now he’s simmering, stirring as it thickens, adding salt and pepper. “But they told Mom she should strive to be fucking Godly. That it was better for her to fucking ‘stick it out’ because marriage is fucking sacred. Nobody told my dad not to be the goddamn devil to his wife and kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jameson whispers. Jake’s voice is dark now, the lemon is nearly buried by something thick and black with anger. It slides over Jameson’s mind, smooths out the thoughts he is trying desperately to hold onto.

Jake glances over at him. Whatever he reads in Jameson’s face, he sighs, softly. “Sorry, man. You didn’t ask about my bullshit. Sometimes it just... gets to me all over again. Usually whenever my dad manages to manipulate my grandparents or something into giving him my p.o. box address again.”

The headache arrives, swift and sudden, and Jameson closes his eyes against the flash of light, the thunderclap of pain that follows on its heels.

Jake fixes him a plate of biscuits, gravy piled high, and it smells so so good and Jameson takes his first bite with the sense of a hard wooden bench biting into his spine and the pastor’s voice droning and she was holding his hand, the two of them, knowing this was the last time they’d be here, together.

She sat in church with the plane ticket he’d bought her in her pocket, hidden from them all. He’d held her hand with his heart in his throat, thinking about his brother.

Was it worth it?

What was it, anyway?

Jake sits down across from him, and Jameson looks up through the throb of pain to see those blue eyes focused on him, concerned. “You all right?”

He’s back to lemon, bright and tart, slightly browned from sugar and heat. Like a candied slice on a cake. But Jameson feels the steady rush of a river underneath, flowing under mountains, gradually wearing away the very earth that keeps them standing.

“I’m fine,” Jameson says, and takes a bite.

What had he done, when he signed up for this?

Who had he done it for?

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Febrile

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 23 - Sick

“Don’t,” Peter grouses, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth in the sink in the men’s restroom at Midtown and pointedly ignoring the look of disapproval both Ned and MJ are giving him in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out and washes his hands.

Words: 2101, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice is exasperated and he looks irritated. MJ’s face is still (mostly) an indifferent mask but he can see her eyes brows pulling in the way they do when she’s concerned. “This has been going on for three days now,” he complains. “you have got to tell May.”

“Sure don’t,” Peter says, drying his hands off on a scratchy paper towel and trying to surreptitiously blot at his sweaty face before tossing it in the trash.

“You’re an idiot,” MJ tells him with an eye roll and a soft shove of her shoulder. It completely throws off Peter’s limited equilibrium and makes him sway into the wall. Ned’s glare becomes even sharper.

“I’m fine,” Peter tries and even he can hear the lie in his words now. He totally isn’t fine. He’s not fine at all actually. He’s had a fever, vomiting and stomach cramps for going on three days now and he’s just not used to getting and staying sick this long since he got bitten by the spider. A cold or a twenty-four hour hell flu? Sure. Consistent nausea and a low to mid grade fever for seventy-two hours? Unheard of.

“This is pointless,” MJ’s voice is monotone as she tosses Peter his phone which he fumbles, just barely catching it with the tips of sticky fingers.

“When did you take my phone?” He asks confused.

MJ guides him out the door and towards the front office – the exact opposite direction he needs to be going if he’s going to make it to his chemistry class. “I took it from your pocket when you were re-enacting the exorcism. Happy should be here in like ten minutes.”

“MJ,” Peter whines, not putting up a fight when Ned grabs his other arm to help with the pulling and directing. “I don’t need to go home.”

“Yes you do,” Ned’s tone is firm. “No one wants your flu Peter.”

“Alright that’s… fair,” he admits. “But my homework-,”

“We’ll get it for you,” MJ reassures as the office comes into view. She pushes him into one of the chairs sat outside and marches in to speak to the secretary. Peter pouts and crosses his arms. Yeah he feels like shit and he really just wants to sleep and, sure, his lower abdomen is really cramping and hurting but he got shot two weeks ago and the pain isn’t that bad. He can totally handle it. “You’re signed out,” Michelle tells him when she comes back, offering Ned a note to excuse his tardiness. “Let us know that you didn’t die okay loser?”

“Bye Peter!” Ned says brightly, back to his normal self now that he knows Peter is actually going home.

His friends finally gone, Peter drops all pretense and lets his face rest against the cool wall next to him, letting his eyes slip shut in relief – his forehead was burning. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and shivers. Maybe it is good that he goes home. He can take a nap and recuperate and be back at school tomorrow completely better.

Yeah. He just needs to nap.

“Well your scary girlfriend wasn’t kidding,” Mr. Stark’s voice rips Peter out of his near-sleep and has him blotting out of the chair, nearly falling over if he hadn’t caught himself on the way. “You look like shit kiddo.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaks, surprised at seeing his mentor at his freaking school what the hell. “What uh… what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Tony asks with good humor, looking at Peter over the top of his AR glasses with a concerned smile, eyes scraping over him in a clinical way. “I’m here to get you.”

“Uh no offense, but why?” Peter asks, tripping over his book bag on the floor and falling back into the chair. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Because I’m one of your emergency contacts,” he answers like this is the most obvious thing ever and Peter blinks a little in confusion. Mr. Stark is one of his emergency contacts? Since when? He opens his mouth to ask this very question when a sudden bout of nausea rolls over him and he, instead, scrambles to his feet and down the hall to the nearest bathroom.

He barely makes it to the sink before he starts gagging and dry heaving, nothing coming up but leaving him feeling dizzy and light-headed. Peter leans his head against the porcelain of the sink with a low moan, gagging again on the end and leaning his face back over the sink to drool out the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Yikes,” he hears Mr. Stark mutter behind him and then a calloused hand is running carefully through his hair and resting on his forehead. Peter pushes his face into the cool palm subconsciously and keeps his eyes closed as he tries to push the nausea down. “Yeah you’re definitely coming back to the MedBay with me.”

Peter lets out a wordless whine but doesn’t protest beyond that. It has been three days of this after all – maybe it is a good idea to consult with a professional?

“Come on buddy,” Tony says as he slings Peter’s arm over his shoulder and starts dragging him out of the bathroom and towards the entrance to the school. “You have a date with Dr. Cho and your aunt is waiting to hear the results of her exam.”

Happy actually looks concerned when Peter sees him standing outside of one of the many town cars Mr. Stark owns and he doesn’t say anything when he takes Peter’s bag from Tony to put in the front seat. The leather of the back seats is cool and the interior is darkened by the tinted windows and Peter lets out a sigh of relief, resting his head against the window; already half asleep.

The drive is, thankfully, quick and Peter dozes through most of it – still nauseous but able to hold it down for the most part. Soon enough they pull into the underground garage of the Tower and Tony is hustling him into the elevator which rockets them up to the MedBay floor without either of them having to say anything.

“May wants you to call her once you get settles,” Tony says, rapidly texting on his phone.

Peter squints his eyes at his mentor. “I’m not sure how I feel about you two texting,” he says.

“Oh we’re besties,” Tony teases, pocketing the phone with a shit eating grin. “We have coffee every other Wednesday.”

“I… don’t know if you’re serious,” Peter says, concerned. He probably doesn’t want to know to be honest. The doors of the elevator trundle open and Tony steers Peter into an empty exam room, directing him to sit on the exam bed. It only takes a second before Dr. Cho bustles in.

“Hey Peter,” she says with a smile as she rubs hand sanitizer into her hands and grabs a set of gloves from the box on the wall. “Tony said you were sick. Want to tell me about what’s going on?

“Nausea mostly,” he says as she runs a thermometer across his forehead and frowns at the readout. “My stomach hurts.”

“Well you have a fever of just over one hundred and two,” she says as she clips a pulse ox reader to his finger and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and lets it run. “And your blood pressure is a little low,” she narrows her eyes at the reading and unhooks the machines. “Lay back for me?”

Peter does and stares at the ceiling as she starts to palpate his abdomen. He could probably fall asleep here actually if he – “OW!” He exclaims, curling away from Dr. Cho’s hands and wrapping his arms around his stomach to protect it.

“Well I have a tentative diagnosis,” she says snapping off her gloves. “We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm but, congratulations, Peter you have appendicitis.”

Peter and Tony both blink and then look at each other and then back. “For three days?” Tony questions, scooting Peter over to sit next to him on the bed and run a hand soothingly up and down Peter’s back. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain in his abdomen but it helps.

“His healing factor is probably slowing down the progression, preventing it from rupturing as quickly as it could or should have,” she says, typing something into Peter’s chart on her StarkPad. “I’ll have a tech confirm with ultrasound and get a surgeon out to do the surgery. It’s pretty quick – one hour tops and then a few days recovery and you’ll be good as new.”

“Surgery?” Peter asks hoarsely, feeling his heart rate speed up. He’s never had surgery before.

Dr. Cho looks up at him and her face softens a little. “It’s an easy procedure,” she promises. “You won’t even realize that you’ve had it really and. Once you wake up, you’ll feel immediately better. Everything will be fine,” she promises and Peter nods with a gulp. He can feel stomach acid rising in his throat again and lunges for the emesis basin sitting on the bedside table, gagging into it.

“Let it all out Webs,” Tony says, rubbing his back sympathetically. “Got anything to help with this doc?”

“I’ll have the nurses start and IV and give him an anti-emetic,” she said, passing a new basin to Tony and taking the one from Peter’s slack grasp. “Just try to relax okay Peter?”

“This sucks,” he grumbles, letting his head fall over to rest on his mentor’s shoulder and relaxing when he feels Tony’s finger scrub though his hair to massage his aching head.

“Sure does kiddo,” Tony agrees, pulling the blanket up to Peter’s chest. “But at least its an easy fix.”

“I don’t want surgery,” Peter tells him quietly. Even with all of his many Spider-Man injuries he’s never had to be put under for anything. “Is May on her way?”

“Happy went to get her,” Tony promises him. “And surgery seems really scary but its not I promise. It’s like taking a really good nap and May and I will both be there alright? It’ll be fine Underoos.”

“Okay,” Peter says quietly, feeling slightly better but still a little concerned. But he would have May and Tony with him. It would be fine.

————————————————

“Guess we still need to tweak the anesthetic formula for you just a bit,” Mr. Stark says apologetically as he mops up the sweat on Peter’s brow with a damp cloth and supports him as he retches again. The surgery had gone well and had been quick. Waking up however?

Not so much.

“Just let it out baby,” May croons as she rubs his back, sweaty and making the thin hospital gown stick to his skin uncomfortably. Peter just gasps a little and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths through his nose to quell his nausea.

“I’m good,” Peter croaks a minute later, letting his aunt settle him back into the bed and fuss over him. He had barely woken up after the surgery before the vomiting started again. It had alarmed Tony but May and Dr. Cho had both determined that it was just a poor reaction to the anesthesia they used. With how fast him metabolism was, it should move through his system quickly.

“Can I get you anything sweetie?” May asked him, brushing his damp hair out of his face and sitting on the edge of the bed facing him.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, his eyes drooping from exhaustion. Tony squeezed his hand and tucked his blanket in a little tighter around him warming Peter up from the inside a little. He was so glad and thankful that he had the chance to get closer with Tony over the last couple months since the incident with the Vulture. The man was still a little awkward and learning how to be a mentor but he was trying and that’s all Peter could ask for. “Just want to sleep,” he said softly, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Okay baby,” he heard May whisper, running her fingers through his hair and Peter felt the ghost of a smile on his face. Yeah, he could probably handle this recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump23 #Prompt: Sick #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

First: WIP Wednesday has now been officially changed to WIP Whichever Day I Remember. Thank you.

Second:

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Alright, is anyone in the mood for ANGST? Or WHUMP? Possibly some FEELS?

👀

Possibly some NS/FW content?

In light of this week’s Season 2 news, I have decided to take two of my biggest WIPs and turn them into series instead of the intended Mega Long Fics. This will allow me to get out content faster, once I’ve figured out how to split them.

One, “Perfection”, is the very angsty fic that grew out of a prompt which I mentioned frequently up until a few months ago. Currently stands at around 50k. I’m pretty happy with the existing 50k so that much should be available once I’ve worked out where to split into individual fics. It’s dark, lots of pain, physical and emotional, comfort only arriving in bursts. I’m thinking of rating it M for just the high levels of dark.

The other, tentatively titled “Aziraphale’s Children” (likely coming out in about a week) IS NS/FW (though not too explicit, I hope). It sort of sprang from me reading one or two “Aziraphale and Crowley have kids” fics and wondering “OK but how would that work? And why would they need that ability?” The answer so far turns out to involve True Form s*x, r*pe, pr*gnancy of both the consensual and non-consensual varieties. If you have triggers in any of those areas, you will likely want to avoid this one, though I will be VERY carefully tagging.

(I’m aiming for something about the level of the Handmaid’s Tale seasons 1 and 2, and an M rating. Also, this so far is mostly in the flashbacks; the main story is Aziraphale and Crowley in the South Downs cottage so there is lots of hugging, comfort, and love to soften it, as well as a few arguments clearly stemming from how much they worry about each other rather than any actual ill feelings.)

I may want to do some short soft pieces in between to keep my sanity, but I’m going to try and focus on WIPs going forward. Y’all might recall that ALL my WIPs are angste so…that should be fun! 😄

I’ve also got quite a lot of my Who Needs A Great Plan work still to come. I’m going to increase my queue speed once I have enough of a buffer.

My possibly-unlikely goal is to wrap up as many WIPs as possible by the time Season 2 premieres. Sadly, we don’t have a timeline on that but since filming just began I hope I have until at least May 2022, possibly 2023?

I’m not sure what I’ll do for Sawdust of Words, as this evolved into a very long rambling series unlikely to reach its conclusion before then, but with enough going on it is VERY unlikely to be season 2 compliant. My hope is to continue working on it as originally planned even after the season airs, for as long as people are still interested.

(Also pls don’t worry about me suddenly going all allosexual NS/FW content. Both of these WIPs are intended as ace husbands interpretations, and I don’t see myself shifting to that kind of content as a regular thing.)

#good omens #aziraphale and crowley #good omens fanfiction #wip whenever #ineffable husbands #my writing #my wips #sawdust of words #perfection #other dark content

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blushing-starker · 4 years

Note

You've already made so many boards for me (or tagged me in ones I didn't explicitly ask for but then I realised I needed them.) But here're some - disconnected - thoughts/prompts/ideas to take or leave: Mafia Boss Peter; Winterironspider; canon-compliant Peter missing Tony after Endgame; Spiderstrange trying to keep their relationship a secret from Tony; and honestly sometimes I'm just down for a classic, any Spideychelle in your brilliant head?

Look at you, hitting me with drama, whump, romance and the funnies! Listen, I will continue making moodboards for you, Katie and one very non trashy @trashystarker . Apart from Raf, Laney, Bee and Mabel, you guys are the ones that interact the most no matter what the hell I post. (I appreciate all of you of course, but some people are there even when i hastily throw together some pics and textures into a melting pot.)

No, but truly, thanks dear. Mafia Peter is so good! But how do I make it angsty? Well, how about mafia boss Peter missing Tony after endgame and counting on Bucky, one half of his heart, to pull him through? They suffer as lovers and then Stephen comes along, tentatively because Tony had only sacrificed himself, had only worked out this plan after the doctor told him it was the singular strategy capable of pulling them through this. The spider and soldier don't blame him, can't even consider the possibility since its not his fault. Tony wouldn't have done what he did if the overall threat hadn't existed. His death lies with Thanos, not Stephen.

(Cue them falling in love, but anywayyyyyy)

Lets get to some happy aspects! Tony survives. So does Peter. Thanks to Strange. If the man's cloak hadn't yanked him away from Thanos' grip, Mr Stark would have mourned for him all over again. And yeah, technically the cape can't be controlled but uh, he needs an excuse to follow the sorcerer around for a few weeks, ok?

It's not Peter's fault the guy is witty and clever and cunning and a brilliant strategist and oh my god he can help him figure out why his wrists hurt and tell whether it's a fever or a cold and he's flying! Without the webs thanks to the cape! Look, Mr Strange! And can the universe stop dumping him into awkward situations with men so handsome? He has a hard time catching the drool from his mouth. Their intelligence is already a turn on, he can't handle all of this.

Strange finds it endearing, lips inching upwards into something resembling a smile. And the second he does that, the cape whirls around, nearly drops Peter into an experiment and begins clapping excitedly like Stark's daughter when he showed her some magic tricks. He needs to get rid of that cape.

(Mr Strange? Are you alright, you look a bit pale? Or it could be the light? Oh hey! Now you're red! That's good, right? Maybe you touched something weird. I don't see anything on your face, but it's the only area that could be affected since you wore the gloves for the experiment. Hold on, let me take a closer look. It's really dim in this closet. Why did the cape bring us here? Is it taking us to the antidote? Mr Strange, you're getting really red now.

Peter, I highly doubt you need to be this close, I'm fine. I'll be fine once we get out of this infernal-

Was that the door closing? On a room labelled, magic properties weakened inside?

... Yes, that was the door.

Guess we're gonna have to be close now, huh?

Remind me to A) never help Stark with a project again, no matter whether the world hangs in the balance and to B) rip that cloak apart.

You can't do that! Doctor Weird is nice!

I'm sorry, Doctor what?)

Spideychelle, spideychelle.

She calls him her itsy bitsy spider constantly. Like, that's his contact name.

Ned is grumpy because I was here first. But then he sees how cute they are and admits that fine. She can have Wednesday and Thursday. Mr Stark has Saturdays and Tuesdays. He has Monday and Friday. Peter has Sunday off. Sometimes.

Peter crafts gifts using his webs, intricate flowers and careful handwriting on her window so the light hits just right and she can read the messages on the floor thanks to the shadows. If her favorite jacket, the one in ffh, continues ripping on the side, a web immediately flies to hold it together. It's the new rage in the school.

For the first few weeks, it's a bit hesitant. And then she says fuck it, gently pushes him to the floor, climbs on top and naps away. May finds them snoring, legs entangled and limbs askew. Peter holds her as gently as possible like that, careful with the superstrength and she makes sure to never put too much pressure on his chest so it doesn't remind him of the vulture or the weight of a building caving in his ribcage.

They go to Halloween as a trio. Ned may be jealous every once in a while but he's a good bro so instead of going as a pair with Peter, he finds costumes that go well with one more person.

They kiss and it's not electric. Not fireworks. It's the fizzle stars they light up in front of Mj's house, warmth shared in a puppy pile, soft sweaters and even softer curls. It's nice, makes him content and never overwhelmed. It's perfect, really. Romance doesn't have to be an uncontrollable inferno. It can be this too, a slow but steady fire keeping him alive 365 days a year.

#Sophie loves her starker fam #👑#thanks gracie #spideychelle #spiderstrange #Winterironspider #thats one of my faves by the way #mafia boss pete #hcs #The cloaks name is doctor weird #its canon now #like captainspider #was that the name #ill check

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makeste · 5 years

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BnHA Chapter 255: "Hospital”

Previously on BnHA: Aizawa and Present Mic found out their dead best friend Shirakumo was necromanced by All for One and Ujiko and turned into everyone’s favorite villain mom bartender M.D., Kurogiri! Gran Torino and Naomasa were all “hey you guys should talk to him and see if you can restore his memories through the power of friendship” and so they all sat down together to do that. Kurogiri was all “so tell me how is my son Shigaraki Tomura, I love him so much, he is so emo and I must protect him” and Aizawa and Mic were all “THIS GUY HASN’T CHANGED ONE IOTA” and Aizawa started crying and was all “SHIRAKUMO LET’S GET MARRIED AGAIN AND BE HEROES TOGETHER LIKE WE ALWAYS WANTED.” Oh and also we found out Aizawa only fake expelled his previous students and it was just so that he could PREPARE THEM FOR LIFE!! and afterwards they got to go back to U.A. again and live happily ever after. And so basically I’ve lost track of how many hugs Aizawa needs here now but it’s a lot.

Today on BnHA: Shiraguri’s brainwaves start going all wonky and everyone is like “OH SHIT IT’S WORKING” and Aizawa and Mic decide it’s time to shift this drama into overdrive, so they get right up against the glass and start shouting “YOU’RE OUR FRIEND!!” and stuff over and over until IT FINALLY WORKS!! and Kurogiri’s face shifts into Shirakumo’s. Somehow the effect is incredibly sad and moving rather than terrifying as fuck, but unfortunately all Kumo can manage to get out is “hospital” before his mind overloads and he passes out. Fortunately for our heroes, “hospital” is actually an awesome clue which can totally lead them to Tomura and Ujiko’s location if they play their cards right, probably! Or at least Hawks seems really psyched about it, idk. Anyway so the chapter ends with Ujiko going FULL MAD SCIENTIST and wreaking havoc on Tomura’s body in order to -- I’m pretty sure, anyway -- turn him into some kind of fully sentient ultimate high end Noumu. Welllllll shit.

so that sure was a fun little wrinkle last week, huh. the two biggest scanlators deciding that in the spirit of the holidays, they were going to stop translating WSJ series and instead support the official releases out of the goodness of their hearts and definitely not at all because Shueisha was eyeing them threateningly and making little throat-slitting gestures. that was a ride. these are interesting times lol

but at any rate, if this is how it’s going to be for now then I’ll adjust! it is nice to have everyone support the official release, and obviously the image quality is way better, and Caleb’s translations are by and large pretty good. and obviously we’ll get used to reading the chapter on Sundays instead of Fridays (hell, I remember when the SJ leaks still came out on Wednesdays, so it’s not like we haven’t done this same old song and dance before lol). but Friday did happen to be a more convenient day for my schedule personally, so it might take a bit of adjusting for me to figure out what my posting schedule is going to be moving forward

anyways so I’m sorry this recap is so ridiculously late, but here we go at last!

so the Tartarus guard, who by the way is very clearly Seiji’s dad (WHEN ARE THE SHIKETSU KIDS COMING BACK), is tapping frantically at his touch screen even though it’s not doing anything, and he says he’s detecting unusual brainwaves. omg

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, OBVIOUSLY THEY UNLOCKED THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, MAN! THEY DID IT

omfg. the guard just says “he’s agitated.” I’m going to need you to have more hype than that my good sir. please

holy shit Nao

attention everyone, HAS ANYONE SEEN NAOMASA’S FUCKING CHILL, BECAUSE HE SEEMS TO HAVE FUCKING MISPLACED THAT SHIT. someone please explain to this man that there is a time and a place to play good cop bad cop and this is not it. “oh, Shirakumo is starting to recover his memories? well then [busts into the prison cell and grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall] WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!?”

(ETA: so apparently Nao’s detective instincts are cleverer than mine. he saw that Kumo was potentially going to emerge, but probably not for long, so he gave him the most important question so he could focus on answering that. good job! still not a lot of chill but hey.)

meanwhile Aizawa is all “if what they said is true I’m looking at my friend’s corpse”, while still crying by the way, and yeah, so MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE. this year Santa decided to change it up and just make everyone real sad. happy holidays

lord he’s leaping to his feet and shouting “WHO DID THIS TO YOU”

meanwhile I can’t stop staring at Present Mic with his tongue sticking out. why are you sticking your tongue out. why are anime characters like this. you know, Stain also used to stick his tongue out. Present Mic U.A. traitor confirmed

also!! so many people have beef with Ujiko, though! pretty soon they will have to take a number and get in line

oh no Kumogiri is malfunctioning

Aizawa’s all “ANSWER ME SHIRAKUMO” and OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS

I HAVE NEVER SEEN AIZAWA SHOUTA SO INTENSE AND I CAN’T TEAR MY EYES AWAY FROM THE SCREEN AHHHHH

so there’s some more of “WE WANTED TO BE HEROES TOGETHER” and “YOUR NAME IS SHIRAKUMO OBORO” and all of that other “SNAP OUT OF IT ALREADY” stuff, and you’re damn right I am eating ALL THAT SHIT right up, hell yes. IT’S A TROPE FOR A REASON PEOPLE

oh my god

bwo...hh...?

(ETA: I feel like I should explain that although I have a subscription to Viz, I really hate how their chapter viewer is set up, so I read the chapter on one of the vertical scroll-to-read sites instead. I prefer scroll-to-read for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is so that I can read the chapter slowly (since I’m writing as I go) without spoiling what’s in the next panel. that being said, this next page is one of the few where Viz obviously got it right, so I’ll be posting the full image.)

SDFLSDLFKHSDLKJGOISDJFOSK

（┐° o ° ┐） ( ｣｡╹o╹｡)｣

feelingsfeelingsfeelingsFEELINGS

(ETA: on a reread I am fascinated by the fact that that bandage on his nose actually seems to be A PERMANENT PART OF HIS FACE APPARENTLY lol what.)

READ THE FUCKING ROOM, DUDE. also look how tiny Gran Torino is. he thought we wouldn’t notice through all of our tears. but we did. would you like me to fetch you a box

ha ha ha so now back to the drama

heh so anyway, the fact that this smoke Shirakumo face still looks like a child is straight up destroying me. how are you guys. how is everyone. feliz navidad

FKSLDJSLK HOLD UP

IS HE TRYING TO SAY “SHOUTA”, I CAN’T, I’M?!?!!!!

ADSLFKJALSKDJW

(ETA: I think you can see Shirakumo’s eye rolling back here as he fights against the brainwashing omg. this chapter’s fucking art, though.)

YESSSSSS you keep on ticking off that checklist of clichés, Horikoshi!! I’m so weak for this shit it’s not even funny. actually that’s not true, this plotline is usually hit or miss with me, but I’ll tell you what though, if there’s one guaranteed way to have me freaking the fuck out rather than sighing and rolling my eyes, it’s to have AIZAWA FUCKING SHOUTA be the one pounding on the wall of glass and screaming at his former lover to fight the layers of conditioning waging war on his mind. ohhhhhh god

lol the brainwave detecting screen is losing its fucking shit also and beeping like crazy. this tension is so thick you could plant a flag in it yeesh

is this Kumo remembering stuff??!

(ETA: thank you to the anon who pointed out I posted the wrong image earlier lol.)

why do shounen characters always recall events from a third-person camera view. curse this ambiguous flashback

AHHHHH

HOSPITALLLL ahh what??? “SHOUTA, HOSPITAL.” oh my god. Shirakumo I commend you for not having your first words after dying and being brought back to life and brainwashed for 15 years and then waking up in a straitjacket in a prison cell be, “FUCK ME OH FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK.” you and I are very different people but I respect that

HOLY SHIT HIS HEAD EXPLODED

so now everyone’s freaking out and we’re zooming in on Kumo’s eye again. by the way this is going to kill me when it’s animated oh god

OH NO THE PANEL WENT BLACK AND IT GOT ALL SILENT

(ETA: hmm I don’t think Caleb Cook knows what “whump” means nowadays. whump is what I wish we had here. instead it’s just lots of hurt but very little comfort. JUST LOTS OF PAIN AND SADNESS.)

Horikoshi please have mercy oh lord. also I see their hands touching, you. they honestly should be gripping each other fucking white-knuckled, this is all very traumatic. I think that if Shouta was holding Mic’s hand while his other hand was pressed against the glass I would probably start sobbing for real

what the fuck

did they knock him back out?? they seem really calm and optimistic about all this lol

oh godddddd

HE’S NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING SHUT UP. GOD, MIC, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM A HUG ALREADY??

so now they’re bidding farewell to Nao and Gran -- and HOLY SHIT --

okay hold up -- I just realized -- Kumo was trying to give them a hint about Ujiko’s location. holy shiiiiit. PLEASE START INVESTIGATING HOSPITALS, NAO AND GRAN. holy shit the Noumu arc is heating uppppp

Aizawa’s asking what’s happening with Kurogiri now, and I feel like he maybe should have asked that immediately after the fact rather than as an afterthought while they were getting ready to leave but okay

Nao says he kind of “short-circuited or something” and yeah that tracks with what we saw. though it sure does make that “THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY FOLKS, GOOD JOB BOYS, YOU GET A GOLD STAR” business just SUPER WEIRD though, but let’s be real, Nao has been swinging and missing with striking the right tone all day today

and now Gran is apologizing to Mic and Aizawa for the exquisite emotional torture he just put them through, but he says something is bound to come from it. WELL YEAH NO SHIT IT HAD GODDAMN BETTER

Aizawa apparently hasn’t run out of sad/tired/haunted expressions yet, if you can believe it

pretty soon everyone is going to be sad, tired, and traumatized! heh. it’s going to be so fucked up hahaha crying smiling emojiiiii

oh hey and we’re cutting to another flashback of AFO doing what he does best, being callously dismissive of human lives!

this guy. right here. is a rat bastard. for real. also Horikoshi sure picked a hell of a chapter to go all out on the art again, jesus. this is probably the first time I’ve looked at AFO’s fucked up face and actually thought “yep, that’s a mutilated human man” rather than “shouldn’t you be out floating in space with your asteroid friends trying to smash the Millennium Falcon?” so anyways yeah this panel is a big NOPE from me, thank you

but on the other hand, when Horikoshi uses those art powers for good, such as carefully penciling in every last individual hair of Aizawa’s perpetual five o’clock shadow, that I don’t mind so much!

yes. yes good

so now they’re vrooming off, and we’re hanging back with Gran and Nao for a minute

YESSSSS GOOD JOB NAO!!

looooool it’s ringing up the head of the HPSC and her phone’s buzzing and she’s giving it this hella dramatic look. like this is some patented Todoroki-level dramatic whooshing right here

that’s just how dramatic this entire arc is going to be, hopefully

WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW

IS THAT A CODED MESSAGE FOR HIM TO GO CHECK OUT THE HOSPITAL. AND HOW BUSY ARE YOU, HAWKS. ARE YOU THE “I AM IN SOME DEEP, DEEP TROUBLE” KIND OF BUSY, OR JUST THE STAYING-IN-CHARACTER KIND OF BUSY. YOU CASUAL BASTARD, WHO CAN EVEN TELL WITH YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE TO SCROLL DOWN TO SEE

oh hh my go

“LITTLE LATE TO ASK ABOUT THIS STUFF” so he comes from the Bakugou Katsuki school of tutoring, eh

I love that he actually followed through on explaining the PLF’s philosophy to Twice. and Twice is such a good boy. he’s studying so diligently. look, he didn’t ask to join a doomsday cult, it just kind of happened so now he’s just doing his best to figure it all out

and it definitely was a coded message, then. smoooooth, HPSC lady, smooth. so I wonder if the fact that she gave him a specific hospital implies a time jump. because I don’t think she’d have him investigate just any old hospital until they had a better lead and/or a more solid idea of what they were looking for

lol what the fuck

well I sure do not have any idea what this man is talking about

-- HOSDFLKJDLY SHIT WE’RE CUTTING TO UJIKO WE ARE CUTTING TO FUCKING UJIKO RED FUCKING ALERT!!!

HE’S TALKING ABOUT TOMURA I’M NOT CALMMMMMMMM AHHHHHH

FUCCKLKL FUCK THE WHAT HOLY SHIT WHAT DID HE DO

oh my god oh my god oh m

he made Tomura a Noumu. holy fucking shit that’s what he did. of course. so he’ll be able to possess multiple quirks, but because he benefits from Ujiko’s years of high end Noumu research, his sense of self will remain intact

AND DOESN’T THIS PROCESS JUST LOOK EVER SO PLEASANT. jesus christ. he’s not even allowed to lie down, for some reason this procedure can only be done while he’s hovering over the bed Exorcist-style with his mouth locked open in a silent scream (ETA: or is that actually his laughter we’re seeing?? because this panel wasn’t raw enough already I guess??) while random spurts of blood come chucking out all over the place. well that’s just

and Tomura fucking volunteered for this. how many scores of others didn’t?? holy fucking shit Ujiko. it’s not easy to be the most evil man in a chapter where a foil-wrapped potato with eye holes started waxing poetic about all the children he harvested and killed like some kind of bloodthirsty sommelier, but YOU FOUND A WAY. dancing a fucking jig while your so-called masterpiece is being gruesomely tortured in the foreground. man if there’s any justice in the world, we’ll find out in this arc that Ujiko used science to make himself immortal so that once he’s finally captured they can just keep killing him over and over again. I do not like him!!

so that’s it! we really are doing this thing, holy shit. Noumu arc here we come. see you guys next decade har dee har

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

Text

you wingless thing

C H A P T E R O N E

summary: So, Geralt saves the terrorizing for the actual noble lord, and makes himself as unthreatening as possible. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t a savage, bloodthirsty beast, and he’d rather this boy not be raised under that falsehood - though, it’s likely no matter what Geralt does that he will.

The boy’s voice stutters as he looks up at Geralt, words coming out too fast and heart beating rabbit-fast. “S-sir, Lord Erynd requests your presence.”

Geralt gets a contract in a town called Eristan, but it turns out the only monster there is human.

word count: 26516

tags: rape/non-con, dead dove: do not eat, geralt / jaskier, original female character, original male character, angst with a happy ending, angst, angst and feels, rape, past rape/non-con, implied/referenced rape/non-con, implied/referenced abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, emotionally repressed, fae jaskier, fae magic, hurt jaskier, torture, revenge, past torture, hurt/comfort, past abuse, jaskier whump, feral jaskier, creature jaskier, inhuman jaskier, eventual happy ending, love confessions, idiots in love, wing kink, homoerotic wing grooming

author’s note: this fic came to me in a dream and is now 26k so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and on that note, any weirdness can be blamed on my subconscious, which is very wild and is lucky i can actually make its nonsense coherent enough for a fic.

scheduled monday, wednesday, and friday

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

It’s in the heat of summer that Geralt gets a contract in Eristan, a town buried deep in a forest named after it.

He’s heard rumors about this town - nearly everyone who travels within a two hundred mile radius of it has. The town isn’t small - it has some nobility of its own, and quite a few open fields within it - but the entirety of it is surrounded by a massive forest. Trade there is nearly impossible due to that, and some say that the forest itself is cursed, because it happens far too often that some people don’t make it out. Others say that the town is cursed; the streak of good and bad luck there is too extreme, too spontaneous to be normal.

Geralt doesn’t believe these rumors. Not in the way the townsfolk do, at least. Eristan is not cursed, and neither is Eristan Forest. There is simply a creature there, or a mage, which they have gotten on the bad side of. He doesn’t take it as superstition - for one, because he doesn’t feel any magic in the forest as he travels through it, and for two, he makes it out just fine, emerging on the outskirts of one of the fields on the edge of the town.

He stops at the treeline and scans the town. Short houses are scattered in clumps around larger mansions, supposedly belonging to the nobility, and vast open fields separate the clusters from each other. It’s a bit different than most established towns Geralt has come across, especially the fact that one of the noble mansions is atop a hill, and behind it, a stone spire, twisting up into the sky.

Geralt feels the hum of his medallion against his chest, and almost considers turning back right then and there. There’s no monster in this town; he knows that tower is the source of their troubles, and judging by its proximity to the noble mansion in front of it, he’s guessing the nobles are playing with forces they don’t understand. He wouldn’t be surprised if they managed to piss off some powerful creature, and that’s why the city is so spontaneous and extreme with its luck.

Geralt sighs and begins making camp right there. He really doesn’t feel like traipsing across an entire town with the weight of everyone’s judgmental stares on his back, and then have to deal with entitled nobility. Especially when that nobility probably has even more of a power complex for being able to keep up the illusion of capturing a powerful creature like the one in that tower.

He sleeps under the stars instead, with the fading warmth of the fire next to him and the even more faded warmth of his medallion humming against his chest - and then ends up traipsing across the entire town in the morning, waking up at the early light of dawn and packing up the little things he has.

The first cluster of houses he comes across is just as judgmental as he expected it to be. Geralt doesn’t miss the whispers following him, of Butcher and monster and freak; the names have been following him like a shadow his entire life. The only difference is there’s one more added on. He sighs and keeps riding on Roach, through the second and third cluster of houses.

It’s nearing sunset when he finally makes it to the fourth, just beneath the hill the noble’s mansion is built on, with dust in his clothes and Roach panting beneath him. He dismounts Roach and stables her in an inn that looks only slightly more promising than most of the others, because the stable boys, at least, only look at him with the customary fear of a Witcher, and not the heightened fear of the Butcher.

He swings the inn door open, mentally bracing himself against the onslaught of noise, and walks inside. The inn slowly goes quiet as he does, the sharp scent of fear stinging Geralt’s nose and the quiet hush of whispers reaching his ears as he makes his way to the innkeeper and negotiates for a room.

It takes at least ten minutes, and it’s the smallest room the inn has at too high a price, but Geralt manages to get it and he pays for the room before walking directly upstairs to it. He’s not in the mood for drinking, not when he’s going to be dealing with nobility in the morning, and he doesn’t want to push his luck either. It’s unlikely he’d get a drink in this establishment anyway, when it was as hard as it was to get a room.

He sighs as he sets his swords down and strips off his armor, looking around the room. There isn’t a bath drawn, and Geralt isn’t sure that the inn would provide him one. He figures that it’s just dust anyway, and he’d rather go to bed slightly dusty than get thrown out of the inn or deal with harsh words for wanting a luxury such as bathing. At least he’s not covered in monster guts, though in that memorable occasion, he did get a bath in the end, if only because the innkeeper got too many complaints about the smell.

He falls into the bed in the corner once he finishes and drifts into sleep quickly, ignoring the increased pulsing hum of his medallion against his chest.

Geralt’s eyes snap open just as footsteps stop outside his door and three loud, resounding knocks sound on the wood. He sits up in bed, a quick scent of the air bringing in lavender, exotic spices, and some more expensive smells. There’s no sweat, dirt, or ale on any of Geralt’s sudden company outside his door.

Nobility then. Geralt sighs, mentally lamenting the fact that he hasn’t even had breakfast yet, and stands up, walking to the door and swinging it open with an unimpressed expression on his face.

There’s three of them - one young boy whose fear-scent makes Geralt’s nose burn, and two guards who do better to hide it, but whose heartbeats still ratchet up a notch at the sight of him.

The boy falters at the expression on Geralt’s face, brown eyes wide and terrified, so he softens his face slightly. He isn’t here to terrorize the pager boy this entitled noble lord hired, and it’s not the boy’s fault that they came to get Geralt at the crack of dawn.

So, Geralt saves the terrorizing for the actual noble lord, and makes himself as unthreatening as possible. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t a savage, bloodthirsty beast, and he’d rather this boy not be raised under that falsehood - though, it’s likely no matter what Geralt does that he will.

The boy’s voice stutters as he looks up at Geralt, words coming out too fast and heart beating rabbit-fast. “S-sir, Lord Erynd requests your presence.”

Geralt sighs and flicks a glance at the guards. It most definitely is not a request, not from nobility, so he has no choice but to accept. Unless he’d rather be drawn into the political mess of a lord’s anger, which, he’d really rather not.

“Ten minutes,” he rumbles, and doesn’t wait for a response before he turns around and goes to get his armor.

The guards don’t look too happy with him when he walks back up to them fully dressed, but he can’t be made to give a fuck. If they want to come get him at the crack of dawn, then they can wait for him to get his shit together.

The walk to the noble’s mansion is quietly entertaining for Geralt, who watches the guards hide their panting and racing heartbeats, while he’s relatively unaffected by the uphill walk. The pager boy walks just ahead of Geralt and the guards, heart still racing and fear still stinging Geralt’s nose.

Of course, he shouldn’t have expected the people at the keep to be any less judgmental than his very unhappy escorts. As he’s led through the gate, he gets barely a nod of acknowledgment from the guards there, and he can feel the curious gazes and hushed whispers of the various landscapers occupying the front courtyard.

The main entryway of the noble’s manor is grand, including a spiral staircase in the center and clean white marble floors, the whole space made airy and open by the soaring ceilings carved with intricate patterns. Servants dressed in plain clothes flit about through doorways, some sparing curious glances at Geralt and some paying him no mind. The pager boy, straightening slightly as he’s in his element now, leads Geralt through one of the doorways to what appears to be a lavish front room, covered in soft, expensive rugs and couches and smelling almost overwhelmingly like flowers.

The floral perfumes almost hide the still-present scent of fear from the pager boy, and the natural scents of the guards. The perfumes are so strong that it puts Geralt on edge, having his sense of smell inhibited like this, but he tries to stay as relaxed and calm as possible in the guards’ presence, and takes a seat on one of the couches at the boy’s request before he hurries away out of sight.

The guards take up position behind him, against the wall - and that sets off more alarm bells in Geralt’s head. His fingers twitch from where they’re hanging between his thighs, and he focuses on the weight of his swords leaning against his calf, and the fainter, natural scents of the guards beneath the perfumes.

He doesn’t have to wait long before there’s the sound of footsteps and the floral scent increases, drifting in from the doorway as a man he can only assume is Lord Erynd enters and sits down on the couch across from Geralt.

Erynd is dressed in an expensive suit, with an overly generous application of that damned floral perfume floating around him in an almost suffocating cloud, and wearing the kind of smug arrogance Geralt only sees on nobles who think they are better and more entitled than everyone and everything around them. He sighs internally, really not up to dealing with nobility, but not exactly having a choice.

“Witcher,” Erynd starts, a note of harshness to his voice that solidifies Geralt’s assumption of this lord’s attitude, “I assume you came because of the contract one of my townspeople posted in a nearby village?”

Geralt nods. “You’ve been having bad luck lately - and really good luck.”

The lord inclines his head in acquiescence, but there’s a strange air of calm about him, as if he doesn’t care. It sets off distant alarm bells in Geralt’s head, but he stays still and quiet and keeps listening. “Yes, but the cause is of no concern to you. Your services are not required in this situation, because I have it more than handled,” Erynd says.

Geralt frowns, suspicion immediately seeping into his tone and his eyes narrowing as he holds Erynd’s eerily calm gaze. “Handled how?”

Erynd gives a small, pleased smile, which only sets Geralt more on edge. At this point, he’s on a hair-trigger, fingers twitching against his thigh and the weight of his swords leaning against his ankle a comfort.

“I would be delighted to show you, Witcher,” he says, all smug arrogance, “I’m sure you will appreciate my mastery of these beasts.” His tone drops lower, almost secretive - and there’s the catch. “I only ask that you keep this between us.”

Geralt pauses, frown still in place, considering his options. It’s very likely that this is a trap - if Erynd has some creature imprisoned in that tower like Geralt thinks he does, he knows he is dangerously close to being a monster himself, and may find himself the next monster in Erynd’s supposed collection.

Or, it’s something entirely different. But either way, it won’t work out well for him to refuse nobility.

Geralt smooths out his frown and schools his expression into something neutral. He can’t find out what Erynd is hiding if he shows displeasure towards it - that can be saved for later, when he dismantles whatever the lord has happening with the monsters, or when he is slashing his way out of being added to the lord’s collection.

“As you wish,” he replies instead, voice steady and neutral, and tries to shove down his uneasiness at the resulting sickly sweet smile on the lord’s face.

next chapter >>

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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set-phasers-to-whump · 4 years

Text

maybe this could be your home

X=done

Prompt: slammed into a wall

Whumpee: Michael Guerin

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

For: anon

i am so sorry that a) this took a little longer than i thought and b) its not super whump focused or whump heavy. i just kinda went where it took me, sorry! hope you like it though!!! (this is set...sometime in s2? idk when exactly though)

Michael sits across from Alex in a booth at the Crashdown, bouncing his leg. “You don’t have to, like, forgive him or anything.” He pauses for a moment, eats a few fries, tries to find his words. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“I know,” Alex says, looking at the table. “I know, and I’m not forgiving him. I just...I think he could be helpful in this whole mess? And, I don’t know, I mean, I know I don’t owe him anything, but I feel like...I have to try, I guess? Or, I don’t have to, but…”

Michael nods. He doesn’t understand Alex’s exact situation, not really. He certainly will never forgive Jesse Manes for the things he’s done. Doesn’t think Alex should either, or even bother talking to him, for that matter. But it isn’t his choice.

“I get it.” He doesn’t, of course, but it’s not like he hasn’t been working on repairing some familial relationships lately, too.

Alex smiles, slightly, gratefully, and moves to stand. Michael stops him, reaching across the table and placing a hand onto Alex’s arm. “Be careful, okay?” he says, tries to frame it casually. “You know what he’s capable of.”

Alex nods and steps away. “Thanks,” he says, offering up another smile, slipping a ten dollar bill onto the table for his food. “We’re meeting on Wednesday, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

And then he leaves, and Michael sits in the booth and broods for a bit before reluctantly clearing out as the first wave of the dinner crowd arrives.

He gets back to his trailer shortly before six, and spends the remainder of the evening tinkering in his lab, finally emerging close to midnight. He takes a moment before he goes inside, leaning against the metal wall of the trailer, gazing up into the cloudless night sky. Home is out there somewhere, he thinks to himself, shoving down a faint voice in the back of his head that insists, home can be here too.

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He’s just about to open them and head inside when he hears footsteps approaching. How had he missed that? He spins to face his almost-certainly-unwelcome guest and finds himself face-to-face with none other than Jesse Manes.

Before he can say or do anything, Manes is shoving him backwards, pinning him to the exterior wall of his trailer with a loud clang that reverberates inside his head.

Michael shoves the other man off of himself easily, but Manes redoubles in his efforts, striding forward and absolutely slamming Michael into the wall with such force that Michael thinks he can feel the metal bending around his body.

Manes’ face is inches from his now, and-oh, he’s saying something, Michael realizes, and he shakes his head slightly to try to stop the ringing in his ears. His head spins, but he manages to focus.

“-is none of your damn business!” Manes is saying, his eyes alight with rage. Michael is momentarily taken back to that night in the shed, which was nothing like this but also exactly like this, with Jesse Manes dangerously close to him, making him feel all kinds of wrong and terrible, and even though Michael could easily use his powers to escape the hold Manes has on him, he can’t-he doesn’t even think to, honestly. Fear keeps him rooted to the spot, staring into those cold and angry eyes with all the defiance he can muster (which isn’t that much, at the moment).

And then, Manes releases him, with a snap of, “stay out of my affairs, Guerin, or you won’t like what happens next.”

Michael doesn’t have the time to process that before he sways and nearly falls to the ground, a wave of dizziness rolling over him. He blinks slowly, and then he is alone, and he sinks to his knees, feeling his back protest, only just now noticing the tang of blood in his mouth. He wonders vaguely just how hard his head had collided with the trailer wall, and tries to focus on what Manes had said to him. But his head is well and truly aching and he just feels bad, so he closes his eyes and does the only thing he can think of-calls out to Isobel and Max and hopes that they hear him.

---

He isn’t sure how much time passes before he spies the approaching headlights of Max’s car-he doesn’t think it’s been that long, but everything feels fuzzy, and it’s possible he’s been sitting out here for hours. He brings up a hand to shield his eyes as the car slows to a stop in front of him.

Isobel is first to his side, asking, “what happened?” in a voice far more laced with concern than he’s ever heard her direct at him before. He explains, in few words, his encounter with Jesse Manes.

Max looks angry, ready to stomp off and give the man a piece of his mind (and maybe his fists). Michael, however, tells him to stop.

“Don’t go trying to be a hero, Max,” he says, his head aching with every word. “It’s fine.”

Max rounds on him. “Fine-it’s not fine, he can’t just-”

“Max,” Isobel says, shooting him a look. “He told you to drop it.”

Max sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says finally, his tone indicating he thinks it’s anything but. “At least let me heal you, then.”

Both Michael and Isobel snap sharp no’s at him. “You think I’m gonna let Mr. Recently-Back-From-The-Dead waste his healing powers-which he shouldn’t even be using-on a little headache?” Michael asks, shaking his head. Admittedly, it does hurt, and so does his back, and there is still the taste of blood in his mouth, but he’s fine, more or less.

“A little acetone and I’ll be just fine,” he says, trying to sound somewhat reassuring.

Max sighs again and relents, striding into Michael’s trailer to locate some acetone. Isobel shifts herself so she’s sitting directly in front of him, and gently takes his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“You’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, not elaborating. His head is really pounding now, but it’s not like this is an emergency. If it still hurts in the morning, maybe he’ll drop by Valenti’s place and have him check him out. He shudders mentally, hoping it won’t come to that.

Isobel looks like she wants to say something else, but before she can, Max returns, the door slamming behind him in a way that makes Michael wince. “Sorry,” he says, handing over a bottle.

Michael takes a long pull of the acetone, and passes the bottle to Isobel without thinking. She grins and takes a sip, settling down beside him, then gestures for Max to sit down with them.

He does, with only minor grumbling about how it’s nearly two in the morning and they really should try to get some sleep. They pass the bottle around, and though they don’t talk, the silence feels just as comfortable.

Michael feels the last dregs of the fear he’d felt when Manes pinned him down evaporate as he sits with his siblings, leaning against the wall which had earlier been the cause of his pain (though it was relatively innocent, being as it was inanimate).

Michael finds himself relaxing for once, feels the headache slipping away, the taste of blood in his mouth washed out with acetone.

---

At some point, he must have drifted off, because he wakes up with the sun beating down on him, sweaty and alone. He groans, stretches, and forces himself to his feet, noting with some satisfaction that his body feels back to normal, no pain at all remaining. He stumbles inside to change into some less-gross clothes, and nearly runs smack into Isobel, who is rooting around in his cabinets, making disapproving noises.

“Morning, Michael,” she says to him. “Why don’t you have, like, anything that even resembles breakfast food?”

Michael blinks at her, looks to his left where Max is leaning against the wall. He hadn’t thought they would stay. Hadn’t thought they’d quite built their relationship back up enough for that. But here they are, in his trailer, apparently searching for breakfast.

“We can go out?” he suggests, still somewhat stunned that they’re still here.

“Sounds good,” Max agrees, and Isobel nods.

“Yeah,” Michael says, “okay.” He grabs his keys from the counter and heads out the door, not even looking behind him to ensure that they’re following-he knows they are. “I’ll drive.”

“I call the passenger seat!” Isobel announces, and Michael hears Max yelp in surprise before the door bangs shut. Both of his siblings race past him and have a brief shoving match which ends with Isobel in the passenger seat, a triumphant smirk on her face. Max looks significantly less happy, squashed into the middle seat, his long legs scrunched up to fit.

Michael smiles to himself as he slides behind the wheel, Isobel and Max already arguing about where they should go. This is nice, he thinks, and for once he doesn’t immediately tell the voice in his head to shut up when it insists, this is home.

hope this was okay!!!! i just love writing the siblings so much, and also i wasnt sure about any ships that you might have wanted so i kept the focus on them! anyway if you were wondering jesse was talking to michael about interfering with his and alex’s relationship (i know it was hard to tell with michaels pov but yeah). thanks for reading!!!!!!

#bad things happen bingo #slammed into a wall #roswell new mexico #michael guerin #beat up #my writing #i say things #again i know this wasnt super whumpy but im sorry thats just where the story took me #also ive never written michaels pov before so this might not be totally in character for which i also apologize #anyway yeah hope this was ok despite all that!!!!!#also agh im bad at titles and i do apologize

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