#referenced medical torture

[errantnight]

Sephiroth assumes Genesis and angeal had a similar upbringing to him (experiments of Hollander instead of Hojo). He finds out otherwise when they're both horrified at some aspect of his childhood that he just casually mentions without thinking anything of it...

Sorry this took SO LONG I just am unable to make things short sometimes and this one grabbed me and wouldn't let go!

I am doing all of these that I get, I just got a LOT of them and I'm working through them chronologically as I received them!

This is the first time I've written ABO! Please let me know if I did okay?

"Bad Medicine" <-- one AO3

After Sephiroth’s customary round of injections and the tests to be certain that they were taking and absorbing correctly were finished, he’d fought to keep himself in control as something registered on the edge of his senses.

 The scent of fear and pain nearly made Sephiroth retch as the scent of an omega in distress made him want to hurry his steps, to run to his side, but he had to keep his stride to slow and measured steps. An impersonal, blank, expression was a careful mask as he passed from Hojo’s lair and into Hollander’s domain.

Hojo had waved him off earlier than usual, without the usual pain and healing tests, and ordered him to “Go get your pet omega, he’s distracting my assistants.” He’d been expecting Genesis to be causing trouble on purpose during his own Mako injections, using his often abrasive wit to hide the anxiety and pain that must have come from the treatments - Even Sephiroth, generally inured to pain and well practiced in hiding any discomfort during what a normal person might call ‘torture’, occasionally slipped up and showed his true feelings.

For the omega, it was impossible to hide his scent as he might usually do - his scent blockers had been slated to be renewed and clearly something had gone wrong… or ‘right’ as far as whatever procedure Hollander had decided to test out on the other man.

Angeal was the stoic one, the one who came back from the labs and insisted that nothing was wrong, he felt just fine, and to please not concern himself with his discomfort when they all went through the same thing. Genesis always made a fuss, refusing to keep his mouth shut while being treated - Sephiroth had heard him repeating Loveless on an endless loop from behind the closed door of Hollander’s personal lab whenever the pain became too much.

For himself, he’d learned long ago that any reaction to painful stimuli or what most people would think of as humiliation, would make everything so much worse. Angeal was more like him in that way and sometimes Sephiroth envied the other alpha’s ability to come out of the science department with a smile of encouragement for anyone else waiting for their turn. No matter what it was that Hollander did to him, it seemed to have no lasting effects. Sephiroth himself usually secluded himself in his rooms until he had complete control over himself, usually too ill to eat or accept a mission for three days or so. How did Angeal do it? How did he go back to teaching and training his new apprentice while suffering the aftereffects of Hollander’s experiments? He was so much stronger than Sephiroth, no matter what anyone said about his prowess in battle.

Sephiroth knew the tests and procedures were necessary for the progression of the SOLDIER program, to further the field of science as a whole, and to make certain various potions and curatives would be the correct dosages for the enhanced men under his command. He suffered through them, desperately trying not to show anything but calm acceptance and the expected silence as Hojo rambled about what he hoped to accomplish. If he had to have the flesh on the back his hands be flayed open to test how quickly it took to heal itself with various new potion formulations, or be forced to hold himself still through a spinal tap to check how much Mako made its way into his spinal fluid versus in his blood, he knew he could get through it as long as he had three or four days to recover.

He stepped through the door into the other scientist’s examination room and fought the urge to cover his nose with his hand as the scent of pain-fear-stress hit him full force. Genesis wasn’t usually like this, even though he was the worst of the three of them to be able to handle what they suffered in the name of science. Genesis wasn’t supposed to be lying curled on his side covered in sweat and reeking of distress and misery, totally silent with glazed eyes. His usual scent of apples and spice was both sickly sweet and somehow bitter all at once. Sephiroth didn’t bother to ask permission to pick up his friend and carry him out, ignoring the spluttering Hollander and stepping past him without a word. Genesis didn’t finch, didn’t insist that he wasn’t a child or a lapdog to be scooped up and carted around, especially by Sephiroth of all people. That was so intensely wrong.

In the elevator, Sephiroth pressed his lips into a thin line, his mask breaking completely when Genesis reached up and weakly clutched at a strand of Sephiroth’s hair. He lowered his head, a curtain of silver blocking Genesis, and incidentally his own pale face, from view as the elevator opened and admitted a handful of office workers. They were clearly curious, but it was absolutely none of their business. Let them gossip about the two of them being lovers all they wanted… Not that Sephiroth would mind it if it were true, and he ignored the pang of longing that he’d never let Genesis see - the other man had enough to deal with and had his choice of anyone he wanted.

He shook off his own spiraling thoughts as he carried Genesis into his own apartment, rushing into his bedroom once the door was closed behind them with no more chances for someone to catch him doing so. Genesis listlessly clutched at the pillow Sephiroth laid him down on, dragging it from underneath his head to cuddle it against his chest.

Sephiroth rarely swore, and never where anyone would hear him, but he muttered a soft curse and ran into the hallway to fling open the door to the linen closet. He wished he could find Genesis’ key-card to get into his apartment, surely the omega had an abundance of blankets and pillows, everything he would need to make himself a nest to curl up and recover in. Much like purring, the nest itself helped to relieve distress and mute pain, although he’d always wondered if they weren’t perhaps psychosomatic.

He’d never felt the strange sort of panic that began to well up in his chest, the knowledge that Genesis was miserable and radiating pheromones that had never affected Sephiroth in quite this way. He’d scented omegas in distress and pain many times, the infirmary tents in Wutai had often stank of it. But this had a quality he couldn’t explain… It made his hands begin to shake and his mouth was dry as Genesis shivered and curled into a ball on the bed.

“Mn,” Genesis whimpered out a soft sound of discomfort from the other room that set Sephiroth’s every nerve on edge, the need to do something becoming overwhelming, “m’cold…”

Dragging out every extra blanket, sheet, and pillow, woefully limited the selection might be, he dragged his armful back into the bedroom and began to arrange it all around Genesis to cocoon him in the warmth. He didn’t know what was driving him on, he’d never done any such thing, but it seemed to come naturally to build up small walls of comfort around Genesis’ curled up form. He tossed the softest blanket he had, something Angeal had given him he was certain, over top of everything and tucked it in around the other man.

Sephiroth hovered by the bed until Genesis reached a hand out from beneath the blanket and mumbled out, “More…”

Uncertain what else to do, Sephiroth sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off, stripping out of his coat and harness before gingerly climbing into the circle he’d made around his friend. Very hesitantly he wrapped one arm around the other man.

Genesis shifted back against him, sighing as he seemed to bask in the warmth of Sephiroth’s body. One of his feet reached back and hooked his heel around Sephiroth’s knee, guiding it over his thigh to get more warmth enveloping him. The other man’s skin was hot and unpleasantly sticky from mako-fever sweat. Sephiroth knew he’d be replacing everything in here when Genesis was well again, including the mattress if the mako made its way through the sheets and blankets. He didn’t care though, not if it made his… he shook his head, as long as Genesis was comfortable while he recovered that was alright.

Sephiroth sighed, a low shivery breath, and leaned closer. He would never take this liberty in any other circumstance, hoping Genesis didn’t firaga him right in the face as soon as he was well. He nuzzled into the sweat soaked hair at the back of Genesis head, moving down just a little bit, until he could scent him. The pain and distress was still there, but the fear was gone. He rubbed his cheek against Genesis’ shoulder, pressing his own scent into his skin, then went still as he realized what he had done.

He’d never done that, not to anyone, and certainly never to one of his only friends. He thought, ruefully, that he would deserve that firaga…

He startled as he heard his own door open and close, heavy steps making their way quickly to the bedroom. Sephiroth pulled his face away, uncertain when he’d drifted down to touch his forehead to Genesis scent gland, feeling as though he had been caught doing something even more intimate and forbidden. Unexpectedly, the worry on Angeal’s face softened to some other expression he couldn’t name. Watching them for a moment, Angeal ran a hand over his hair, muttering something that sounded like ‘Finally,’ in an exasperated tone that made no sense.

Sephiroth didn’t know why it bothered him so much when Angeal sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his fingers against Genesis' pulse, so close to the place on Genesis' throat where he had just been rubbing himself against. Shame washed through him, leaving him feeling cold and hot in turns as Angeal cupped Genesis’ chin in a gesture that showed he’d done it many times, “Gen, can you wake up a little?”

Angeal looked over Genesis’ shoulder to Sephiroth, still touching Genesis, which still made Sephiroth feel upset in some unexplainable way, “It helps if you keep talking to him when he’s, um, like this.”

A pang of his own distress stiffened Sephiroth’s shoulders as he turned his attention back to his, to their, friend. How many times had this happened and he’d never known? What had Hollander done to him? He couldn’t smell blood, so either he’d healed Genesis to a point he’d stopped bleeding or whatever he’d done hadn’t been particularly invasive…

“I…” he began and then trailed off, uncertain what he was supposed to say to help Genesis, “it’s going to be alright, Gen, please wake up?” He cringed slightly as Angeal’s lips turned up at the corners, knowing he sounded more than a little awkward and pathetic.

Quietly, they both called Genesis back until he half turned in Sephiroth’s hold and blinked up at them, bleary eyed and still sweating. His body language, curling back against the warm body flush against him, and his scent were still tainted with distress.

“What happened?” Sephiroth asked quietly, pulling the blanket away from Genesis and receiving a plaintive mew of sound like nothing he’d heard from the omega before in his life. Genesis shook his head and deeper concern sped Sephiroth’s heart rate as he rose up, “I’m sorry but you know I have to do this if you don’t remember.”

He looked up at Angeal, “Will you help me? I don’t know what your usual routine is after your appointments, but I usually start checking my abdomen if I can’t remember what was done - I can’t smell blood but that doesn’t rule out any exploratory surgery and he’s been favoring around his stomach the whole time.”

He had to gently turn Genesis onto his back, pulling up the sweat soaked t-shirt he was wearing and began carefully palpating his stomach and watching the other man’s face for a reaction as he checked all the usual places, moving up to check his throat even though he’d been so close to it a moment ago.

“Does that feel alright, no tenderness or pain?” he asked, wondering why Genesis was looking up at Angeal with one of the odd expressions Sephiroth had always had trouble figuring out. The other man was looking more and more alert, and somehow more and more alarmed at the same time.

“Are you certain it doesn’t hurt, is your throat alright?” It wasn’t like Genesis to be so quiet, especially when he was injured or ill and he felt a burst of genuine panic rise as he asked, “he didn’t cut your vocal chords did he?”

“Does…” Angeal reached out a hand to him, unexpectedly, and Sephiroth pulled back before his friend could touch his face as he’d done Genesis a moment ago, “does that happen during your appointments?”

“Does what happen?” Sephiroth asked, confused, as he resumed checking Genesis for injuries, making him sit up and checking the back of his neck and touching each inch of his spine for damage, “no spinal tap either…”

“Does Hojo cut your vocal chords?” Angeal elaborated and Sephiroth realized that the strange expression on Angeal’s face was concern. He must have worried that Genesis had earned such a punishment.

He shrugged, “Not for years. I learned to be quiet through any of the tests and procedures.” He waved a hand toward Angeal, “You’re quiet enough as well to not need to be corrected, I’ve never heard you when I know you’ve had the same slot as I did, but I’ve heard Genesis enough times that… I wondered… I worried about when Hollander would get angry enough to do something about it.”

“I’m alright,” Genesis said carefully, his voice rough but otherwise seeming alright. It made more sense if he had been screaming, and Hollander had merely cast silence on him, “he did try something new, but I’m not… I’m just…” Genesis stumbled over his words, which again was unlike him, “I’m not injured.”

“Are you ill then?” Sephiroth asked, reaching up to lay his hand on Genesis’ forehead, although he could already feel the heat radiating from the man through his side, still pressed up against him, “poison resistance tests?”

“No!” Genesis rolled over, wincing, and Sephiroth went stiff as the omega wrapped his arms around his neck and twined their legs together in one sinuous movement.

Genesis rubbed his cheek along his own and Sephiroth’s breath hitched in his chest, the sensation so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to process it. The alarm and fear was back in Genesis scent, mixed with that sweetness that was no longer as cloying as it had seemed earlier. He hesitantly reciprocated. Having never done so before, he hoped he was doing it right.

“No…” Genesis said again, his voice growling in his chest. He raised his head, turning enough to look into Sephiroth’s face, “that doesn’t happen to us, that has never happened to either of us. That isn’t normal.”

“It isn’t right” Angeal’s voice was lower and deeper than usual, radiating sheer fury, and Sephiroth stared at both of them in turn. Angeal ran a hand down his face, abruptly leaning closer, one hand in the nest and the other reaching out to curl his fingers through Sephiroth’s hair and cup the back of his head. Too startled to move, Angeal pulled him closer to touch their foreheads together, Genesis trapped in between them, “it’s so fucking wrong.”

If Sephiroth never swore, Angeal had always seemed as though he never even thought of it. He felt something tight in his chest loosen, then swayed into Angeal’s grasp as Genesis broke out into a low and comforting purr. The sound radiated into his chest from Genesis wrapping their bodies together closer. He’d heard that this could happen, that an omega’s purring had healing properties, but he wasn’t injured. Why did he feel so dizzy and strange?

There was a small space of quiet and he realized he’d said the last part out loud. Genesis’s low purr hitched for a moment, then grew into something so strong Sephiroth felt he might be vibrating.

A matching rumble spread from Angeal, dragging him and Genesis closer until he tumbled into the nest and curled himself over both of them. Sephiroth should have struggled - should have wanted to, but their weight and the purring, and the… protective… it was protective, the growl thrumming through both of them was seeping somehow into Sephiroth.

“No one has ever fucking purred for you in your godsdamned life, have they?” wetness was dripping down Sephiroth’s neck, soaking into his shirt. “Goddess, fuck!” Genesis sounded as though he were choking.

Angeal’s hand gripping the back of Sephiroth’s head loosened, his fingers petting through the silver strands as his head hit the edge of the nest and he felt like he would melt right through it. Whatever was happening sucked all of the energy out of him. He went limp as both men began to speak quietly, in turn.

It was all wrong, they said, that Hojo was a monster, that none of that should ever have happened - they were both so sorry they hadn’t known, hadn’t understood that something so awful was the reason he often sequestered himself in his rooms for days after his appointments.

“I will never,” Genesis hissed viciously, arms still wrapped around him and gripping handfuls of Sephiroth’s shirt, “ever, let you go alone again. Never.”

The growl in Angeal’s throat grew even lower, somehow, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, not if I have something to say about it.”

A laugh, a very small, strange laugh, was huffed into Sephiroth’s throat as Genesis nuzzled against him, “oh, good, I don’t think I can stand up long enough to do something about it just now.”

“You’re still ill,” Sephiroth whispered, unable to so much as raise his head beneath the two men, still confused and curious at once why the sounds they were making were both affecting him so strongly, “you’re burning up, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not sick,” Genesis insisted again, “I’m in heat. Hollander tried to give me some experimental drug he formulated to stop it, it just made it worse.”

“Excuse me,” Angeal said, faintly, rising from his perch on the edge of the bed, “I need to go down to science for a while, I’ll leave the two of you, ah, to it.”

“Do you want me to go?” Sephiroth asked, uncertain that he would be able to move if Genesis wanted him to leave, “aren’t heats… private or something?” He didn’t know much about it, his biology textbooks had never gone into the social aspects of such things save the bits he’d assumed were theoretical about purring and nests - but now knew had some validity.

Genesis hooked his leg over Sephiroth’s hip, turning his face into Sephiroth’s shoulder again, “Don’t you dare,” he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Still unable to so much as raise his head, feeling light headed and just.. somehow… light, Sephiroth held Genesis a little more tightly… “I think… I don’t… either.”

Genesis somehow began to purr even harder, “Oh good,” he said, sounding choked again, “I wasn’t going to let you anyway.”

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 9 - Mistaken Identity

Scogan Bingo challenge Pillows

"Logan …" These two syllables contained at least three exclamation marks which was an achievement all by itself, considering Scott should actually still be in that certain blissful post-surgery condition of being drugged to the brim and that his voice currently had about as much strength as an 80's stereo with dying batteries. Somehow, the guy still managed to file a complaint approximately 10 minutes after waking up, and right now, Logan was even far too happy about this so unexpectedly quickly returning energy to give him shit for it.

He just didn’t have time to deal with that familiar, strangely beloved nagging right now. "Give me a second, Slim. Almost done." At least that was what Logan hoped, taking a good long look around the luxurious guest apartment on the top floor of Stark Tower that should be their shared accommodations for an undetermined period to come. A half-smoked cigar almost forgotten dangling from between two fingertips, Logan walked the spacious floor of the living chambers, the bedroom, and the bathroom once more, trying to make out any possible too-tight hallways and obstacles, anything he might have missed regarding Scott's current sensitive needs. At least the kitchen, he didn’t need to include in that last patrol, he thought with a wry grin, firmly closing that door.

Scott was a walking disaster in any kitchen even at his best of health, and right now, Logan wanted him even less anywhere near a stove. That was what takeout and Stark's servants were for. While Logan wasn’t thrilled to make either of them dependent on an Avenger of all people? After the clusterfuck that had been the last Hellfire Gala, their means and options were limited, and Tony and Emma had both insisted. Not to mention, right now Scott was simply in a shitty position to refuse such kind offers from friends, family, and business partners. They might both not be horribly hot on it, but until Scott would be better, enjoying and making use of all merits that came with residing at one of Tony's homes was the best choice.

Logan just needed to make sure, his lover wouldn’t get his cute ass in trouble right again, after Logan had only just pulled it from another deadly torture trap. Stark's scientists and medics, together with Synch, should not have had spent almost two days for nothing, making sure, Scott would be back to fighting shape in a couple of months, with any luck, instead of spending the rest of his days in a wheelchair and basically blind. Somewhat convinced that there were at least no tripping hazards and impassable spots in the apartment, Logan strode back towards the bedroom, reluctant to leave Scott alone for too long, no matter how believably Emma had convinced him, the procedures had gone as well as could be expected and that Scott was now on the mend. There were far too many things for Logan's taste regarding that recovery that could still go wrong. Not to mention that short moment yesterday in the operating theater when he'd seen his lover as hopeless and resigned as never before since he knew that stubborn asshole. That was definitely something Logan didn’t want to encounter again anytime soon. If what was left of mutant world for the moment was to keep one of its most important leaders and Logan was to keep the man he finally was no longer afraid to admit he loved just as much as the woman whom they'd both just lost to that very same last tragedy … Then he needed to be around and attentive a little more than was usually in his nature, little as he might like it. Following that trail of thought, Logan grimaced at what was left of his smoke in his hand when he realized, some ash was about to give the expensive red and gold carpet an interesting new pattern. Impatiently, he hurried to the next best sink to get rid of the offending object.

"Logan …" This time, there was a hint of amusement in that meek sound.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right with you." The unplanned detour back to the kitchen had a very positive side-effect, Logan realized, remembering that those instructions for watching over his lover, especially in the first few nights had named proper hydration as one of the top priorities. While Logan had already stored a whole six-pack of that disgusting mild sparkling brew that Scott preferred, next to the bed, he'd forgotten to bring either glasses or straws, and he couldn’t find the latter in that damn kitchen for the life of him. Which sucked because Logan wouldn’t be around 24/7 for glasses refills, as much as he would have loved to …

This time, the voice came from the kitchen speaker connected to the apartment's internal communication line that Logan had had a very entertained-looking Synch install for him in here earlier, just in case even his enhanced senses couldn’t pick up at a possible call for assistance from the bedroom for once. "Logan, if you don't get your ass in here right now, I'll try out that miracle construction of Stark's just to come and get you." Well, that didn’t sound a lot like an emergency. More like Scott was indeed about to do exactly what he was so strictly forbidden from right now, just to kick Logan's ass.

That would have been so fucking in-character for the guy that Logan decided to rather not fight Scott for once, returning to the bed at least with those glasses, a package of crushed ice under his arm, and an impatient eye-roll on his face. "Like hell you will. Not before they tell you to. We can talk about sitting up tomorrow morning though, if you're not too much of a pain until then." Logan draped the glasses next to where the first bottle was waiting, on that movable tray that was just one of the many high-tech attachments that Stark had equipped that bed with that inevitably would have to serve as the center of Scott's life for a while. Not paying attention to a scowl on his lover's face that not even the thick white bandages temporarily blocking his sight could hide, Logan sat down on the mattress right next to where Scott was perched in a slightly upright position under three blankets and went for the final check. Which included, trying out for himself if he could reach all remotes for TV, trays, and communicators from the mattress without twisting and turning any more than necessary. It was a bit of a stretch, but between them, Scott notoriously had longer arms, so …

"Logan." There was an unexpected tenderness in Scott's voice when he spoke up next, along with a tired vulnerability that Logan cared a lot less for. But in a way, that, too, was positive. It assured Logan that for once, his lover knew exactly that after his latest ordeal, he was in for more than his body could deal with for now, since all people capable of healing such severe damage within minutes were not available for the moment. "You're …"

"… basically done, so shut it. I think you could use another one of those." Logan frowned at a couple of pillows in Scott's back that were already denting in under the weight that was this partly external metal construction serving as a replacement for Scott's shattered spine until either everything Synch and those doctors had put back together earlier would be ready to function on its own … Or until what was left of their race would manage to undo that whole latest catastrophe and bring back everyone and everything they had lost. Including a physical shape for one of their heroes that didn’t need nanobots, titanium, computer programs, and electricity to function.

"… fussing," Scott continued his own sentence, unfazed, that smile broadening on his healing lips which almost had their beautiful, full curve back, those at least.

"I'm most definitely not." Logan crossed his arms with an irritated grumble until he remembered that Scott couldn’t see that right now and lowered them again with a sigh. Deciding that the pillow could probably wait, he sunk back a little deeper into the mattress and cautiously sneaked his arm under Scott's unmoving shape instead, shuddering at the touch of that exo-spine against his elbow.

The smooth coldness, broken by wires and artificial joints, was quickly made forgotten by the sensation of Scott's skin under Logan's agitated caress on his neck, fortunately. The pulse under Logan's fingertips was still a little slow but it was strong and steady. Scott's tall, usually so resilient shape was also no longer drenched in the sickening scent of poison, infection, and the rusty, perverted contraption that would almost have blown him to pieces either. There was a little too much stubble for Logan's taste on those high cheekbones, and they were a little too hollowed still and far too pale …

But Logan was pretty sure, if he went searching for a razor now or brought up trying to get on the balcony for an hour or so of sun tomorrow, Scott would cut his throat with a glass shard. "Fine. Maybe. A little. Can you blame me?"

"Never did. So stop obsessing. You know that's my job." Scott leaned into that suddenly trembling touch against his neck with a sigh, his battered body relaxing against the almost rock-hard mattress a good deal more immediately.

Huh. Maybe Logan didn’t need to worry so much about getting his lover comfortable whenever he wasn’t in here as long as he made sure not to fuck up when he was. Starting, apparently, with being less obvious about feelings he hadn’t even really let into his own soul yet that Scott could pick up far too easily. The guy knew him damn well for someone who hadn’t been around for the better part of the last few years. And why? Because the two – the three – of them had been stupid enough to let political troubles and diverging missions come between what they'd shared for a just as short as intense, wonderful time on that damn moon. Scott wouldn’t want to hear that, but the truth was – that he was lying here in this lousy state right now, partly was due to Logan not being there in the right moment. Well, he'd always been a huge fan of not making the same mistake twice. "Your only job is getting back on your feet right now, Slim. You let me worry about the rest." Logan leaned in to kiss any possible protest off those pouting lips before it could come, frowning again when those damn pillows dipped even lower under his additional, not inconsiderate weight. He needed to instruct JARVIS to get something better in here as soon as Scott was no longer awake to punch him in the dick for it.

"You can't babysit me for the next five months," Scott reminded him with as much firm determination as he could manage right now, one weak arm loosely slung around Logan's shoulders so he couldn’t back away. "I need you out there more than ever right now. I need you to look out for the others until I can go back to doing that myself. And even until then, don’t think for even a second that I'll be spending my days only crying into chocolate ice cream over Say Yes To The Dress and pining for you to return. I'll have Stark set up a proper communication central in here the moment I'm no longer on even too much Vicodin to not want to fuck you stupid right now. I need to be in touch with everyone still around if we want to make this whole thing right."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Slim." Logan was reluctant to bring up that subject on top of everything already wrecking Scott's soul. But if he didn’t want to risk another possible hit, not only mentally but maybe in the shape of a dangerous attack on this building, too, if someone with the wrong intentions and allegiance did the math? Then he had to get that new insanity out of his lover's still quite trauma-addled brain as quickly as possible. "You're basically a dead man walking right now. Most might not believe it's you if they see you just on a screen, especially with your fancy Freddy Krueger imitation of a face right now. And some others will demand an explanation for the Capitol. Captain Krakoa is not exactly popular with the kids right now."

"I'm not going to apologize for things I didn’t do," Scott gritted out, the increasingly shaking hand not busy clenching down on Logan's hair for purchase turning into a harsh fist. "I'm done with that."

"I'm not asking you to." Logan bent down for brief, soothing kiss to Scott's still slightly heated forehead. "Just to stay under until we found out who took your mantle, and word has gotten around that this was not on you. We don't want any unwelcome visitors here as long as you can't leave on your own two legs if necessary."

"Anyone who needs actual proof that I didn’t attack humanity is no longer welcome in my life, period." Scott's expression only darkened further, and Logan knew, if he hadn’t been ordered to keep his eyes shut until the last of these dangerous infections of his lids had healed, there would be a warning flash of red behind his usual ruby shields right now. "People had decades to memorize the lower half of my face, Logan. Few only ever even saw me only with a pair of glasses on. If they still can't tell my fucking jawline from someone else's? Apparently, I did even more wrong than I thought whenever I went out there. I'm not waiting until they want to book me for Men's Health again to make that right. We've lost too many and too much for that."

"Pretty sure there was never one of our kind on Men's Health, Slim." Logan let out an exhausted sigh but decided that was a discussion for tomorrow. Or at least for the time when Scott would be allowed to open his eyes again and the question of starting to work would become an actual, real issue. Until then, Logan had at least a couple of weeks to get some sense back into that guy. And as usual in mutant world, things might already look a whole lot different a couple of days from now. "How about you start on that beauty sleep right now though? I'll check with Stark and Emma if there's anything you should know." Logan already made a move to get out of bed again when he paused at the feeble but unmistakable touch of a large, bony hand around his wrist, the unspoken, still slightly shy word on Scott's slightly opened lips.

On second thoughts, things like communicators existed. And he had a more important duty here to do, obviously. "Slim, I don't think that's …" This time, Logan interrupted himself with a grimace. Maybe there was a thing as being too worried.

It at least didn’t look unbearably painful when Scott straightened up on his elbows a little once Logan was back beside him, and reached for his still mostly paralyzed left thigh with his teeth clenched, his upper body twisted to the side as much as the corset temporarily restricting him allowed. Still an impossible endeavor for now, though.

Good thing, Logan was usually far better without a lot of words anyway. Scooting close enough, he carefully pushed his arms under his lover's compromised shape and helped him turn to his side before snuggling up against him, cautiously bracketing those long, haggard legs with his own, his face buried against Scott's neck. The obstacle of the exo-spine between them was nothing more than a neglectable resistance against Logan's own metal-enhanced chest while he deeply breathed in that grounded, clean smell that was his lover's beloved scent, his own eyes quickly falling close as he listened to Scott's heartbeat and breathing becoming even more slower and more regular. Well, that probably meant, there was indeed no need for any more pillows.

*******************************************************************************

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[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas. (edit: I lied. there's more)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Hero x Villain Masterpost

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand. 

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise. 

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

[whumpacabra]

New Tricks

Angst, crying, exhaustion, fever, touch starvation, scars, local anesthetic, stitches, painful wound treatment, pain medication, needle mention, fear of electrocution, anticipated violence, referenced character death, past torture, implied past noncon

[Directly follows Bad Dog]

The Wolf waited. He drank every second of gentle touch he could get and he waited for the price to be exacted on his already rent flesh.

It never came.

He cried himself to exhaustion, nauseous with the knowledge he was too tired, that it would kill him to take any more punishment. (He didn’t want to die.) But the hands that pulled his tear stained face from the agent’s tear soaked shirt were gentle, holding his jaw like it was a fragile thing. And the eyes looking down at him - alien with their pity - had no sharp edges trying to cut into his own pain glazed eyes.

“I - I have a medkit. Would you - do you need help, stitching up your back?”

The Wolf stared up at him, too tired to process the words beyond ‘help.’ He didn’t get help - he got treatment. He recovered enough to be broken again. But there was a finality to the way this man said that word, like it meant something more than a temporary state of being.

“Okay. I’m - I’m just going to get my medkit, alright? Alright.” Jackson was talking more to himself, and the Wolf was fine with that. The words were starting to blur together, the sound of a particular voice that didn’t come with hurt or insults or harsh hands. Jackson’s gentle hands propped the Wolf against the edge of the tub, an arm draped over the side and his head resting against the cool false porcelain plastic. He was so fucking cold. He just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep.

(He wanted to crack open Jackson’s rib cage and slot himself between his lungs.)

He was shivering intermittently when Jackson returned (had he been gone long?) but the Wolf was just happy to have that warm presence hovering near him again. The agent sat beside him, the space between the sink and tub a cramped and uncomfortable place to fit two grown men, but the Wolf didn’t mind.

(How odd, that just hours before he would dread having another warm blooded body close to his, and now - now, with this one, he wanted to cling to that warmth like a leech.)

The click and snap of a syringe being prepped had the Wolf open his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson, who offered a nervous smile.

“It’s a local anesthetic - is that alright?” The Wolf blinked at him, and then looked away. He didn’t know how to answer questions about his comfort, his wants. (He just wanted to sleep.) The kiss of the needle was expected, but the bloom of cool numbness it bestowed where it pricked his back was a welcome surprise.

“I’m - I need to clean these. Even with the anesthetic it might hurt.” The Wolf could feel those alien eyes watching the back of his head, so he nodded. “Sorry.” Jackson had nothing to apologize for.

The sting of antiseptic was absent, but the pressure and prickle of exposed flesh being prodded and debris teased away was a familiar sensation. His handler had cut into him on the first night, reckless with rage. The Wolf tried not to dwell on the memory, but a tremor shivered up his spine as Jackson worked, gentle hands pausing.

“Are you alright?” Another nod. Another soft ‘sorry’ that felt unwarranted. It was the Wolf’s fault for being weak. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jackson’s stitches, oddly difficult to anticipate with his pain numbed flesh.

Three days of those deep cuts left exposed, open to the air and sweat and worse. They would scar, badly, like the cuts that ran from his right hip to his spine, skin ridged and thick with scar tissue. His handler wanted them to scar badly. He wanted the Wolf to remember - to remember that he -

A sob caught in his throat, the shock collar still heavy around his neck. It wasn’t set to voice activation - he didn’t think it was - but it had shocked him earlier. Had his handler done that? Had his handler survived and was watching and would kill Jackson or have him kill Jackson and - ?

“Easy love, I’m almost done. You’re doing so well.” A voice so soft and so different from the barking orders and snarled insults he was acclimated to. The Wolf blinked away fresh tears, struggling to find his voice, a hoarse whisper rising from his ragged throat.

“Is he dead?” Three little words; a question he couldn’t stand to know the answer to. A question he needed to know the answer to if he ever wanted to sleep again. Jackson’s hands, cold - so cold against the Wolf’s burning, numbed skin - stilled, a steady palm pressed to a small expanse of uncut flesh. But not too hard, mindful of his bruises.

“Yes. Agent Smith is gone. He’s dead.” The Wolf could hear a question in those words, but he was too relieved to consider it. Jackson - anyone - could kill him, let him die badly, alone, and bloody, and he would die happy. He outlived his handler. A victory he didn’t know he needed.

Jackson resumed his steady handed stitches, and the Wolf let his head drop, thoughts running watery and disconnected. The hum of the light above. The creak of the window pane holding back the wind. The footsteps in the room above - light, belonging to a child, a bed creaking and muffled voices soft with sleepy affection.

“You’re warm.” He sure as hell didn’t feel warm. The Wolf looked over his shoulder at Jackson, instinctively flinching as a hand came toward his face, but he relaxed into the icy touch pressed to his forehead. He almost missed it when it left. “Here, are you allergic to Advil?”

The Wolf looked down at the red pill and the almost comically small paper cup with a swallow’s worth of water. His stomach ached, hunger and nausea fighting for recognition even as he downed the medication and splash of liquid. He had taken harsher drugs with less in his stomach. (Not that what was roiling in his gut was pleasant or nutritious.)

With a shudder he rested against the tub once again, Jackson’s hands and sterilizing wipes traveling away from the oldest, deepest cuts. The antiseptic stung, a familiar pain that burned like acid over his wounds. But Jackson didn’t linger, didn’t press the antiseptic deeper into his flesh. He stitched the deepest wounds, bandaged the rest, and worried over surface level burns as though the Wolf could still feel them after the years of his handler’s habit leaving its mark.

By the time Jackson was putting away his medkit, the first grey glow of dawn was seeping through the rain dappled window. The Wolf hadn’t moved in hours, sitting still and as comfortable as he could be while Jackson worked. He was so tired. And when he limped out of the bathroom after Jackson, there was a wonderful nest of blankets and pillows waiting on the soft carpeted floor.

“You take the bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor - besides, your back could…” Jackson trailed off as the Wolf wandered to the crude bed on the floor, dropping harshly to his knees and collapsing into the softness.

In his daze of exhaustion, he barely registered the anxious horror of knowing Jackson wanted him on the bed. That was a problem for a well rested Wolf. That was something he could handle tomorrow, that he could survive tomorrow, that he could stomach tomorrow.

Right now, there was a soft surface below him, a heater humming to his right, and a painlessness to his injuries that should have frightened him.

But he was too tired, so he slept.

[Directly before In for a Penny]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Valentine's Core Exchange Gift: Hybrid Affinity

I can finally talk about this! I am excited to have been able to take part in the first Valentine's Core Exchange. My giftee for this event is the amazing @nursal1060writes! I hope you enjoy your gift! Only the first chapter will be posted on AO3, this week, but they get the Full Monty in DMs. Thanks @valentines-core-exchange for connecting us!

Link: Hybrid Affinity Rating: Mature Characters: Danny Fenton, Vlad Masters Relationship: Danny & Vlad(Badger Cereal) Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use Chapter Word Count: 2,577 Story Word Total: 20k

Summary:

A momentary lapse of attention, a weapon's blast grounding him, an agent's boot heading towards his jaw…

Danny has been the 'primary research subject' of the Area 23 facility for the past three weeks. Since he was captured, he's had no contact with the outside world, and no chance of escape. After complaining about a lack of conversational partners, his heated cage finds a second occupant: Vlad Plasmius.

With his last chance at escape captured with him, Danny's hope dwindled until he heard the other halfa promise he had a plan. The only problem: He doesn't trust Vlad.

Have a sneak peek at the story below the cut!

The gun at the back of his head pressed deeper into the base of his skull. “I’m moving.”

“Not fast enough, ghost.” The agent tapped the spot right over his brain stem, “Keep dragging your feet, and I’ll save the government the expense of containing you.” The hiss of the pneumatic doors ahead of them sent tingles over his skin. The air on the other side smelled like the ecto-suppressant they pumped inside, burnt acrid chemicals, and days old sweat. 

“I’m floating; you see me floating forward, right?” He stopped just on the other side of the barrier, long enough for the scan, and moved again when the light flashed green above the entrance. The hum of the ghost shield grated his ear drums as it scrapped over his skin. “No need to be so hostile.” The door clicked shut behind him, the agent no longer bothering to threaten him once he reached the inside of The Oven. “Whatever.” Danny floated the rest of the way into the heated metal box and tried to decide which wall he’d sizzle on for the next few hours. He’d favored the one facing the door when he’d first arrived, but the heating element sat closer to the surface. The sadists running this circle of hell designed it that way. Their scientists were probably measuring how long he’d put up with more pain to feel ‘secure’ or something. 

He hovered in the middle of the room, eyeing the coolest wall, with an ache building up in his core. He decided to split the difference and sat against one of the walls perpendicular to the door. A low hiss filled the room as he sank down to the floor and leaned back. “You know, you don’t have to BBQ me. I’d be happy to answer questions without being spit-roasted.” The agents on the other side of the monitoring equipment couldn’t hear him. He’d made a show of cursing and insulting them the first… however long, until he was hoarse. They’d only told him they didn’t receive audio after he couldn’t speak. They said, ‘we’re not interested in any lies you ghost vermin want to tell’ and sneered down at him like he’d become a bug that learned to speak. They did monitor his energy levels, though. When he’d attempted an ecto-ray, a whole host of guns popped out of some panels in the ceiling and hosed him down with molten misery. The liquid didn’t start hot, not like the walls, but as soon as it touched him…

He rubbed at the spots along his forearms that got the worst of the spray. The jumpsuit still laid odd over those spots, like the ectoplasm underneath refused to come back all the way. He poked around the area, feeling the way the latex enmeshed with the healed flesh under it. Other areas stuck because he was slicked down with sweat, but here it felt glued down into the muscles. He leaned forward and frowned down at the half-melted state of his boots. The soles of his feet and the back of him always took the worst of it whenever he was back in the cage. Still, it was better than being in the labs. The blazing temperatures and grating silence granted a peace that left him when they wanted to stick tubes down his throat or needles into his skin. “I could even convince myself this is pleasant if I couldn’t smell that burning ectoplasm.”

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Fair-weather company

CW: corny behavior, suggestive language, PTSD, aftermath of torture and injury, medical whump, mention of self harm, hand whump

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The taste of cheap liquor still stuck to the roof of their mouths, and with the streetlights already guiding the way, they could stumble freely onto the driveway. Hardly trying to keep her laughter down, Amber unlocked the front gate of the massive family home and let the cold spring breeze follow them.

Her escort was close behind her when she stepped over the doorway, hands still clutching onto her bags. As always, they had swiped a lot more food from her friend's house party than intended, but that turned out to be his favorite part of the night.

"You good?" she slurred while turning around to meet him.

With a gentle push of his foot, Elliot let the door fall back into place: "Yup, I'm just gonna say hello real quick and get going. I got practice tomorrow morning."

This would be a terrible first impression, but better than bluntly running through a house he didn't belong in.

"My parents aren't home tonight," she disclosed, the news echoing through the foyer, "So no rush. The party doesn't have to stop."

Elliot knew that glance well enough, the one he got at family reunions. Or birthdays. Or funerals, for some tasteless reason.

"Oh come on, not when I'm half-shitfaced!" A tired huff was all he could muster as she grabbed him by his hands to lead.

"Please, baby..."

With that, he was dragged through the hall past the coat rack and over to an upright brown piano at the back of the living room. The simple white decorations didn't divert him from noticing how this room, apparently only existing for a couch and TV, was nearly big enough to fit his whole apartment.

"Still a no," he tried to mumble, only to be excitedly interrupted.

"Pleasepleaseplease!" sparkling eyes begged without ever losing contact, "You didn't want to do it at Rhys' place, it's just us now."

Amber hugged his waist tight, holding him close for a minute. Elliot knew what she wanted and also how it would end: with her winning, like she always did.

"Alright, alright," he pressed a quick kiss on top of her head. "But only one!"

Kicking his shoes off at the carpet's edge, Amber made him sit down on a dusty velvet stool to warm up to the old box. Elliot thought about playing some ethereal overture, an hour-long session that would only impress his conductor; or maybe the Faerie's Aire...

Let's hope I still got that ready on call.

Through his tipsy courage, he remembered a gift he prepared weeks ago, before their first big fight-

Why not, actually?!

Slender fingers pressed carefully down on the black and white keys, forcing the first notes of the evening out from the mahogany.

"I know you like this one. I had to secretly google the lyrics first, though," he admitted through a whisper.

A few wayward sounds proved what he had already worried about: that thing hadn't been tuned in forever. What a waste of art in this suburban ivory tower.

"But you know I can't sing for shit, so save your jokes for later. And if Sahra ever gets wind of this, she will not let me live it down," Elliot continued to sigh dramatically, "I mean, should I flop at the next auditions, maybe they can use me as a choir boy instead."

"You would get one of those pretty white robes, so think about it!" Amber too settled down on behind him, arms wrapped in sequin rested around his neck.

"You'll definitely need a safeword when this gets too sappy."

His hands practically danced from left to right now, filling the whole room with bone-deep warmth.

"How about something creative; like: Please, Elli, stop! My ears are bleeding!"

An amused scoff was everything she earned and unable to hide his smirk, Elliot cleared his throat one last time. As the familiar melody began to match the gentle hum in the back of her sweetheart's chest, Amber got more than she bargained for:

"True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

A willow dancing on air before covering me

Under cotton and calicoes

Over canopy dapple long ago"

Elliot must've had a few more drinks than expected, she wondered, giving how calmly he let the words bubble from his lips; usually she had to press up against the bathroom door to catch a taste of it.

"Must be felled for to fight the cold

I fretted fire, but that was long ago"

With a sudden spark, the pace picked up intensity, fingertips now slamming out the melodies from inside the wooden frame.

"And it's not tonight

Where I'm set alight

And I blink in sight

Of your blinding light"

How lucky could a girl like her be?

"Oh, it's not tonight

Where you hold me tight

Light the fire bright

Oh, let it blaze, alright"

To meet someone like this?

"Oh, but you're good to me

Oh, you're good to me

Oh, but you're good to me, baby"

To wake up with hands around her shoulders, holding her close. Not on her chest, ass or in between her legs. No hard, needy pressure rubbing against her back.

"With each love I cut loose, I was never the same

Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold

Laying waste to my lovin' long ago"

No, he never used her like this - even when she asked him to.

"So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain

Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame

Long as amber of ember glows

All the would that I'd loved is long ago"

The drone of the strings still reverberated deep inside them, as the last echo died down somewhere between these walls.

Meanwhile, Elliot was grinning like an idiot because of the puns and if not for free video tutorials, he would've missed out on this inviting opportunity. He really overdid it with the shots this time, even made him miss some dazed notes, but he couldn't say no to a shot of Apple Pie.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a teared-up Amber. Her head rested on his shoulder, shaky hands petting his back.

"That terrible? Oh god," he whispered against her hairline with a small chuckle. She dyed it honey-yellow this week, very pretty, like always.

"Shut up." Amber kissed a line down his neck.

He hoped the embrace they were caught in would last forever. It did, for a moment, until they both noticed a shape leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

"Cute," Chase nodded, munching on his midnight snack of dry high-protein cereal, "if that didn't make you wet, I don't know what will!"

Lovely like always.

"You're so fucking gross," Amber hollered with an earring in hand, ready to be thrown. "No wonder that Taylor didn't screw you without getting paid first. Piss off!"

Elliot decided not to get in between the twins when they were... mediating. God knows he never had to bother fighting any sibling off, but all they got was the dirty "Make me, bitch!" Chase made on his way upstairs anyway.

Public Amber was back, it seemed. Not that she wasn't herself when they had company, just... different. Elliot wondered when he would get used to it.

Walking back to him, she let the grained lid lower itself down onto the keys: "Should've eaten him in the womb, honestly."

Besides her irritated huffing, one question remained, though: "Can you stay? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Of course he did, but the only downside threatened to ruin this too.

"Practice?"

Amber melted into the hands that slowly stroked over her forearms: "I wake you up, promise!"

As if that ever worked before.

"Okay then," he blinked towards the full bags that still leaned against the door frame, "just need to get this into the fridge first."

If it meant he would always be like this for her, Amber could wait for him. And if she let herself be herself with him, Elliot could learn to love all her other sides too. Together.

Always.

---

--

-

-

-

"Mr. Ribera?"

"Mhh?"

"Are you still with me? Just this exercise and you're done for today."

"Yeah, sorry..."

The off-white walls of the hospital room had grown homelike during the weeks he spent in and out of feverish delirium. Fahim from OT, more than an angel in his turquoise scrubs, patiently let his pen rest on the clipboard. He had been here every day since the fog inside his head had lifted, but today, Elliot wasn't sure if he liked the company. 

Sitting together at a small table, only a bit of equipment and a glass of water between them, this suddenly seemed too familiar in the worst way possible.

Yes, he needed the exercise, be it a walk around the corridors or a quick game of catch, but after all the training, he knew he was still where he started. And Fahim seemed to finally recognize this too.

Elliot had offered to be on a first-name basis, but even after agreeing to it, the OT was too polite for his own good. Elliot could try to read the annotations that waited to be shared with the doctors and nurses, long upside-down medical babble was all he could make out right now, ready to be filed.

Did he really want to know what it said? 

The sudden beep of monitors around them reminded of the fact that he was still wired up like the Christmas tree in the foyer, just less joyous. The tube of a catheter snaked up to his left collarbone, making Elliot accessible for whatever they wanted to shoot him up with. Liquid relief, if only for a few hours. He didn't press the friendly red button at his bedside often enough, especially not before therapy, to not alienate the outcome, Fahim insisted.

And why not so? He already hit rock bottom.

"Let's go, then," Elliot said, and his voice cracked weakly.

"Okay!" Fahim quickly picked up and let his attention rest on the board between them; nine holes in it, waiting for the unlucky patient to fill them up. 

"Now I’d like you to switch and use your left hand. You can use your other to stabilize the board. Ready?" 

Only one at a time and neatly placed, surely. How thrilling my life is.

"Same order as last time?"

"Exactly. Whenever you're ready." With his thumb steady on the stopwatch, Fahim waited for Elliot's left to start moving. It was still wrapped up in tidy white gauze but left his fingers free to move. His first three ones, that was, the rest stayed tightly screwed together.

At the click of the watch, Elliot had already picked up a peg between his thumb and pointer finger to carefully maneuver upright into the first hole. With this one placed securely down, the second made his whole forearm shake so badly, it nearly slipped out of his grasp in the first few seconds. With the iron grip back, the always present burning decided to let itself surface from under the chemically induced numbness. Quicker than anticipated, the flare shot up from his hand all the way to his neck, meeting where the thin plastic tube had been shoved in.

His face was on fire now too, from pain or humiliation, he couldn't tell. The white-hot prickle gouged itself deeper and deeper into his flesh, dancing around the wires that held the bones in place, making Elliot feel them straining the tight stitches ever so horribly. A pressure that didn't belong inside him.

The wooden peg fell down onto the board, rolling back towards its box.

"Take your time."

He despised Fahim for these calming words and hated himself instantly for it. The poor man was doing his job, wasn't his fault that Elliot was as strong as a bundle of lettuce.

Despite all efforts, he couldn't get a grasp on that little stick again and with another click of the timer, this chance was officially over. 

The therapist gave him a reassuring smile, just as empty as his words: "Great work, I think you can rest for today."

I performed Beethoven, you know?

Enjoying his prescribed rest, he watched Fahim move the pen on the paper, probably documenting every failure of the day. A peek could do non harm, Elliot supposed. He thought of how his music teacher made him play with the sheets turned upside-down, as a fun warm-up. What a cruel blessing this turned out to be.

Thumb opposition (✔, Kapandji 6)

Inferior+superior pincer grasp (✔)

Radial palmar grasp (✔)

Closure of fist (✗)

9HPT: r= trial 1 (16s), trial 2 (14s), l= trial 1 (✗ after 120s). Elliot could make out a big thunderbolt scribbled behind that, probably the first note he understood. Weakness, P unable to complete trial due to physical limitations.

Physical limitations. That sounded so nice; much more harmless than molten iron running down his arm and turning to ants under his fingertips.

"Let's try that again soon," Fahim finally looked back up to collect the arsenal of tools and elastic bands, "until then you need to take your walks and train your hand." His head bopped toward a small foam ball on his bedside table. Elliot had stomped on it a few times, to give it that well-used look the therapist needed to see.

"How long will it take?" he mumbled with a thin smirk on his lips.

"My colleague will be here tomorrow, so-"

"No, sorry. I mean...how long will it take?"

As he leaned back into his chair, Fahim was visibly trying to hold back a sigh, his ink-black beard rustling against the hospital's uniform. He let his view rest on Elliot for what felt like the longest five seconds of his life, warm and patient. Elliot hoped he wasn't a 10 on the annoying-patient-scale, but he just had to know-

"One day at a time."

Yeah, they were definitely on the same page now.

"Thanks for your time," Elliot tried to sound at least a little bit motivated as he walked with him as far as the tubes allowed, "See you on Monday."

--------

The first thing Elliot remembered was screaming at the doctors. How they had gotten him into the hospital was lost to the feverish heat of the first week, just as any questions or treatments he endured. Thank god he kept his stupid mouth shut, even though that didn't stop anyone from asking over and over again.

Elliot hadn't been lucid enough for a good enough excuse, so none ever made it across his lips, he didn't own that cheap lie to anyone. Any injury had to be self-inflicted then, more or less officially because nobody intended to get the police further involved. Too much paperwork, they had whispered.

Now, everybody knew it was his fault; that's what they believed, and he didn't intend to convince anyone of the opposite.

Elliot's mother had told him about how terribly he lost it when they brought him in for the first surgery. Embarrassing, really, but he couldn't think of what he went on about or why he would ever be so aggressive.

They treated him to some extra medicine, making him stay quiet for even longer. He recognized that weirdly trusted feeling after a while: whatever had kept him down during his time in that crack house bathroom was also flowing into him with a press of a button, conveniently placed in reach.

He was behaving himself since, of course, after that aimless fury got out of his system. They gave him a splint and biweekly counseling and OT... as a treat, he supposed.

The man in the bed to his right went home after a day, "Just carpal tunnel," he said with an apologetic smile.

Elliot was alone again, only surrounded by an ocean of flowers with some cards swimming in between:

"Get well soon!"

"All the best! "

"Visit Fleming Beach!" Huh?

In the short time living on his own, he wasn't able to make many friends around town; his parents visited nearly every day, but that only made it harder. Between her shifts, Elliot's futility had practically forced his mom to pack up everything on her own: the ultimate offense to the woman who had nothing but helped him.

They were all safe now, but somehow the relief about dodging his worst fear didn't show itself. It was just pain now, every day for every minute.

Two more weeks in here, according to the latest prognosis, and then straight into the unknown. Ambulant rehabilitation maybe, workplace retraining - something like that.

Alone again, until another blood sample or change of dressing became necessary.

Couldn't it have been something else? Elliot would rather be living with his ankle smashed to pieces... or skull, he didn't use its contents anyway, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't be in that fucking bed with a piss bottle on its side.

How much healing to get his life back?

It would only get harder from here on out, that's for sure; although he didn't have to feel all of this right now, therapy was over. So Elliot pressed the big red button down, letting the rush of numbness take him away, if only for a moment.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

16 is so Primeboys coded omg

oh, they’re all c!primeboys coded bc I made this list after getting frustrated that all the whumpy/angsty prompt lists were too /r coded and i wasn’t able to use any for c!prime. also the wittebanes.

(if u want some more super c!prime coded ones check out dialogue 1, 2, 9, 20, and 25, and other 5, 12, 14, 19, and 20)

Anyway… been thinking bout seer au a lot so here it is.

TW: Abuse, dehumanisation, kidnapping, isolation, blinding, mutilation, what's essentially glorified slavery in a fantasy context (mages are forced to work for the king in this case), possessive behaviour, manipulation, severe codependency, referenced torture, referenced restraints, gaslighting, and forced medication/drugging. Yeah, the Seer AU is a doozy.

——

There were ways of telling people apart without sight- or Sight, for that matter- and ever since he'd been blinded, Tommy had gotten very good at them.

For example, Dream's strides were long and loud, and he tended to stay as close to Tommy as possible. It’s not like anyone else would be allowed to enter his chambers, of course. That'd have been a risk to the Kings property, after all. That’s all mages were, according to law, according to traditions. According to stupid bullshit, more like. But it was something Tommy could do to keep his mind sharp.

“Fuck off.” Tommy groaned, burying his face in the soft pillows.

“C'mon, Tommy, that’s no way to speak to your king.” Dream's voice was light, like this was still some kind of silly, joking situation. Like nothing was wrong.

“I'm not kidding around, prick. Leave me alone. Haven’t you already done enough?”

Dream sighed. “Tommy, are you having one of your moods again? I'm just here to bring you some food. Would you rather starve to death while you're healing?”

“Healing from you gouging my fucking eyes out.”

Dream paused. “I mean, yeah? I was helping you with your Sight. You didn’t want to wear the blindfold, so I thought that'd be more comfortable. Really, you should be thanking me.”

“You're unbelievable, man. Just, you’re so fucking… I don’t know.” It was how Dream always got- crueller than ever whenever he tried, ineptly, to be better, and then expecting some sort of reward for fucking Tommy's life up. It was as infuriating as it was painful.

It had happened after the enforcers dragged him away from his home on the street, with Tubbo, and Dream expected him to be all grateful for providing him with food and shelter even though he was a glorified- slave, really, no matter how much Dream pretended to be civilised. It had happened after he'd given Tommy a cane so he could walk when he fucked up his legs bad enough as a sick punishment for an escape attempt he couldn’t walk without one. It had happened a million more times than Tommy could name, and now it was happening after he took his fucking eyesight for his own selfish gain.

Tommy didn’t even fucking want his Sight. He never wanted to be a mage- the stories he heard, even dripped in propaganda, sickened him. Life in a gilded cage as the King's attack dog, never allowed to make a decision of their own and treated more like some sort of mythical animal than a person, sounded like a worse hell than the one he'd run from in the first place. At least Father never pretended to be anything but a cruel, drunken bastard mad that his favourite punching bag had died and taking it out on the child with her golden hair.

No, he was born with a gift that was more like a curse. The Sight hurt his head, dizzied his senses, and being forced into using it again and again by Dream until he passed out wasn’t exactly Tommy's idea of a good time. Neither was being dressed in fancy robes, having his hair scrubbed throughly with soaps that stung at his eyes and tied up painfully tight to be, essentially, shown off as a pretty tool in court, people oohing and aweing at his every movement while he was forced to do petty predictions for the entertainment of the rich fuckers who'd have kicked him while he was sleeping in alleyways, and now looked at him like some sort of show dog, pulling and prodding when they thought Dream wasn’t looking.

It was Tommy's own personal Hell.

The sound of Dream punching the wall in frustration didn’t even make Tommy flinch anymore. “It’s- I don’t fucking understand, Tommy! I give you a home, shelter, luxuries second only to myself. I give you the freedom to roam the grounds as you wish, and I spend hours each day talking to you, bearing my deepest secrets. I love you as if you were a brother of my own, not merely a servant useful to me, yet this is how you treat me?.”

Laughter bubbled in Tommy's chest and spilled out without meaning, harsh and bitter without any humour. “You love me? You love possessing me, you mean. You love having someone you can force to serve as your own personal spy. You love having someone to beat and torture on some made up punishment bullshit whenever you please. You love having something to show off to boost your own oversized ego. You love having someone you can make serve as your confidant, your own personal fucking therapist, because they have no way to tell anyone all your fucked up secrets. But me?” 

Tommy raised his arms in the air, in a way that probably looked incredibly awkward considering he was sitting propped up awkwardly in a bed too big for him, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. “You don’t care about me, do you? If you did, you’d let me go, let me see my friends, you wouldn’t literally lock me in chains and tear out my eyes, would you? No, what you care about is Tommy the seer, Tommy the punching bag, Tommy the emotional support prisoner. Not Tommy the person.” His voice had turned scratchy, like he was crying, but no tears came out. “But you’re right, I guess. You don’t treat me like a servant. You treat me like a slave. A pet. Anything but a human fucking being.”

An awkward silence descended on the room, and Tommy just felt too angry to even flinch away from the hit that was almost certainly coming, if not being dragged into one of the interrogation chambers again for more serious punishment. Instead, he felt annoyed, impatient, at Dream dragging out the certain punishment to come. Instead, though, Dream pulled him into a warm hug, and Tommy couldn’t help but lean into its comfort. It reminded him of Mama, in the scant few years he had with her, and fuck, at this point he'd take that no matter how much it hurt.

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…” Dream's voice was infuriatingly calm. “You poor thing, so confused and angry. It’s my fault, really. I didn’t consider how it must seem to you, alone all your life and used to being used. No one ever cared about you until I did, right?”

“Shut up,” Tommy half-sobbed. “Shut up. You'll never be Mama, or Tubbo. You're like Father. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t, do you? You’re just scared, and you must be in pain. I must have not given you enough medicine this morning.” Dream absently ruffled a hand through his hair, and Tommy bit his tongue and pretended it was Mama. “You'll feel better soon, and it’ll all go back to normal, I promise.”

“I don’t want it to.” Tommy's voice was barely even audible at that point, so rough and tired. He didn’t want to continue to exist in this tailor-made torment, and he didn’t want to keep playing happy families with the man who ruined his life, and he especially didn’t want to take any more of the sickeningly sweet medicine Dream made him take, even though it made the burning in his eyes die down. It made his head so fuzzy and wrong, like his thoughts were all flooded by swamp water and he couldn’t understand anything and he hated it. “I'd rather die.”

“Oh,” Dream's voice had slipped into that inappropriately playful tone that sent shivers up Tommy's spine again, “You're far too valuable alive to me to have that choice.”

[serickswrites]

Any chance we can see more of the amputation? Maybe Caretaker explaining why they made that choice for Whumpee?

Sure. I'm not into amputation, so that is a one time deal, but happy to write the aftermath very briefly here. Because I live for the angst. Please enjoy

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, medical whump, amputation, sick fic, caretaker and whumpee

Caretaker maintained their silent vigil at Whumpee's bedside. They hadn't moved since the nurses said they could sit with Whumpee. Hadn't moved because Whumpee hadn't moved.

Caretaker had cried the moment they could see Whumpee. They were hooked up to all sorts of machines keeping them alive. The one that was the most alarming was the ventilator. Its whirring and hissing let Caretaker know that Whumpee still drew breath. But its whirring and hissing let Caretaker know that Whumpee couldn't breathe on their own. And no one was sure when Whumpee would be able to breathe on their own again. If at all.

No one knew anything as far as Caretaker could tell. Just that, hopefully, with time, Whumpee might recover.

Recover, but not forgive. Caretaker didn't think Whumpee would ever forgive them for not finding them in time. For not saving them. And for having the surgeon take their leg.

The surgeon had come back out to speak with Caretaker while Whumpee was being taken to recovery. They let Caretaker know the surgery was, for all intents and purposes, a success. They'd only had to take Whumpee's leg to just above the knee.

Caretaker couldn't tear their gaze from the stump beneath the blankets. Blankets so white, crisp and clean. Whumpee's skin was just a touch darker than the sheets. Their hair clung to their forehead with sweat, the fever from the infection still raging through their body.

"I'm sorry," Caretaker whispered to the quiet room. "I didn't have a choice. I had to save you. Had to. Please. Wake up, Whumpee. Please." They squeezed Whumpee's limp hand.

"I'm sorry I was so late. I'm so sorry. Please, please, Whumpee. I need you to wake up. Please. Open your eyes, for me. Please. Whumpee."

Only the whirring and hissing of the ventilator answered Caretaker.

[peachsukii]

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

『 ♡ pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo; pro-heroes au | friends to lovers 』

#✩.hollowheart status: on-going rating: mature (16+) ao3 version | wc; ~20.6k as of ch.4

꒰ summary ꒱ the dynamic duo of dynamight and deku are unstoppable, climbing the hero charts like they always dreamed of as kids. their journeys were tough, but offered them the world - fame, fortune, protection of their family and friends, a comfortable hero life. the recent increase in crime around tokyo kept their entire sector busy, sending heroes out non-stop, desperate to keep the statistics as low as possible to maintain a clean reputation. when a nearby sector is requesting assistance, the boys are tasked with a mission to inspect a villain's lair in a deserted area outside of the city. reports have noted people going missing, specifically with rare quirks. with plenty of other heroes being unavailable, you're chosen to tag along with the duo for the night operation. everything is going according to plan until the villain lands a surprise attack, resulting in the your kidnapping and whisking you away through a mysterious portal. it's been a month since your disappearance with no help of the hero agency. bakugo and midoriya take it into their own hands and are determined to get you back - no matter how long or what it takes.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance

꒰ chapter index ꒱

Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] ⇢  prepare for the heartbreaking journey of bakugo battling with his feelings when it's too late...or is it?

Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] ⇢  a month’s time has passed since your abduction and the boys have not given up on finding you by any means necessary. between late night phone calls, midnight confessions, and endless breakdowns, they’re struggling to go on with life as usual like everyone assumes they should. bakugo in particular is struggling with your absence, cursing how he wasn’t strong enough to save you and locking himself away. midoriya has opted for the opposite, spending multiple sleepless nights searching for you on his own.

Chapter 3 | Choke [3,995k] ⇢  you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed.

Chapter 4 | The Grey [6,756k] ⇢  a glimpse of hope appears out of nowhere, giving bakugo and midoriya the lead they needed to pursue your location. it proves to be much more difficult than they imagine, so they call upon some friends for a search party.

Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go

꒰ info ꒱  ✧ All Class 1A characters are 22/23 years old and pro heroes; Dynamight is 4th, Deku is 5th and Reader is 37th ✧ Reader is female with she/her pronouns ✧ Reader has an energy manipulation quirk ✧ Reader's hero type is "The Kinetic Hero" (i.e. - "Explosion Hero," "Gravity Hero," etc.) ✧ Bakugo's "nickname" for reader is Lite-Brite (a pun on her quirk)

⇢ hollow heart playlist

♡ last updated; 04/17/24

⇢ tag list! @/bakugouswaif @/k1tk4tkatsuki @/bells2319 @/st0nedbitch @/deftonianfr @/musicbecky @/bakubae-by @/berryvioo @/tragedyofabrokensoul @/queenpiranhadon @/simp-plague @/jenn-majima @/dienamights

✩ if you'd like to be tagged when content is posted, comment to be added! ✩

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Apr 19th

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1. Hi, I'm looking for fics where WWX is drunk/high and LZ noncons him @thehappyyellow

the sweetest dream would never do by honeyandviscera (E, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dark LWJ, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Body Worship, Breaking and Entering, Drugged Sex, Stalking, Come Eating, Unreliable Narrator, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

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2. Hey, hope you guys are well. For itmf, any opwwx! recs? Preferably completed please. Thank you for your time!! @tinyfoxpeach

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3. Helloooo Just came here jajsjs I'm desperate, lately I was thinking about some caveman! Or prehistoric ice age wangxian but I could not find something like that :( any rec? (Tysm for this page)

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4. more fics like lwj's big dick agenda? or just fics lwj being possessive. thanksss!

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5. Love your blog!!!!thank you for the hardwork!

Would love some disabled/chronic health issues wei wuxian pretty please 💖💖

🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 91k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, wangxian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant, WIP)

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)

please don’t let me be misunderstood by sysrae (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse)

some foolish thing I've done by sysrae (M, 4k, wangxian, Modern, College/University, partial hearing loss, Past Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, the real OTP is everyone x therapy)

🔒 how to make your dad fall in love with your high school teacher in five steps; the complete and bulletproof guide by ravenditefairylights (T, 90k, wangxian, modern, coffee shop au, nonbinary LSZ, hurt/comfort, trauma, past abuse, past domestic violence, healing, hurt WWX, found family, hospitalization, therapy, single parent WWX, pining, teacher LWJ, unreliable narrator, chronic pain, queer platonic relationship, genderfluid WWX, autistic LWJ, fluff & angst)

🔒 some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

Cure by Yukirin_Snow (M, 100k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Cancer, Medical Procedures, Medical Jargon, Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, possible trigger warnings) Wwx has cancer, happy ending. It's a really good fic. I love it.

Rest is Resolution series by MarbleGlove (T, 32k, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JZX & JGS, LQR & LWJ, wangxian, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign, this might be crack, Niè Cultivation, BAMF NHS, BAMF JYL, Canon Divergence, Madam Lan Backstory, Getting Together), but especially the first one, Elder, an Aesthetic It's WWX without his golden core leaning into needing assistance

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6. Hiii! For the next itmf, I’m wondering if anyone has read fics inspired on creative reality shows? I’d love to read about wangxian having to team up for something like baking impossible or blown away. I hope y’all are having a great day, thanks!

❤️ Knight Hunt! Phoenix Mountain by travelingneuritis (E, 51k, wangxian, modern, dating show, Modern Cultivation, but in the silliest way possible, Reality TV, the juniors are interns, Smut, Illustrations, low-stakes pining)

Wangxian Strictly AU Series by Selenay (E, 135k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, Ballroom dancing, Established Relationship, Romantic Fluff, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Previously, on LEGO Masters by trippednfell (M, 55k, wangxian, Reality TV Show Contestants/Judges, Modern, Mutual Pining, Forced to compete together, strangers to reality show contestants to lovers, there's only one bed, Platonic Cuddling, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Grief/Mourning, Wangxian miss their moms, so much pining, More Pining than LEGO in this LEGO fic, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, POV Alternating, Lego Masters AU, Not YZY friendly, Dysfunctional Jiang family dynamics)

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7. Do you by any chance know if there's any fic about the kid playing hanguang-jun role and the kid playing to be the yiling patriarch of that bunch of kids playing to be cultivators? As they have no names idk where to start looking. I'm in the mood for something wholesome 😌 Thanks in advance!

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8. Itm A) miscarriage fics where it causes problems in wx marriage.

B) girl dad wwx

C) cat dad wwx

Please find all of them in >20k or atleast 10 k. Please. Thankyou.

Rise of the Divine Oracle by BlakSalt (T, 291k, WangXian, Boy Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance)

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9. hi! :3 itmf junior-central fics :) can be any combination of the quartet. ship fics are fine but no sizhui/jin ling pls bc they are cousins in my heart. thanks!! @monstergreentea

🔒 blue flies buzzing by RoseThorne (T, 2k, JL & LJY & OYZZ & LSZ, JC & WWX, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & LXC, Gossip, Rumors, Mentioned Wen Remnants, Sect Leader Yao Bashing, JC & WWX Reconciliation, NHS is a Little Shit, POV LJY, POV Third Person, Threats, Justice, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, LWJ is LSZ’s Parent, LJY Being LJY, Podfic Welcome)

🔒 hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (T, 15k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, the family that hunts demons together stays together, and doesn't murder each other, Case Fic, BAMF WWX, Mojo's post)

💖A Dramatic Reading by pupeez4eva (Not rated, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, humor, public confessions, curses, getting together)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) Might work, though it's a little more Sizhui centric, but it's a very lovely showing of their dynamic in a low stakes setting

❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon) link in #12

You Bring the Colour by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (G, 12k, wangxian, art school, art restoration)

🔒 Yearning by Sanguis (T, 9k, WangXian, LingYi, Modern AU, Professors, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Bunnies, Pre-Relationship Secrets)

climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, JL & LSZ, JL & WWX, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, mentions of past JC/WQ, Fairy is a good dog)

history by tongzhi (T, 16k, LSZ & WN, JC & LSZ, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & Wen Remnants, LSZ & Juniors, LSZ & MM, Post-Canon, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, LSZ gets angry, LSZ and JL refuse to take their family's trauma forward, jiujiu is the best, Character Study, MM abolitionist queen)

~*~

10. itmf any pregxian fics! thank you for your hard work admins :)

Reluctant partner by sacrificial_fawn (G, 31k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, Modern, Mpreg, Family Reunions, bonding over your shared trauma, Reluctant Bonding, Married Life, Supportive LQR, Past Miscarriage, LXC's excessive use of kaomojis, Male Lactation, non-graphic birth, LQR tries to be a good uncle but he doesn’t know how to, Intersex WWX, JGY can hold the baby as a treat, LWJ can have words and verbs as a treat, Slight OOC) very sweet imo, it has a bit of Meng Yao and Wei Wuxian friendship, it's also a teene tiny bit sad

All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, wangxian, Modern, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, wangxian attempt to be sensible adults about it, they are very bad at it, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, wangxian, canon divergence, communication, established relationship, sunshot campaign, mpreg, canon typical violence, WWX has new golden core, canonical character death, happy ending, fix-it of sorts) He's not pregnant for a large portion of the fic, but it's not an insignificant amount of time.

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) I'd be surprised if you haven't already read this one, but it's one of the few ones of the genre that I like.

~*~

11. Hi!! For itmf, is there any fic where Lan zhan and wei ying personality swapped? It only temporary but the chaos cannot be contained @chibiizzy

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12. hey admins, any fic recs on wei ying getting injured or sick and lan zhan takes care of him or just anyone who gets very worried about him?? thanks <3

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 63k, wangxian, JL & WWX, post-canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, POV JL, JC & WWX Reconciliation, eventually, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, this kid is doing his best, Pre-JL/LJY if you squint)

How to Treat Your Injured Yiling Laozu by merakily (T, 3k, wangxian, Chronic Pain, Whump, Love Confessions, Literal Sleeping Together, Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ has a lot of feelings about WWX being in pain, Hurt WWX)

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, wangxian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)

something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad wwx, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics)

Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, wangxian, WIP, Dark LWJ-ish, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Recovery, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Protective LWJ, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt WWX, Caring, WWX Goes to Gusu, ridiculously self-indulgent, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ)

❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon)

What's Wrong With Him? by GrapefruitSketches (G, 2k, JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, JC & WWX & JYL, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, Pining LWJ, POV JYL, Canon Compliant, Oblivious WWX, Unconscious WWX, Concerned JYL, JYL Knows Everything)

let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, let capricorns cathart agenda, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)

~*~

13. Itmf serious fics. Where wwx has personality like he has in 12 moons n a fortnight, he's so mature there uk. Ik that fic has funny and crack moments too, but it's mostly feels and serenity there, more fics where wwx is like that please?

~*~

14. Hello. Thank you for all the hardwork.

For the next itmf I'm looking for fics whe WWX is not the only one to be resurrected.

Or where he is resurrected in other people bodies (I have seen the fic comp here ).

Thank you once again @anime-trash-parody

~*~

15. itmf,,, a fic where wwx atracts the supernatural, the divine, the eerie,, like he has a connection with the burial mounds or the dead in general, they like him, they are atracted to him; spirits and deities like huli jins or like the fliwer maiden are also atracted to him or interact with him,,, does what im saying even make sense?

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

16. itmf any fics where they actually end up meeting baoshan sanren when going to or while doing the core transfer

Can't Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women) They don’t meet during the transfer so it might not quite be what u have in mind but she does do something about it.

~*~

17. Would love some genius modern wei wuxian extra if the juniors are involved thank you 💖💖💖💖💖

💖 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There)by H_Belle (T, 5k, wangxian, NHS & WWX, modern w/ cultivation, inventor WWX, secret identity, identity reveal, YLLZ WWX, rogue cultivator WWX, pining LWJ, WWX pov)

living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, reincarnation, college/university au, hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, light angst, nightmares, epistolary, pining, friends to lovers)

🔒 care by everbrighter (T, 35k, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, modern w/ magic, resurrection, family bonding, getting to know each other, past character death, pining)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan's late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ's Horny Grip,LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWXBut quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Modern with Magic, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[bonefall]

So, I'm writing an essay on the whole STATE of misogyny in WC for one of my university classes, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of things! No pressure of course, please feel free to say no!

A) Could I reference your good takes with appropriate harvard referencing and links back to your blog?

B) Are there any specific moments from the books that you think should be covered the most?

C) The end result will be a visual essay, so it's like those fun infographics people on Tumblr make on like ADHD and stuff, so when it's done, would you like to be tagged to read it?

(Sorry for anon, I'm nervous lmao, but if you'd be more comfortable I'll resend this off anon)

AAY good topic! You've got a lot to work with. Absolutely feel free to reference anything I've written, and tag me when you're done.

While you're here and about to write something so legitimate, I'm also going to recommend you check out Sunnyfall's video on gender in Warrior Cats. She breaks down the arcs into numbers, directly comparing the amount of lines mollies have to toms, and examining the archetypes women are usually allowed to be.

I think it's a must-have citation in a paper about WC misogyny.

...and, I think it's insightful to look at the WCRP Forum thread about the video. Note how the respondents immediately come into the thread to complain about how the video is too long so they didn't watch it, dismissing Sunnyfall as not being entertaining enough to hold their attention, even whining that she starts with statistics to prove her point, which I'm convinced she did exactly because they would have cried that she "had no evidence" if she didn't.

I am not a scholar, so I don't know how to document or prove that the books have an impact on the audience outside of anecdotes. But I think if you do write a section about fandom, it would be worth mentioning the in-universe and metatextual apologia for Ashfur and its reflection in the real world discourse, the authorial killing of Ferncloud because of fan complains, and the utter defensiveness against the discussion of misogyny you see outside of Tumblr.

You may also want to check out Cheek by Jowl, a collection of 8 essays about sexism in xenofiction by Ursula K. Le Guin. There's a very unique manifestation of authorial bias in animal fiction, having a lot to do with how the author views "the natural world," and it's worth understanding even though Warrior Cats are so heavily anthropomorphized.

So... Warrior Cats Misogyny

I think discussing individual instances can be helpful, but I'd implore you to keep in mind what's REALLY bad about WC's misogyny is framing and the bigger picture.

Bumble's death is shocking and insulting, but it's not just that she died. It's that the POV Gray Wing sees her as a fat, useless bitch who took his mate so she deserves to be dragged back to a domestic abuser, and he's right because the writers love him so much. It's that Bumble's torture and killing only factors into how it's going to hurt a man's reputation.

It's how Clear Sky hitting, emotionally manipulating, or killing the following women,

Bright Stream (pressured into leaving her home and family)

Storm (controlled her movements and yelled at her in public)

Misty (killed for land, children stolen)

Bumble (beaten unconscious, blamed nonsensically on a fox)

Alder (child abuse, hit when she refused to attack her brother)

Falling Feather (scratched on the face, subjected to public abuse and humiliation)

Tall Shadow (thrown into murderous crowd, attacked on-sight in heaven)

Rainswept Flower ("blacked out" in anger and murdered in cold blood)

Moth Flight (scratched on the face for saying denying medical treatment is mean, taken hostage in retaliation against mother for the death of his own child, which he caused)

Willow Tail (eyes gouged out for "stirring up trouble")

Is seen as totally understandable, forgivable, or not even questioned at all, when killing Gray Wing in an act of rage would have been "one step too far" with the ridiculous Star Line.

"Kill me and live with the memory, and then let the stars know it would only matter if a single one of your murder victims was a man."

It's the way that fathers who physically abuse their kids out of their ego (Clear Sky, Sandgorse, Crowfeather) aren't treated anywhere near the same level of narrative disgust and revulsion the series has for "bad moms", even if they're displaying symptoms of a post-partum mood disorder (depression, anxiety, and rage), an umbrella of mental illnesses 20% of all new mothers experience but are heavily stigmatized with (Sparkpelt, Palebird, Lizardstripe).

It's Crookedstar's Promise giving him two evil maternal figures in a single book, while bending over backwards to make every man in a position of power still look likeable in spite of the fact they're enabling Rainflower's abuse. Leader Hailstar is soso sorry that he has to change Stormkit's name for some reason, in spite of leaders being unaccountable dictators the other 99% of the time, and Deputy Shellheart functionally does nothing to stop his own son from being abused or even do much parenting before or after the fact.

It's the way men's parental struggles are seen sympathetically, and they don't have to "pay for it" like their female counterparts (Crookedstar's PPD vs Sparkpelt's PPD, how Daisy and Cinders are held responsible for Smoky and Whisper being deadbeats, Yellowfang's endless guilt for killing her son vs Onestar's purpose in life to kill his own), even to the point where a father doesn't have to have raised their kids at all to have a magical innate emotional connection to them (Tree's father Root, Tom the Wifebeater, Tigerstar and Hawkfrost).

It's less speaking lines and agency for female characters, being reduced to accessories in the lives of their mates and babies, women getting less diversity in their personalities, with even major ex-POV characters eventually becoming "sweet mom" tropes.

You could zoom in on any one of these examples and have an amoeba try to argue with you that "Oh THIS makes sense because X" or "Ah well my headcanon perfectly explains this thing" or "MY mother/girlfriend was abusive/toxic/neglectful and I've decided that you are personally attacking ME by having issues with how a character was written or utilized," but the beleaguered point,

That I keep trying to hammer in, over and over, across books worth of posts,

Is that these are trends. More than just a couple one-off examples. It's the fabric that has been woven over years, showing a lack of interest in, or even active prejudice of, women on behalf of the writers.

LONG STANDING trends, which have only gotten worse as the series progressed. From Yellowfang being harshly punished with a born evil son who ruins her life in TPB and the mistreatment of Squirrelpaw that begins in TNP, all the way up to the 7 Fridgenings of DOTC and Sparkpelt's PPD being a major character motivator for her son Nightheart.

So, I would stress that in your paper, and structure it less as "the Sparkpelt slide" and "the Yellowfang slide," and more as "The paternal vs maternal abuse" slide, and "the violence against women" slide. They're really big issues, there's tons of examples for each individual thing.

Anyway to leave off on a funny, look at this scene in Darkest Hour that I find unreasonably hilarious,

"Everyone who matters to me; my truest friend, my sensible and loyal warrior, the wisest deputy I've ever known, and 2 women." -Firestar, glorious idiot

He can't even think of a single trait for either of them what the hell does "formidable pair" mean lmaooo, when I finished a reread about a year ago this line killed me on impact.

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 8 - "It's all for nothing."

Scogan Bingo challenge Caresses and Kisses

"Why did you come for me, Logan? Why do you bother? It's all for nothing."

At first, Logan hadn’t been exactly sure why Stark had called him in – fixing shit that was broken almost beyond repair was definitely this guy's specialty, not his. That was until he entered the operating theater's induction room and was hit in the face with a whole tidal wave of self-pity, bitterness, and hopelessness.

Right. So that was what Tony and Emma meant by, If we put him under like that, you could have just pulled him off that kill switch and watch him blow up.

"You don't get to do this, bub. This is not how this works." Logan approached the sick bed with gritted teeth, fighting a bout of nausea that had been sitting in his throat ever since he'd entered that torture cell in their enemies' base where Pryde had sent him, once they'd finally, finally gotten the clue regarding their team leader's fate they'd been looking or in vain for so long.

Stark's team of scientists and medics had been nice enough to cover up the bloody, disfigured mess, still attached to approximately a dozen things that had no business being on and in a human body. Sync was already standing by silently in the corner as well, his dark sin looking another shade greyer than usual, to do his part with the help of a lot of borrowed telekinesis, to put back together into a working shape all that Stark's nanobots wouldn’t be able to regrow and mend ... Still.

The truth that no one had the guts to speak out loud right now was, there was no telling if Scott would ever leave this tower on his own two feet again. If he made it through the procedures at all. And there was definitely no way his system wouldn’t give up upon all the infusions and implements ready to be pumped into him if the guy didn’t see a reason to keep it running in the first place.

So Logan bravely bested his growing urge to run off right again, to withdraw to some of the Tower's many guest rooms with a whole truckload of Whiskey until there'd be hopefully some good news from the cellar. He'd given in to that cowardice far too often in the last few years, because he was an emotional cripple like that, especially when he felt he could afford it without leaving too much damage.

There'd luckily always been someone else around to catch Scott after the guy had been at the end of yet another sadistic bastard's torture porn fantasies, sure. This time though, there weren’t a lot of people of their kind for such trauma counselling left. And most importantly, the woman they'd both loved was no longer there, once more.

If Logan didn’t want to lose the guy whom he'd felt almost as much affection for next, he needed to stop pretending that those feelings only mattered in periods when the two of them agreed on whatever the political climate of their home was like and whatever lifestyle they conveniently shared at any given time. So Logan took Scott's hand unceremoniously when he sat down on his bedside, ignoring the chair thoughtfully prepared nearby just as much as the weak instinctive twitch away from him from muscles starved almost to the point of atrophy. Jesus, the things Logan would give for a couple of capable mutant healers or a rebirth pod right now.

It didn’t matter. They'd get through this new disaster as well. He'd had this tall, resilient body in his arms often enough, naked and clothed, unwavering and collapsing, to be absolutely convinced at this point, there wasn’t anything Scott Summers couldn’t come back from. Not as long as there was something left to come back to.

"I'm not letting you clock out, Slim," Logan repeated, with the same sober determination that he was always meeting that stubborn bastard with when he needed Scott to understand how fucking dead ass serious he was and therefore kept his emotional impulses in check for a hot minute. With Logan's free hand on his more-or-less-casual lover's hollowed cheek, he gently turned Scott's face back to him to make sure, he would be looked at, at least with as much clear vision as the so-far quite provisory treatment of Scott's badly inflamed eyelids behind his glasses would allow. There were things between them he couldn’t be hiding, not right now, and the salt trickling in his beard at his next heavy reminder was in the top 5 of those. "You know Jeannie wouldn’t want you to."

"Jean is gone," Scott snapped at him with as much bite as he managed to in this state. But he didn’t try to pull away again even for the show this time when Logan gently tightened his grip around his hand, on his temple, his jaw, trembling fingertips stroking through the almost inexistent short buzz cut that Scott's latest involuntarily stay at an enemy's lair had demanded. It had to hurt like a bitch at those wounds, easily some of the most perverted, grotesque ones, that Logan couldn’t see right now when a breathless sob shook Scott's chest. But it was at least the first normal kind of reaction to everything Scott had been through, to what they were both going through right now, that Logan saw ever since tracking his sorry ass down. Somehow, that was calming. Pain was harder to deal with than anger, no one knew that better than him. But it was also always easier to heal once the Band-Aid was off. "It doesn’t matter, Logan, don't you get it? It doesn’t matter how often she comes back, how often we all start over. We're always destined to fall, no matter what we try."

"That's where you're wrong, Slim. You get to give up once we tried everything. Not a second sooner." To leave absolutely no doubt about what he meant, Logan leaned down to his lover slowly enough, both to give him a way out of too much intimacy, in the face of cameras and an audience … And to tell his own turning stomach once more that things like the stench of far too much heavy medication, of glycerin and copper where there should be none and weeks without a proper hygiene were fleeting inconveniences at best, now that they got Scott here, now that they would help him, with everyone doing what they were best at. Logan's job in that was reminding Scott of what they'd once had, for a while, on the moon, before they'd let circumstance rip them apart. And that maybe, they wouldn’t have to have this conversation right now if they'd been smarter about things back then. If they'd never broken up the damn team. He tasted grief, and hunger when he covered those too-dry, chapped lips with his carefully enough.

But after Scott had indeed stiffened for a moment, probably indeed because the two of them usually didn’t make things between them yet another gossip headline about Scott's love life, he raised his head from the pillows weakly. Another shaky sob died in his throat as he opened his mouth, just enough for Logan's tongue to gently slip through for a second, remarking its territory in the only way he could right now.

"I'm broken, Logan," he whispered, still crestfallen about what might admittedly be the biggest hit he'd taken just yet, at least with this only just recently reborn body. But at least the way he was holding on to Logan's hand now, leaning into that touch on his cheek, on the side of his neck, felt like he was seeking purchase within that gloom of what was maybe waiting for him when he woke up instead of reluctance to even face it.

"We all are." Logan leaned in for another kiss, shorter this time because there were footsteps approaching and Sync over there kept on clearing his throat impatiently. "There's still a hell of a lot of people left to make shit right, though. When you wake up, I'll have the coordinates for our next mission ready, so don't think you get an extended sick leave. Now let those guys do their magic and get some sleep. I'll be there when you wake up." Men like them didn’t do promises, because far too often in this line of work, there was no way you could keep them.

But the weak, half-sided twitch around the corners of Scott's mouth said, guy knew that this was one of those reassurances Logan was deadset on keeping for once.

He did.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

[oh-stars]

Finally

Parents

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | Word count: 1520 | CW: referenced pregnancy (but mild) | Rating: T

--

“Are we assholes for not saying something sooner?” 

“They would have talked us out of it.” 

Robin hums as she rocks back and forth, eyes never leaving the sleeping baby in her arms. “Still feel like we should have given them a warning. If only so that they keep the volume down.” 

Steve pauses where he’s unpacking the baby’s go bag. “I didn’t think about that.” 

She glances up at him, eyebrow raised. “You seriously didn’t consider that inviting all of your little gremlins wouldn’t result in a category five sound explosion the second they cross the threshold? If they wait that long?” 

He waves her off. “Eddie’s going to let them in,” he says, “he’ll scare them into acting right.” 

“If you say so.” 

Before Steve can say anything, there’s a little snuffle from the bundle in her arms that has him scrambling to kneel beside her. He peers, eyes wide and voice the softest whisper he can manage as he asks, “Is he waking up?” 

“I think so,” she whispers. She looks at the cloud clock on the nursery wall. “Can you fix a bottle?” 

Steve leans forward and kisses the baby’s forehead. “You betcha. Be back in a flash.” 

He carefully steps away then darts out of the room. Robin rocks back and forth to the sounds of Steve and Eddie in the kitchen, trying to be quiet and failing miserably. They all have to get used to being softer around the house now that they’ve got a new little roommate.

It’s still a bit mindblowing that she and Steve have a baby now. 

They’ve been married since Robin turned eighteen for Upside Down reasons, in case something happened to either of them, they’d be the one in control of the medical decisions – not their clueless parents. And ten years later, the Upside Down fully behind them, it just hasn’t been a priority to undo it – not with the tax break and protection it gives them both. 

Of course, it’s totally platonic. Robin’s a proud gold star lesbian and Steve is… Steve. He tries to date, but his heart hasn’t been in it since he met Eddie. He can deny he’s not in love with Eddie all he wants, but friends don’t usually send you into a multi-year sexuality crisis. 

It was on Steve’s twenty-ninth birthday that the existential crisis hit him. 

“What if we never find anyone?” he said, turning to look at her. They’re laying in the driveway, stargazing as they share a bottle of wine but neither are up for drinking. “What if I never get to be a dad? What if–” 

“Why wouldn’t you get to be a dad?” 

“We’re getting old and I’m hopeless! I could barely get to first base with Sydney the other night,” Steve huffs. “I’m just not… It’s too hard to connect with people who don’t understand why I can’t sleep without a nightlight at fucking thirty–” 

“You’re not thirty yet,” Robin reminds him gently. 

“So not the point, Robs.” 

She sighs and scoots closer to lay her head on his shoulder. “I’d have a baby with you if I could,” she said, not sober enough to really make that kind of promise. And at the moment, they both knew it was just a comment, a throwaway line to try and make him feel better, but it stuck. It stuck with her. 

It was three weeks later when she caught him making faces at a baby in the soup aisle of the grocery store that she realized she could do that for him. She’s never really considered kids before, not as a viable option for her what with the whole gay thing, but the more she considered it, the more open she was. Having a baby with her best friend in the entire world, someone who has been by her side through both literal torture and tax season, seems like the best decision she could make. 

Robin didn’t say anything for another month, letting the idea simmer as she really considered if this is something she would want to do. In her heart of hearts, she knew Steve would say no at first but the second he knew she was being honest, that she really wanted this, he wouldn’t be able to say no. But it would put a huge damper on her romantic life for the foreseeable future and make it difficult moving forward forever. She’d have a kid to think about, because if she commits, she’s doing it right. 

It’s pretty clear they went through with it.

The whole experience has been kind of incredible. Surreal to say the least. 

And only Eddie and her parents knew. 

They still think she’s straight, that she and Steve are married for real. And she does love them, knows that if she ever got the courage to tell them she’s been platonically married for the past decade that they’d be confused but open to learning. So she couldn’t keep this secret from them. 

Eddie had to know, as their roommate it’d be impossible to hide it from him. “I think Uncle Eddie has a nice ring to it,” he’d said when they told him they were going to try and have a baby. He didn’t ask any of the weird questions she expects from the gremlins either, about how they conceived if she was a lesbian and all the whys they’d ask. Eddie understood it, has even been excited for it. 

All these months of preparing and anguishing over her decision and he’s finally here, in her arms. 

Baby boy squirms as he opens his eyes, letting Robin see the murky blue of his eyes once again. “Hi,” she whispers, shifting to run a knuckle down his cheek. “Today’s a big day for you, Bubs.” 

Steve walks back in with a bottle in his hands and a rag thrown over his shoulder. “Want me to feed him this time?” 

“Are you saying I need a break?”

“You smell like baby vomit.” He sets the bottle on the table beside her. “And I’m pretty sure there’s still spit up in your hair from his last feeding. I can take Bubs so you can shower.” 

“Don’t think she’s got shower time, Stevie,” Eddie says from the doorway. “Byers just called, they’re at the corner store for a pee break. Apparently Henderson couldn’t hold it another ten minutes.” 

Robin hands over the baby to Steve, with more reluctance than she anticipated. The hormones have hit her pretty hard postpartum and while she doesn’t have the natural instincts Steve seems to have, the attachment is very real. She heaves herself up from the chair with a wince, body still sore everywhere. “It’ll take me ten minutes just to pee,” she huffs, glaring at Eddie. 

He holds up his hands. “Just saying.” 

Steve sits in the rocker and grabs the bottle, putting it to Bubs lips with a sweet coo. “Eddie can stall them if you need more time?” She can’t help but feel warm at the sight. He looks so at peace holding their son, holding his baby, the one she carried for him and will raise alongside him. This really is what he was meant to do and Robin helped him get to this point. And now, no matter what happens to either of them, there’s a little piece of Steve and a little piece of Robin in that precious boy. Her precious boy. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I made sure the baby evidence was hidden away from the living room.” 

“And I took care of the kitchen.”

“So you won’t miss the surprise on their faces,” Eddie adds. 

She makes her way to the door and nods, then pauses to turn back to Steve. “And you’re still sure letting Erica name our kid is a good idea?” 

Steve shrugs as much as he can without disturbing the baby. “Do you really want to tell her that we’re backing out of the deal?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose. “Not particularly.” 

“Then I think it’s our safest bet. And hey,” he grins down at Bubs, “at least Erica will have a sensible name in mind. Unlike Eddie who suggested Beelzebub.” 

“Beelzebub Buckley is a badass name.” 

Robin swats his shoulder on her way out the nursery. “We’re not naming my son after Satan.” 

“You call him Bubs!” Eddie points out, following her towards her bedroom.

“Yeah, for Bubbles,” she huffs. “He felt like bubbles in my gut and the name stuck. You were there. You should know this.” 

Eddie opens her door for her. “Need a hand?” he asks. 

“No, unfortunately, you cannot help with this next part,” she says as she heads for the en suite. “Just go stall.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie says with a salute. 

Robin rolls her eyes and holds off on smiling until he shuts the door behind him. She takes a deep breath and enjoys the first five minutes of alone time she’s had since she went into labor five days ago. It may be fleeting, but she’ll enjoy every second she has of it. 

So so worth it, though.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

This is the first prompt I kind of want to explore more in a serious sense, so let me know if you want to see more of Stobin and Bubs (with eventual Steddie ofc).

[whumpacabra]

30. Soap

Angst, past captivity and torture, referenced character death, referenced past medical procedures [fingerprint, tattoo removal], referenced past nonconsensual drugging, vaguely implied past noncon, smoking mention

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

The Wolf woke but didn’t stir as Harrison tiptoed from the room, listening to the other man rummage about the kitchen for a moment before lifting his head and opening his eyes. It had been a few hours since he drifted off.

His neck crunched like an autumn leaf as he stretched, uncurling from where he had pinned himself between the bed and Harrison’s cot. Glancing up at the unmade sheets made something in his stomach curdle.

Maybe he could convince Harrison to let him sleep on the floor tonight.

Standing to make the bed reminded him of the folder he shoved beneath the mattress. With the door closed and Harrison clearly focused on his task in the kitchen (there was the clatter of thin pieces of metal and the scratch of a pen on paper) the Wolf felt comfortable taking a moment to leaf through the file.

The sight of his own face made him want to snap the folder shut the moment he opened it. Dan had warned him there were pictures. Gritting his teeth he skimmed the first few pages, his own knowledge bridging gaps blotted out in black redactions.

His handler’s name was Smith. Michael Smith, born in Boston, MA and a good loyal Marine turned good loyal CIA agent. He used to like Marlboro cigarettes and Cuban cigars. (Anders always had some on hand thanks to a smuggling buddy in Florida.) Smith used to liked fresh blood and quiet fearful sounds and the Wolf’s submissive deference to his authority and intelligence.

Smith didn’t like much of anything anymore, on account of being dead.

The Wolf found a curve of satisfaction twitching at his scarred face at that thought - Smith was dead. The Wolf killed his handler. Just like the other rabid, broken bastards Smith was so sure his prized pet would never become.

The Wolf had been too well trained for his handler to see it coming when he finally had enough of a spine to bite back.

The Wolf never knew the cruel cold metal of the muzzles he had seen on other projects. He never had to be sedated or drugged outside of his handler’s sadistic entertainment. Part of him was jealous, ashamed he hadn’t had the courage to fight back. He knew most of them, all of them, were probably liquidated by now. He had liquidated some of them himself.

He hoped some got out.

(He didn’t believe any did.)

The Wolf shifted, hunching over the folder as he thumbed to the sections with photographs. His eyes glazed at the first few lines of his medical record, even the few non-redacted segments far too vivid in his memory. But the pictures caught his eye. A collection of Polaroid scans - various scars from Before. Before he was broken. Fresh bruises from a capture he only caught glimpses of in nightmares.

The tattoos were magnetic, scratching at memories trapped behind a rotted door on rusted hinges.

The vines and ivy that curled around his right forearm and bicep were vibrant green and crisp. The violet flowers were fragile and neatly lined where they bloomed across his pale skin. The cross emblazoned under his right arm, on his rib cage by his heart, was faded and blurry. Maybe if he wanted, he could look closer and make out the letters inscribed in smudged old ink.

Both were now covered in itchy donor skin stretched taught where the tattoos had been flayed away. His hands stung with the phantom burn of acid, that particular trip to medical seared into his memory more by its smell than by the pain or symbolism of having his skin shed and refurnished.

The Wolf scratched at the foreign skin on his arm, the thin lines of scarring where it had fused with his own never quite matching the color and texture. It bled all the same.

He almost closed the folder, the desperate urge to run away from the memories curbed by an alien curiosity. He had just about reached the end of his own file, but the folder was still thick with paper.

The Wolf squinted at the next face. He recognized them - another project, dead eyed and hollowed out. His liquidation date was December 3rd, 2003.

Confusion crept into his bones, brow furrowed as he turned to the next paperclipped chunk of papers. A different project, one he had personally liquidated, November 23rd, 2003. He counted the paper-clipped files - 13 different projects in total.

What were other projects doing in this folder?

He flipped further through the files, the oldest project liquidated shortly after the Wolf’s first project milestone. He didn’t need to read the blocks of redacted black to understand in his marrow what had happened. His brain felt awake in a way it hadn’t been in years, alight with understanding and anger.

He was a blueprint. A prototype. The perfect dog. And for a country that needed war to oil the political machine in blood, perfect dogs were in high demand.

The project had killed more than a hundred people trying to recreate that lightning in a bottle. To recreate the Wolf - loyal, submissive, effective. He was the first, and they wanted to make sure he wasn’t the last, no matter how high the bodies piled.

Terror flashed in his blood.

There were other bunkers. It was knowledge from Before, something he remembered like a constellation of buildings on a map. He could see it in his minds eye, feel the texture between his fingertips. More than a dozen installations buried deep in that patch of American earth. Harrison and his team were one of many. There were others bleeding, breaking under the desert sand.

The Wolf was scared of the anger, the instinct burning in his chest. A want and a need wrapped in a feeling he had long since surrendered to fear and pain.

He had a purpose, and it wasn’t heeling to a handler or keeping Harrison alive and well. The Wolf needed to make sure no one else was broken in his name. He was the first, and he would see to it that he would be the last.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @whumpy-daydreams

[crucifiedramblings]

Fool Me Once — Dr. Gregory House x F!Reader (Part I)

Hello! This is my first Gregory House fic, I've been truly obsessed with this old man recently. No warnings for this chapter (edit: mention of pill abuse), but I will list full work warnings below.

Word Count: 789

Content Warnings: Angst, implied/referenced drug use & addiction, eventual smut, swearing, graphic depictions of medical gore

Next Part: N/A

            

The pills hadn’t been in House’s system for a few days— he would have to rebuild his Vicodin tolerance again. Nothing like a “V-Break” to get the same hazy punch as before— the name could use some work, though. House lazily looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes, his head dipping to the side to look at his own vitals on the small monitor to the right of his bedside.

            You had only been on House’s diagnostic team for a few days when he collapsed in the middle of a briefing. His toxicity screen showed a spike in narcotic levels, and you flushed his system while he was out. He argued that it was doing more harm than good, but you replaced the chemical with comfort medications until he had clean blood. Once it ran clear, and he was no longer dying— you practically spoon-fed his Vicodin right to him. 

            Maybe it was the sympathy— no, empathy— of being a former addict. Maybe it was the fact that you hated seeing House detoxing. Maybe it was because you knew how sick he must have felt. Whatever it was— it triumphed over any nobility you held as a doctor as you placed three white pills into House’s shaking hands with a reassuring smile. 

            House looked at you with an almost frazzled gaze, dry-swallowing the pills as if you were going to snatch them away if he took too long. You sat on a stool by House’s side, holding a small styrofoam cup’s straw to his lips. He gratefully sipped, a soft whistling coming from the lid as House greedily gulped down the frigid water. He gave you a nod, as if to say ‘thank you’ without the words ever leaving his mouth. You only nodded in response.

            House asked for your name, a raspy request given between sips and wheezes. You gave it to him, although skeptical he didn’t know the name of the newest hire on his team— House was a very thorough man in his decisions. He gave you a lazy grin, giggling to himself and eventually drifting off. At least the pills did what you hoped, giving House some much-needed rest. He looked so much more peaceful like that— no longer sporting a leaping forehead vein, teeth no longer bared— he looked at ease. Like he wasn’t in any pain.

            After several torturous hours— the ones that bled into days, which crashed down into weeks— House was cleared to return to work . . . although he technically never left, and was sure to remind everyone of such knowledge. He walked circles around his bed with a newfound vigor, having just replenished his fix for the morning. House’s limp was barely noticeable when he first dosed, and you were consistent in tracking how his decreased mobility affected his mood by the end of the day. 

            The truth was, you were used to House— but you were not accustomed to sober House— the version of himself that he hid away until he could take time off work. The persona that House barely allowed to see the light of day if unnecessary. The facade that reminded House too much of his father in a certain light. 

            You didn’t blame him— you used to be the same way— although he didn’t know that much from your file. He treated you like some brown-nosing geek, saving his life to look good in front of the new boss. House didn’t understand why someone would fight so hard to save him, and then hand him the pills that almost killed him in the same breath. You didn’t quite understand it either— maybe it was the words Wilson muttered by House’s bedside when he was still in a perpetual coma.

“I can’t lose you yet— fight it.” 

            Maybe it was the pang of hurt you felt at the sight of him when he awoke— dripping with sweat, pale, scratching at his own intravenous drip to make himself feel something other than the pounding of his head and the bile in his belly. Whatever it was— the semblance spoke to you well enough to place his own killer into his discolored palms. 

            It was worth it, the way House’s gaze lit up— he angled his head to the ceiling tiles and hastily, shakily swallowed the pills without any consideration. You almost took pity on him— that was, until he commented on your bust in your top. You smacked him with his own file, grateful to have the version of House you had come to know up and running again— regardless of how annoying that version may be. Your help remained unspoken, but in the following weeks, some distant glances and singled-out tasks would bring any tension to a head. 

[aftgficrec]

hi besties! can i be a bit weird and ask for sick fics here? old/new/favorites, any will do! just some big ol’ hurt/ comfort, especially if combined with some emotional hurt/comfort 🥰

There’s nothing weird about this at all!  Apart from the fics below, there’s also our sickfic tag as well as our hurt/comfort tag for more (see our tag page under the heading ‘themes - injuries/illnesses/conditions’). - S

Previous recs:

cool andreil sick fics here

sick fics here

foxes with headaches/sick fics here

10k+ sick fics here

Andreil in hospital here

Neil with major injury here

Neil gets injured (post canon) here

Neil & car accidents here

accident-prone Neil here

Andreil with amnesia here

medical Andreil/Aaron & Neil here

Neil getting roofied here

Also see… 

‘we're one (there's nothing to be done)’ here

‘Just like that day’ here

‘head case (what to do with you)’ here

‘Such Stuff as Dreams are Made’ here

‘Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man’ here

‘Broken’ here

‘If Only I Were Enough’ (completed) here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

‘glass in the trees (objects in the rearview)’ here

‘Running Ragged’ here

‘To Love and Be Loved’ here

‘all that looking down’ here

‘next best thing’, keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ and ‘no matter when and where, we’ll be alright’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’, ‘I remeber tears streaming down your face (for me to wipe them away)’, ‘you crawled inside my head’, ‘living leaves so many holes in us’, ‘Ciggarette Smoke Cure’, ‘Breathless’, ‘i've done my time’ and ‘cats and close calls’ here

‘The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors' here (Aaron)

‘Hold My Hand?’ here

‘Echo’ here 

I’m More Than This Body of Mine by yall_send_help [Rated M, 88811 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?” The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?” Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.” Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found. “The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.” or - the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

tw: torture, tw: amputation, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: blood, tw: animal cruelty, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose

fireproof by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 2097 words, complete, 2024]

Andrew gets his flu shot.

Things Always Gets Worse Before They Gets Better series by Renee_Walker_09 [Rated G, 40141 words, incomplete, 3 complete works, 2024]

Part 1: Beginnings & Endings (G, 1083 words)

It's 1:30 in the morning. The Foxes are celebrating their championship win against the Ravens the only way they know how to: booze, partying, and a little bit more booze. Nothing could possibly ruin this?

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury

Part 2: You Mean Everything To Me (G, 12767 words)

There are two crashed cars. There’s blood on the floor. Lights are flashing all around. Andrew is standing in the middle of the crash site with a blanket draped across his shoulders as he stares straight at Neil, lying on the floor.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: suicide attempt, tw: drug overdose, tw: blood, tw: self harm

Part 3: Hours, Days, Weeks (G, 26299 words)

Andrew is lying in a coma following the accident. His condition is critical. And Neil and Aaron have to find a way to cope.  Neil and Aaron’s POVs of the crash and the past 6 weeks

tw: car accident, tw: blood, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: seizures

NB: find art for the fics by the author here as well as embedded in the fics

Even goalkeepers can’t block sickness by BlowingYourMind [Rated G, 12768 words, complete, 2024]

“Rabbit,” Andrew peered up at him with half lidded eyes, “Yes or no?” “Yes ‘Drew,” Neil clasped his hands at Andrew’s elbows, “it’s always a yes, you know that.” “No ‘s not,” Andrew weakly argued as he took hold of Neil’s chest pad, using it to leverage himself upwards. It was awkward work of walking half-delirious Andrew back to the locker room, shielding him from the crowd while keeping him on his feet, but they managed. Or Andrew becomes very sick at an away game, and Neil and the foxes take care of him.

tw: vomit

the upswing by missgivings [Not Rated, 45569 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The next universe over, life has gone a bit easier on Andrew. He’s gainfully employed as a nurse of all things, working beside his best friend Renee, and living in relative harmony with his brother, the recently graduated Dr. Aaron Minyard. Everything’s fine. It’s fine that he hasn’t spoken to Kevin in person for three years. It’s fine if Aaron’s leaving him to marry his stupid doctor girlfriend. It’s fine until the boy with the box-dyed hair stumbles into the ER and passes out at his feet, bringing a world of secrets and trouble with him. And Neil? Neil’s looking for any port in a storm.

tw: major character injury, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm

please (don't bite) by Major_816 [Rated M, 5478 words, complete, 2024]

Genioglossus. It’s a fan-shaped muscle and forms the bulk of the inferior part of the tongue. It stretches to the hyoid bone too. ~ Neil wakes up to a bad day and it just gets worse.

tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: flashbacks, tw: vomit

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring [Rated T, 1580 words, complete, 2024]

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Your Needs, My Needs by TogeMythia [Rated T, 1073 words, complete, 2023]

‘Neil.’ He whined, his face still buried under the blankets. ‘Hrmph?’ Neil responded with a confused noise from somewhere across the bed. ‘Do you feel as shit as you sound?’ - Or Neil and Andrew wake up sick on Christmas day.

tw: vomit

To be safe by HushedStars [Rated G, 2116 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is feeling unwell. He seeks comfort from Matt. It was late at night. Neil stood in the kitchen, deep in thought but still with one ear alert for any movement of his roommates. He shifted from foot to foot, hands digging into his sore neck

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Safe with him by 1mNot4Hum4n [Not Rated, 2434 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick but doesn't want to admit it. He can't be sick. He can't be weak. Luckily Andrew is there to make sure his junkie is okay, and remind him that he has people around him who are willing to do anything to protect him.

'tis the season by moonix [Rated T, 5579 words, complete, 2023]

Five holidays Andrew had to let Kevin take care of him and one time he got to return the favour.

i called your name ‘til the fever broke by cyanica [Rated T, 5632 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2023]

Neil’s breath is hot and awful against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t be sick on your birthday,” he says, like it’s that simple. “I can’t be sick on you on your birthday.” “How considerate,” Andrew’s voice is a bland murmur, and he is left watching Neil’s bloodless, wet lips, as he curls into Andrew’s lap. Neil gently pulls away after a moment, leaning back into Andrew’s hand on his neck. “Is me being sick still making you anxious?” he asks. Fever-stricken with dizzied-eyes and delirious thoughts, he knows Andrew without more than a moment beside him, a look into his eyes that makes Andrew feel undone, found. Or Neil is sick and Andrew isn’t coping well.

tw: vomit, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: anxiety

You Know I'm Good On My Own by sambutwithbooks [Rated G, 4568 words, complete, Aftg Then And Now 2023]

Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.)

tw: major character injury

that's my line by sillyunicorn6154 [Rated G, 1291 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew is definitely not sick. But he is a little stubborn.

You're not fine, but you will be by karmenvi [Not Rated, 616 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick, so Andrew takes care of him. So it was supposed to be a sickfic, but it turned into 'Andrew stares at Neil and thinks his boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the world.' Anyway, enjoy some fluff.

I'll be okay if he's here by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1673 words, complete, 2023]

“Thank you, Drew,” Neil says for the twentieth time, feeling so lucky to have someone take care of him. “Say it again and I will kill you.” “You’re just so nice to me,” Neil says a bit deliriously, “I’ve never had someone take care of me when I’m sick.”

If it means losing you, then no by LostMess_24 [Rated T, 6712 words, complete, 2023]

There was something against his hand, a pressure he knew too well, a hand that fit so perfectly against his, making Andrew’s presence known, making Neil’s entire body relax, slowing his breathing a bit. But before Neil could see the man at his side, it hit him. He was starting to feel it, all around him. Those white walls, the mattress he was in, the soft yet old sheets, the pressure on his arm. And finally, unmistakably, the regular and aggressive beeps, signs of a life that was his own. He was in a hospital bed. There’s an accident. Those idiots would do anything and everything to protect each other.

tw: major character injury, tw: car accidents

cause and effect by mistyrie [Rated M, 13107 words, complete, 2023]

"Andrew realized what he was seeing but he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t know how to help. There was no enemy to deal with – there was just Neil seizing on the floor and Andrew didn’t know what to do." Neil starts having seizures and Andrew tries to help.

tw: seizures (epilepsy)

how the foxes act when they're sick by @detectivebambam [tumblr, 2024]

headcanons on the foxes and illness

headcanons on Neil getting sick by @24-0z [tumblr, 2022]

Neil doesn't get sick very often, so when he finally catches the bug that had been going around campus, he's suddenly 8 years old again, sweating and trembling with fever

SICK!Neil for my soul. by @satan-in-a-v-neck [tumblr, 2021]

Neil is acting strange. Ask every fox and they'll tell you that for the past three days Neil Josten wasn't acting very Neil Josteny.

tw: vomit

illness/injuries as background event:

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80075 words, complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music. In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies. When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to find a way to escape his fate and bring Andrew back. As he gets closer to losing the man he loves the most, Neil will realize that sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, truth is the only weapon he can use. Another Band!AU. This time extra angsty.

tw: torture, tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence

NB: find art for this fic by @doodlingstuff here