#i still forget not everyone has periods. its so weird that only half the population does

[existencebringsonlypain]

ooooorghhh really regretting being born with standard female anatomy rn

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump!

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here with us today is the fabulous @angstafterdark !

Hello! Good to have you here! How about we start off with a fact or three about yourself?

Oh man, hello. If we're not talking about whump, I'm really bad at talking about myself. It's not that I'm boring, I'm just shy and awkward. I'll do my best though! 

My name is Vee or V or ✌🏿. My favorite color is red. I love emojis even though I'm still trying to figure out what half of them mean. I'm very passionate about getting more POC and well written women into the media I read and write in. I firmly believe everyone wins when there's more diversity! 

What does whump mean to you? 

Catharsis, a healthy way to get the pain in your brain out so you're not harming yourself or others. For me, whump isn't the only thing I look for, I like a little plot with my pain. Whump and all its tropes and genres are seasoning to great storytelling! 

And how did you find the whump community? 

I stumbled into the community completely by accident and during a pretty rough period in my life. I started out in writeblr and somehow found @sweetwhumphellacomf's Prince and Paladin series with Eos and Valerie and it just hit everything I loved about storytelling! Dex is a fantastic writer and that series will always have a special place in my heart. So after I read it, I started reading more, got hooked into a discord server, started to actually interact with Dex and other whump writers, started writing my own stuff and went from there!   

Do you feel like your view on whump has changed since you joined?

It's definitely changed! I've gone in a different direction with my writing and become a lot more open to certain tropes and people I once thought were weird or taboo. I think, personally, that's helped me grow as an author. I've had to do research to write some topics with sensitivity and care and that, in turn, has led me to other blogs and people I have the pleasure of calling friends! 

And now my favorite question to ask! Do you have a favourite whump trope?

Whipping, Bedside Vigils, Creepy Comfort, Captivity, Whump Emotional/Psychological Whump, Sickfics/Fevers. I've really been into the BBU (box boy universe) lately. As someone who loves engaging with others about OCs and writing stuff, my favorite thing about it is its collaborative nature. It's so fun and contrary to popular belief, people are very aware and sensitive about the triggering tropes and topics that are often explored in that sandbox. There's also the ability to explore the real world struggles of POC communities, minorities, and other vulnerable populations and thats something I’m really passionate about. 

The BBU universe is amazing with its sandbox structure and I think a lot of the whump community has really connected through BBU’s shared universe. Do you have a favourite piece you've written? 

I have two blogs so I'll link two if that's alright! I love this one! Taron and Zizi were my first whumpees. They hold such a special place in my heart. And this one! (slight nsfw)! Wick's fear here was so fun to write and so palpable. 

I love Taron’s distress and internal conflict in the first one. So good! Do you have a regular writing routine or just whenever the inspo strikes?

Oh gosh. I have a kid, a fulltime job, and a pretty busy life so getting writing done is kind of hard. I try to take Mondays off from parenting and working and I usually find myself at Panera Bread for a few hours. I really like sitting in one corner of the place. I’ll usually put on my wireless headphones and put one song on repeat. The song depends on which story or character I’m writing for.

I do like having a snack when I'm writing but sometimes I get into the zone and completely forget about what I'm eating. It's a problem!  

And do you find it easier to write some things than others?

Comfort is really easy for me to write. I don't write it a lot but when I do, it flows really easily. I love a good comfort fic but I usually slip in a bit of angst. I gotta have my angst. 

Take us behind the curtain, is there anything new you’re working on at the moment?

I have several stories in the works but I'm currently working on the escape portion of LIKE A BULLET LOVES A GUN. Someone dies and that's all I'm gonna say about that. 

I've also taken up drawing again. It's not great and I hate not being immediately good at something but I'm trying to stick with it! 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

I usually save my witty lines for my writing. I’m not great at being funny when I’m under pressure. Sorry. 

Advice time! What would you like to share?

Yeah! I have two pieces of advice!

The first: Have a writing buddy! Write with someone you trust who is going to be supportive of you and excited about what you're doing. The second: no matter how discouraged you get, NEVER DELETE YOUR WRITING OR YOUR BLOG! Be your own fan first. Reread your own writing (you write it for a reason. It made you happy). There's absolutely NO shame in reblogging your own work and screaming in the tags. It's not annoying and it's not egotistical.

Finally let’s shout out your favorite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone up here!

Oh God. There are so many! Whether it's screaming in the tags of my writing, giving me space on discord to be my sometimes messy self, collaborating with me, or just being a sweet, positive force in the community, I'm genuinely grateful for each and every one of these blogs. 

@mottinthemainpot (who nominated me) @wildfaewhump @flowersarefreetherapy @siren-of-agony @ashintheairlikesnow @justplainwhump  @noirineverysense @just-horrible-things @gritpyre @winedark-whump  @studyofwhump @clockworknightmares @redwingedwhump @amethystpath-writes @gottawhump @girlsjustwannadrawwhump and @oddsconvert 

I also gotta shout out a few of the discord servers I’m a part of so shout out to the whumpawoman server, especially to @whumpstash and @mirasmirages who are the most amazing and supportive co-mods! 

Shout out to The Whump Oasis and every one in there as well! 

Anything you'd like to add?

Yes, thank you. albino-whumpee would’ve been on that list of whump blogs that I’m grateful for. I'm still so grateful for the conversations we had and their beautiful commissioned artwork. I hope wherever they've ended up, they're happy and pain-free. Please consider visiting the memorial @whumptr0pes put up for Moya and donating to The Trevor Project in their memory. 

Oftentimes when we're writing whump, we’re dealing with our own traumas and insecurities. It's cliche to say but you never know what someone is going through so kindness and understanding always has to be a priority even if - especially if - someone is writing about a topic you don't personally enjoy or can't engage with for whatever reason. 

We all write and enjoy topics that can trigger someone else and it's important for us as a community to support each other. Please, please, please don't hesitate to reach out. There is always someone in your corner. 

(Note: This topic may still be extremely fresh for some folks and it can be extremely triggering, but we here at Let's Talk Whump want to make it known that we are all a big family (the whump community). No matter what differences we may have, no one should ever feel alone. That being said, if any of you are struggling at home, feel lost, hurting, and don't know where to reach out, attached is a website that has international suicide hotline numbers and resources available from countries A-Z.

https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/ )

Thank you so much for sharing, @angstafterdark. It was so good to have you here today! 

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

* @angstafterdark is an 18+ blog only. Minors please do not interact with their works or with their blog. 

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [17/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Daily check-in to see how you're holding up under social distancing, and a reminder that in addition to washing your hands and stay inside, don't snack too much, drink at least 8 cups of water and take a shower! You'd be surprised how easy it is to stop doing a lot of the basics when you're in isolation for a while! Hang in there, people!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Six o’clock is an ungodly hour in the morning to be awake and Jason honestly doesn’t know how people do it. The hours between four and eleven in the morning are the only time he has a chance to rest, and now that’s been co-opted by the squawking creature in his arms.

He can’t imagine how the non-vigilante population finds it any easier.

And then there’s Tim.

Who voluntarily gets up at this time every morning to go play Wayne Poster Child™ after a night of knocking heads in the city.

There was a reason Bruce never let Jason patrol on a school night, and it wasn’t just because of the potential for unexplained bruises, and yet here’s little Timmy, off to run a multibillion-dollar company while existing on coffee grounds and stubbornness.

And the dumbass keeps offering to give up more sleep to take care of Jason’s kid.

How has he not fallen off a building yet?

Luisa’s gluttonous grunting brings Jason’s thoughts back to the present. She’s finally started to attack her bottles with gusto, as if it’s finally occurred to her that, “Hey, weird rubber thing in my mouth equals food”.

Jason’s grateful for that, too; not that he’s going to admit he was starting to worry there was something wrong with her.

It’s not that he’s trying to be heartless or anything, but there’s a fine line between being concerned and getting attached. And there is a mess of reasons why he can’t afford to do that. If Tim’s dopey insistence to help out is any indication, he’s already starting down that dangerous road.

Eventually, Luisa releases the nipple, and Jason maneuvers her around to burp her, only to hear a tiny, gurgling cough, which is then followed by warm wetness spilling down his shoulder—at the exact moment that Tim walks into the kitchen.

“Looks like she has a complaint about the chef,” he remarks, mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason mutters, holding the now vomit-covered baby as far out in front of him as he can do while keeping her head steady. He tries not to grimace at the stain spreading across his back; he’s probably been covered with worse, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.

“That’s why you’re supposed to put a towel over your shoulder.”

“I know!” Jason snaps. “I forgot.”

Tim holds his hands out for the baby. “Go change.”

“I need to clean her up first.”

“You’re not sitting on my sofa covered in puke.”

“Who says I was going to sit on your sofa?” Jason challenges, even though that's exactly where he was going. He’s sort of co-opted that whole area into the downstairs changing station.

The sour-sweet smell of vomit makes the decision for him, however, and he passes Luisa over to Tim, who’s already got a washcloth in hand to dab at the mess. While Jason heads upstairs, he brings her over to that same makeshift changing station and starts to undo her soiled onesie.

The last thing Jason hears as he closes the door to his room is, “Ugh, he was right. That doesn’t look human.”

Jason snorts, glad he’s not the only one that has to suffer through mysterious bodily fluids.

He considers the merits of showering now, weighing the need to be clean versus the probability of ending up dirty again anyway in an hour or so and then decides to just wipe himself down with a wet cloth before putting on a new shirt.

Digging around in the duffel bag, he accidentally knocks down the jacket he threw haphazardly on the loveseat. The inner pocket gapes, allowing several items to fall out, including the Red Hood plush toy and the sonogram from Isabel’s fridge.

He grabbed them both on a whim before leaving the apartment, but he can’t quite recall the logic or reasoning behind that. Isabel’s email and its implications had taken up most of his brainpower at that point. The trained detective part of Jason tells him he wanted evidence, but he’s not entirely sure of evidence of what.

He picks the items up now, frowning at their existence, and then abruptly shoves them both into one of the dresser drawers.

It’s too early for soul-searching.

When he comes back downstairs, it’s to Tim just wrestling a grump baby into a white onesie. Even standing at the foot of the stairs, Jason notices that it contrasts very obviously with Luisa’s skin.

“I was right,” he says, “she’s definitely turning yellow.”

Luisa cracks an eye open at the sudden sound of his voice, and beyond the startling blue iris, he notes that her sclera is also off-color. “Look, even the whites of her eyes are going yellow.”

Tim studies her, and nods. “Yeah, she is a little jaundiced.”

“So do we take her to the doctor for this, or what? I mean, does she have yellow fever or something?”

“Yellow fever has an incubation period of three to six days,” Tim replies. “Since she hasn’t been alive that long and hasn’t had a chance to be exposed to anything like that, I doubt that’s what it is.”

Jason gives him a look. “How the hell do you know this shit?”

“An eco-fascist cell tried to contaminate Gotham’s water supply with a strain of it last year.”

“It’s always the water supply with these people,” Jason mumbles. “You’d think the city would invest in better security down there. Batman’s not always going to be there to stop it.”

“Batgirl, actually,” Tim replies. “Singlehandedly. Steph was very proud.”

“I’m sure.” Jason frowns again at the vaguely yellow baby, telling himself that if Tim isn’t worried, he shouldn’t be. Still, “You know, while we have her here, we should maybe wash off some of that white stuff."

“What? No. Did you forget? ‘Wet baby equals slippery baby’? Those were your words.”

“There are other ways to take a bath, moron,” Jason retorts, examining the bulge above Luisa’s umbilical cord stump. He thinks he remembers Dr. Kerry saying it would fall off in a week or so, but to be honest, most of the night they picked her up from the hospital is a blur to him.

“Well, I’ll leave you to that then, because I have to get going,” Tim says, heading upstairs to transform himself from half-asleep slob to Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Jason tries not to balk at that; part of him was hoping Tim would offer to do that chore.

Bathing is different from feeding. With blankets around the kid, he doesn’t have to worry so much about bruising her skin by just touching her. And yes, he knows that babies don’t bruise that easily, but he’s so used to ruining everything he touches that this seems like a valid concern to him.

In the end, he just takes his time, not giving her a real bath from the tiny tub still packed up in the pile of baby things, but an approximation of the wipe down he gave himself earlier. Careful to keep her covered except to expose whatever arm or leg needs wiping off, he slides a cloth gently against her skin, noting she’s still got that weird white residue on her.

She makes squeaking grunts of complaint at the alien feeling, but it must not feel too bad because she doesn’t erupt into crying. He takes that has a win.

“Now that Her Highness has had her morning toilette,” Jason grouses as he nestles the lump of baby into her carrier.

Once Tim leaves, Jason spends the day at home much like he did the day before, scouring the apartment for anything readable that isn’t a gaming guide, taking apart his gear and putting it back together and grabbing quick naps between feedings and changings. It’s entirely possible he may be losing his mind, because how did his life become this?

I didn’t even stay this still when I was a kid. Is this what life is like for eighteen years when you have a kid?

There has to be more to the parenting gig than this.

Frustrated, he turns the television on, surfing the channels and wondering why there’s nothing worth watching on any of the thousand channels Tim has access to. Eventually, he lands on a local news channel which he keeps on just to have something making noise in the overly silent house.

He’s barely synthesizing the information until a special report comes on, the shaky camera capturing a car speeding through Crime Alley, windows rolled down to allow a gun to open fire.

“…only the latest in a series of violent incidents that have occurred just outside of the Bowery this week,” the woman on the screen is saying. “Officials believe these may be retaliation for the recent raiding of three businesses in the Bowery with connections to the Maroni crime family…”

“Then officials are stupid because anyone gunning for Maroni wouldn’t be takin' it out on him in Crime Alley,” Jason mutters. Especially since everyone in Gotham’s underworld knows the penalty for going anywhere near Hood territory.

“…just the latest in the continuing unrest in the neighborhood. Local police are still asking for information regarding the disappearance of teenagers LaRynn Davies and Carlton King, last seen leaving the schoolyard of PS 181. This has been Maria Amardosa, Gotham News—”

Jason jabs at the remote, switching the television off.

It doesn’t surprise him that crime’s up; April and May are when the weather starts to warm up, which means a lot of enterprising criminal organizations open back up for business. Even when he was Robin, Jason used to make a point of more heavily patrolling his neighborhood in the spring to discourage that sort of thing.

And now, it’s going on a week, and he hasn’t been out once. It’s bad enough having to leave matters when he’s out of town or off-planet, but in those cases, he can’t do anything about it.

“But now, I’m right freakin’ here, and sittin’ on my ass.”

Which is why when Tim gets home from work that night and gratefully accepts the stir-fry Jason whipped up more out of boredom than actual hunger, he decides to broach the subject.

“I’m goin' out to patrol tonight,” he informs him, half-defiant. “If I don’t put in an appearance along my usual route, people are gonna start gettin' ideas.”

More than they already are.

He expects protests or warnings, but to his surprise, Tim swallows a mouthful of rice and nods. “I’ll watch the baby while you’re out.”

All reasonable like, the way he’s been since he picked me up at the bar.

Jason tries not to feel like he’s being handled, and goes on in a guarded tone, “This isn’t me tryin' to dump her off on you and run. I’m not that big of an ass.”

“Debatable. But noted. It’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t want to, tell me.”

Tim fixes him with an exasperated look. “You’re really not used to people just…genuinely wanting to help you, are you?”

“Not generally, no,” Jason replies, folding his arms across his chest. “Especially not people that I’ve tried to kill.”

“Twice.”

“Twice.”

“Though I did knee you in the balls that one time,” Tim reminds him, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

Jason winces. “Yeah, I remember. Not sure that’s enough to put us on equal playin' field though."

“Also, do you remember last year when you thought you had a bedbug infestation, and even when you switched safehouses, you couldn’t get rid of them?”

The question is asked with an innocence that wouldn’t fool even the most naïve person in the world, and Jason growls. “Okay, I take it back. You do owe me. At least I would have made your death quick. Bedbugs are just…” He shudders. “Evil.”

“There’s a reason Ra’s al Ghul wants me to work for him,” Tim agrees cheerfully.

“I’m suddenly re-evaluating the wisdom of leaving you with a small child.”

“I’m serious, though, it’s no problem to watch her.” Tim makes a waving gesture. “Go. Break up a few bar fights, knock around whatever pimps deserve it, whatever. Just…don’t kill anyone.”

“I ain’t askin’ permission here, Drake.”

“I know that. Doesn’t mean you don’t need the reminder.”

“If you’re so worried I’m gonna snap, maybe you should be tryin’ to keep me home.”

“That would be pretty stupid. And possibly suicidal on my part. You haven’t been out on the streets for a week, and you’ve been cooped up in here since Isa came home.” He ignores Jason’s glare at the nickname. “You need some kind of outlet, and this is the best one I can think of for you.”

It’s the most laissez-faire response he’s ever gotten from a Bat when it comes to Red Hood’s involvement in the Gotham nightlife—or rather, his frequent interruptions of it. Even Barbara—who he knows understands the logic of his crusade, even as she vehemently decries it—has never been like this.

Barring the whole ‘don’t kill anyone’ spiel, that was almost encouraging.

And a far cry from the kid that accused him of taking the easy path of crimefighting when they first met years ago.

Jason realizes then that he’s had a very specific image of Tim Drake in his head all this time. Living in close quarters with him is showing him that he really doesn’t know him at all.

Now is that just me…or is the rest of the family just as clueless when it comes to the baby bird here?

He must be giving Tim a funny look, because the kid says, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jason replies. “Just wondering what Bat Daddy would think about your pro-Red Hood stance.”

Tim winces, an expression of deep revulsion on his face. “Please. Never, ever refer to Bruce or any other guy I know as ‘daddy’. Ever again.”

Jason raises an eyebrow—that’s the first time he’s elicited that reaction—but rather than ask about it, he instead returns to his room to grab his clothes.

The Nest isn’t like the Cave, where Batman keeps extra gear for everyone stowed away (even for the Red Hood, he learned shortly after the mission to bring Damian’s body back from Apokolips), which means Jason’s going to need to stop at one of his caches after leaving to get his helmet and some of the bulkier pieces of armor he didn’t have with him.

Kitted out in everything except the eponymous red hood, Jason pauses in front of the secret entrance to Red Robin’s base.

Sitting on the couch with Luisa, Tim is just hanging up the phone. “I made an appointment for her to see Leslie next Tuesday. It’s the earliest she could fit us in since I couldn’t tell her the exact details.”

“Yeah, probably something to explain in person,” Jason agrees. He jerks his thumb at the door. “I’m leavin' now. Last chance to back out.”

“It’s not going to kill me to be responsible for an infant for a few hours,” Tim deadpans. “I mean, you’ve done it all week, so it should be easy.”

“Famous last words, Replacement. Just remember—Safiya’s number’s in your phone. Use it if you get overwhelmed.”

Tim rolls his eyes at his own words being flung at him. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” Jason grins.

“Get out of here.”

“Gone—also, stealing one of your bikes.”

“Just make sure to fill up the tank when you’re done!” Tim calls after him before the door shuts and locks away the domestic part of Jason’s life for the evening.

The short trip from Tim’s place to Jason’s nearest safehouse passes in a blur, and before he knows it he’s safely behind the visor of his helmet and back on the streets.

There’s nothing quite like Gotham at night, and even after a lifetime living here, he’s not entirely sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The rooftops are familiar steppingstones beneath his feet, as he tucks and rolls upon landing, only to propel himself back to his feet and do it again upon reaching the next roof. The rhythm of it all is easy, second nature even, and one he missed in the days where he’s been cooped up.

The last time he was out of commission for so many consecutive days was when he caught the winter flu, and even then he dragged his carcass out of bed just to loom in the dark as a warning to anyone who might try something. It’s a trick Bruce used to pull, when needed to make an appearance as Batman but was hacking up half a lung.

Tim was right about one thing: being able to throw himself into a fight is cathartic. His mind closes off every other thought beyond the here and now, and for the first time in a week, he feels like himself.

He busts up two bodega robberies, stops a carjacking and when a john tries to drag one of the girls working the corner into his car, Jason takes supreme joy in slamming the bastard’s hand in his car door. He checks in with several of his sources, some of whom have names for him of whatever moron has decided to ignore the rules of the Hood this week.

It’s a few hours worth of running about before he finally feels clear again, and by the time he starts winding down his patrol, there’s a deep but familiar exhaustion curling in his muscles that he only ever feels after a good workout. It makes his thoughts feel clearer and more capable of tackling his personal problems once more.

Using the interface in his helmet, he runs a search for the addresses of every Jonathan Sutter in Gotham, then uses the program he piggybacks off the Batcave server to attach the names to any of them that have been treated for Joker toxin in the past year.

There are two and considering one of them is about sixty years old and works as a greeter at Walmart, it’s a safe bet which one he’s looking for. He makes a stop out of his usual route to check up on the guy.

Isabel’s ex lives in the nicer part of Otisburg, about two blocks from an elementary school and a playground.  His home is a decently maintained two-story walk-up, with one of the newer Volkswagen models in the driveway. From what Safiya told him, Sutter does decently financially, and according to the photo in his dossier, he’s got a kind of refined Tony Stark looking going on.

Though that means about jack squat when it comes to whether the guy should be around kids.

If he were Batman, Jason would break in and loom over the guy’s bed until he woke up, but since Sutter’s less likely to be receptive if he’s pissing himself in fear, Jason decides he’ll return by daylight.

He just wanted to scope out where the guy lived, anyhow.

Whether due to his own exhaustion catching up with him, or the nagging feeling at the back of his mind wanting to make sure Tim’s place is still standing, he returns to where he parked the borrowed bike and heads back to the Nest earlier than he normally would.

He’s not even surprised to see the family insomniac still awake, although for once he’s not poring over case files. There’s a game paused on the flatscreen, and Tim is in the process of carefully hefting the baby in his arms up and down, a frown on his face.

Like every Bat, he gives no indication he even noticed he’s no longer alone.

“What’s up?” Jason asks as he rubs a towel through his sweaty hair; he left the bulky bits of his gear in the Nest.

“I think she feels lighter than she did when we brought her here,” Tim replies, a perplexed expression on his face. “Do you think she’s not getting enough food?”

“Not possible with the amount we feed her.”

“Yeah…” Tim shakes his head, then meets Jason’s gaze. “So, did you strike fear into the hearts of every gangbanger in the Alley?”

“You joke, but I take that as a personal challenge.”

“Please don’t.” Tim stands up, holding the baby with more confidence than Jason thinks he’s ever imagined and wanders over. “She slept most of the time you were away.”

“Of course she did,” Jason mutters with a scowl. The baby seems to behave for Tim a lot more than she does for him.

“That’s pretty impressive since she already spends about three-quarters of the day asleep.”

“Wish she would sleep at night, or at least let me.”

“It’s not like we’re not used to being up at all hours.”

“Yeah, but we’re also used to passing out for actual sleep when we get home. I think she thinks sunrise is a signal to work up a f-fuh--,” Jason’s complaint is interrupted by a yawn, and he shakes his head. “Fuss. And on that note…”

“Go. Shower,” Tim says. “I can put her down before I turn in.”

Jason nods at that, putting a foot on the stairs before something occurs to him and he glances back.

“Hey, Tim…”

“Yeah?”

“…Thanks.”

Tim appears caught off-guard, and then an actual grin breaks over his face. “Careful, Jay, you’re starting to sound downright friendly.”

“It’s the sleep deprivation,” Jason replies, “Don’t read into it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  

⁂⁂⁂

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

Next Chapter

[brigirl3]

DbD Fanfic Chapter 2

Still haven’t thought of a title..  If you cannot find part 1, this fanfic is also on Ao3 under “ Trial Run ( Please give me feedback! )”

Enjoy

The return to camp was dire, between the panic running and the blaring of the sound nothing could be said.  Tensions were high and the fact that you couldn’t keep up would be a death sentence, barely anyone would stop to help you.  It was uncertain what would happen if they were injured or even killed outside of the trial, someone would have to be mad to find out.  The flame of the Fire grew bigger and bigger indicating their approach upon the main camp.  Out of breath as they ran the whole way back, they all collectively passed out around the base of the circular pit.  For awhile nobody dared to say anything, the fear of the siren was drilled into their minds and they weren’t stupid enough to forget the danger it carried with it.  2 people came forth from the group that opted to stay behind curious to see what the commotion was.  Quentin approached looking as ragged as ever while Feng rushed over to Meg.  Before Meg could say anything, she snatched some of the fish away from her, “ WHat the-,” then she ran off.  “ YEA IM OK THANKS.”  Jake couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before him, “Still charming as ever.”  Meg huffed before rolling on her side, a hopeless attempt to better her irregular breathing.  Quentin assessed the group, whatever little food they had was all over the place and the people were near death’s doorstep after that hellish run.  “..Is there anything I can do?”  His voice had a deep and raspy tone, like a cold had an unrelenting grip on his throat; it carried a weird but comforting charm to it.   Dwight gave him a warm smile, “ No Quinn but thanks for asking.”  Nea was slouched over her knees, “ I fucking hate this place,” frustrated she tried to stand, her body nearly betrayed her but she caught herself.  “ We all know what that siren means a little too well.”  Annoyance took over her face but it disappeared as she turned to Dwight, a playful smirk replaced it,  “ So What’s the plan boss?  How shall we prepare for battle?”  At a loss for words and breath he glanced in Bill’s direction.  Bill straightened himself before speaking up, “ Ok.. let’s all just try to get some sleep it has been a long night.”  Their group looked dead on their feet, barely able to stand up straight or listen to anything without fighting the urge to pass out from exhaustion or lack of breath.  “ We can’t go into the next trial like this, better come prepared to fight than give the enemy an easy victory.”  Dwight nodded in approval of Bill’s words, he then gave his signature smile of reassurance that was their hope and driving force.  With nothing else left to say Bill dismissed everyone off to bed.  

The camp around the Fire wasn’t much but it was something resembling home, there were designated rooms or dwellings here and there for specific people.  Other than that the camp was a pretty open area.  Rooms contained certain things that were relevant to a specific survivor, anything from interests to who they were before the entity claimed them was up for grabs.  Naturally the only way to get these items was to do consistently well or amuse their “god” during the trials.  Everyone is granted a bed when they first arrive, which is so generous of the entity considering the fact that it enslaved them for an indefinite period of time.  Other than that, another way to decorate their rooms was with items that were on their person when they were snatched in the heat of the moment.  Despite the treatment the survivors were subjected to daily, one piece of solace was their rooms and how it reminded them of the world they knew. 

David hung back as his fellow brethren shifted about uncomfortably, he leaned heavily on a rock as he looked on watchfully.  The warmth of the fire licked his face and arms giving off a tender sensation as everyone’s breath finally began to regulate.  For a while he did not move, the fire seemingly danced and tangoed with his thoughts.  As the others stumbled off to their rooms he waited for the last person to file out before heading off himself.  He barely took a few steps away from the Fire before the cool breeze tugged at his body, eager to steal away whatever lingering warmth his skin carried.  Walking along through the night the moon gave light to his path as he came upon his room.  Bundles of cream sheets swallowed a few trees to give the illusion of an actual closed off area.  A low hanging curtain acted as an entrance, David lightly pushed it aside to reveal a dimly lit room.  The only source of light was the moon and even then it was barely let in by this structure.  Slivers of light snuck in further past the curtain when it was pulled back but other than that it was dim inside.  It always took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust but it never bothered him too much.  In the far left corner a black punching bag hung lopsided while a few items were strewn across the ground, his bed consisted of a pallet surrounded by thick blankets with fluffy pillows.  Despite the lack of light it was damn near perfection in David’s eyes, he began to undress when he felt someone grab him from behind.  Startled, he instinctively jabbed his elbow backwards and was about to follow up with a right when he heard a shrill cry of pain.  Blinking a few times, his eyes adjusted to see Cheryl wriggling on his bed in pain.  “ Cheryl what the fuck!!,” despite his tone of voice he still knelt beside her; his attention on inspecting her injury.  “What made you think it was a good idea to sneak up on me?!”, she tried to answer but could only respond in gasps and grunts of pain.  Seeing her like that stuck him with guilt, he relaxed and watched as she began to form words again.  A quiet laugh escaped from Cheryl, he couldn’t see her face properly but it was good to hear she wasn’t hurt too badly.  “ I just wanted to say thank you, for to-,” coughing interrupted the space between them.  Stricken with guilt he patted her head, “ Don’t worry about it, just please don’t do this again..” He took one of the many blankets that consisted of his bed along with a pillow, he then folded the blanket over itself as a makeshift sleeping bag.  After placing it right next to his original bed he approached Cheryl again, adjusted the bed making sure she was comfortable.  “ Don’t worry about trying to walk back to your room tonight.”  Yawning he turned away from her ready to collapse but what stopped by when he felt a grip on his arm.  “ Thank you, for everything,” he couldn’t see her face properly but heard a sniffle or two.  Grabbing her hand he held it firmly, the other wiped her tears away.  She jumped at the feeling of his hand but didn’t push him away, his voice seemed to ring out in the dark,“ Don’t sweat it, try to get some sleep, ok?” 

Left alone, the tone of the camp changes.  When there is no one around the Fire has a tendency to dim itself to half its size, acting like an oversized night light.  This was one of the  times there seemed to be quiet, something that was deeply cherished by the survivors.  It reminded them of better times and most importantly; freedom.  Jake, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to sleep.  Normally he would take a walk before sleeping or… Wait, where was Claudette?  This question startled him in the night, he was sure that she was with their group who went out to the forest that night.  Or did she stay back with Quentin..?  Unsure of her last whereabouts he left his room to find her.  Unfortunately her room was deeper in the camp, isolated from the others.  Trees loomed overhead indicating his distance as he traveled further and further from the opening area where the Fire resided.  An eternity seemed to pass before he happened up a lone flower, relief washed over him as the sight of the first sign.  Following this lead the ground steadily gave way to another flower, then another until there were bunches of flowers populating his path.  Gently he ventured forward, the dim light and shadows made it a bit hard to find her place at times.  But her room was one of the most detailed rooms that was created, it wasn’t uncommon for people to come here seeking her out as an excuse.  Being unique, there were several different tree variants that shouldn’t be able to exist in the same space.  Birch trees and lush undergrowth accompany the flower path leading to her room entrance, but the trees change to cedar as one gets closer.  The main beauty though was the weeping willow that rested a bit to the right at the end path.  Its leaves hung very low providing thick coverage from peering eyes, around the willow the cedar trees encircled it tightly reinforcing its privacy.  The hum of cicadas was prominent in the area despite the fact that there were none.  He stood outside her willow tree,“ Claude? You still awake?,” no response.  Gently he ventured forward pushing back enough of the leaves to create a small opening.  Strings of light bulbs hung around the tree decently spaced out from each other to give the illusion that the tree was a source of light.  White specs floated about, a tall bookcase could be seen.  Several plants were scattered around and her bed was a circular hammock tied securely to the tree.  Light brown sheer curtains fell around the support ropes and the bed..  With one glance he could see that she was not in bed nor was she up in the willow tree reading in her usual spot.  He approached her bed as confusion gripped him, the bed swung effortlessly as he sat down.  Too exhausted from his hike to the room and not having any other leads, Jake decided to call it a night.  The swing of the bed soothed his worries beckoning him to rest his weary head, soon he found himself being put under.  The smell of fresh cedar was calming, hums of cicadas filled the pollen ridden air and before long Jake was fast asleep under the lights of the willow tree.

It was hard to breathe, cold like needles pricked her skin with every motion.  A strong force of water had her, it held fast as she drowned.  No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t reach the surface.  The water was clear at first but due to her thrashing it became tainted with murky dirt, everything was going dark.  The creeping panic was hard to keep down at this rate and Claudette felt her lungs being squeezed out of its excess air.  Her life flashed before her eyes; her mom, home and college were just a few bits of life that flickered past.   Then the uglier memories came.  NO. . I .. don't want to see.  But her mind played the memories on loop, torturing her further until all of her memories were no longer discernible from each other.   Mom.. I’..  Her mind went blank, the fear she felt before was in a distant place.  The cold water began to feel numb and her body was lighter, still she made no effort.  She went limp, yet the water continued to throw her body about.  Minutes passed before the current freed her from the whirlpool and carried her further along downstream.

The smell of cedar was overwhelming on campus, it was hard to miss considering it was natural for them to grow here.  Colors of brown and red painted the campus as people enjoyed the autumn weather.  Perched in a corner of the yard was a young woman with round glasses, nestled comfortably with a few good books and a lunchbox full of goodies.  Reading was a great comfort and an unfortunate pastime picked up in her younger school days.  God why was she thinking like this?  Claudette had a bad habit of narrating her life like she was in one of her favorite books or as if she was a main character.  “This scene is so cliche,” she muttered to herself watching the beauty of nature fall all around her, “ but sometimes that’s not a bad thing.”  Her heart jumped thinking about how romantic this spot would be with her crush, she really hoped he got her note.  Everything was in place, her favorite spot along with snacks and good reading material to discuss.  She had gathered up the courage to tell her classmate, Jay that she liked him.  He had dark brown skin and kinky hair that was shaven on the sides but still fell past his shoulders.  His whole vibe screamed chill and he loved books about as much as she did.  He was a breath of fresh air, the one good thing that seemed to be in her life.

Hours had passed before she saw his white sweatshirt from across the yard, he approached her with a lost expression.  “ ………………,”  static came from his mouth, he plopped down beside her and began to peruse her book collection. “..Wh-what?”  He looked up but his face was gone, replaced with a blank one, static sounded again but this time it did not stop.  It grew louder and louder as the guy stood over her, his face turning from kindness to hatred in the blink of an eye.  She curled up in the fetal position, hands clasped over her head as she tried hard to block out the sound.  His expression grew angrier as his vocal level rose, his eyes filled with so much emotion.  Claudette didn’t know what to do, what could she do?  Nothing seemed to make sense nor was she quite sure why her crush was so hostile towards her suddenly.  The world began to feel dark and she felt small, insignificant.  “..”  Before she could understand what was happening an immense pain knocked her a few yards away from the bench and onto the asphalt.  She couldn’t breath, her leg was on fire but it looked perfectly fine.  She howled and withered on the floor as he approached her, his face devoid of emotion or empathy.  The loud wails were no longer coming from him but they persisted all around them, the wails melded with the static as her vision and body shook.  Feeling hopeless she reached for her leg with both hands to try and soothe the pain.  The pain and the insufferable noise kept escalating until she tilted her head back to release a drawn out scream.   

With a jolt she opened her eyes only to immediately start spitting up water.  She was disoriented, her vision was blurred and to top it off her lower left side was numb.  Looking down her breath stopped as she saw the ripped flesh where her bone protruded from. “Urkk,.” a hand flew to her mouth but it was too late, she threw up on herself till her stomach was aching.  The ground was painted in fresh blood.  Her blood.  There was too much.  Nausea took over as she struggled to rip her shirt, failing several times she finally decided to take it off completely.  Feeling began to return to her body only to be met with a slow burning sensation in her leg.  Shakily, She was positioned herself upright trying to steel herself for what comes next.  Stay calm, just..think.  She shifted restlessly in the sand before choking back a sound as her leg started to crank up the heat coupled with enormous waves of pain.  Ok Detta, you need to reset the bone.  The idea itself was enough to make her squirm, she couldn’t even begin to imagine doing it to herself.  “ Found you~,”  Claudette flinched hard, the bad leg hit her good one.  She screeched, her body trembled and lurched as it was tempted to blackout from the pain.  No.. NO NOT THIS. I..  A pair of familiar misty eyes peeked out from the darkness across the river, this time though they were accompanied by an eerie smile that illuminated the darkness.  A body steadily came into view revealing The Doctor, electricity danced across his forearms and trickled down to his feet before disappearing to the earth.  Please!  Everything in her mind went blank, her pain and her caution regarding her leg went out of the window.  Survival instincts took over as she threw her shirt aside and desperately clawed at the ground fighting to gain distance.  “ Oh I wouldn’t do that,” he waded through the river with ease, making his way over.  “ You are only making it worse.”  Her hair was frizzed out all over her face, dirt and sand covered her wounds and body.  Like a corned animal she kept fighting to get away from him.  No progress was made and before she knew it he was squatting over her bare back.  “ Tsk Tsk..,” He reached a hand out and grabbed her outstretched arm to prevent any future escape.  He quickly looked her over, “A fracture..,” a hand hovered over her exposed bone.  Giggles arose from his clenched smile, his eyes danced with glee, “ Well we can’t have that,” with the same hand clasped around her arm he lifted her off the ground.  With no regard for how twisted he was making her body, he brought his other hand around her neck. His face came right beside hers only to pause, savoring the terror that was plastered on her face.  Breaking the silence finally he spoke in a whisper,“ It would be a shame to lose your life, since you are now my new pet~.”  Her eyes widened and she tried to scream in protest only to be shut up by his massive hand.  Without a care in the world he slung her over his shoulder and smirked upon hearing her outcry of pain.