#whump mood board

[thatharringrovehoe]

Burnout can't stop me from making mood boards of my WIPs! (Yet..)

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Watch me laugh as I burn all the memories of you...

The Witcher : S2 x 05

[little-peril-stories]

“Let this be a warning to any fool who believes he is above the law. Iustitia aecum has been terrorizing the good citizens of this city for far too long. We will tolerate it no longer. We will show no mercy.”

The Prince of Thieves

I've been meaning to remake my TPOT mood board for a while to a) avoid using copyrighted images, which the old one is full of, and b) make it match the one for The Queen of Lies. I was super into procrastinating on angsty heist wip yesterday, so this happened.

Enjoy!

| the old mood boards are all still tagged here |

[fattybattysblog]

This is only the 2nd mood board I've ever made, hahaha. I hope you like it! I put it under the read more just in case. This is for you @whumpers-inc !!

[i-eat-worlds]

Mood Board!

Dr. Elba Arklin, Vampire Physiologist, Carewhumper

[littleperilstories]

hahahahaha oops I made a TPOT mood board instead of doing literally anything else :)

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[bagginshieldweek24]

We are only two weeks away from the beginning of Bagginshield Week 2024, fellow shippers!

So, in the meantime, short little guide and reminders:

The event consists of seven regular days with two prompts for each, plus two extra days to post to the AO3 collection, and two Alternate Prompts lists.

I will post the direct link to the AO3 collection the following Monday from this (June 17th).

All types of fanworks focused on Bagginshield are allowed, not just fanfiction and fanart, and there are no official minimums for any of them, but if you want recommendations you can find some here.

Likewise, and as I did last year, I will accept works that are more tangentially related to them. For example, last year I accepted a mood board on the prompt "Piercings & Tatoos" that explored it more in a general relation to the dwarves that appear in the films.

Because the event (and myself) are in Tumblr and AO3, the work must be posted to either or at the very least promoted in either for me to share it here. More information about posting will be given on the 17th.

Event Days & Prompts June 24: Role Reversal/The Shire Falls Instead + Bilbo is the Thain/Is a Royal June 25: Thorin in The Shire + Developing Relationship June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU + Dwarf Culture June 27: Bookshops & Libraries + Khuzdul Language June 28: Canon Divergence (general) + Hairbeads/Beads June 29: Single Parents/Uncles AU + Gardening June 30: Gothic Horror AU + Sky/Storms

Regular Alternate Prompts: Alpha/Beta/Omega AU - Mythology AU (general) - Fire/Smoke - Enemies to Lovers, or Enemies to Allies to Lovers - Secret Relationship

Whump Alternate Prompts: "I thought I had lost you" - Gold Sickness - Hurt/Comfort - Fake Death/Believed to be Dead - Hidden Injury

[ignoct-week]

Ignoct Week 2024

June 8 - 15, 2024

Information

Join us to celebrate our favorite King & Advisor ♥️

All works must belong to you. Please do not repost other people’s work. There is no word count or completion requirement for Ignoct Week. Your piece can be as simple or complex as you’d like. WIP/unfinished works are welcome. You may repost your past creations that fit any of the listed prompts.

Any form of ignoct-centric content is welcome! A few examples: Fan fiction, digital & traditional illustration, cosplay, image/aesthetic/mood boards and playlists.

Prompts and fanworks must be centered around the relationship (romantic, platonic etc.) between Ignis and Noctis. References to past relationships are ok as long as it's not a prominent theme and the primary ship is Ignoct.

Content

Both SFW & NSFW interpretations are allowed for all Ignoct Week prompts. Please include a content warning if your work contains any of the following themes: Underage, Non-con, Graphic Violence (Exceeds canon-typical violence). Additional tags at creator's discretion.

Posting

Tag all submissions with the event account, @ignoctweek on Twitter and ignoct-week on Tumblr, or use the hashtag #ignoctweek2024

Submissions will be shared in the order they are listed in notifications/mentions.

Please be patient if your work is not shared right away. I try to check the account a few times throughout the day!

Prompt List

June 8 • Childhood / Teenage Memories

June 9 • Creature / Supernatural (mermaids, vampires, XV creatures etc.)

June 10 • Reincarnation

June 11 • Married Life (Proposal, Wedding, Honeymoon)

June 12 • Angst / Whump (Grief, Loss, Hurt/Comfort)

June 13 • Fake Dating

June 14 • Final Fantasy Crossover (FFXV x other FF/SE title)

June 15 • Free Day

Click here to view the NSFW prompt list.

Event Links: Carrd • Twitter

[stayteezdreams]

Sleepover Event Drabble Masterlist

These are all the drabbles written for the Fate Ships from my Milestone Event.

I am adding the taglists to this post, as I did not add them to the drabbles themselves.

Stray Kids:

I.N:

'Rest' (fluff/cute)

Changbin:

'Forever' (romantic)

Ateez:

Jongho:

'Finally' (cute/tiny bit of angst)

Wooyoung:

'Comfort' (angst/comfort/fluff)

Yeosang

'B for Effort' (fun/humor/fluff)

Yunho

'Oops' (cute/fluff)

Hongjoong

'Waste of Time' (fluff/cute)

Seventeen:

Wonwoo:

'Hurt' (comfort/light whump)

Minghao

'Not For Long' (cute/fluff)

Tomorrow x Together

Yeonjun:

'Home' (domestic fluff)

Taehyun:

'Crazy' (cute/fluff)

The Boyz

Hyunjae:

'Distracted' (funny/fluff)

Sangyeon:

'Returned In Kind' (fluff/cute)

'Dare' (fluff/cute)

Other Content

*other content requested from the Milestone Event

Ateez:

Yunho Scenarios: Subtle ways he shows you he loves you (cute/fluff)

Mingi Scenarios: Subtle ways he shows you he loves you (cute/fluff)

Yeosang + Autumn Mood Board

Ateez Whump Scenarios/Headcanons (whump/cute/fluff) ^Hongjoong/Yunho/San/Mingi x Gn!Reader

Ateez; Scenarios + Drabble: First realization of Love (cute/angst/fluff) ^Hongjoong/Yunho/Mingi x Gn!Reader

Taglists:

I did not add any of my taglists to the drabble posts themselves, but I will be adding them here for anyone who missed them and might want to read them! (deleted double tags, so if you aren't in a taglist you requested to be in dont worry)

All Groups/Members:

@otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson,

@pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop,  

@shymexican, @stillwjk-channie-lixie, @luckypaintertyphoon

Ateez:

Everything: @soso59love-blog, @hongjoongsprincess, @tunaasan, @thedistractedwriter, @dear-dreamie,

@thunderous-wolf, @briqnne, @hyukssunflower, @dinossaurz, @skz1-4-3,

@staytiny2000, @demonlineslut, @vnessalau,  @dancinglikebutterflywings, @tunafishyfishylike

Jongho/Seungmin/Minghao: @lieutenantn

Mingi: @ye0nvibezzn

Stray Kids:

Everything: @laylasbunbunny, @prettymiye0n, @thedistractedwriter,

@msauthor, @vnessalau, @3rachasninja

TXT:

Yeonjun & Seventeen: @ye0nvibezzn

[whumpookies]

Hi there,

I am new to the community and your blog  is one of my favorites. I am planning on taking part in my first Whumptober. I am planning on mostly writing but maybe creating some gif sets too.. we'll see. I see you have participated in the past and was wondering if you had any tips because right now I am getting stressed about not getting everything made in time and my planning is an absolute messssss.

Thank you!

I hope your week is full of cookies and other sweet treats.

X

Aww Anookie

Welcome to our part of Whumpler, and well done to you for jumping into the madness that is @whumptober

Seriously, it’s like signing up for a marathon but forgetting how to run while holding a tray of eggs and fighting a Zombie on a Tuesday afternoon.

But hey, you’ve got this (mostly, I think).

First off, remember Whumptober is a challenge for you—not for the world, your followers, or your overachieving mutuals with their perfect mood boards (those mood boards would have taken three weeks and probably a mild dose of losing the will to live, yes even your mutuals get stressed).

So here are a few survival tips from someone who has somehow lived through it:

1. Combine Prompts Like a Pro: If you can blend two (or three... or ten) prompts into one creation, DO IT. This is a game of efficiency, not perfection.

2. Follow the Inspiration: If a prompt is calling your name, do it first. Don’t sit there stressing over a prompt that makes you go “mehhhhhh” when you’ve got a killer idea for one later down the line. Jump around the list, no one’s going to slap your wrist.

3. Perfection is Overrated: Your writing doesn’t have to be a 50k-word magnum opus. Honestly, one-shots, drabbles, or even a glorified paragraph will do. It’s the whump that counts, not the word count.

4. Gif Sets? Just Vibe: If you’re making gifs, go for something that grabs your attention. You don’t need 20 frames of perfection—sometimes one killer moment is enough (trust me @99point9percentwhump can contest this).

5. Don’t Burn Yourself Out: You’re allowed to take a day off. Drafts are your friend, schedule them to the day and pre-tag them; this is not the Whumptober Hunger Games, so pace yourself, hydrate, and binge-watch whump when you feel it getting to much.

Basically, Whumptober is chaos, but it’s the fun kind of chaos. So, stop stressing and just enjoy the ride. You’ve got this, and if you don’t, there’s always next year; participation is just as good as completion! 😉

May your whumperflies be everlasting, and your cookies forever comforting.

[thatharringrovehoe]

Just gunna do this for a bunch of whips I guess. Anyway, Whump Steve AU

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Trust and Treachery

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: police, lady whump (sort of, ish, not exactly but ????), guy whump, guns (drawn but not fired)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 4100 || Approx reading time: 17 mins

Trust and Treachery

Teaser: “I’m serious. They’re still looking for her. Isn’t anyone going to talk about that? Or am I the only one who’s worried?”

The tales were told over endless cups of tea, as night fell and deepened to the blues and purples of midnight: Will’s time in prison, including details Bree herself had not heard and which made her eyes fill with tears; Bree’s side of the story, and how she had run away from Baden and taken Will with her; Colette’s summary of her time spent in a “safe place” about which she gave no further information; and Jamie Wardrew’s account of shutting down all Iustitia aecum operations and hiding out with the mostly silent other man, who was called Geoff. They had reunited with Colette once word got out that a thief had mysteriously escaped from prison—and posters with Will’s face on them appeared all over the city.

“You idiots should have skipped town fucking weeks ago,” Will said more than once, but there was no vehemence in his words. In fact, he was almost glowing. For most of the conversation, he twitched, bounced, and shifted in his seat, incapable of sitting still—except for his hand, which, despite how often he pulled it away to talk animatedly, always came back to rest upon Bree’s.

Now, his thumb stroked the back of her hand in a gentle, comforting rhythm. “You doing all right?” he murmured in her ear when the others were distracted.

Bree hummed a confirmation that she was, but exhaustion settled over her, brought on by the hours of talking and digging up of painful memories.

Oh—and the residual worries, of course, about when the inner circle of Iustitia aecum would come to their senses and throw her out. After all, what kind of woman would marry a man like Baden Hatchett? And how could she ever be trusted?

“You sure you’re okay?” Will asked.

“I’m just tired,” she told him, and he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said. “Everything’s okay.”

But alongside the joy of the reunion, a heaviness clung to the air, and when she glanced at the others, she found that they would not meet her gaze.

***

The next morning, waking in a bed that seemed emptier and colder than it should have, Bree found that Will was not beside her. She could hear him, though—one of several voices that drifted in from the kitchen, hushed and serious.

Frowning, she sat up, trying to catch what was being whispered into the stillness of the early morning.

“Gotta decide what to…”

“If we start up again…”

Bree slipped out of the bed, stifling a gasp at the bite of the cold floor against her bare feet. At the door, which Will had left ajar—had he snuck out, trying not to wake her?—she paused, nudging it slightly to let in more sound.

“I’m serious. They’re still looking for her. Isn’t anyone going to talk about that? Or am I the only one who’s worried?”

Dread, barbed and brutal, tore through Bree’s chest. They weren’t merely talking about IA business. They were talking about her.

“Colette,” Will’s voice said stiffly, his earlier elation gone, “she doesn’t want to go b—”

“Stop twisting my words. I didn’t say she wants to go back. But if they find her, they find us. You can’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind, too.”

“Okay, fine, it did, but—”

Bree closed her eyes. Was that the reason he’d held out so long before giving his name? Fear that her very presence would lead Baden right to him—and that she would buckle under pressure and reveal his name to the entire constabulary? Destroy everything he’d suffered so keenly to conceal with a single witless utterance?

“I mean,” Colette went on, “does anyone else really believe that mad constable’s just going to give up? He’s insane.”

Silence met her words.

“I didn’t think so.” How could she sound so fearless? How could her words be so calm, so steeped in cool, unshakeable logic? “I think you’d all better listen to me about this. Because I get it, we all want to get back to normal, get back to business, but as long as she’s around—”

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Bree jump. Furiously, Will snapped, “Don’t you even fucking think about saying what you’re about to say.”

“God, will you let me finish? I’m not arguing that we ditch her somewhere. She’s lovely. God knows how someone like her ended up with someone like him. And—just wait, for heaven’s sake! I’m not a monster. But we need a plan, and we need to make it now, because Hatchett wants you and her and as long as that’s true, we’re all in trouble.”

“She wouldn’t fuck us over like th—”

“Are you even listening? That’s not what I—”

Jamie’s quiet voice cut in. “Okay. Both of you. Shut up for a second.”

“Alpha, you know I’m right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will said, his voice acidic. Something warm flickered in Bree’s chest. Even with his brother speaking now, he was standing up for her. “We know. You’re always right. You’re so fucking smart—”

“Will!” Jamie snapped. “Shut the fuck up. Listen, for once.”

“You’re taking her side?”

“I’m not taking sides,” Jamie said tightly. “She—”

Too loudly—enough that if Bree hadn’t already been awake, she would have been jolted out of a dead sleep—Will said, “If you say she has to go, we’re about to have a big problem.”

“Just—”

“She has nowhere else to go,” he said. “Her parents are dead, too. And she can’t go back to Hatchett. She can’t. I’ll fucking die before I let that happen.”

Barely audible, some of the coldness faded from her voice, Colette said, “Oh, Will.”

Bree pressed her hands to her mouth, her heart trying to tear itself free of her very chest.

“And I—I—”

Neither his brother nor his friend interrupted, yet Will’s voice trailed off, the thought unfinished.

Geoff grunted, “You what?”

“I just can’t do that to her, all right?”

Did he mean it? Every word? He did, didn’t he? He wouldn’t let her go back to Baden, even if it meant going against the family he’d only just found again.

“Okay,” Jamie said. A mere breath after him, Colette said the same. “Okay. It’s not going to come to that. But let’s make a contingency plan, all right?”

Will mumbled, “The fuck is a contingency?”

“A just-in-case plan,” Colette said quietly.

“Just in case of what?”

Bree’s throat tightened again as Colette responded, “Just in case things go sideways. In case he catches up with her.” She paused. “With us.”

Jamie, from the sound of it, continued, but Bree silently pushed the door closed again and backed away on trembling legs. Her heart pounded as she went over the conversation—the argument—the inner circle of Iustitia aecum had just had about her.

For a few painful seconds, tears prickled behind her eyes. No matter where she went, she was never good enough. Breanna certainly hadn’t been. Now, it seemed that Bree was not, either—not for her own failings, but for the peril she brought in her wake.

No.

She swallowed her tears and took a breath. So Colette and Jamie were wary. Weren’t they right to be? But Colette had said it herself—it wasn’t Bree she didn’t trust. It was Baden.

But Will trusted her. Even if the others were reserving their confidence for now, he had faith in her. And he was willing to go against the others to prove it.

So, there was only one thing to do. She was going to have to prove it, too. That she belonged here. The she was one of them. That she deserved every ounce of that hard-won faith.

***

Of course, proving herself to IA was easier said than done. Bree opted not to mention what she had overheard, and Will didn’t bring it up, either. In this, she was almost relieved; he was spared the unenviable task of admitting that he’d been talking about her when he thought she couldn’t hear, and she was spared the indignity of facing everyone else’s mistrust head-on. No, she decided, it was much better to carry on as if she were none the wiser, and do what she could to weave herself into the delicate IA web.

Evenings, she determined promptly, provided ripe opportunity to find common ground with the others—particularly Colette and Jamie, who seemed to be the ones who had filled the bookshelves until they bowed in the middle. It was when the fire burned hottest and brightest; when everyone gathered without speaking of gangs or thievery; when she could read amid the soothing sound of crackling embers. The threadbare chairs did not provide nearly enough room for everyone to fit, but sitting on the floor with her book made Bree feel like a child again. Will, pressed against her side, didn’t seem to mind, either, and that made it all the sweeter.

Tonight, in a move that made everyone else’s jaws drop, Will was thumbing through Romeo and Juliet, which Bree had finished reading. He wasn’t reading it in earnest, however.

“The hell does this all mean?” he asked, cackling to himself. “You trying to tell me any of this makes sense to you?”

Bree blinked herself out of her current book and looked up to meet his amused gaze and unimpressed smirk. “It’s an old story. Once you know what to expect, it makes sense.”

But Will just shook his head, dictating lines he found perplexing or droll. “‘Such comfort as do lusty young men feel…’” He burst into a laugh and, reading on, found another that had him howling. “‘An open-arse, thou a poperin pear…’ What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You would find all the rude bits,” said Colette with a roll of her eyes.

“‘Some consequence,’” he went on, ignoring her save for a grin, “‘yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin…’ Well, he sure sounds happy, doesn’t he? ‘Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars…’ No one else thinks that’s a weird thing to want? No? Just me? All right. ‘I have an ill-divining soul…’” He scoffed and pushed it away. “Why can’t he just write like a normal person?”

Shaking her head, Colette asked wryly, “That’s your expert literary opinion, is it?”

“Pretty sure you’d find most reasonable people would agree with me.”

“I rather think you’d find,” she shot back, “that most intelligent people would not.”

Will snatched a cushion right out from behind Jamie’s back, eliciting a surprised yelp, and threw it at her head, howling with laughter when it struck its target squarely.

And grunting a loud, “Ow!” when she hurled it back at him.

“Leave her alone,” Bree said, laughing, laying a hand on his arm to prevent him from launching another attack. “Maybe you should try reading it. Who knows? You might end up liking it.” She paused. “Though it is very sad.”

“Right. It’d take me a month just to get through the first chapter.”

“It has acts and scenes,” Bree said, pointing to the heading on the page. “Not chapters.”

“See? I’m already hopeless.” But he didn’t look hopeless or even terribly annoyed as he closed the book and peeked over at Bree’s. “Can’t believe you finished it in a few days. What are you reading now?”

Bree showed him the cover, and Colette, peering at it, too, piped up again. “Oh, you found my Ovid.” She heaved a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s nice to have another intellectual around for once.”

Biting her lip, Bree tried not to look too satisfied with this remark.

Will brandished the cushion again, prompting his brother to take it out of his hands and return it to its previous place, supporting his back. With his physical ammunition confiscated, Will merely said, “You’re fucking hilarious, Colette.”

“I just finished the story of Orpheus and Eurydice,” Bree said to her, talking over him.

Geoff and Jamie had been watching in silence, the former quite apathetic toward the topic of fine literature and the latter baffled that Will was engaging with it at all. Now, his long-suffering-elder-brother expression changed from faint amusement to outright hilarity when Will demanded with a groan, “What the hell kind of names are those, now?”

Rubbing his face, Jamie answered, “It’s a myth, Will. Ancient Greek.” He looked over at Bree almost apologetically. “I really tried, you know. He used to sneak away instead of going to school. You think this guy ever did anything he was told?”

Throwing his brother an obscene gesture, Will just asked, “What’s it about?”

Bree was about to answer, but Colette said, utterly straight-faced, “It’s about an idiot who can’t follow simple instructions.”

The group burst into gleeful laughter, celebrating how Will had set himself up for the joke. Bree took his hand.

“No, it isn’t,” she told him. “It’s about how love is sometimes stronger than reason.”

With another vulgar gesture at the others, Will leaned toward her and laid a kiss right on her lips. Bree blushed, but there were no huffs of disapproval, suspicious glares, or scandalized gasps. Instead, teasing whoops spread through the room.

“You give her one of those bite marks in front of me, and I’ll smother you in your sleep,” Colette said primly as the titters faded, and Jamie choked on his tea.

“Oh, shut up,” Will said, and even though even his face flooded as red as Bree’s, he nearly fell to the floor with laughter.

Maybe, Bree thought with a smile, winning over Iustitia aecum wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought.

***

“You know, I’ve never seen him care about any of Colette’s books before.”

Bree jumped and stifled a squeak at the sudden voice behind her. She’d offered to fetch some water from the well, and she’d been quietly humming to herself—certainly not expecting anyone to overhear her less-than-impressive musical talents—so the appearance of Will’s brother was not one she was prepared for.

“Sorry,” Jamie said, smiling a little ruefully upon seeing that she was startled. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s all right.” She resisted the urge to press a hand against her pounding heart, figuring she already seemed jumpy enough to his eyes—jumpy, silly, and in over her head. “I didn’t hear you walking up.”

Jamie’s laugh, to her ears, was sardonic and abrupt—almost uncomfortable. “Well. We’ve had some practice in being stealthy over the years.” He nodded at her arm, free of bandages now but still marred by an unsightly scab she suspected might leave a scar. “You need some help?”

 “Did Will send you?” she asked charily.

“No, actually.” He took the full bucket from her hand and replaced it with the empty one he had brought with him. “We can share the job. I’ll carry two back, you carry one.”

“Thank you,” she said, uncertain of where to go from there as she filled the last bucket. Was he going to be the one to confront her? Bring up Colette’s fears? Demand proof of her loyalty to the Iustitia aecum creed?

“Will didn’t send me after you,” Jamie said. “I wanted to say…” A strange look crossed his face—a happy one, but mixed with sadness, too, and perhaps even a touch of bemusement. “I’ve never heard Will…I don’t know, ask questions like that before. About books, I mean. Like he actually cared.”

A warm glow blossomed in Bree’s chest. “Really?”

“Definitely not.” He leaned against the side of the well, eyes fixed on the cloudy sky. “You know, I was… When we didn’t know what had happened to him, all I could do was hope we’d find him again. And I knew if we did, he might be different.” He laughed. “I didn’t think that this was the kind of different we’d be getting.”

Bree’s eyes burned with uninvited but admittedly gratified—and somewhat triumphant—tears. “Is that…” She swallowed. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He glanced at her now, seeming to notice the shine in her eyes, though he did not mention it. “I think so.”

Bree turned her face away for a moment to blink away the sting.

“You look familiar.”

Almost automatically, she said, “Well, maybe you saw me about town with Baden,” although now that he mentioned it, there was something about his face, hailing from a time long ago—more than just his striking resemblance to Will.

He clenched his jaw. “I can tell you for sure that I have never once been close enough to that fucker at any moment to see your face that well.” The flat hatred in his voice made a shiver run down her spine.

“Um…” Eager to move on from that thought, Bree said, “Perhaps before that? School, maybe?”

But he shook his head—the age difference was a bit too big, they determined, and he had likely already been working by the time she was in the schoolhouse, too poor for a governess.

“My maiden name is Cooper,” she said, thinking back and racking her brain for the answer, and as his expression changed to astonishment, the image struck her, too: a quiet boy with threadbare clothes, wind-chapped cheeks, and tired eyes—a boy she’d never seen again after a fateful winter’s day.

Or so she’d thought.

“James,” she gasped at the same time he said, “Cooper.”

“You worked for us!”

“Your dad’s a huge prick.”

Well, there was no denying that. “He was. He’s dead now.” She gazed at the man in front of her. Was it really him? The boy from that day?

The day her father had turned out all the servants, every single one—and one boy had fought back.

She hadn’t thought of him in years. It was painful to remember, those early days of her father’s broken business, his rage, his humiliation. That day in particular was one she preferred not to recall. All those people, thrown out in the bitter winter, hopeless and weeping and cold...

But a boy called James had tried so hard to stand up for them, shouting and railing, demanding some semblance of justice for the servants who were losing their livelihoods. As he always had, to everything and everyone, Silas Cooper had responded with violence—beat him and hurled him out, right into a snowdrift.

“He was horrible to you,” she whispered. “I’m—I’m so sorry—”

“You ran out,” he said, and she nodded. Bree had raced outside, determined to stay her father’s hand, and wound up with a handprint on her cheek. “I remember that. You…” He paused. “Thanks.”

Reeling at the revelation that her story and Will’s had been threaded together for so much longer than either of them had known, she pushed up her sleeves, close to sweating from exertion and awe. “I…I can’t believe it.”

“No,” Jamie said, equally stunned. “It’s a damn small world.”

They stared at one another a few moments more, Bree fitting his careworn face over the time-misted features of a sixteen-year-old boy with fire in his eyes—the same fire she had seen blazing in Will’s so many times before.

Suddenly, those eyes widened.

“Breanna?”

It took Bree a moment to realize that it was not Jamie calling to her—nor would that be the name he would use even if he was.

Gasping, Bree spun around, letting the bucket slip from her hands and spilling frigid water over her boots.

“Curt,” she whispered. The wonder of the moment, blazing hot and beautiful, vanished; every ounce of it sucked away, leaving nothing behind but cold, scouring dread.

He flew forward, so fast she only managed a panicked step backwards before he reached her. “It’s you.” Hands on her arms, pinching tightly. Eyes wide. Voice rasping. “God, Breanna—” Grip tight. Too tight. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Please let go,” she said, half-dizzy. Frantic thoughts spilled through her mind, melting into the noisy, discordant symphony of Curt’s voice, rapid hoofbeats, and distant thunder. No. This can’t be. “I’m…”

But he was talking, clinging tight, talking, talking, talking, gesturing to the officers behind him. “Quick! Go get…” Not happening. This couldn’t be real. But he was holding her hand, lifting it, examining the scab on her arm. “Breanna, what happened to you?”

“Nothing!” He can’t be here. She tried to wrench herself free. She had to get free. Where was he sending that other constable? “Curt, you’re hurting me.”

Where’s Will?

What if—

“Don’t move!”

Bree froze her struggles, but the order was not for her.

“Who are you?” Curt demanded, his eyes on Jamie. “Breanna, is he with—is he with them? Is he keeping you here against your will?”

“No!” Bree tried again to pull away. Still, he wouldn’t let go. Why wouldn’t he let her go? “Curt, leave him. Please. He didn’t—”

“You’re hurt.” Curt’s voice was dark, his gaze flicking between her arm and Jamie’s frozen form. “That miserable bastard hurt you. The one who got out.”

“No,” she said. “Listen, please, Curt, he didn’t. He didn’t. Let me go, and—and—leave him, Curt, please. Please—”

But Curt was only half-listening, it seemed; he was no longer even looking at her, and when he spoke, he merely repeated, “He didn’t let you go and leave.” With his gaze trained on Jamie’s, he stared, slow recognition leaching into his face. Realizing he had seen those features before. Realizing who else that ruddy hair and those strangely hued eyes belonged to.

Forming his own twisted narrative from the face he saw before him and the cry for help he thought he’d heard.

He cursed softly, and Bree cried his name, desperate for him to look anywhere but at Jamie’s face.

“What did they do to you?” he hissed.

“Nothing!”

“You’re lying to me,” said Curt furiously. “Again. After everything. Aren’t you? That bastard is here somewhere. I know he is. Who is that—his bloody twin?” Finally, he looked back at her. “Where is he?”

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t…

If she looked back at the townhouse, if she gave away the headquarters of Iustitia aecum, then it was all over—when it had barely even begun.

Don’t look back.

But she did.

She did, just in time to see a figure with red-brown hair fling open the door and start to run before a pair of brawny arms grabbed hold and yanked him out of sight.

Two furiously screamed names escaped before Will’s voice faded into strangled silence.

“Bree! Jamie! N—”

“That way,” Curt said, following her gaze. Following Will’s cry. One of his fellow constables hastened toward the townhouse, boots clicking maddeningly along the street.

And then he jerked his head toward Jamie and said, “Arrest him.”

Something shattered.

Perhaps it was the sound of Will’s voice being cut off. Perhaps it was the sight of that constable bolting toward the townhouse, all because her treacherous eyes could not do as they were told. Perhaps it was the cold fury in Curtis Lenton’s voice. Perhaps it was the way Jamie Wardrew did not move a muscle.

“No!” She thrashed against Curt’s grasp, and in his shock, he let go. “Curt, for the love of god, don’t do this, please!”

She made it three steps away from him before he captured her again.

“Why are you fighting me?” he asked as she pounded her fists against him. “Breanna—please! I’m here to help you! I’m going to get you away from these people!”

Tears, heavier and hotter and more painful than any she had ever shed in her life, blurred her vision. Her limbs trembled and, after a moment, gave out, for Curt did not listen. And he did not let go.

“Hey!”

All the officers froze.

“There’s no one there,” Jamie said. His words were calm. He had not run, and he still did not, even as the third officer approached him with his revolver drawn. But his arms, held in the air, trembled.

For one of them had the sleeve pulled up—baring the Iustitia aecum sigil for the constables to see.

“You’re too late,” Jamie said. “They’re already gone. You won’t find anyone else.”

Lies, Bree thought dizzily. A distraction to confuse them? Slow them down?

“Who are you?” Curt snarled again. “Where is the thief who escaped?” To the one he’d sent to the townhouse, he repeated the order to go, and the man obeyed.

“Forget him. He’s gone.” Jamie looked away from Curt’s glare to stare into the barrel of the other constable’s gun. His gaze met Bree’s for only an instant when the man reached him and wrenched his hands behind his back. “I’m the one who’s in charge of Iustitia aecum. I’m the one you want.”

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

@kixngiggles

✨

[asidian]

N and P!

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Hmm. Nothing specific, I don't think? But in general, I'm always on the lookout for well-written hurt/comfort or whump to my taste that involves my favorite character in a fandom.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I actually wasn't familiar with this quote, so I had to go and dig it up before I could answer. For anyone who isn't familiar, here it is in its entirety:

"I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.” ― George R.R. Martin

I'm 100% a gardener.

I'll go into a piece of writing with often only a theme, a mood, or an idea, and I'll see where it takes me.

When I write I really enjoy sort of – it's hard to describe it. I enjoy circling around and around the idea or the theme or the mood that I'm trying to get at, getting closer and closer but never quite putting my finger on it. I want to explore the area around it. I want to paint the broad strokes, so that when the reader glances into the middle, in the blank spot where there's no paint, they see that the only thing that hasn't been said outright is the thing that everything else has been pointing to all along.

Sometimes I don't get there entirely, but I almost always end up with something, even if it's not necessarily always what I started out to write.

[i-eat-worlds]

Alex Shevchenko: Moodboard

@pigeonwhumps

[littleperilstories]

Last mood board! Here's Bree, our intrepid (and rather unlucky) heroine. She was the first character to take up residence in my head for TPOT, when I first started writing my three Whumptober stories. In my original vision, the story centred on her.

Then Will ran into my head like a little hurricane and now we're here.