#so prepare for fun whump if that’s a thing?

[probssomethingorother]

My mind is going crazy right now with a big ole fat headcanon that the Jackson kids started an underground fight club.

Like all the kids think they are so cool and tough and start this thing, and it’s held in an old dank unused barn on the edge of Jackson and they have a roster and bets and its scarily organized, but somehow has also remained very hush hush.

You can’t just show up to the barn because they always change the days and times, so you have to be in the know.

And you can register as a coach to make extra off the bets if you bring in a new fighter kid. So ofc Jesse like basically pimps Ellie out as the wildcard pick even though she is so small in comparison, but he figures she’s FEDRA trained and can handle it. Jesse has known Ellie for less than a year and only through Dina, but it’s like whatever cause if she wins he won’t have to muck out stalls for like a month.

[holidayinhell]

The Laundry Room

Characters: creepy/intimate Whumper, captive Whumpee CWs: captivity, noncon (mostly implied but eh), sexual/noncon nudity, food denial, discussion of amputation, classic whump shiz

In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.

“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.

Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.

The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.

“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”

Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.

“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.

“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”

Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”

“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”

Fun. Is that what this was?

“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”

Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.

“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”

Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.

“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“

“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”

Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.

He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.

Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with. 

In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one. 

Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.

Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.

“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.

“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.

“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.

“Oh.” 

Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.

Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.

“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.

He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.

“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.” 

Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it. 

Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.

Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water. 

A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.

The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”

“It, uh… it gets really cold down here.”

“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”

“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”

Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.

“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.

Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.

“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”

“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”

Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.

Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.

“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”

Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.

He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.

“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”

For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope. 

“What? You mean that you’ll--?”

“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”

Oh. Oh no.

“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”

“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”

“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”

“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.” 

“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.

The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t a joke.

The tall man rubbed his captive’s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.

Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”

“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.

“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”

Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”

“As long as I goddamn like.”

“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”

Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”

“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”

“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”

“I HATE Y—!”

Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.

Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.

“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”

Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.

“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.

He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”

Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.

And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.

Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.

The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs. 

“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”

The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done. 

Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.

“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”

[make-me-imagine]

Headcanons: Taking care of each other when you are hurt (Darry Curtis)

Headcanons: You taking care of him when he is hurt + Him taking care of you.

Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood, fighting. General whump stuff.

Requested By: @spuffyfan394

You taking care of him:

Darry getting hurt is no odd thing.

Either he roughs up his hands at work, or gets in a fight with some soc's

Even if this is a regular thing, you always gt a tight feeling in your stomach.

You'll gently take his hands in yours and clean the cuts.

You do the same with any he might have on his face as well.

Darry was used to cleaning his own wounds, and taking care of himself, so he told you not to bother when you first started dating.

But you'd watch cautiously from the bathroom door, your eyes sad as you watched him.

Eventually, after you asked if you could help so many times, he caved.

Darry felt an overwhelming amount of love for you, when you quickly began to help him.

You were gentle yet thorough, and you often asked if you were hurting him.

The love you put into helping him made him all warm inside.

Now, when he get's hurt in any way, he lets you help.

Not only because he loves the care you show for him. But because he knows it helps your anxieties to help him.

You got into the habit of listening to how he got hurt, and chastising him if it was something stupid, or a fight.

He learned early on to never lie to you. You could always tell.

When it was an accident at work, or an accident in general, you listen carefully, and furrow your brow in thought.

Darry can't help but smile, no matter how you react to how or why he got hurt.

It just shows how much you love him and how much you hate him being hurt.

So, even if he loves when you take care of him. He does try his best to avoid getting hurt, so he can avoid your sad eyes when he does.

Him taking care of you:

Darry is used to being hurt, but he is NOT used to you being hurt.

Whether it's a paper cut, or an actual injury he treats you the same.

Like a fragile doll he loves with all his heart.

Even if you are used to injuries, tough, or aren't that fussed about it, it doesn't mater. He is.

Even if he goes a bit overboard, he tries his best to care for you.

You make fun of him, or joke around about him not caring this much when he get's hurt.

But it's not the same. You are more important to him than his own health.

Darry is very loving when he is taking care of you.

Bandaging gently, applying antibiotic or medicine carefully. Placing gentle kisses where you are hurt.

Massages if you are sore or in pain. He offers to give you baths or wash your hair/body.

All the things you do for him when he is hurt, he is prepared to do in return.

And if for some reason you do not let him?

Pouty Darry.

He'll sulk in the doorway, often like you'd do to him at the beginning.

You'll joke that it's payback and he'll refrain from laughing, and put on a disappointed face, acting as though he is hurt (though it's not entirely an act)

He'll take a day off work to help you if your injury is bad. Even if you tell him not too.

If he can't be there, he asks the boys to help you out when and where they can.

So when you are hurt prepared to never be left alone for more than a few minutes. You will have someone checking up on you constantly.

xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry, @rexit-mo

Outsiders+Darry Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @locke-writes, @linkxneptune, @creativitybeware, @sardonic-the-writer, @oliviah-25

[serickswrites]

What Have You Done II

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, betrayal, blood, injury, body modification, broken bones

"Please, you don't have to do this," Whumpee said as they tried to escape the chair Whumper had strapped them to. They couldn't believe Teammate Two had betrayed them. Couldn't believe Teammate Two had lied to them and brought them to Whumper.

Not that they blamed Teammate Two for doing it. Whumper had said they would stop hurting others the moment they got Whumpee. And while Whumpee couldn't believe Teammate Two would betray them, they did believe Teammate Two would try to do right by the world. Whumpee understood the logic. Even if they didn't agree with it.

"Would you stop? It's ruining my fun!" Whumper snarled. They had been taking their time checking the tools they had prepared to torture Whumpee with. They took their time raising each up, telling Whumpee exactly what they planned on doing.

"I'm sorry. Please, you don't have too--"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Whumper shouted.

Whumpee clamped their mouth shut. They sat trembling as they watched Whumper's jerky movements. This was not good. They had over done it. Whumpee couldn't help the involuntary sniff they gave as they fought not to stop crying.

"Now you've done it," Whumper said, their voice dangerously low. They grabbed something from their table of implements. "I'm going to be sure you don't ruin my fun."

"Please, please, no!" Whumpee begged and pleaded as they watched Whumper raise a needle and thread. They knew exactly what Whumper planned on doing.

Whumper pinched Whumpee's jaw. "I won't let you kill my fun, Whumpee. I won't!" They stabbed the needle through Whumpee's lips.

Whumpee screamed and thrashed as blood flowed from their lips. They couldn't let Whumper sew their mouth shut. But as much as they tried to yank their head away from Whumper, Whumper held tight. "This would be so much neater if you stopped thrashing," Whumper scolded. "Faster, too."

But Whumpee couldn't will themself to be still. Couldn't will themself to stop moving. Their mouth hurt. And they couldn't help themself. Their ragged screams slowly cut off as more and more of their mouth was sewn together, until at last the only sound they could make was a muffled scream through their tightly sewn together lips.

"Much better," Whumper said as they leaned back to admire their handy work.

Tears streamed down Whumpee's face as they moaned in pain. This was awful. Terrible. And it was only going to get worse.

Without warning, Whumper punched Whumpee in the nose hard. The bone cracked beneath Whumper's hand and blood gushed from their nostrils. Whumpee struggled to breathe as their nose became fully clogged. They couldn't breathe through their nose and they couldn't open their mouth very well. What little air they could get wasn't enough. The room began to spin as Whumpee felt lightheaded.

"Actually, this is better," Whumper chuckled.

Tags: @starliight-whump @whumptea @elizaisnotokay @bookworm7543 @candleshopmenace

@basica11ywhumped @fictagsys @addictedtowhump @whump-me @pretty-little-whump @mefattortoise

@keeper-of-all-the-random-things @st0rmm @xo7-parad0x

[cuprohastes]

Visit strange new worlds... And ask, "What would a human do?"

Really, it was hard not to wail like a child who'd lost his tnkpt, thought Viska. It was how he felt right now and he suspected the big toothy thing outside wouldn't care much.

The only thing that was stopping him was that he was fairly sure it didn't know exactly where he was, and he didn't want to help out.

It'd been all fun at the start. He, Dr. Kraant, Ipsnig and the Human assigned to the survey to lift stuff and do Human things had gone out. The Human had helped him paint his scales a few days before and he was feeling very pretty and competent, and the Human had brought some of their human music that secretly Viska thought was pretty good, even if it needed to be a little higher pitched.

But then the big thing had attacked. Viska mentally named it Ergrig. It looked like an Ergrig. Something about the way it was drooling.

The human had grabbed Dr. Kraant, who had this theory that all predators had motion based vision, and flung him into the Sintral expedition car. Ipsnig had just leapt out the way and then there was dust and rocks spraying everywhere and the Ergrig was between him and the Sintral.

He'd dropped on all fours, and run, skidding around the vegetation, mud and rocks and finally he'd wedged himself in a small muddy gap, his gorgeous scale paints splattered and scratched, and of course the snazzing gwapruff thing had followed him.

And now he was stuck, and probably going to be eaten, and die. In that order.

He wished he was a Human. They always seemed to know how to deal with things.

He's asked their Human how they dealt with all the horrible creatures which all seemed to somehow have classified the human as not-food.

"I ask myself: What Saint Irwin would do?" They'd said, like it was funny. 

Viska wondered if this Saint Irwin would help out a poor muddy Tsin, or if you had to be Human to ask.

What he needed was a Saint Human to help Tsin out.

Or... maybe he should just ask: What would Human

And so, a few minutes later, the Ergrig, who'd been sure there was some little scaled food thing around here was very startled when a small male Tsin leapt up in front of it, scales on end like an angry pine cone, four arms splayed out, and gibbering in a manner that the Ergrig had never heard before.

It backed up, scrabbling, and the spiny thing lurched forward.

Like many predators, the Ergrig couldn't chance an injury. One of the big herbivores might have just kicked or gored Viska, but the Ergrig bolted.

"I can't believe that worked!" Said Viska.

"Neither can I." Said the human stepping out of liminal space between two boulders with a whump-gun. "I was trying to find you - Good thinking with the mud by the way - and I was prepared to give that big fella an arse full, with Betty here, but looks like you had it in hand!"

Vriska couldn't figure out how to respond for a moment - a little starstruck at getting praise from a Human. 

"Oh well. I just thought... what would a Human do." He said as they headed back to the Sintral expedition vehicle.

"Well it worked this time!" Said the Human, "But to be honest, I think most people - or animals - would back off if you leap out and screamed the lyrics to Phantom of the Opera at them..."

[littengamer909]

Fully Charged Episodes/Things I WISH We Got

(prepare for incoming YAPPING at mach 2!!)

B-Team. I want to see Bert and Ashley working together! I think that their personalities would bounce off each other really well and make some hilarious dialogue. I specifically want to see them forced to be the heroes when Aki and Suna are unavailable.

Chaotique interacting with more characters. Her sense of humor could gel really well with Ashley, Suna, or a lot of the Robot Masters. I think an episode with her and Fireman could be really interesting.

Sick Day Episode. Yeah, yeah, I've always got whump on my mind, laugh it up. But, really, this could be fun! Every American cartoon needs a sick day episode (and yes I know that most of the voice actors are Canadian).

A bigger exploration of at least one of Aki's love interests. The romance felt so forced - just kinda shoe-horned in there - but with an episode or two devoted to fleshing it out, it could really work out! Bonus points if they make it canon that Bert has a crush on Mega Man (he basically does but it would be fun to have).

More Miniblast. I did NOT see the romance between these two coming, but I do like it! I would love to see them go on a date, it would be so much fun to watch.

FIREMAN. WHERE DID HE GO??? I NEED ANSWERS!!!

Daini Redemption Arc. Yeah, it's the obvious one, but I'm not wrong!

If you have anything to add PLEASE reblog this and tell me, I'd love to see some of your concepts!

[foundfamilywhump]

Since we’re sharing niche whump tropes we like - I love when someone the whumpee isn’t particularly close to ends up in a caretaker role. Especially when they end of being protective of the whumpee, despite being fully out of their depth in this situation. Think: the neighbor you’re friendly with but don’t really know, a family member’s best friend, or a friend’s parent, etc. Someone the whumpee doesn’t have a bad relationship with, but only really knows peripherally.

The caretaker is only temporarily in this role, until whumpee can be reunited with their Person, but I love the blurring of those relationships, the response to seeing someone who needs help and not hesitating to offer it. It’s also the sheer panic of being thrust into something they’re not prepared for, but knowing that someone else needs them to be calm and cool and provide that foundation until things are alright again. It’s about the vulnerability! It’s about love! It’s about the care we owe each other!

YES OH YES THIS IS GREAT!!!! i love this sort of thing for the potential of it. like. not a bad relationship but a tangential relationship. it's something i'm writing about in a fic right now actually, and gosh it's so fun.

it reminds me of a bit in grey's anatomy right where the main protagonist's romantic interest decides to take it upon himself to take care of her best friend while the best friend is in a like. really fragile state of ptsd following a serious trauma. and he tells her at one point like. i would not have picked you to be part of my life. but [protagonist] did. you're her family and that makes you my family too. it's a concept i'm obsessed with. love by association. the way you love a cousin you've never met, or the friend of your child who's treated them well but has been very far from you. it's so good.

and then in a whump context it's a doubly compelling dynamic because of the risk taking and vulnerability inherent in allowing someone to care for you when wounded and traumatized. the sheer panic from BOTH of them - can i do this, can i take care of this person and also can i do this, can i trust this person. is their goodwill towards the person we share in common enough to earn me this kind of grace. etc. the vulnerability! the love! the care we owe each other!!! it obsesses me thank you.

[fanfoolishness]

a rain that sounds like home (5/8)

After the destruction of Tantiss, the Bad Batch is safe at last. As Crosshair begins to recover from his injuries, it becomes apparent that not all of his scars are physical, and that guilt and grief are wounds that cut deeper than any blade. His family is determined to be there for him -- if only he can let them in.

Canon-compliant, focusing on PTSD, amputation recovery, and sibling grief, with plenty of whump, hurt/comfort, and emotional catharsis. Set shortly after the return from Tantiss and my fic Breaching the Wall. 43,000 words total.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 5: Mistaken.

Crosshair searches for a place in the community, while Omega struggles with memories of Tantiss. Wrecker does his best to help them both. 5900 words, Crosshair and Omega POV.

---

“So what are you working on today?” Crosshair asked, taking a seat on the pier beside Wrecker.  He swung his legs over the side of the dock, letting them dangle in the warm water.  Sunlight sparkled on the surface.  Around them, villagers worked on their boats or prepared their catches for the market.  Wrecker had picked a dock slightly out of the way of the main hustle and bustle, and now he bent over the ropes in his lap, focusing hard with his tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m getting better at nets,” said Wrecker.  “It’s fun.  Kinda reminds me of timer munitions.  Wires and ropes, same thing, right?  It’s all about the pattern.”  His strong fingers gripped a complicated-looking needle, using it to twist patterns in the thin twine-like rope, strands hanging off a hoop.  Crosshair watched him for a few minutes, and even though he could easily see the steps, they didn’t make any sense.  The twine had no shape, but then suddenly, there was half a meter of net in Wrecker’s hands.

“You and your wires,” Crosshair said.  “They never made sense to me.  I’d rather take a good clean shot.”  

“Yeah, I know,” Wrecker said.  He kicked his feet, making splashes in the water below as he made another three loops in his net.  “I like this, though.  They don’t really need a lot of bombs here, so it’s nice to have somethin’ else to do.”  His face fell a little in disappointment, and Crosshair smiled faintly, thinking of Wrecker’s massive grins when an explosion went just right.

“I thought you could just wrestle the fish into submission,” Crosshair cracked.  “Do you really need a net?”

Wrecker laughed.  “Nah, not really.  But they do.”  He jerked a thumb behind him at some of the villagers, a couple working on repairing their small fishing boat.  “Empire did a lot of damage that night.  People are still working on fixing things.  Hell, there’s still some damage from the sea surge that needs fixing, and that was almost a year ago.  I might get to throw out a few booms for that if I’m lucky, but people need to eat more than they need stuff blasted out.”

Crosshair leaned back, gazing up at the sky.  Birds with long, spear-like bills and wide wingspans flew by in a slow stately line, and he watched them proceed, wondering what they were.  He could see startling details on them, even at this distance; a patch of skin on their throats flushing blue and violet, red-rimmed azure eyes, a sandy blonde ruff of feathers at the base of their necks.  

He thought back to what Wrecker had said.  “You and Hunter fit here.  It’s good for you.”

Wrecker gave him a curious look.  “You fit too, Cross.”  

Crosshair remembered the moving day party two weeks ago, Wrecker and Hunter easily mingling with the villagers while he skulked out on the patio.  “Not like you do.”

“You could.  All it is is talkin’ to people,” Wrecker said.  “Sometimes I can’t remember everyone’s names, but I’m good at faces!  And you could always ask Omega if you need to cheat.  She’s got everyone down.”  He held up his half-finished net, watching as the loose weave fluttered in the breeze, nodding in satisfaction.  “Looking for something to do?”

“Yes,” said Crosshair.  “We haven’t exactly ever had extra time.  I don’t know what to do with it.”  He scowled.   At first he’d spent his time cleaning up their small house or going on long walks, but it never took long to get the place tidy, and the walks were less appealing as he found himself trodding the same trails.  He was glad to spend time with his family when they were free, but Omega was now taking classes with the other children on the island, Hunter was deciding they should have a garden and was constantly working on that when he wasn’t picking up odd jobs, and Wrecker spent most of his time here down at the docks.

Everyone had found somewhere to be, besides him.

“Well, this is a good place to spend it,” said Wrecker.  “Another reason I like making nets?  It’s peaceful.  Kinda like Omega’s meditation, but not boring.”  He laughed.  “I tried with her once or twice, it just makes me fall asleep.”  He paused, giving Crosshair a knowing look.  “You still doing that?”

Crosshair looked away.  What would be the point now?  No hand, no tremor, no need.  Even though part of him missed those times he’d meditated with Omega, her calm breath mixing in his ears with the ocean waves, her encouragement meaning the world.  She’d asked him a few times since they came back, and he always turned her down, the question making him uneasy.  

He’d lost the battle he was trying to fight there.  No sense returning to the battlefield now.  He shook his head.

“Huh,” Wrecker said, almost looking disappointed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wrecker shrugged.  “I dunno.  Just -- seemed like it helped you, before.”

“And you’re saying I need help now?” Crosshair asked icily.

“Don’t get bent out of shape,” Wrecker said, resting his net in his lap.  “But….  Maybe.  You sleep like crap.  I know, because your bunk’s across from me.  And I know you like being on your own, but it kinda seems like you’re on your own the wrong way.  Not because you like it, but ‘cause it’s easier than being around other people.”  He shrugged again.  

“How very astute of you,” Crosshair said, anger shivering just beneath his words.  His eyes narrowed.  He knew Wrecker was trying to be helpful.  Maybe that was part of what made it so enraging.  I don’t need help!  And somewhere deep, deep inside, a faint thought: I don’t deserve help.  He slammed his fist down on the wooden dock, letting out a sharp huff of breath.

Wrecker held up his vast hands in supplication.  “Hey, told you not to get bent out of shape.”

“Just leave it alone, Wrecker.”

“All right, all right.”  Wrecker gave him a sly look, then suddenly swung his leg sharply through the water, creating a massive wave.  It splashed Crosshair up to his waist.  

“Wrecker!” he snarled, scrambling to his feet, water pouring off of his linen pants.  His toes squelched on the wet dock.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What?” Wrecker asked innocently.  He burst out laughing, shaking his head.  “Ahhh Crosshair, you shoulda seen your face.”

“If you keep this up it’ll be the last face you ever see,” Crosshair spat.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  He got to his feet, setting down his half-finished net.  “C’mon.  If you want something to do, lemme introduce you to Beryx.  She’s always got stuff she could use a hand with.”

“She had better only need one,” said Crosshair, raising his eyebrow.

Wrecker snorted out a laugh, then stopped himself, looking guilty.

“No, no, I was being funny,” Crosshair admitted.  “Go on and laugh.”

“Oh, okay!” Wrecker said, relieved.  “But uh… I don’t know when it’s okay to laugh about it, and when it isn’t.”

“Neither do I.  I’m making it up as I go,” Crosshair said honestly.  “Come on.  Let’s see this Beryx.  It’s better than standing around here waiting for my pants to dry.”  He briefly considered trying to shove Wrecker into the sea while he was thinking about whether or not it was okay to laugh at hand jokes yet, but decided against it.  This time.

Beryx was a stern, no-nonsense Kiffar woman in her senior years, with a striking purple facial tattoo and long white hair.  “Wrecker!  This your brother Crosshair?” she said in a voice that was clearly used to giving orders.

“Ha, what gave it away, Beryx?” Wrecker said.

“Between the clone resemblance and the crosshair tattoo, it was an easy guess,” she said drily.  “Good to meet you.  Now, you lookin’ for some work?”

Crosshair shrugged.  “Sure, if you’ve got something I can do.”  He held up his stump.

Beryx wasn’t phased.  “You look strong enough.  I mean, not like Wrecker here --”  She reached far up overhead, stretching to her tiptoes to cuff Wrecker on the shoulder.  He blushed.  “But I got a pile of fish for deliveries for the older folk, and those long legs look like they’d do just fine with the stairs.”

“They don’t get their fish at the market?” Crosshair asked, slightly relieved she hadn’t been thrown by his missing hand.  Deliveries should be easy enough.

“Ain’t always easy for them to leave the house, so we send the food to them.  Plus, they get a chance to visit with the delivery crew.  So I expect you to make a little chitchat with ‘em when you drop their orders off,” she said, lifting several cooling bags on straps.  “C’mere, bend down.”

He leaned down before he’d fully processed the rest of what she said.  “Chitchat?  That’s not --”

“He’ll be great!” Wrecker said cheerfully as Beryx slung several bags over his neck and shoulders.  He grunted slightly.  The old woman was much stronger than she looked, and the bags weren’t light.  He glanced down at them, spotting small readers on each one that said names and addresses.  

Crosshair sighed.  Well, he was the one who had come down here.  “I guess I’ll be back to drop these containers off after the delivery.”

“Just bring ‘em by before I head out for the day,” Beryx said.  “Much appreciate it.”

“Meet you up at the market for lunch after?” Wrecker said.  “Omega’ll be done with school by 1400.”  

“Sure,” Crosshair said, and much to his surprise, he found himself looking forward to it.  He straightened up, the bags rustling at his sides, and headed up to town.

---

“Chitchatting” with the elderly hadn’t been the way he’d planned to spend his day, but it was going much better than he had expected.

This time of day the sun was still pleasant instead of punishingly hot.  It was early enough in the morning that the wildlife of the island scampered around freely.  With Batcher hanging out with Hunter today, Crosshair’s keen eyes picked up small jeweled birds hovering in the glossy green shrubs, small rabbits ducking in and out of the shadows, a fish-hawk wheeling high overhead.  The fish-hawk was white and black with striking markings and a piercing golden eye, and he watched it for a moment at a rise on the stairs before remembering where he was heading next.

His first stop was to a tiny Twi’lek woman bent with age, her soft accented speech difficult to understand.  Marhee Narjin took her delivery with a wide smile, asking him inside to help her put away the food.  Her little home, which seemed to be the same general structure as their own, was full of art on every surface, paintings, decorations on the walls, small canvases stacked in every corner, art supplies overflowing.  A curious painted wooden sculpture of many small pieces, shaped somewhat like an upside down trill in Aurebesh, stood in pride of place in the alcove in her wall.  The same place Omega had laid down Tech’s goggles.  He wondered what it was, why it was important, but did not ask.

She chattered brightly to him as he helped her put away the fish.  Asked his name.  Asked his age, then looked astounded when he gave it to her.  Asked if he had fought in the war, seeing his wrist.  When he told her haltingly that he had, she shook her head, sighing.  “Ah, Ryloth, how I miss it!  It was a beautiful world before the war.”

Crosshair frowned, ashamed.  He’d been to Ryloth twice… once on the right side, once with the Empire.  He gritted his teeth, tried to say something reassuring.  “It’s still a beautiful world.  I… I saw an eclipse there, once.”  He and Tech had been the only ones to see it, and it still gave him goosebumps to remember the shadowed sun, Tech’s look of awe.  “It was incredible.”

She gave him a sweet, tremulous grin.  “The last eclipse on Ryloth I saw was well before you were born.  It was a holy thing.  I am glad you were able to see it, Crosshair.”  She sighed happily.  “Thank you for helping me.”

“Can I ask you something?” Crosshair asked suddenly.

“Of course.”

“Why do you paint?”  He tried to find the right words for the question.  “What is it for?”

Marhee looked at him, thunderstruck.  “Why, I paint because I must.  It is who I am.”  She gestured to the colorful paintings in the kitchen of flowers around the island, seascapes, a silver fish with sparkling scales.  “It is how I see the world.”  She looked at him curiously.  “Sometime, when you do not have many bags of fish to deliver, come by.  I would like to paint you.  You might understand then.”  

“Paint… me?  Why?” he asked, taken aback.

“Because you are a clone, one of many, and yet different, one and alone.  A curious dichotomy for an artist to explore!” she said in delight.  “But I mustn’t keep you.  Go on, until we meet again.”

“I -- all right --” he sputtered.  She ushered him back out and he shook his head, trying to understand what that had been about.  

But she’d been kind and her paintings had been beautiful.  He’d been able to see every brushstroke in the paintings, every varied hue, the way the layered paint formed a luminous shimmer on some pieces.  He thought Wrecker would have particularly liked the fish.  

He remembered Hunter’s gardening attempts.  He’d never tried drawing -- Hunter had done all the motifs on their armor, aside from Wrecker’s helmet -- but they did have time to try new things now.  Huh.  

His other deliveries went smoothly.  An elderly pair of humans invited him in for a cup of caf and to meet their lothcat, Mr. Tibbins, a creature they proudly told him only went out on a leash so as to not harass the local wildlife.  Mr. Tibbins looked as if he might have other ideas, but he tolerated the elderly couple pinning his leash on him for a stroll after they’d put away the fish.  Crosshair ignored the creature, but the lothcat promptly waltzed over to him and clambered into his lap, purring furiously and shedding all over him.

An old Abednego gave him a pair of cookies for his trouble and mused at him about the latest jizz album.  He played a few songs for Crosshair, and he had to admit they were pretty catchy, though he wasn’t exactly going to go as far as the Abednego, who listened for half a song and then got up and started dancing with the aid of his cane.

Two human sisters insisted he join them for a morning pick-me-up, which turned out to be a fiery amber liqueur.  He took one sip and nearly spat it out, his head swimming almost instantly.  What the hell they were drinking, he had no idea, and wanted no part of it.  He hid his tiny glass behind their seasoning shaker and made an excuse to go to the next delivery, managing to evade detection until he got outside.  His head felt floaty for a good half an hour after that stop.

His last stop was coming up, and the midday sun was beginning to swing high.  After climbing up and down the stairs -- probably making a few wrong turns, as he was still getting the hang out of how the island was organized into neighborhoods -- his stomach was growling.  The two cookies and the caf had long since burned off.  It’d be good to meet Wrecker and Omega for lunch and tell them of the morning. 

Maybe they already knew the artist and her work.  He kept thinking of the vivid colors in her home, lush fuschias, greens in a dozen shades, phantasmagoric midnight blues.  

Maybe there was a market stall with some beginner art supplies he could investigate.

He climbed up to the last corner home on this stretch of lower Pabu, stretching his neck as he went.  He glanced at the order, an assortment of fish for Eenta Bogin.  The old man was sitting on his patio, looking half-asleep.  Crosshair approached cautiously with a clearing of his throat, and the old man sat up straight and looked around, squinting through clouded eyes.

“Oh!  Oh, are you bringing the fish?” he asked, shading his eyes with one hand.  “Why, that’s mighty kind of you.”  He got to his feet, shuffling slowly from the patio to the front door.  Crosshair reached out instinctively, offering his left arm, and the old man held onto it with surprising strength.  

“Thank you, young man.”  Eenta glanced up at him as they entered his home, looking puzzled, then shook his head.  “The kitchen is this way.  What did Beryx send?”

“Looks like… a few bar jack, a pair of reefcrawlers and a mora,” Crosshair said, riffling through the last of the fish.  “Good variety.”

“What’s your favorite?  I’m partial to mora, myself.”

“Same here.  It’s got the best flavor.”  He pulled out the packages of cold fish, helping the old man get them into his conservator, rearranging some of the other food until they found the right order.

“Well!  Very good,” Eenta said, smiling.  “You know, it took me a moment to remember you, young man.”  He narrowed his hazy eyes at Crosshair, focusing.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” said Crosshair uncertainly.  Maybe he had come to the moving day party?  Many villagers had stopped through during the day.  Though he suspected Eenta didn’t exactly have the mobility to stop by for a quick visit to a party.

“No, no, I remember now,” said Eenta in a warm voice.  “The sea surge!  Your big brother Wrecker scooped me up like a sack of tubers and hauled me on out of here.  Good thing he did, too!  And you and Miss Phee were so handy with those ladders.”

“I don’t --”

“But you look a little different than I remember.  Changed your hair, I think.”  He frowned, kind concern in every line of his aged face, his rheumy eyes squinted in concentration.  “Are you getting enough to eat, Tech?”

Crosshair froze.

His heart felt like it stuttered, then stopped.

“Tech?” the old man asked, his voice faltering.

“That’s -- I’m not --”  He struggled to get the words out.  “Enjoy the fish,” he choked out, and he fled through the front door.

There was a buzzing in his ears, a roaring, prickling thing that he faintly realized was his own pulse.  It thrummed.  It thrummed.  He stood there blinking slowly in the blinding sun, trying to remember how to breathe.

---

Omega waited near the weeping maya, looking around for Wrecker.  She’d had a busy day at the island school, her mind spinning with galactic history today.  Her brothers had taught her so much since she’d left Kamino, but it was almost always practical, survival-based.  She’d needed every scrap of what they’d given her, but now she was hearing about other things, too; old stories, historic events, learning about different peoples and languages.  She let out a long breath.  Tech would have liked these lessons, she knew; maybe he would have compared them to what they had learned on Serenno.

But Hunter and Wrecker and Crosshair made surprisingly good listeners.  She’d talked their ears off every day for the past week with the stories she’d heard about Jedi in the High Republic and the great hyperspace disaster.  She and Lyana made up their own stories, wondering what it would have been like to use the Force, Omega picturing Asajj’s powers mixed with heroic adventures around the galaxy.  The disappointment she’d felt after Asajj had left had long since faded, but she still liked to imagine if things had been different.

She missed the Tantiss children a lot on days like this.  Senator Chuchi, Echo, and Emerie had been hard at work, and Sami, Jax and Eva had all been reunited with their families and relocated.  Only giggly Bayrn remained with his foster family, still working on trying to learn his first word.  Omega wondered what they would have thought of the stories.  Between what Omega knew of Tantiss and Emerie’s information, she had a pretty good idea of why the children had been held there, and it made her gut twist to think of how long they’d stayed there before she came to them.

She took a deep breath.  

It was a good day.  She didn’t want to think about Tantiss right now.  Didn’t want to think about it ever again.

She sat down on one of the weeping maya’s roots, picking at the bark with her fingernails.  

Crosshair and Hunter limping beside her, both of them panting, injured, exhausted -- the shuttle waiting, all of them making one final run for it -- Hunter and Crosshair collapsing into the seats beside Wrecker, their faces pale and grimacing -- Crosshair’s bandage soaked with blood --

She shuddered, trying not to think about that moment -- or the moment she first realized Crosshair had lost his hand -- or the moment she saw the wound on Wrecker’s chest -- or how Hunter’s hand in hers had shook with pain, all the way to the shuttle --

Omega took a deep breath.  Tried to focus on the fact that they were all home and safe again.  

Her eyes welled with unexpected tears.  Not all of them.  Echo had barely stopped to rest before leaving them again… and Tech would never come home.

Her previous good mood suddenly sank like a stone.

This kept happening, since they’d come back.  She didn’t know why.  Everything should be better now!  She balled up her fist in frustration and took another deep breath.  

In, and out.

In, and out.

She crossed her arms over her chest as Wrecker spotted her from across the way, waving with one hand.  He closed the distance to meet her, bringing with him a large tray of fish and rice.  

“Hey, kid.  Ready for lunch?”  He glanced around.  “No Crosshair yet?”

“No.  Crosshair’s coming?”  She smiled a little, her mood lifting slightly.  He’d been eating on his own a lot lately, skipping dinner or breakfast.  It’d be good to see him, especially up here out and about.  

“I told him to meet us here,” said Wrecker uncertainly.  “Since when am I on time?”

“Hey, anyone can change, right?” Omega asked with a grin.

He chuckled.  “Good point, kid.  Well, I vote we dig in.  We can always get more when he shows up.”

They ate together beneath the soft green foliage of the tree above, the sweet scent of its flowers a gentle perfume carried on the breeze.  Omega told Wrecker some more of her Jedi stories, and he shared a few of his own -- a general called Skywalker, one named Kenobi.  They talked for a good while, and Omega wondered how Gungi was doing, if he was able to keep up with his training on Kashyyyk.

She must have been hungrier than she’d thought, or Wrecker had snuck extra portions when she wasn’t looking, but when she reached down for another scoop of rice and fish she realized they’d nearly eaten through the whole tray.

“Wrecker?  I thought you said Crosshair was coming?” she asked.

He frowned, glancing up toward the sun, judging the time.  “He shoulda been here by now.  He’s never this late.”

“When did you see him?”

“Down by the docks.  He was taking up a load of deliveries for Beryx.  He shoulda been done… shoot, at least an hour ago,” Wrecker guessed.  He sighed.  “Must’ve changed his mind again.”

“He keeps doing that,” said Omega sadly.  “I asked him to meditate again with me yesterday, but he turned me down.”  She rested her chin in her hands, thinking hard.  She remembered how it felt on the bridge, Crosshair’s wounded arm resting on her shoulders.  “Is he going to be okay, Wrecker?  With his hand?”

Wrecker opened his mouth.  “‘Course he is.  At least… that’s what I wanna think.”  He looked down at his hands.  “But I don’t know, Omega.  Guess none of us do.”  

“I hate not knowing,” she admitted. 

Wrecker looked like he was deep in thought, trying to figure out what to say to her.  At last he said,  “He’s tough, our Crosshair.  But -- don’t tell him I said this, got it?  He’s, uh, he’s tender, too.  You know?”

“Secret’s safe with me,” she said, smiling.  “I think I know what you mean.”  That sounded right -- like the brother she knew from Tantiss, coldly trying to convince her to leave without him; and the brother she knew from Pabu, desperately trying to keep her safe.  She swallowed her bite, then halfheartedly put together another one.  It seemed to take forever to chew.  

“I think more ‘n anything, he just needs some time, I guess,” said Wrecker.  “AZI keeps trying to give him options.  Prosthetics and stuff.  Maybe it would help?  I don’t know.  Echo always seemed okay with just his scomp, though…”

“I was talking with Mrs. Mikkels yesterday,” Omega mused.  “You know, the tailor?  She lost her hand a long time ago.  She said she likes using her mechanical hand for work, but at home when she wants to relax, she takes it off, because it never quite felt like her real one.  I never thought about it like that.  I guess there’s lots of options.  I hope Crosshair can find something that works for him.  Or maybe he won’t want one, and that’s okay too.”  

She fell silent, and they held the quiet for a beat until the words snuck out of her.  “I’m worried about him.”  She knew what Crosshair would say if she told him so.  I’m fine, maybe with a toothpick flicked her way for good measure.  But he’d always been a bad liar.

“Yeaaaah, me too.”

“He seems like he’s closing up again somehow,” said Omega.  “It’s not just his hand, is it?”

Wrecker put his arm around her.  “No,” he admitted.  “Seeing Tantiss again… he was in a bad way, even before he got hurt.”  He shook his head, swallowing.  “Never seen him like that.  Maybe he’s still carryin’ that around.”

Like what? she almost asked, but decided she didn’t need to know.  Didn’t want to know, unless Crosshair wanted to tell her.  Omega wiped at her eyes.  “He went back there for me.  It must have been so hard for him.  You don’t know what it was like there.  He was so… empty.  He thought he deserved to be there.”

“But he came back and he faced it.  Like I said -- tough,” Wrecker said, his voice tinged with pride.  He smiled down at her.  “Like his sister.”

Omega laughed, even though things felt so heavy.  “That’s true.  All of us are.”  She leaned against her brother, grateful beyond words to rest against his broad, safe shoulder.  “I’m so glad we won, Wrecker.  That we got the clones and the kids out.  That we really, really hurt the Empire, and they won’t be able to find me, ever again.  But -- but I feel so sad, too.  I don’t understand.”

“What kind of sad, kid?” Wrecker asked gently.

“I dunno.  Lots of kinds.”  She stared down at her lap.  A cool afternoon breeze fluttered by, carrying with it the sweet smell of flowers.  “I knew you’d all come for me, I wasn’t scared about that.  Crosshair and I had a plan, and it worked, right?  But -- being back there again --”  She shivered, trying to forget the empty walls of her little cell in the Vault, Hemlock’s cold soft voice, the feel of the cuff on her wrist.  The bruises had faded weeks ago, but she rubbed her wrist, feeling their echo.

Wrecker was giving her a sad, almost guilty look.  She scrunched up her face in confusion.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said hastily.  He patted her on the shoulder.  “I’m just sorry you had to go back there.  I know we were out of options.”  He let out a long breath.  

“Yes,” she said, though she wondered why he’d gotten that guilty look.  She sighed.  “I just feel some days like it’s still there.  Tantiss.  Even when we’re here, and everything’s so much better…”  She closed her eyes, snuggling against his side, and he rested his large strong arm around her, protective and gentle both.  She breathed in; breathed out.  Tried not to think about looking out at the jungle, night after night, wondering if she would ever see her brothers again.  It didn’t seem fair that she still had to think about it when they’d won, when they’d torn it stone from stone.

She tried to remind herself that everything was different now.  Not just different from how it had been on Tantiss, but before, too, when she had been alone on Kamino.  

Once, she’d been lonely every day, Nala Se mostly consumed in her work, no one else around for company except, briefly, her baby brothers.  For a little while they’d been scarcely smaller than her. Yet before they were old enough to remember her they were gone, whisked off with the other cadets; and she was alone again, a freak, an oddity, a bad batch of one.  

But here, now, she had brothers.  Brothers who hugged her and made her dinner and stayed up late with her if she had trouble sleeping; brothers who’d risked their lives for her, Tech who’d given his life for all of them, brothers she was so lucky to have.  She had the cadets Wrecker and Hunter had found, the other clones she’d met through Rex and Echo and in Tantiss, brothers and friends in a different way; she had Lyana, Shep, Phee.  And when she didn’t want to talk to anyone else, when she needed to be alone but not alone, there were Batcher and Gonky.  They had so much here.  She had so much.

She blinked back tears again, looking up at her brother, annoyed at her watery eyes.  “Sorry,” she said.  “It’s just -- everything.”

“I hear ya, kid.”  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she giggled.  

“Want to go back home?  Maybe Crosshair’s already there.”

“Sure.”

---

Batcher found him as the sun was setting.  Crosshair slid off his perch on a large rock near the water’s edge, feet landing in the sand.  “If you’re looking for dinner, you won’t find it here,” he told her.  She just panted, wagging her tiny tail, and nudged him in the leg with her great head.  

“You were looking for me.  Huh.”  A thread of guilt uncurled within him.  He’d promised to meet Wrecker and Omega for lunch, which had been and gone hours back.  But instead he’d made his way back to the docks in a blur, dumped off the delivery containers, and made his way here to the hidden cave.

He knew he’d been here for hours.  The last brilliance of the orange-red sun lining the horizon was more than enough of a cue, let alone the thirst on his tongue and his growling stomach.  But he hadn’t been able to move more than enough to stand up now and then and skip stones into the flowing water, watching them sink.  Inevitably he had tired of that and had gone back to sitting, until he got so restless he had to stand and pace and throw again.  His aim with his left was getting better, but still nothing like his right had been.

Batcher rumbled one of her little noises that meant she wanted to go.  He sighed, following her obediently as the dusk deepened and the sky shifted from blues and violets to space-deep blacks.  

“Did one of them send you after me?” he asked, fully aware of the absurdity of asking the question.  She trotted along the rocky shore and into the sandy reaches, panting as he came along behind her.

He let out a long, shaky breath.  The old man’s face swam back into his mind, confused and kind and yet so certain his name was --

He picked up the pace, jogging along the hound, welcoming the exertion and the way his heart rate rose.  The breeze sheared past him, cold at first, then pleasantly cool as he ran.  He could try to think about his breath.  Try to think about his footsteps in the sand.  Try to think of his arms pumping, the right arm moving more swiftly with the lighter weight.  Try to think about anything but --

He shook his head, growling, furious at being back there again.  He couldn’t shake it.  Couldn’t shake the sound of Tech’s name in the old man’s voice.  Couldn’t stop thinking about Kamino, how sometimes their trainers would mix up him and Tech before his hair turned silver, before Tech needed the goggles.  He thought about Tech’s face, once a mirror to his own, and he burst forward, the breath tearing itself from his lungs as he reached the beachside stairs.

He slammed to a stop, folding himself in half, left hand gripping his knee, right arm tight against his thigh.  He panted in the night air, his chest searing like a wound.  He couldn’t catch his breath.  He choked, trying to find it, trying to stop the panic clawing out of him, but all he could do was stand there gasping.

Batcher turned, leaning her heavy head against his leg, and he reached out to cling to her as if she was the last bit of dry land in a churning sea.  Gradually his breathing slowed to a ragged rhythm, Omega’s meditation distant and impossible, lost to him now.  He pressed the hound closer to him, taking in gulps of cool air, blinking back the water in his eyes.

“Come on,” he managed.  “Time to go home.”

They took the stairs slowly, following the strings of solar lamps strung along the path, and eventually the lights of their little home appeared around the bend.  He swallowed, looking at their little home, seeing glimpses of Hunter, Wrecker and Omega through the windows.  It looked like they were having dinner.  Probably talking about their days.  Normal things for a normal life.  He wondered what that was like.

The door slid open for him.  He nodded slightly to his siblings, sitting at the dinner table.

“Crosshair!” Omega said.  She took a look at him, face scrunching into a frown.  “You didn’t come up for lunch.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you had us worried, Cross,” said Wrecker.  Hunter looked at him curiously, waiting for his response.

“The deliveries went long,” he lied.  “It’s easy to get turned around.  I’ll make it for lunch next time.”

Wrecker and Omega glanced at each other, clearly not convinced.  His stomach clenched, readying for a confrontation --

“Well, join us for dinner at least,” Hunter said before the others could ask more questions.  He gestured to a serving bowl of greens and vegetables.  “Give this a try.  I think I’m going to plant some in the garden.”

“Oh.  Uh, all right,” Crosshair said, the tension draining out of him.  He was safe from another round of questioning.  He clung to the rescue gratefully, grabbing a plate with his left hand.  

“Come on, try some.  It’s better than it looks,” Wrecker said.

“Yeah,” Omega said, giving him a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Pull up a chair.”

“Let’s see just how edible this is,” he said.  He took his seat beside them to try some dinner, and Tech’s face receded into the background, at least for a little while.

[embyrinitalics]

Hail, whump queen! Do you have any thoughts or head canons about the end of TotK?

Ah! You're too kind. 😌 Though I usually feel more like a whump jester than a whump queen. 😅

Mmkay, so. I have Complicated Feelings toward TotK. I had fun while playing it, but trying to reconcile it as a sequel to BotW left me with a bad aftertaste (WHERE IS KASS), and as a result I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about the story or the ending or what came afterwards.

But what I HAVE spent a lot of time thinking about is How The Heck Does TotK Make Any Sense, and I have a timey-wimey cockamamie theory at which you are all sure to HOOT.

You know how there was always a sky full of floating islands and this mind-bogglingly huge underworld above and below Hyrule for thousands of years and everyone just never noticed. That really bugged me from day one. And whenever it gets brought up people are always just like "Oh yeah, it was the Upheaval."

What is that even supposed to mean? Ganondorf lifted the castle into the air and now the sky is filled with islands and we have giant chasms leading to an underworld? How is "it was the Upheaval" an explanation of anything?

But then I was thinking about how the game begins with time travel, and how Zelda has always been fast and loose with their time travel rules, and how maybe "the Upheaval" is just what people call it because it's all they can see to blame it on, but what they're really referring to is "the moment Zelda went back in time."

There's a couple different time travel options, right? You have alternate timelines, like Ocarina of Time, where you create multiple branches when you go back and forth in time and change things. You have the Back to the Future type, where there's only one timeline, but only the time-traveler notices things have changed. You have Dr. Who, which has no rules whatsoever except for when it does.

Tears of the Kingdom presents itself as more of a predestination paradox type time travel, which is more Star Trek-y. Ganondorf recognizes Link and Zelda beneath the castle before she ever goes back in time and there is a mural of her turning into the Light Dragon in the catacombs, implying that she has already done what she's about to do. If that's so, then she and Mineru have also sent the islands into the sky in preparation for Link's future, and basically everything that he discovers after his awakening has been there all along, unbeknownst to everyone.

OR HAS IT?!?

I think the game isn't a predestination paradox at all. I think, prior to their jaunt beneath the castle, there are no islands in the sky, nor Dragon fly-through routes through Hyrule's underbelly, nor any of the new, inexplicable things that crop up between BotW and TotK.

I think that when Zelda traveled back in time, she altered history. During the events of BotW there were no sky islands and no Light Dragon and no geoglyphs. But unlike in Back to the Future, when Zelda alters history everyone is aware that things have changed. They just don't know why. They blame the "sudden appearance" of sky islands and a Light Dragon and geoglyphs and everything else on the strange event they could all see happen at Hyrule Castle: the Upheaval.

Now maybe I'm just a dumb-dumb and this was what we were supposed to think all along? But I didn't get that during my play-through. O_o

BUT WAIT, you may be thinking. If that's the case, how did Ganondorf recognize Link and Zelda beneath the castle in the intro, and how was there already a mural of her turning into the Light Dragon down there? And I'll give ya another one! How do we see the Light Dragon flying around the Great Sky Island when Link still has the decayed Master Sword in his possession?!

SO THIS IS THE HOOTABLE PART.

Things don't change when Zelda goes back in time. Things change when Zelda picks up the Secret Stone.

The stone itself is a magical magic-amplifying device, and rather than the instant Zelda warps backwards being the time-altering event, I think that it was the moment she touched (and "activated," if you will) the stone and it's timey-wimey powers that the timeline began altering.

At that point she is existing in a midst of a magically-created spacetime paradox bubble, wherein time no longer functions linearly for her. She exists as the princess beneath the castle, as the time traveler in the past, and as the dragon in the sky simultaneously. All of the events that are currently happening (from our perspective), have happened (in Hyrule's past), and will happen (in Link's future), are all swirling and altering the timeline at once. This is why Ganondorf already knows her name, and why she exists as the Light Dragon in the sky despite Link not having sent back the Master Sword yet.

BUT WAIT, you may exclaim. WHAT ABOUT THE MURAL.

Ok so. This is a cop out, but listen. We don't ACTUALLY see the contents of the mural. It's covered up until later. So. It might not have been an image of the Light Dragon at all. PERHAPS.

...

Look. I know this whole theory is riddled with holes and I don't think this is what the developers intended at all and I'm not even sure I really believe it myself. But if I had to write a fic and I needed the events I see in the game to make sense, this might be a route I would take. Just so my brain would stop hurting.

So! That's totally not what you asked but there you have it. 😂

Thanks for writing in!

[whumps-and-bumps]

I know Valentines Day was last week but I was thinking about a sad little Whumpee feeling invisible anyway :)

(Emotional whump, mention of potential SA, platonic-OR-romantic Caretaker (take your pick), depression/self-hate vibes)

A Whumpee who dreads Valentines Day every year not because it's the anniversary of specific trauma, but because nothing ever happened to them.

They've spent their entire life watching their friends and family all get cards and presents, go on cute dates, have fun - even all their other friends seem to do something with each other, like a galentines day party or gifting each other joke cards, but year after year they themselves are totally forgotten. They try to get involved and give silly cards of their own; they give and give and give but nobody ever thinks to give them anything in return. It feels silly on the surface, but it still strikes a chord. There's nothing wrong with them, right? It's just bad luck? Maybe they just need better friends.

Then the main whump happens, they get held captive and are abused and beaten and broken and defiled, whatever the story is - and then finally they're rescued, or maybe they escape all on their own, and eventually life goes back to 'normal' again. Or as normal as it ever will be.

They wish they could say they didn't notice Valentines coming up the first year after they're free of Whumper, but it stays in the back of their mind, lingering. There's zero chance of anyone caring about them now. They have their new Caretaker, of course, but that's different - they're a burden to them. Caretaker is too kind to not look after them after everything they went through, and at the end of the day they deserve better than Whumpee. Caretaker deserves someone still whole.

Whumpee prepares silently for the day, they brace themselves for the depression and self-hatred they know will consume them, but for the sake of Caretaker they bottle it all up. It's just a normal day. It's stupid and silly. A commercial holiday that means nothing. Everything is fine. It's fucking Tuesday, nothing special.

Hope is so fucking hard to destroy, though, and they wake up still hoping there will be a card in the post. From anyone, their mum, an old friend - even spam would make them feel like they existed still - but there's nothing. Not even a pamphlet.

They spend the whole day shut away in their room, trying to distract themselves, and at least that's not unusual after what Whumper did to them so Caretaker won't notice. They tell themselves they shouldn't need outside validation to know they're worthy of love and affection. It's just so hard to believe, though. The first and only person that has ever loved them was Whumper, and look how that turned out. Clearly there is something wrong and unlovable about Whumpee. If only someone could have told them what was is so they could fix before they were taken and broken irrepairably.

That evening, Caretaker calls them downstairs for dinner as normal. Whumpee makes the effort because if they don't, Caretaker will definitely know something is wrong, and they really don't want to talk about it. The kitchen is well-lit, the food in the oven is nothing special, this isn't romantic - but then they see a little red envelope resting on their empty placemat, and a silly fake rose sat beside it.

Caretaker is nervous, almost afraid of Whumpee's reaction - they just wanted to do something nice for their friend, especially after what Whumper did to them. It's a silly little thing meant to make them smile on a day they know can be hard.

But Whumpee is just standing and staring at the envelope, terrified of it. Caretaker goes to say something but before they can, Whumpee starts to cry. They completely break down, months and months and years of bottled up feelings bubbling up and spilling over in an ugly mess.

Their legs give out and they kneel on the floor as they sob, trying to catch their breath. Caretaker thought of them. They remembered them. They're Whumpee's best friend, their greatest, closest, most wonderful friend they could ever have dreamed of and they love them so much it hurts to breathe.

How dare they, though? How dare they come into their life now, when they're all broken and used and ruined? Where were they before everything went wrong? Why couldn't they be loved like this when they still felt like they were allowed to be?

[whump-place]

Adopted.

16-Things change.

Masterlist.

They are at it again. Ray rolls his eyes, and almost instantly flinches when he remembers someone might actually see him.

The screams can be heard from across the room, and it's worse when Master walks into the living room where he's at, with Star and Leo following him.

"Why don't we try something different this time?" Asks Master, holding Leo's leash and petting his head with his other hand.

"No, I don't want to, Master! I want to go with you, I have to go with you. I always go with you!"

Star has been yelling and complaining for a whole day since Master told them he won't be taking them with him to his office this year. And Ray knows Star's tantrum won't stop until the last second when Master finally steps out the house and takes one of his other Pets with him.

Every year, Master takes one of them to his job, and so do the other people that work for him. It's kind of a special day, Master had explained to them.

And Master takes Star with him almost every year, except when they are sick or have a doctor's appointment, in that case he takes Leo; he likes being pet and when people show him funny things on their phones.

On the other hand, Liam hates those reunions, he says common people have common Pets, and he usually doesn't mind where he is to spit out those comments; the first and last time Master took him with him, Liam almost throws up.

"Star, please. What if I let you invite your friends over next week? You're going to have a nice play date and-"

"No! No, I don't want to, I want to go with you!" All of Star's makeup is ruined by now, their hands are shaking and they look far far away from the 'Perfect Pet' mask they always put on when speaking to Master. Ray could almost pity them. "And why are you taking him with you?! He's stupid! He's ugly, and stupid, and... And... And he's going to embarrass you! He doesn't take anything serious, he doesn't care about this as much as I do, because he's just a stupid default of a Pet!"

Yeah... No. That little bitch can go and drown in their skincare products already if they want to.

Ray takes a look around to see if the others are as uncomfortable as he is. Liam is staring at Star with a grossed out face, typical of him; and the new Pet, Micah, seems to be having a mix of confusion and worry towards them.

"Star dear, please. Just this time, I promise I'm going to take you with me next year. Be good, please." Master assures Star and pets their head with a soft smile. He's always been too soft towards Star, probably because they were his first Pet, which made him spoil them rotten to this extent.

There's nothing Ray can do, though. Master is never going to love him like he does with the others, because he is not like them. The others are pretty, or smart, or fun to have around; things Ray is not.

Is okay. He is not meant to be soft. Nor smart. Nor fun. He is just meant to protect the Pets that do have those qualities.

And while Ray stares at the ceiling, wondering what Star is going to ask for after this, Master's voice rings in his ears.

"And I'm not taking Leo with me, I'm just preparing his leash for his evening stroll. The ones I'm taking with me are Ray and Micah."

Silent fills the room, and Ray wants nothing but to hide himself somewhere dark and alone.

Everyone's head has turned towards him, and Ray is pretty sure that if Star could kill him right now, they would.

"You know, Micah also needs to get to know more Pets. Make new friends, and maybe find a cute play partner. I think this is going to be a nice experience for him."

It doesn't matter how much Master talks about how Micah is going to enjoy himself at that meeting, Ray can't ignore the way Star's eyes are fixed on their back.

This is going to be a long week.

Taglist:

@sola-whumping

@octopus-reactivated

@otter-chaos-violence

@taterswhump

@paperprinxe

@risk606

@silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@starfields08000

[morgan-the-lonely-brick]

Hiii~~ coming onto this blog to do Terror propaganda. Follow my terror sideblog @leadandblood , this is just my main. That said:

Welcome to The Terror (2018)!

Here are things that I love about the first season that might convince you to watch it too (without spoilers)

The fandom is absolutely amazing!!!! I have never had such wonderful comments and tags under posts. And they're all really talented and just wonderful

Gay love.

So much gay love oh my god everyone is gay-

Heck, there's even straight love if you're into that

Old men <3

Absolute angels and absolute demons, that are SO fun to watch

The show knows it's characters incredibly well

They are well developed and act believably in all instances i can think of

If what they do doesn't make sense in the moment it's gonna later

"Here's a guy. Now lets find out how many fucked up things can happen to him before he goes insane or khs"

Representation! Gays, amputees and POC

The main main cast is mostly white men but when there's someone else it has significance to the story or bears a deeper meaning

The visuals are stunning

Amazing camera work

The sound design!!!! Oh my god!!! It's so gooood!!!

Insane paralels game. You won't even notice some of them, but they make sense once you do

The love and care that went into this show is incredible

Very rewarding upon rewatch - different views on scenes and characters and such

You will be finding new details for several rewatches (im on my 6th and still finding stuff)

THE ACTING OH MY GOD THE ACTING

Jared Harris - and his insane ability to portray any combination of emotions with one expression

Tobias Menzies and his goddamn microexpressions

Just to name a few, but honestly they're all amazing

They're also very nice to look at

Prepare to get hurt in the most creative ways possible - it KNOWS how to hurt you and it's... Kinda satisfying

Whump galore!! Emotional and physical. Comfort and no comfort. Just take your pick

It's finished, so they can't fuck it up anymore lmao

The sheer horror of being stuck in the arctic with little to no food and everything wanting to kill you /pos

Things that might turn you away

The sheer horror of being stuck in the arctic with little to no food and everything wanting to kill you /neg

Racist characters. it's the 1800s :///

Death. Oh god there's so much death

Oh you have a favourite character? Well, he dies :/

It is a tragedy through and through.

When you think it can't get any worse, yes it can

So many side characters that you'll be learning their names for the next few days to come

They're 95% white men that look the same when you start out

Bad things happen to animals :(

There's quite a lot of gore... Open skulls, deep wounds, amputation, disease, burning to death, mauling, i could go on

At one point alcoholism and suicide

There will be poems

Overall just a really really great show, i am in love with it

[hyperfixated-fan]

Happy 13th Anniversary Ninjago!

I wasn’t well prepared to celebrate so here’s this little one shot I wrote a while ago and didn’t know what to do with. And this so happens to be my 100th post. Yay!

 Summary: Jay, Kai, and Nya are raking leaves. It's a rather mundane chore, but things get interesting when a prank goes awry.

    Morro is alive and happily living with the Ninja because I say so. And as far as timeline goes, this is set loosely after season 13.

   "Ugh, I hate raking leaves," whined Jay, halfheartedly poking at his meager pile of leaves. He just didn't understand how this many dead leaves could possibly pile up at the top of the mountain!

    "I could burn them all real quick," offered Kai, igniting his palm. His sister immediately doused him, much to his annoyance and soggy hair and gi.

    "No! Are you crazy?!" berated Nya.

    "A little," snickered Jay, but was quickly silenced by a sharp glare from his girlfriend.

    She continued, "We don't need this place burning down again."

    Kai sighed, "Fine. But let's at least use some Spinjitzu to speed this process up."

    Jay perked up, "All right!"

    Just as the boys were about to kick back into their colorful tornados, Nya stopped them again, "No! Spinjitzu is an ancient art. We shouldn't use it for such menial tasks. Besides, Master Wu warned us 'Haste makes mistakes'."

    "Why do you have be such a stick in the mud?" groaned Kai.

    Nya gave a mischievous grin, pointing out, "Actually, if we take long enough doing this, we won't have to help Lloyd do the laundry."

    The boys smirked, catching on. With that, they got to raking at a decent pace (not too fast though). However, just as they were finishing up, Lloyd and Morro walked out into the monastery courtyard, laden with clean laundry to put away. 

    The Green Ninja's eyes lit up with youthful glee as he caught sight of the magnificent pile of leaves in the middle of the courtyard. He carefully set down his laundry basket, and the three rakers caught on a split second too late as he darted toward the pile. 

    Time seemed move in slow motion as Lloyd leaped into the air as Jay, Nya, and Kai frantically screeched, "Noooo!"

    Time went back to normal as the blonde boy landed in the giant pile with a muffled whump. It was rather anticlimactic for the people watching as they expected their hard work to scatter everywhere. Fortunately for them, the large leaf mountain was big enough that it simply swallowed his impact and engulfed the boy whole.

    A few moments later, Lloyd popped his head out, laughing as he carefully extracted himself. "That was awesome!"

    The others snorted at their younger brother's joy. They supposed a few scattered leaves were worth it if they brought him some happiness.

    Morro plodded over, looking thoughtfully at the giant pile. "You think we could all fit in there."

    "Yeah. Maybe," shrugged Nya. "Why?"

    "Wanna scare someone?" smirked the Master of Wind.

    A playful glint alighted in all their eyes. After a morning of dull chores, they were all eager to do something fun.

    Right before he dived into the pile after the others, Lloyd called at the top of his lungs, "Uncle Wu!"

    The hidden Ninja went as still as possible and tried their best to withhold their giggles. They waited carefully until they could hear footsteps right in front of the leaf pile. They sprung their ambush, jumping out and shouting.

    "Yyaaa– ugh!"

    Morro's yelling turned into a sharp gasp of pain as someone's fist collided very hard with his midsection. Apparently, it wasn't Master Wu who they had managed to surprise but Pixal instead.

    The silver-haired girl had a mixed expression of concern and annoyance as she and the others stared down at the downed Master of Wind. "I thought you were supposed to be finishing your chores."

    "We did." Lloyd looked at the scattered leaves and laundry that had yet to be put up. He amended, "Er, are going to."

    "I haven't seen you do anything useful today," wheezed Morro accusingly as he slowly stood, trying to act nonchalant and shake off the pain.

    Pixal crossed her arms, and the others could tell she was about to go off on Morro. "Actually, while you were off gallivanting in Shintaro and then decided to stay out for an adventure for another entire month as you all traveled 'wherever the wind took you', I was left in charge of the upkeep of whole monastery as well as covering for all eight of you in defending Ninjago City."

    "During the time of your absence, I managed to clean and organize every single one of your sleeping quarters—which need I remind you, were downright filthy—, update the defense systems in the monastery, do the dishes, and answer 162 distress calls. With that data, I say you have very little left to do and nothing to complain about."

    Morro's resentment had definitely melted away into respect. He simply gave a nervous "okay" along with the others after her mini rant.

    As the Samurai walked away to finish enjoying her day off, Lloyd murmured, "I think Pixal's a little salty at us."

    "Ya think," snorted Kai. "Zane definitely rubbed off on her. Remember when he would passive aggressively do the chores while slamming things around to remind us how we weren't helping him."

    After they all finished sharing a good chuckle, Nya clapped her hands. "Okay, boys. Let's finish this."

    "One more jump," said Lloyd quickly as he leaped into the leaves again. 

    Just to humor him Morro and the others followed suit. However, somewhere in the mix, a leaf tickled the Master of Wind's nose, and he couldn't stop a sneeze from coming out. For some reason, the sneeze triggered a slight Elemental reaction which sent leaves flying in every direction.

    "Morro! C'mon!" cried Jay in dismay.

    Kai sullenly surveyed the damage before exclaiming, "All right. Spinjitzu it is!" In less than five seconds flat, he had cleared the courtyard of leaves, throwing them over the side of the wall.

    He dusted his hands off proudly until Lloyd suddenly brought up, "Hey. Where'd all the laundry go?"

    The Ninja stared at the spot where the two baskets used to be then let their gazes travel up to the top of the wall where a pair of blue underpants were snagged and flapping lazily in the breeze. It was clear where the rest of their clothes had gone.

    "Don't suppose anyone will really miss those? I mean, a wardrobe replacement is always good, right?" chuckled Kai nervously.

    The others groaned and glared at the Red Ninja. Now it was going to be an even longer day.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

A New Beginning Drabble: Stress Positions

Masterlist

Content: Used as furniture, stress positions, collars, captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, [mild] dub-con kissing, pet whump, vampire whump, begging, stockholm syndrome.

Go talk to Carlos @carlosemrick :)

-

Malcolm knew Carlos was sneaking into his bedroom at night to sleep on the floor by him. Over the past couple days the vampire had been sleeping closer and closer to his master’s door, and eventually found the courage to creep inside a few hours after he’d fallen asleep. Malcolm saw it all happening through the security cameras he had set up around the place, and eventually decided to humour his pet on the subject. 

“Do you get lonely at night?” he asked curiously one evening. The vampire glanced up at him from his spot beneath the human’s feet, arms barely able to support himself after several hours of serving as Malcolm’s footrest. He looked so innocently confused, so scared of saying the wrong thing, lest he be put in time out or given some other form of punishment. 

Malcolm offered a smile and reached out to run his larger fingers through his pet’s hair. “Tell me the truth, pet.” 

“...Yes, sir,” he whispered after a short pause. Malcolm could have sworn he saw the exact moment Carlos realised his owner knew of his little secret. The way his eyes blew comically wide before forcibly relaxing again, and the tense inhale as he prepared himself for whatever his owner had planned for him next. It was adorable. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving my bed at night. Please don’t be mad.” 

“I’m not mad at you for that. I’m disappointed in you for not telling me sooner and just doing it. Since when does my pet think it can make decisions without bringing it up with me first?”

“I don’t,” Carlos rushed to assure him, tears already beginning to prick in his eyes as his chin trembled. “I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. I just- I ju-ust…” 

Before he could finish, Malcolm hushed him with a finger to his lips and tutted a few times, watching as the vampire’s face reddened slightly. “I would have been more than happy to make some arrangements for you to make you more comfortable,” he informed, removing his feet from Carlos’ back for a moment to get closer to him. As soon as he was in arms reach, Malcolm grabbed a fistful of his hair and brought him a little closer. He just about melted at the sight of his vampire’s deflated look.

“...I still am, but they might not be as comfortable as the previous arrangements. Do you still want it?” 

Carlos’ answer was immediate. “Yes, sir.” 

“Then go sit in your bed and I’ll call you when I’m ready for you to see what I’ve come up with.”

With a light slap to his behind, Malcolm let him go and watched the vampire pathetically stumble back to his bed, the silver bell on his collar jingling the entire way. He looked so sweet, the human nearly considered just moving the pet’s stuff into his room and calling off the punishment.

…but where was the fun in that? 

Really, it took very little time to set up either. Less than ten minutes later Malcolm was able to stand back to admire his set up. It was nothing but a single metal bar that hung from the ceiling by some rope - a simple but effective stress position for his obedient little pet to use for the night. It’d been installed a few years ago, and Malcolm liked it because he could detach and reattach it at any given time. 

Perfect for occasions like now.

As soon as the human called for his pet, The jingling of the bell started again and not long after, Carlos appeared at his doorway. He was clearly doing his best to sit up straight and proper, but Malcolm knew he was also extremely tired. He wasn’t going to hold that against him. 

With a warm smile, he motioned for the vampire to stand up and come inside, to which Carlos hesitated for a moment before obeying, as if he perhaps understood his master’s silent commands wrong. However, his face lit up as soon as he received a verbal praise in response. 

“What- what is happening, sir?” he asked quietly, lips parting in surprise when the human grabbed both his arms and positioned them behind his back. He could see how much Carlos wanted to cry. How much he wanted to burst into tears and blubber apologies until he was forgiven, but he didn’t and Malcolm was most impressed. 

With a small chuckle, he pulled Carlos’ arms over the bar positioned behind him and attached him to it by the elbows. “You’ve been so patient, my pet,” he cooed, running his fingers through the vampire’s hair as he double checked to make sure everything was attached correctly. “This is going to be where you stay for the night. That way you’re in my room but you still get your punishment. Sound good?” 

He nearly laughed at the relief that clouded Carlos’ eyes despite his predicament. “Yes, sir!” he chirped, shuffling uncomfortably on the tips of his feet. The bar was just high enough that he had to strain to stand comfortably. “Thank you so much for your mercy. I prom-mise I’ll behave better from now on.” 

“I know you will, pet. You always do. If you’re extra quiet and behaved, I might even let you into my bed tomorrow night. Does that sound good?” 

There was another enthusiastic nod. “Yes, sir! So you still n-need me, then?” the vampire asked hopefully. His eyes were big and pleading, his chin trembling ever so slightly as he continued to struggle to hold in his tears. He was so fucking pathetic, Malcolm nearly couldn’t bring himself to leave him there. 

But he did, of course. Instead of untying him, he leaned forward and cupped Carlos’ face in his hands; kissing the tip of his nose and then both his cheeks. When he pulled back again, all he could see was devotion in the vampire’s eyes. True, unbridled devotion to him and him alone. He really had chosen the perfect house pet.

“A little mistake isn’t enough to stop me from needing you. You’re a good boy,” he praised, planting one final kiss to the vampire’s lips. “Sleep tight, my pet. I’ll be in once my movie is done, yeah?”

“Yes, sir!” 

As he left, he heard the quiet grunts and whines of his pet struggling to find a comfortable position, but when he poked his head in one last time, Carlos gave him the biggest smile he could possibly muster. He looked adorable, and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to return it before quietly shutting the door completely. 

-

Taglist: @alexkolax @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @whump-things @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @choppedflowermuffinchild @whumpdreamz

[calypsid]

surviving prompt months

Prompt months are a common challenge in fandom. There are all kinds of prompt months, including fluff, domestic prompts, whump, and NSFW. The thing they have in common is that all of them require some planning and organization to complete. This will hopefully help you get set up for success!

Preparation & Planning

There's a saying that goes "proper preparation prevents poor performance", and it's true. There are a number of details that can be decided on before the month even starts. That will mean that you don't have to scramble on the first day to make all of those decisions at once, when you really need all of your time and energy to write. 

Writing time

Sometime before the month begins, set aside time for writing every day for a week or two, and then make a note of how much time that you could comfortably devote to writing, and roughly how much you got done, whether that's word count or fic completion. Did you have to fight to carve out an hour some days? Did you have a lot of time on the weekends? How much did you write? Do you feel like you could have done more? You don't have to write a whole novel every day. Whatever you get done is enough. It's more important, at this phase, to know how much time you can give the effort and how much writing is feasible for you to do every single day. 

Prompts

Some challenges release the prompts ahead of time. Others don't. If you have access to this year's prompts, or to the previous year's, go ahead and look them over. Take notes, if that helps. Are there any from this month that don't work for you, because of squick reasons or they just aren't appealing? Does your challenge have wildcards? Do all of those work for you? If you only have last year's prompts, look them over and think about what you'd do with them. Being familiar with the prompts will save you some time in both the ideas phase and when you're scrambling later in the month looking for something you can write. 

Social media

If you use social media at all, you've come across those posts about people's wild situations, or silly office potluck stories, or summoning a demon with badly done Latin homework, or weird and cool animal facts. If something sounds like it might be fun to write, save it to your computer or your timeline. These are invaluable when it comes time for prompts and you realize that you have the perfect idea in a post from six months ago, and you saved it so you don't have to find an image post that's so far down your timeline that you can't find a big enough shovel. Programs out there like Evernote, Trello, Notion, Obsidian, or even Google Docs/Sheets or Discord can be useful for this.

Real life care

It's essential to keep yourself healthy, both because you should be taking care of yourself as a matter of course, but also because a brain that isn't being fed or given enough time to rest isn't going to want to write. Begin this before the month starts; the effects are cumulative. Sleep! Eat! Hydrate! Take a walk! Self-care is important.

Pre-writing

If the challenge you're doing allows you to start before the month begins, then you have extra time to create. That does not mean that you have unlimited time. Do the math to figure out how many days you can realistically devote to each challenge day, and do your best to stick to that limit. That limit is part time, part how much you got done in the Writing Time section. In some ways this kind of challenge is easier, because you have that extra time to write something longer or larger in scope; in other ways, it's more difficult, because you have to be disciplined in getting the writing done when the deadline is self-imposed rather than the more obvious daily deadline. 

Your challenge may not allow starting before the month begins, or they may not release the prompts until the month starts. In that case, having options that you've already given thought to is going to help greatly when you're scrambling for ideas. 

In both cases, write down any ideas that you have that you aren't going to immediately work on. Scenes, snippets, lines of dialogue or fight sequences, all of these things are helpful later. This works even if you don't already know the prompts; prompts are usually one or two words, and you can stretch and bend them in any way that you want. There's no committee that grades your work. Everyone knows that inspiration takes you to many places, and some of them aren't going to be obviously inspired by the prompt. That doesn't matter. The important thing is that you made something, not how closely it fits the prompt. 

The prompts

Once the prompts are released, you might find that one of the prompts is absolutely perfect and an idea hits you right away. You're full of new project energy and you're dying to write it, but oh no, that day is so far away! You might think, I should work on the first day's prompt and hold onto this idea for later, right?

Absolutely not. Write it anyway. The fics that spring into your mind immediately are incredibly valuable because you can sit down and look up three hours later with a completed fic in your hands. That sense of completion and confidence are extremely helpful, and they can help carry you through the rest of the month. Maybe you can finish something for the first day afterward, and maybe not; I would still do it. You can always catch up. And a lot of challenge months allow you to complete the month late, and to post fics whenever even if they're out of turn. This is a hobby; treat it like one. Have fun. Even finishing one fic is more than a lot of writers do in a month, and you've already done it!

Sometimes you get ideas that don't need to be written immediately, and those I would advise writing down and coming back to them later, on the right day. It's part of preparation, in that you're setting yourself up for future success, because you've got the basic idea ready, and you just need to write it out. 

Take some time with the prompts on the first day and see what ideas come to you. You're not locking yourself in to these ideas; they're possibilities. Maybe you'll still like them when it's time to write, and maybe you won't. It's not really important at this point. Future you is going to have different ideas than present you. You don't want to forget a really good idea you had for a future day's prompt because you got tired (and you will be tired.)

Finding more ideas

If one of the days isn't immediately sparking ideas, or your brain has gone entirely empty because blank-page syndrome is real and can hurt you, here are a few methods to use when the prompts aren't quite working.

Social Media ideas

Go through those saved prompts from social media and see if you have anything. Curse when you don't.

The List

Make a list of everything you can think of for the prompt. Get out the ideas that are immediately bubbling up, even if you hate them, even if you feel like they're overdone, or you've already written that idea and you don't want to do it again. Write it down. Once you've written it down, then you've dealt with it and it'll be easier for your brain to move on to something you are interested in writing. Most events encourage you to go wild with your interpretation of a prompt: ‘coaches’ could mean sports team coaches, or a type of bus, or a person whispering in someone else’s ear guiding them through infiltrating a military base, or a Regency-era traveling coach, or… Try to be open to as many possibilities as possible. Flexibility is key.

Talk to your friends

It doesn't matter if they're in the fandom or not, but if you have people that you talk to about writing, then scream into their DMs, even if they're not there, or able to help you. This is a form of rubber-ducking, in that you're verbalizing the problem, which can help you sort out what the problem actually is. Then you can work on finding a solution. 

Go sideways

Look at the prompts from different angles: maybe it’s looking for the intersection between two prompts, finding inspiration in art or a song, a list of cocktail names or pen inks, or even a list of literary techniques. Music and art affect the brain differently than simply reading text, and allowing your brain to drift and pick up entirely unrelated ideas may offer you a new angle on a prompt. Looking at prompt lists for entirely unrelated events for new ideas, or consider hopping to AO3 and tag-surfing to explore other ways people have tackled similar AUs. If you did a list of ideas earlier, revisit the list to see if any are speaking to you, or could be combined.

(if you're still struggling, check out Ideas: Gotta Catch 'Em All! by dei2dei!)

A note on curating your ideas

Prompts can take you all sorts of places. There's no telling what kind of ideas you'll get. Some of them are probably going to be longfics, or take more time than you can afford to give them in one day. It's important to be able to judge which of your ideas need to be set aside for later. One of the methods I use to do this is to write drabbles, or other forms of short fic in which there is an absolute limit on wordcount*. This is useful because it allows you to figure out the scope of the ideas you can fit in the allotted number of words.  

*What that number is depends mainly on what you can produce in one day. If you can only afford to write drabbles, then do that. If you are one of those blessed people who can write 10k in a day, then my hat off to you, and do as you please. But don't commit to writing 10k every day - or 2k every day, or any amount that's more than you're comfortable with. Monthly challenges are a test of endurance. It's important to know how to pace yourself. 

Making Words

There are lots of different ways to approach writing to a deadline. Most of them involve simply sitting down and writing, no matter what the current state of your inspiration looks like. 

Do you either have a wordcount limit imposed by the event or have given yourself one for your peace of mind? If so, start writing down everything you know about the story: characters, events, locations. You might find you’ve got a bigger (or shorter) story than planned and can adjust scope accordingly.

Start writing, whether it’s just throwing words onto the page or as a synopsis. Having that one line or four lines or bullet points can help break up blank page syndrome, and you can always edit/tweak/adjust as you go, if you realize your first line really isn’t where you want to start.

No words are bad words. You’re figuring out what you want to say and how you want to say it, and even words you don’t end up using can be inspiration for another AU or story, so don’t throw them away entirely. Move them to the Isle of Misfit Words (a doc/file/folder somewhere) and then they’re there when you want them.

Decide if you’re writing a story with a beginning, middle, and end or if you’re writing a vignette. A story with a narrative arc (what most people think of as a 3 Act Structure) has a different feel than a vignette (which is usually illuminating a moment; it’s more Vibes than Plot). Vignettes are excellent ways to fill a prompt, capturing characters in this new setting for just a moment without having to come up with a plot throughline: they’re like verbal portraits of a moment in time.

If you’re writing a short story/shorter one-shot, focus on a one or two characters or a single event, with few (or no) subplots. If you write stories that like to grow and become complicated tangles, this may be a challenge, but it will help you finish the stories you start. Similarly, if you're the sort who likes to worldbuild, I'd recommend trying to let that go; there simply isn't enough time to fully think through every background detail.

Finish things. Even if it’s messy, even if it’s not quite what you want, finish it to a point you can be comfortable with posting. If you find you have some extra time you can go back and finesse it, run edit passes, add a subplot or flesh out descriptions, or do other work to make it even better, but get it done first.

Experiment. Maybe you absolutely love an idea but it just isn’t working in third person limited. What happens if you try it in first person POV, or third omni? What if you tried to write the story in script format, or epistolary format? What if you change the POV character? 

Don’t be precious: if you have an idea, write it. If you think it’s ridiculous and over the top, definitely write it. Get out the wacky ideas, the amazing ideas, the crackship comedy dead dove ideas; prompt events are great opportunities to do so, and might spawn more ideas or an interest in an AU type you’ve never considered before.

Don't judge yourself: everyone knows what prompt months are, and that you're producing a lot of work in a very short time. The standards are lower. Maybe it isn't your best work, but that's okay. You're writing, you're finishing fics, and you're challenging yourself. Those are all important.

A note on starting the fic

Beginnings can be tough. Try to start as close to the inciting event or the beginning of the emotions as you can, especially if you don't have a lot of time. Strong statements that you then clarify and expand upon are a good option. So is an interesting bit of dialogue.

Some Short Story Structure Notes

A basic structure for a narrative arc short story:

Hook

Scene setting/atmosphere

Challenge

Confrontation

Resolution

You can do whatever you want with this - your hook, scene setting, and challenge could all be the same event or even line as a character comes across a body in a detectives (or criminals!) AU: here’s this body, why is it in my apartment, how do I get it out? 

Pick one type of tension. The MICE Quotient can be helpful here; pick one type of “thread” as your tension/conflict. Adding more means adding complexity and words, but you can also throw each one of these at a prompt and see if one is more intriguing than the other. 

Milieu: location. 

Inquiry: question.

Character: character growth/change

Event: something external is happening to the characters

Some Vignette Notes

Where does the character begin? Where does the character end? Are those the same place? If not, how does the character get there? That's your plot/emotional arc. Write it while it's still fresh in your mind.

If they are in the same place, what is your character thinking about or feeling? Is this moment a specific moment in time in the canon? If not, what just happened? What's about to happen? Maybe there's a looming tension for the reader who knows that the character is about to die or find out that their father is Darth Vader, but the character is still living their life. That tension makes a great fic.

Do you like domestic fluff? That's a vignette right there. Enduring the worst moment of their life, finding out a secret that canon has kept from them, or meeting the sister they didn't know they had, these are all moments or single scenes that can be done in a relatively short amount of time.

Editing

Editing is hard. We all know it. You can post without editing; lots of people do. If you do want to edit, you're going to have to go through the fic just after you finish it, which can be hard. There are some strategies that might help:

Change the font in your document. This can trick your brain into thinking that these are totally new words that you've never read before.

Read it out loud, which engages other areas of your brain and makes repeated words and awkward sentence structure more apparent.

Do multiple read-throughs, concentrating on separate issues that you struggle with each time: for example, during one readthrough, you might concentrate on sentence structure, then on the next character voice, and only then look at your tenses.

If you want to run an editing program, look for one that isn’t trying to fix your errors for you, but only identify them. Many programs out there try to offer fixes and are designed for business use and formal language, but programs like Slick Write are identify-only and leave it up to the author to decide if they actually care what the jumped-up bits of code say, or if they’re leaving it to authorial judgment.

If you have a beta, find out beforehand if they’re available and ready to help you (especially during a whole month)! If you don’t have a beta, you might be able to find one (or more than one) willing to work with you for the month. It’s a lot of words, but it might be a chance for you to try out or get help from multiple betas and see who you work with best. You can also look into exchanging beta services with other people participating in the same event.

If you have a wordcount limit: this is the time to edit aggressively. Do not use five words when one will do. See where you can remove “walked slowly” and replace it with “strolled”, or where you can swap long descriptions for something more succinct. Drop “just”, “really”, “mostly”, and "that"s which aren't load-bearing; sometimes you can even cut “and then” and replace it with a full stop and a new sentence. Much depends on the tone and any other limitations you’re giving yourself.

Posting

Titles

Titles are the devil and there's no getting around it. You can pick a title scheme before the month starts, which can help; maybe you only want to use one word titles, or song lyrics, or colors on the Pantone scale. Don't stress too much about finding the perfect title. There simply isn't the time for it.

Summaries

Weirdly enough, summaries are also the devil. Here are two links that may help:

Book Descriptions by the SFWA - this is meant for traditionally published works, but can be easily adapted for fanfic

How to Write Fanfic Summaries, by @wolfstarlibrarian - a comprehensive analysis of what makes summaries tick

Remember that the purpose of a summary is to engage the reader's attention and to tell them what the fic is going to be about, so that they know whether they want to read it or not. 

Tagging

The good news is that tagging is a lot easier when the fic is very fresh in your mind. What is your fic about? Who is in it? What common fandom tropes are you hitting? With all of these things decided, either go ahead and start tagging, or go through this infographic and figure out what fits. If you think of something that you forgot, you can just add it the next day. This is probably the section that is the most forgiving in terms of forgetting to do something.

DON'T FORGET TO POST. Do not save the draft and then wander off and make dinner. Post when you're done.

And then, the next day, do it all over again. 

Try to enjoy yourself! Good luck!

(so much credit is due to my friend Dei, bless you my dear)

[velociheroviridi]

Just saw Twisters, absolutely obsessed. I went in only knowing two things:

a) it existed

b) what the movie poster looked like

And I honestly didn't have any expectations for it being good (and figured it it was bad, I'd have a fun time criticizing all the tornado stuff it got wrong), but it truly surprised me! In both it's Tornado Knowledge and it's story, it was really good! As a tornado enthusiast, it didn't make me mad like I prepared for - in fact, it did the opposite - and actually had so many fun references. Slight spoiler for a location in the film but, when the scene in

El Reno started, I was absolutely screaming (I know it's a little basic, but that's my favorite tornado to talk about)

Now that I've seen the credits and know that both Michael Crichton and Steven Spielberg worked on this, I should've known it'd be good. Honestly, I think I'm gonna be buying the dvd

Overall, things I loved about the film:

The gorgeous and accurate looking tornadoes

the fact that they pointed out that overpasses are a bad idea

the mentioning of CAPE values and wind shear (and then actually stating the amount of CAPE, loved getting to actually get a sense of power of what they were up against)

the really cute romance that I hadn't really been expecting

the fun music choices

the depiction of Midwest/Southern USAmerica

the interesting characters and the girl boss of a main character (my whump/hurt-comfort loving heart fist pumped when she ran back out into the storm alone ugh loved it) (ngl - big spoilers for the first scene - I actually thought she was gonna be the one char to die in the beginning scene. How ironically incorrect I was)

the passion shown for tornadoes and the obvious love and attention to detail shown in the film for them

like, for example THE WIND SCARS FROM THE MULTIPLE VORTEXES OF ONE OF THE TORNADOES CLEARLY VISIBLE ON THE GROUND. UGH beautiful 😩

Including El Reno for the end. Kinda made the stakes feel higher for me cuz I was like, nooo not them, they don't deserve this again

the fun comedy sprinkled throughout (especially that scene at the end)

the unintentional irony of the fact that they stated (in the beginning I think) that New York doesn't get almost any tornadoes and just this month they've had 16