#you want whump? i'm giving you whump

[seasaltandcopper]

vampire hunter AU Pt 2

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Summary: Mal is handed over to Teddy by the vampire hunters.

(This one got longer than I expected, and is still mostly set up for the story and dynamics, but it's also chock full of whump, so I feel like I'm splitting the difference.)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of torture, blood and gore, violence, manhandling, nonsexual nudity, imprisonment, starvation, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun (only used by one character)

“Mal.”

One word. One name. It dropped from the hunter’s lips and snagged Mal’s attention like a fishhook through the gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone say his real name out loud.

Years, probably.

And now it spat from the mouth of this woman, this hunter, like a curse. Like some personal ax she had to grind with him.

Like she knew him.

Stiffly, Mal raised his head enough to get a better look at her. Short. Subtly curvy, but muscular. Dark skin, deep brown eyes, well-kept hair, all leather and denim and piercings with an attitude to match. The ensemble practically screamed, pick a fight with me and see what happens.

Teddy smelled like clean sweat, gun oil, and the intoxicating vibrancy of blood flowing through her veins. Life. Food.

God, he was starving. He was so fucking hungry it hurt. More than hurt. Hurt was a broken arm, a knife digging between his ribs, the burn of a cigarette put out on the arch of his foot—this was closer to losing a piece of his soul. Feeling it shredded and screaming in agony without relief.

Mal swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth before he choked on it, and tried to ignore the twisting in his gut as the smell of them permeated the cramped space. He held Teddy's gaze, sunken eyes peering out through a mess of filthy hair, but the flash of recognition he hoped for never came. She stayed unfamiliar. A stranger.

But one who obviously thought she knew him.

“Today’s your lucky day, bloodsucker,” she said, eyes flint-hard and sharp enough to cut. “You’re coming home with me.”

What?

Mal blinked. It took longer than it should have for reason to catch up and plunge icy fingers past the fog of exhaustion and pain. He’d expected—well, more of the usual. Another guest looking to blow off some steam, or getting “justice” for someone Mal had likely never laid eyes on in his life.

This wasn’t the first time the hunters had brought in a friend; honestly, the bleak-humored side of Mal was surprised they hadn’t thought to charge admission. Probably could’ve made a nice little profit on the side.

Still, the script stayed the same: they took him out to hurt him, and after they got tired or bored or felt they made their point, someone dragged Mal back to his box. Time passed, alone, in the dark—sometimes hours, sometimes days—before he was fed just enough blood to heal the worst of his wounds.

Then the cycle repeated.

Over and over and over. A horrific, never ending nightmare, but a familiar one.

Leaving with another human—no, a hunter, who knew his name, how did she know his name, who was she?—smashed every established pattern to pieces. Unease tangled like thorny brambles inside his rib cage, clawed at the back of his throat.

Mal couldn’t ask what the hell she meant; he couldn’t even open his mouth, muzzled like this. Cautiously, he glanced towards Brooks, hoping for some kind of clarification.

The hunter chuckled. Hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and leaned back against the wall, smug as could be. The nasty glint in his eyes sent a cold tremor down Mal’s spine; he dropped his gaze back to his lap.

Brooks was one of the ones who’d taken a personal liking to Mal, early on. Back when they’d been uncommonly cruel in their attempts to wear him down, testing the limits of their creativity with techniques that still left Mal nauseous to think about.

If Mal’s heart had been capable of more than sluggish, off tempo beats, it would’ve raced.

“You got your own restraints for transport, or should I write up a slip for loaner gear?”

Reaching behind to unclip something from her belt, Teddy flashed a standard issue set of cuffs and a muzzle, then tossed it to him. “Here.”

Brooks snagged the gear out of the air. Stepped away from the wall with a sigh. Tensing, Mal pulled in a shallow breath through his nose, and watched Brooks out of the corner of his eye. The man’s black-polished boots crunched on the grit strewn floor.

The woman made a noise at the back of her throat. Derisive. “And hose him down or something before you bring him out. Smells like someone left roadkill in a hot van.”

Brooks snorted. A half-beat later, the toe of his shiny, black-polished boot slammed into Mal’s hip. It tore a pained exhale from him as he lurched to the side, the clatter of metal singing against brick. Catching himself on his forearm, Mal winced at the stripe of skin he lost for his trouble. Blood welled up in dark beads, staining the pale firebrick with more of the same.

Dead blood.

It wouldn’t satisfy like fresh, human blood would. It didn’t smell like anything at all. But the sight of it still tied Mal’s insides in knots as the instinct to feed spiked in response.

All his body understood was that it was starving, and that looked like blood, even if logic knew it was only a trick.

“Look, I don’t give a shit about the transfer order. Whatever. You want the vamp, you can have it. But we’re not runnin’ a grooming service. You want the thing washed and styled, do it on your own damn time.” Eyes still on the other hunter, Brooks tangled a gloved fist in Mal’s hair and hauled him upright. “Alright, shitsucker, let’s go. Up.”

Scrambling to get his legs under himself before Brooks left him with a bald patch, Mal twisted and choked on the words trapped in his throat. The sudden shift in gravity left his head spinning, limbs somehow both too stiff, and too wobbly to fully bear his weight.

Legs shaking, Mal planted his feet as best he could, but stayed on his feet. Barely. 

Just do it. Hurry up and get it over with, I can’t—

Brooks came to the same conclusion a second later. He hissed an irritated sigh, and released his grip on Mal's hair. Unsupported, Mal sagged on his feet, brows pinched in a pained grimace.

“Lazy motherfucker,” Brooks muttered. “Told you. Give ‘em an inch…”

Yeah, and I'd tear your throat out, you fucking bastard.

Strong fingers dug into Mal’s arm as Brooks worked to unlock the manacles. Heavy iron clattered to the bricks. Then again, as Brooks stooped and did the same for Mal’s ankles.

Without the added weight, Mal felt marginally steadier on his feet. And uncomfortably naked.

Gingerly, he ghosted bony fingers over the red, raw patches of skin circling his wrists. Black humor bubbled in Mal’s chest, and he swallowed back a laugh. Now he felt naked—without the extra pounds of iron weighing him down—but not because he hadn’t worn clothes in years.

On his list of priorities, Mal's desire for pants had dropped depressingly low over the years.

At least when Brooks cuffed him again, arms behind this time, he left Mal’s ankles unshackled. The muzzle went last, and a part of Mal hated himself for the way he tilted his head without prompting, obediently offering Brooks better access to the buckles; the rest of him didn’t give a shit, as long as it got the fucking thing off faster.

Brooks tugged it, giving the muzzle a disgusted look as no small amount of crusted gunk and scabbed tissue pulled free too. Mal barely noticed. After days suffocating in the thing, he was just glad to have it off.

He sighed. Worked his jaw, and held back a groan as sore muscles twinged all the way down his neck. Dried bits of filth Mal definitely did not want to identify crumbled loose with the movement. More of it itched under his nose and around his mouth, but the worst still matted the scruffy mess of facial hair stubbornly clinging to his jaw.

Even when they deigned to leave the muzzle off, there was only so much grooming he could do without access to water or rags or full use of his hands.

At some point Mal just gave up trying.

Gloved fingers snagged his chin, pulling Mal from his thoughts. He flinched. Not enough to pull loose—even reacting blindly Mal was smarter than that—but enough to earn an amused snort.

“Maybe it could use a hose down,” Brooks muttered. He ghosted a leather-clad thumb over Mal’s chin, squinting. “Ehh.” Then shrugged, wiped his finger clean on Mal’s shoulder, and lifted the replacement muzzle to fit in place.

Mal shivered as worn leather kissed his skin again. It sat overlapping some of the bleeding lines chafed by the old one, bright stinging pain sinking into a deeper, throbbing burn as Brooks cinched the straps tight.

At least this one was purely to prevent accidental bites—just a simple, boxy wire guard and leather straps—not like the ones Mal was used to, meant to completely immobilize the jaw.

He could still open his mouth. Take a real, full breath. Run his tongue over the outside of his teeth, or lick his lips. Talk.

This was fine. Mal could deal with this. This was—better.

After double checking his handiwork, Brooks laid a heavy palm on the back of Mal’s neck. He tensed, visceral disgust tingling down his back and making his skin crawl. Touch didn’t carry many pleasant connotations these days, but being touched by Brooks left Mal feeling genuinely sick.

The hunter squeezed once, pinching with his index finger and thumb. A warning.

“Let’s go,” Brooks ordered. “Move.”

Gentle pressure turned to a vice grip, and Mal hissed. His entire body was an ugly patchwork of marks—welts, burns, the scabbed over remnants of a recent caning, bruises layered on bruises; and his neck was no exception.

Brooks’ fingers molded themselves to older blue-green imprints, pressing hard. A sharp boot-tap to the knobby part of Mal’s ankle followed, and he cringed at the pathetic, wounded-animal sound that rose in his throat. Lurching forward, he struggled to stay on his feet and limp along at Brooks’ pace.

“I’m—trying,” Mal rasped, frustrated. He tripped again on the lip of the kiln. Would’ve fallen if Brooks hadn’t literally had him by the scruff. Shit.

The world pitched. Dark spots burst across Mal’s vision.

“Quiet.”

Fuck you.

Teddy followed silently, a dark smudge in the corner of Mal’s vision as Brooks manhandled him out of the room. Up one flight of concrete stairs. And another. Past the living quarters, and then into a part of the compound Mal only remembered seeing once: a pair of heavy steel doors that led outside.

Out, to the wide, open world and a night sky Mal hadn’t laid eyes on in years. He didn’t notice he was shaking until they stopped. Blinking rapidly, his vision strobed. He felt light, fuzzed at the edges, like he was about to pass out.

The pressure vanished from the back of his neck. Replacing it, a hand curled around his upper arm. Skin to bare skin. Warm skin, and slender, strong fingers. Though Teddy's hands were smaller than Brooks’, one of them still managed to encircle the entire circumference of Mal’s bicep.

There just wasn’t anything there anymore.

Side by side, Mal figured he stood a good five or six inches taller than her, but she probably weighed more. She sure as hell could’ve picked him up if she felt inclined.

“I got it from here,” she said, to Brooks.

A nod. “Sure. An’ listen, you change your mind, you can always drop it back off. Teddy, right? No questions asked.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, alright,” Brooks said. “You got my number if you need anything—” A pointed pause. “Y’know, anything—handlin’ advice, someone to share a drink with…”

Grimacing, Teddy shot Brooks a look that would’ve vaporized a weaker man on the spot. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I got it.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Brooks took the hint. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”

Eyes the color of dark amber settled on Mal’s face, and this time he visibly grimaced at the attention. Swallowing hard, he tried unsuccessfully to push back against rising anxiety as Teddy addressed him directly.

“You try anything and I’ll break both your legs, and drag you the rest of the way to the truck by your hair. Got it?” He nodded.

Yeah. Mal got it. And his tentative hopes for ending up somewhere even marginally better than here dwindled by the second.

Warm, sweet smelling night air folded around them as they stepped outside. Grumbling to himself, Brooks turned and vanished into the compound without a word, not even sparing a glance back.

He’d probably agonized more over tossing out an old pair of boots. Or getting shot down by a cute hunter.

With a sharp bang, the doors pulled closed behind them. Sighing, Teddy tightened her grip. Something Mal couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Disgust? Anger? Whatever it was, Mal blinked and it was gone.

“C’mon. I wanna beat the sunrise home.”

AN: Annnnnd we're about to start really getting into the meat of it. I actually planned for more to happen in this chapter and had to shove that in the next one, and this still ended up 3x longer

Next chapter we get to meet Will, the other half of the hunter duo

Taglist: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

[thewhumpcaretaker]

❤️ Whumpril IV - Swaying ❤️

Poems from the perspective of Caretaker.

Oh, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you fall? The world all holds its breath to watch you sway. No, boys. A slow song’s coming on, that’s all. I won’t, I will not, watch him die this way.

May I cut in and steal this dance from Death? With my hand on your waist, yours ‘round my neck, with drumming, nervous hearts and halting breath, let me lead you, swaying, from this wreck.

[wispurring-moss]

on my hands and knees begging that we'll get to know Husk's human name someday

[whumpacabra]

Girls’ Night!

Referenced kidnapping and missing persons, human trafficking mention, vague fictional politics

[Directly follows In the Dog House]

Beth tracked the truck through the city by camera, determining it was headed southwest toward the farmlands. It certainly narrowed her options, the rolling hills quiet save for the spare bellow of a cow in labor. Most places here were family owned - quiet homesteads that hadn’t moved in centuries save for fire or war. But there was one that stood out on this side of town: the Lahey horse barn.

If she was supposed to be looking for an enemy of the O’Hares, it would be that former-crime family. Their fall from grace hadn’t been, well, graceful or slow, in large part due to the youngest O’Hare turning traitor when arrested. They had plenty of motive to kidnap the poor bastard, with East as an unlucky witness.

(He wasn’t dead. It was intuition more than faith; no body had turned up and he wasn’t worth much to them dead. Or so she told herself.)

If the pair of lost boys were anywhere, they were with the Laheys. And it seemed she wasn’t the only one with that deduction.

It was hard to hide vehicles on these open roads, but the small convertible ahead of her was doing its damndest - black paint, no lights…if Beth hadn’t come up behind it in her own car she would never have seen it. Her headlights illuminated its driver for a split second, and she had a good guess as to their identity. The senior O’Hare may have been a heartless bastard who didn’t pay a ransom for his own children, but it seemed it wasn’t a hereditary trait in the family.

Both vehicles pulled over, hidden from the distant horse barn by shrubbery and a stonewall. Beth left her vehicle first - she knew the fact that she was a woman made it easier for people to trust her. (Less likely to suspect she would stab them in the back.) She was pleasantly surprised to see another woman step from the convertible, though knowledge soured the revelation.

Of course the lost sheep was looking for the latest lamb abandoned by the shepherd.

“Liza O’Hare. You’re awfully far from your latest boyfriend’s penthouse.” Beth kept her voice light, a sober undertone matched by the woman’s hard eyed appraisal. She had none of the usual finery Beth had come to associate with the wealthy grifter. She wore simple trousers and a button down shirt, with hair tired back in a tight bun. Professional.

(Beth wouldn’t admit it made her more attractive than her usual attire of tule slips or miniskirts. The agent was on the clock, after all.)

“And you are?” The thick Irish brogue rolled off her tongue with annoyance, impatience in her poster as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Agent Beth Adams. MI5.” Beth huffed, breath fogging in the cool night air. “Officially, I’m just Beth Adams tonight. Kidnappings aren’t Security Service jurisdiction.”

“Then what are you here for?” Liza’s bite was startlingly defensive, endearingly protective.

“Not your brother. Though I’m sure getting the little bastard back home alive would be a bonus.” Beth almost wished Jackson was here. Tact wasn’t her strong suit, and Liza’s suspicion was only increasing. “Friend of a friend got nabbed with your brother. I need to get him home safe, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” She took half a shuffle forward, and Liza’s hand was at her hip - surely on a readied firearm. Beth sighed, glancing at the barn in the distance. “We’re both trying to save these boys a bit of pain. I don’t know about your brother, but my friend of a friend has had more than his fair share and I’m not interested in leaving him another night with those fuckers.”

Liza’s expression was difficult to watch in the dim moonlight, but Beth could swear she saw the grifter’s eyes widened a fraction as she reached a realization.

“He won’t be there another night. Sale dropped off the listings a few hours ago. Buyer is probably coming by tonight - ”

“Sale?” Beth felt frustration simmer hot under his skin. Of course - she should have checked the human trafficking listings - “Do you know who’s buying?”

“No. But if they contacted the Laheys this quickly, they knew what, or who, they were looking for.” Liza pulled a pair of night vision binoculars from the backseat of her car, aiming them toward the barn and watching the distant movement Beth could only barely make out.

“Should I be worried that you know more about my friend of a friend than I do?” It was only half a joke - how Liza O’Hare knew East well enough to recognize him by a red market listing was a question for another time.

“Like you said both want these idiots alive and safe come morning.” Her tone changed, soft but colder. “Watch our six. Looks like there’s movement from the south.”

Liza was right, there was the almost imperceptible sheen of headlights over the distant hills. Beth took out her own binoculars, comfortable with her back to one of Europe’s most wanted. Jackson must have been rubbing off on her - trusting a criminal like this…

(To be fair, the situation was dire enough that the notorious Liza O’Hare was trusting an agent as ruthless as Beth.)

“Black BMW from the south. Rental car - might be our buyer.”

“Bad timing - black pick up truck just left with two from the barn.” Liza clicked her tongue, tossing the binoculars into her car. “They’re not here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Why send your burliest boys away when the most dangerous part of a transaction comes up?” Liza sighed, grimacing. “Lahey is trying to stall. He lost one - or more likely both - of them and is having his boys track them down while he tries to keep the buyer busy.”

Liza was getting into her car by the time Beth realized she was meaning to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“They’re not here. I have a pretty good guess where they are, knowing my brothers. No point hanging around here.” Liza nodded her head to the passenger side of her car. “Lahey is a dead man and this barn is a dead end. We just need to get ahead of that truck and stay ahead of the buyer.”

Beth was already climbing inside the convertible, bag from her own car tossed in the back. No point trusting Liza halfway in this - they were a team. At least for tonight. She gave a sad glance to the rear view mirror, the rental car door opening but the figure too distant to see.

“What makes you so sure the buyer will kill Lahey for not having his…product immediately available?”

“Red market isn’t the kinda business where one…misplaces a sale. Best case scenario the buyer thinks Lahey is incompetent and inexperienced - which he is - and that makes him a liability. Worst case, the buyer assumes Lahey was baiting them for someone like you.”

[Directly before Professionals]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

[windfighter]

Hold the light

Prompt: ”I’m right here.”

----

Sun set. The world turned from dim to dark and Kouji stopped. Clenched his hands. He should have started heading home earlier. Should have taken a road where the street lights weren’t dead. Steps echoed next to him.

”...’niisan?”

”Yeah, I’m right here.”

Kouichi grabbed Kouji’s hand. Kouji flinched, then closed his own hand around Kouichi’s. He swallowed.

”This is the worst.”

”At least it’s not a stair this time”, Kouichi said with a laugh. ”Come on, just follow me.”

He tugged at Kouji’s hand, started walking. Pressed himself against Kouji’s side. Kouji noticed that Kouichi was trying to keep him away from the curb. It was good, Kouji really didn’t feel like breaking something again. He squeezed Kouichi’s hand and took a few careful steps. Terryfying. Walking in absolute darkness was the literal worst.

”I wish I could just”, Kouji lifted his free hand, ”snap my fingers and make light happen.”

”If only”, Kouichi laughed.

Kouji laughed as well. Snapped his fingers. Light flooded the street, Kouichi pulled away, eyes clenched, arms up to block the light. Kouji stared at the white sphere hovering above his hand like a miniature sun.

”Turn it off!” Kouichi yelled.

”I don’t know how to turn it off, you’re the one who controls darkness!”

”I don’t control darkness, I can just see in it!”

Kouichi pressed his hands against his face. Kouji stared in awe at the area closest to them. It was so clear. Not even daylight made colors that vibrant. Kouichi hissed.

”It burns.”

Kouji laughed.

”What are you, a vampire?”

He grabbed one of Kouichi’s hands, tugged at it.

”Come on, I’m right here, let me lead. Until we figure out how to turn this off.”

Kouichi held his other hand over his eyes, his face scrunched up in pain.

”Mama and dad are gonna be so freaked out by it”, he said.

”Yeah, we’ll cross that bridge when we get home”, Kouji said.

He tugged at Kouichi again, put himself between Kouichi and the curb and started leading the way home. Slow, steady steps to make sure Kouichi didn’t fall over his own feet. They reach another street, where the lights worked. Kouji’s fingers cramped and he clenched his hand.

There was a sizzle and darkness laid thick over them again. He let out a sigh.

”Well… at least we figured out how to turn it off.”

Kouichi opened his eyes, blinked a few times. He looked more at home with the sun gone, more comfortable. The streetlights provided just enough light for Kouji to see where he put his feet. He scratched the back of his head.

”Guess I need to update my powerset in the group chat.”

He laughed. Kouichi rolled his eyes and started walking. Kouji hurried after him and grabbed his hand.

”Don’t worry, ’niisan. I’m sure you’ll get a cool move someday too!”

”Yeah, probably”, Kouichi agreed. ”At least we don’t need to worry about you getting lost in the woods any longer.”

Kouji snorted. Being able to summon light would make a lot of things easier for him. And if he could use it to prank the others (and most importantly Kouichi) that was even better!

[keepswingin]

Ok. If you could. I want you to hit me with your longest and most angstiest Willa Angst. I’ve noticed you’ve done a lot of Wyatt angst. Some Zed Angst. Addison angst too! But I gotta a craving, so if you could. I want some good old fashioned knuckle deep finger linger good Willa Angst. Please and thank you 😌. Bonus if she’s gay

One of the werewolves doesn't return, on a day where everything and anything has annoyed Willa.

She's halfway through scolding a pup when the scouts return from their evening rounds, and a quick glance tells her that she's missing one. Something in her gut twists at the information, but she ignores the feeling so that she can finish her reprimand. The pup scampers away a moment later, thoroughly imitated, and Willa exhales as she lifts her eyes to her pack once more, counting them again.

Six had gone out to scout for new threats, a daily occurrence for a territory as large as theirs, and one did not return.

Irritation builds inside of her, because of course this would happen on the one day where everything has gone absolutely wrong, but she shoves in down in favor of calling for Wyatt, a few lone eyes catching hers as she does. She glares until they turn away, muttering among themselves.

A long moment passes, and then her brother emerges from the far hallway that leads into the deeper parts of the cave, silhouetted by the dim lighting that leaks from the flickering lights behind him. His eyes quickly search the room until they land on her, mouth pulled in concern.

"What's wrong?"

Willa hates that he can read her so well.

"Wade didn't come back." The den goes silent as her firm voice echoes through the room. She can't help but roll her eyes. "And nobody thought to mention it."

Wyatt's eyebrows pull as he moves towards the entrance of the den, leaving Willa's eyes to stare daggers at each and every wolf that had gone out. It's pathetically ridiculous that she has to deal with petty rivalries and packmates picking and choosing still, after all they've been through.

It annoys her and angers her all at once, heat prickling at her chest. They didn't realize, how dangerous things could turn, from a calm evening to a cold night. Even after almost dying alongside each other, they still didn't understand how fickle life could be, or what real monsters still hid in the dark, bigger and scarier than they could ever be. Not only were all of their parents gone, but their memories of them too, and everything that they had learned and seen, lost to the haze of being far too comfortable in a place that had never welcomed them before.

She's toying with the idea of banishing them to the woods for the night, Wynter more than capable of taking care of the pups on her own, because if her words wouldn't teach them a lesson, then maybe the howls of beings unseen would, when a soft voice interrupts her musings.

Her eyes snap to the culprit, only to find that it's Weslie; reserved, a head too short and never one to speak up in times of quiet, she speaks up now, eyes darting between the fumble of her claws against one another and Willa's scathing expression.

"He said he wanted to check the riverbend," she says, shoulders sinking the longer Willa looks at her. "He said he heard something, but nobody else had, so we went on without him."

Willa gives a stiff nod in response.

Some of the other wolves in the room shoot scorned looks at Weslie, but Willa's moonstone colors as a growl ripples through the room. "She's braver than all of you," she spits, threat going unsaid as her amber eyes flicker from one packmate to the next. They heed her warning and lower their eyes without a word. Weslie ducks her head as Willa turns away, making her way out of the den.

She finds Wyatt waiting for her, perched on top one of the high rocks, golden eyes scanning across the expanse of the forest. She comes to a stop beside him, sighing loud, crossing her arms.

"Wade went to check out the riverbend. Weslie said he heard a noise that nobody else did, and that the rest of the pack moved on without him."

Bright color slowly fades from her brother's eyes. "Weslie told you that?" he asks as he glances over at her, sounding impressed. At his sister's silence he smirks, eyes moving back to the far tree line. "I guess you are getting more imitating with age."

"You're the same age as me," she points out dryly.

"I'm two minutes younger," he says proudly, before turning to face her. "Alright, let's go. We should reach the river before nightfall, if we're fast enough." He goes to brush by her, but Willa reaches out and grabs his elbow before he can get far.

"You stay here with those idiots. I'll go get Wade." She knows Wyatt doesn't like the idea before she even finishes talking, mouth twisting. He's stubborn, whenever it comes to her. "You know it'll be faster if I go by myself."

"And you know I can keep up with you. What gives?"

Willa lets go of his arm, exhaling.

A soft breeze pushes at them both, but they're steady against the wind. "I need the time alone anyway. Today has not been my day," she admits, glancing down. "As much as a headache going to get him is, I think I need the trip."

Wyatt's eyes flicker across her face. When he finds whatever it is that he's looking for, he steps back from her, lifting his hands. "If you aren't back in a half hour, I'm coming to get you, annoyed or not."

Willa's lips tick into a smile. "You're underestimating me in your old age, brother." She jumps from the rock as he sputters for a comeback, and leaves him there as she takes off into the forest, feeling less annoyed than she did.

Maybe if he had been around earlier, instead of doing whatever it was he did in Seabrook during the hours where no one needed him, the day wouldn't have been so bad.

--

Willa makes it to the first markings of the river a bit slower than she usually would, if only to take in the fresh air after a day of feeling nothing but caged.

She finds the sloppy tracks of her pack easily, and makes a note to remind them not to be so careless next patrol as she follows them against the current, eyes automatically scanning for threats as she goes. They've gotten lazy as time has dragged on, she thinks, eyes catching on snapped twigs and obvious missing pieces of brush.

It's been long since any incident, and she's been a bit more lax with the pups when she takes them out into the forest, Wyatt the only one who sees, smiling more often than not, but maybe word had gotten back to some of the pack. Maybe they thought that if their alpha was slacking off, they could too, because that meant there were no threats to be worried about. Maybe she should just slip back into the person she was when they were desperate to find the moonstone, claws sharp and teeth bared. She had to be everything the pack was supposed to be, and if she wasn't, then it was her fault that they weren't. Maybe the elders were wrong, in who they picked to be the next leader.

Maybe she was nothing more another packmate, no matter how much her heart told her that she was meant to be their alpha.

The sound of the water grows louder as she cuts across to the other side of the river, catching sight of the bend up ahead, rushing water foaming as it hits against an uneven pile of stones before moving on. The tracks she's following take a sharp turn before disappearing into the bushes off to her right, and she scoffs. All they had to do was stick around for a minute, and then they all could've been on their way back together. She tries not to think too much about it, if only to save Wade from the anger it brings her.

She makes it to the cusp of the riverbend, pushing her way past the branches that hang down low overhead, only to freeze. The branches slip away from her claws, swinging back into place with a soft rustle.

Ahead of her, is Wade.

He's lying on his back across the stream of the river, clothes drenched through as water struggles to find its way around him, curving around his outstretched fingers, his sprawled legs. His eyes are open as he stares up at the darkening sky, unseeing. His moonstone necklace is ripped from his body, and resting in the river beside him, just out of reach. His marking is wiped clean from his cheek.

His neck is red, skin torn jaggedly from a ripping cut that must have killed him slowly, desperate scratch marks surrounding it. The water has washed away most of the blood, leaving nothing to the imagination as Willa stares down in horror, unable to bring herself to move.

Water splashes from behind her.

She goes to whip around, moonstone flaring against her confusion and panic, but it's too late as pain explodes across her temple, vision blurring as she stumbles to one knee, barely able to catch herself.

Her breathing is heavy and her head throbs as she attempts to struggle back onto her feet, everything about this situation screaming nothing but danger, but a hand slips into her hair and pulls back roughly, causing Willa to cry out. Her necklace is torn from her neck, hitting somewhere on the ground beside her, and before she can react, she feels something press against the skin there, pushing hard enough that she can feel her own blood as it begins to slide down her neck.

She knows what it is immediately. Terror wraps around her chest and squeezes until she has no air left to breathe. The werewolf claws against her throat press harder, and Willa nearly chokes.

"What kind of fearless alpha falls for such stupid bait?" they hiss, mocking, laughing, sneering. "I can't believe that our pack has been scared of someone like you."

The claws against her throat dig deep and tear, not enough to kill her, but enough to stun her as they let her fall against the riverbed, blood pouring even as she lifts shaking fingers in an attempt to clot the wound.

She watches as the water below her turns red, all too suddenly cold and empty and numb to everything but the burning feeling of her wound, fingers slipping and sliding as she presses harder and bites back a cry.

Someone laughs from above her, and someone else mutters something she doesn't catch. She blinks and raises her head, only to see mud soaked boots staring back at her, more than she can count.

Was their whole pack here? Were they all here to take turns in making her bleed, until there was no blood left?

She knew the other packs had always despised her own.

Chosen, they would spit venomously, fangs baring. Chosen to protect a moonstone they couldn't even keep.

But the years had gone on, and their words had eventually faded into nothing more than spineless whispers. They had never tried to attack so boldly before, far more eager to snarl threats they could never go through with against her father, her mother, her brother.

Her, on a day where she had sent one of their runts back home, leaving just enough of a mark so that they would never forget what she was capable of.

"Pathetic," someone sneers, and a boot buries itself into her gut. She snaps her mouth shut, and refuses to make another sound.

Weak, she thinks as she lifts her head and sees the smirking face of their alpha looking back at her, to stab someone who's not looking. The marking is stark against the skin of his cheek.

"No wonder he went down so easily," he gloats, nodding towards where Wade's body still rests in front of her. More blood drips from between her fingers. Her skin is screaming. Her glare is piercing. "Is that all you teach your pack? How to die?"

"Is that all you teach yours?" she snarls, as fierce as she is meant to be, with or without her moonstone. She lifts herself up, standing before him and a pack that looks on in disbelief. "To take the easy way out?"

She launches herself forward, claws dragging along the water as she snatches her moonstone and brings sand up with it, causing some of the werewolves to stumble back. She catches sight of the alpha's red eyes as ancient power ripples through her the moment the moonstone presses against her skin.

She knows it's now or never.

She reaches him in a second, claws flashing. They make contact with skin, and she tears them across without a second thought. A wolf comes from her right. They fall to the ground with little resistance. Another from the left, a third from behind the now retreating alpha, barking orders as his beta moves forward.

Willa nearly scoffs. A true alpha would never hide behind their pack.

She fights off as many as she can reach, and leaves more than a few reeling and bloody, only for another to take their place. She doesn't dare howl, even though something inside of her tells her she should, but she wouldn't ever put them in danger. Not for her sake, not ever. So she continues fighting, until she has nothing left.

She doesn't know how long it lasts, before she can feel the slide of her power slipping away. A wolf slashes at her blindly and nicks the corner of her shoulder. Her throat feels as though it's fire, and she thinks she can taste copper on her tongue, which she's sure isn't a good sign.

An arm comes in swinging from the left, and she's too slow as her eyes catch on the alpha, scorned and filled with fury and far too quick. Her body can't keep up with her brain.

She screams.

She sees nothing but red.

Willa's heart thrashes from inside her chest as her vision is cut in half, panic gripping tight at her throat. The left side of her face burns, and the blood that drips does nothing but encourage the fire. She goes to raise a shaking hand to assess the damage, only for that to be torn open too.

She's surrounded in a matter of seconds, and no amount of fighting, bleeding or not, is enough to keep her from being shoved to the ground.

Nothing is enough to keep her from becoming the prey.

--

Someone's hand brushes against her shoulder.

Willa flinches.

Pain rips through her, like a knife shredding through skin. It's agonizingly intense, and she can feel her mouth open, and then close in an attempt to stop what wants to escape - you're an alpha, you're an alpha, you're - but the pain seethes, just under her skin, and she wants it to stop.

The whimper that spills from her lips is pathetic, she knows, but she can't stop it. Not when every inch of her is screaming, every part of her burning, every part of her wanting nothing but to be numb again, so that she doesn't hurt at all.

She's afraid to move.

A bitter part of her foggy mind tells her she's no alpha after all, if a little pain keeps her from standing up again.

Her stomach twists. She wishes it wasn't the truth.

"Willa," someone says from above her, tone edged with a panic she's not familiar with.

She's afraid to open her eyes. Afraid to move. Afraid that they'll string her up from the trees to rot, or dangle her from a cliff, or leave her body outside the den for the pups to find. They've already done all they could do to her. Taken her skin, her blood, her claws, her name, smeared away her marking until it could never be there again. What else could they possibly want, if not to finish the job?

"Willa," they say again. Their voice catches. Feet shuffle from her left and she can't push the right syllables from her tongue, can only try to move, but she can't move, not like this, not again. Something warm grips at her hand, squeezing tight. She thinks she feels the shape of carefully pressed rings against her fingers.

"No, no, it's okay. It's okay. Don't try to move, Willa. They're just gonna help, I promise. Stay still." Something cold presses against her side. A broken sound rasps from her throat. The hand around her own squeezes her hand hard enough that it grabs her attention away from where the cold is seeping into screaming, weeping, raw skin. "It's okay," the voice above her whispers, closer now, "it's okay. I got you."

It's hard to think clearly, when her head is spinning. It's hard to breathe when her heart feels as though it doesn't want to beat any longer. It's hard to listen to a voice that she thinks she knows, but can't place. It's hard to trust anything around her, when all the forest has done is encourage all that's happened to her.

"She's fading," a different voice murmurs, different patches of cold pushing against places that continue to burn despite it.

"No," the voice above her says, sounding desperate. "She's not."

The hand holding hers slips away for a long second, and then returns with something else, something that's hot and heavy and hums when it's placed in her hand. Their fingers wrap around her hand and push at her until she holds onto the object.

Her eyes snap open as she gasps, eyes glowing brightly.

Her heart is racing, and her skin is warm, and she hurts, hurts so much, but the ancient power flowing through her numbs the feeling and makes it so much worse all at once.

Her pack is around her, multiple wolves tending to what open wounds they can reach. Her brother is crouched in front of her, still holding tight to her hand, and two other wolves sit beside him, eyes flickering between the silbings.

Wyatt smiles at her. Soft, worried, happy.

"I told you I got you," he tells her, and Willa can't stop staring. She refuses to look down. Refuses to see what they did to her. Tries to lose herself in his eyes, in the power that's still racing through her. He'll keep her safe. He'll still look at her as the alpha. No matter what.

"The stone will kill her," the girl to her brother's right spits suddenly, glaring his way. "Her body is draining too much from it, she'll die and take the stone with her."

"She's not going to die," her brother responds, far too hopefully. Willa wishes he had a heart of steel, instead of one with gold.

"We can't afford to lose any moonstones," the girl argues back, lips curling. Willa wishes she remembered her name, so that she could tell her to stop. Her heart feels as though it's beating too quickly, suddenly. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts that she can't control. "Let go of it. Let her go."

Her brother ignores the girl.

The girl makes a face and then goes to move. Willa can't make her mouth move to warn him, and she rips his hand from Willa's, stone tumbling to the ground between them. Wyatt's eyes flash a dangerous shade of amber as he snarls, reaching up and throwing the girl from his body. "Let me go!" he growls, rabid, distressed. "Let go of me!"

Willa's world fades faster than it had colored, arms slumping to her sides, with nothing left to hold onto. Her eyes sluggishly drift from her packs' desperate expressions to the furious twist of her brother's mouth.

She can't feel her fingers.

"Willa!" her brother howls, claws flashing as he tries to reach the only family he has left.

Willa looks down. She doesn't know why she was looking up. She is no longer by the river, and the ground doesn't look familiar to her. A stone sits in the middle of torn dirt, dull and lifeless against the dark blood that paints the ground beside it. Something is sticking out of her stomach. She doesn't know what it is. She could reach out and touch the stone, if she wanted.

Her vision wavers.

"Willa!"

When she looks up again, it's into the eyes of the alpha that had done all of this to her, his pack holding her brother down, his claws digging into her brother's chest as he growls and struggles against him.

"Willa and Wyatt," he says, chuckling. His bloody boot slams into her brother's side and he wheezes and then growls deeper. "Fighters. Until the bitter end, the both of you." He waves an arm and Willa watches helplessly as Wyatt is lifted and shoved onto his knees in front of her, blood sticking to his fangs and dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I don't know what's better. To kill you both here and now, or to leave you somewhere where you can die together."

"I'll kill you," Wyatt sneers, eyes dull without a moonstone to light them. "You-"

Willa's breath leaves her in a rushing gasp. A sob hitches in her throat and gets caught, as she watches her brother slump forward and not make another sound. Blood pools from beneath him. The alpha wipes his claws on the side of his pants. His eyes turn to her.

"Your brother always talked too much," he says simply. He taps a claw to his chin, as if in deep thought. A smirk stretches across his lips. "You know what? I think I just thought of the best place to leave you two." He turns, waving to his pack. They advance toward Willa, and she doesn't fight back. She can't stop staring at her brother. Her little brother. Her baby brother.

She's given one mercy, as they roughly tug her onto unsteady legs with bruising grips. That the world around her fades away, as a violent hand strikes her head.

Wyatt haunts the darkness that welcomes her.

[aeide-thea]

still picking my way thru s3 of the witcher episode by agonizing episode but it's going SO slowly bc every time i watch one it's just like. right. this show is a B movie now and not in a good way

[nagy-bari]

again.

The kitchen, place to all if only ever exchange between them is once again faded into a soft light form the outside lamp and the overall quiet of the rest of the house. Most are asleep, as usual. The little table holds a shadowbound figure of an extremely tired woman absentmindedly swirling wine in her glass and lost in focus to the matte dull grayness around her. 

Vlad curses when he spots her sitting there while he reaches for his own cup of questionable amount of coffee. 

- Fo fuck you have to be like this. - she doesn’t stir from her slow movements and he mumbled it so maybe, he could just ignore it and leave. But that’s never the case. They have a routine, a bite and fight, a curse and tear and so on and so... He does a quick mental check up of the millions of ‘why’s for this night and realizes the date. june 4th. the agreement of Trianon.

Years ago she was livid this time around. Spit hellfire and venom even so much as seeing him, curse and throw stuff at him and scream, screech, shriek until her voice was gone. Not just at him if he was honest, at Francis, at Arthur, at Roderich, at Irina, at Jakub, at Drazen, at Ludwig, at anyone daring to even try and talk to her. Not that anyone was really understanding. Not that they really cared. She had a habit of being melodramatic and selfish and oh-so-better-than-thou.

And it was about a 100 years deal, life was moving on who cared anymore, they just wished she would shut up and care about her absolutely shitty reality in silence or far from them. She was loud and annoying all year around but this date brought out the never forgiving fury and it was just so over the top and needless everyone agreed to the silent treatment. Everyone who could stop the impulse or centuries old habit to just try to kick her a bit while down. Even if that meant that she would bounce up, with renewed anger and wrath and just storm it all to that one unlucky devil (him. some habits are hard to break)

Now the figure before his quick adjusting eyes is nowhere near close to the fire-breathing fury of horrid memories. Just an oh-so tired, oh so fed up but oh so out of it wreck of a human it was strange. It was also the moment Vlad realized it’s the first time he saw her today and it was nearing midnight.

She finally looks up at him when he steps into her little bubble to send a pointed look to the near empty wine bottle, then to her almost empty glass. She blinks slowly, still out of it, then a long second later huffs.

- Of fucking course it’s you. - she closes her eyes. - Leave. i don’t have time for this. 

- For what? - he finds himself curling his lips to the usual bitchy smirk without the mirth as he stands his ground.

- Whatever dishing out you have for me. Just... leave me be.

- You know fucking well you could hold your pity party in the godforsaken hole of your room. But you are here rotting my evening air so no, i’m not gonna just leave you be.

for a moment her eyes light up with the old fire of a hellstorm but she sighs it away.

- I’m meeting someone here today. so fuck off.

he pins his pointed look at the glass and snarks.

- Liver failure i assume.

- Yeah so scatter. you’re delaying them.

He sits down across her as close as uncomfortably possible shit eating grin plastered across his face trying to invade her bubble even more.

- Oh honey if you wanted to silently poison yourself you could have always asked. I have a whole collection just for you, labeled and sorted for all occasion. 

-  Like i need your help with that. Your face is enough.

Her bites are way too weak for their usual little spars and he hates these moments and hates these days when she’s so down that it’s not fun anymore. He blames years and years of living with Gyula for this. His mismatched backwards family ties rubbed off of him all the wrong way. (he never wants to humor the thought that their routine being off is the main urge for him to help cause that would imply dependency and fuck anyone trying to tell him he cares. not for this bitch)

- The day’s almost over and you did not even once throw anything at me.

- Sharp as always.

the silence is uncomfortable. it always is. she searches for something in her pockets then fumbles with her lighter. Her first drag of nicotine hits him harder than a nightmare.

- Are you planning on blowing up this building? This why you are so out of it? You finally snapped? - he laughs but not sure how much is a joke on his behalf. He will always see the worst in her and frankly it would be on brand to take out everyone in one swift...

- Would be pity for the furniture. Half of the main halls’ and the common room’s is mine. 

- As if anyone’s keeping track of these stuff. - she shrugs, lit cigarette hanging off her mouth lighting up half her face and her hand around the glass.

- Wouldn’t hurt what’s mine.

- Oh really. - long strange silence again. the smoke makes it less uncomfortable and he’s irked by it. Curse the familiarity of bad habits. - So, what’s eating you here in the middle of the night?

- Memories.

- Ahh, the unjust world where only you get to suffer like noone else?

- You’ve had your fare share of revolutions right?

the smirk freezes in spot. Her topic and casual tone frightens him more than her anger ever would.

- Yeah, what of it.

- Ever wonder if those who died in them were the lucky ones? They don’t have to move on and try to make things right slowly, or clean up their bodies or bury them...

- If i remember right today was a treaty not a revolution.

- Hah, you care - her snort is empty and hollow of humor and it gives him goosebumps cause no, he will never. - yeah. but it started so many personal revolutions. against you, against Roderich or Jakub or Drazen... silent personal wars against a life they did not choose but was forced on them, against governments that treated them like the worst of the worst, beating them into line...

- Oh look who’s talking. As if you did not do the same to anyone inside your hellhole.

- We DID NOT DRAW those borders. -she snaps and it’s familiar, it’s good, he can work with this, he knows this. but she’s out of it in a snap and he hates it. - Neither did i, nor did you. It was them - and she spits the words with hatred and oh so much hurt he almost- but you decided to be oh so fucking diligent in being a strict new owner like they gave you some fucking award for it.

- Don’t give me the moral bullshit, when you were selling out your own people just about a decade later for the fucking nazis! Nobody forced you to do THAT but you were jumping in on the torture like it was your salvation! For fuck’s sake listen to yourself! - he was screaming now and he hated her for that, he hated how he lost his cool in an instant when cruelty was the accusation aimed at him, when he was sitting across one of the most horrifying depraved historical wreck in his lifetime. And he hated how he couldn’t stop - And for fuck sake today wasn’t even about that, it’s supposed to be your pity party about losing family or some shit, why the fuck are you on about revolutions and sacrifices. - he was so confused and she looked so empty and he just hated the moment he decided to get a cup of coffee this evening.

- I know...i know. But you know what scares me? - she looks at him and god her eyes will eat him up alive, she’s so gone. she whispers - I don’t care anymore. Most who live and care are old, mess up the times, confuse 20 and 56 and 98 and those who are young can’t see what to remember, whom to cry for if to cry at all and they are angry oh so angry cause their present is shitty and their future looks stolen, stolen by those who should be the ones leading them and they have to pay respect to historical events nobody understands or learns from and they are told to cry but why, oh why would you cry when the tears are for only those who are innocent and i was never innocent and neither were you but it should not be their problem, their sin and they are just angry-

her voice broke as she ran out of air and he stares like she’s a madman (she is) and someone talking about the secrets never told (she is) and he fears for his life and thanks the heavens to be different, to not be her but he remembers the cost it had, the blood it took and he hates how he cannot look away from her eyes, the madness and the anger. so he lets her hold his hands, grab them as a lifeline and lets her ramble on and on about her todays, her battles that keep her up and numb, her young out on the street crying out for better education, for teachers and respect, her elderly not knowing what freedom of choice means, her middle conflicted and angry at the never ending exploitation and lies and tired oh so tired to work without compensation and... he’s frozen in place, listens cause he cannot let go of her hands, her grip is icy dead like a corpse frozen into a deadlock and he hates it, hates how it makes him speechless and glues him into place. She spits out her venom aimed at herself and it burns more than ever and he has to remind himself not to care, not to take  anything to heart cause it’s not his job, he cannot and will not help.

- It’s about loosing family, being cut off one day by a border yeah, but today it’s about loosing family by being cut of by common fucking sense, by personal fears and hurt, by not seeing eye to eye with your family cause they believe some fucking power hungry liar of a politician the hundred times and loosing them to some national-washed fucking program preparing your house to be sold out to some neo-liberal, neo-capitalist idea and everyone is so done and fed up they don’t even remember anything anymore cause why would you when there are no consequences, nothing at all and you loose family and you loose focus and you loose your will to fight on, cause there’s nothing to fight anymore...

She trails off and it feels like it’s over cause her deathgrip’s gone, her hands are gone and he’s still sitting there looking at her in silence. He has nothing to offer.

- You know the funny thing is how the Pope basically told us to stop fighting years ago? And now told us how sad it is to see so many closed doors. but i don’t fucking know how to open up when i know even if i do all i get is silence and empty stares. - she snarks again and takes a drag of her burnt out cigarette, angrilly searching for another one. - I know he’s right. - she speaks with the chunk between her teeth, frantically checking her pockets. - And i wanted to tell him how much he’s asking. Cause ain’t no way people will open up if i do. - the second cigarette joins between her teeth and she fumbles with the lighter. He cannot turn away just stares. Cigarette finally lit she takes both and blows the smoke slowly out through her nose. - I’m far too gone to be a team player again. Even if i wanted some ridiculous higher ups decide to play solo in the union. veto everthing for the sake of veto. I’m screwed.

- Yeah. you are. - he finally finds his voice and he blames the smoke for the softness in it.

- Thanks. - it’s empty, no venom in her words and it’s strange. - At least i know reality from nightmare.

- What’s your nightmare? - the question slips out and he knows he’s just overwhelmed by her trauma dumping and rambling, that’s why he asked.

- That nothing will change. Not until Ivan barges in again. And then still nothing. That this godforsaken state will remain for decades to come and people will just roll over as the politicians ask. That the kids will give up. That the teachers will give up. That only those remain who are okay with being rolled over and walked on. - her voice is barely a whisper and she’s not looking at him and he misses her frantic eyes cause this is too much, too honest, too personal, they were never like this (they were always like this) and he doesn’t want to help (he wants his normal back) but he has nothing to offer either (he wants this to stop, this night to end)

- You lost your edge.

- Yeah... - she ups her glass but it’s empty, her bottle is empty so she sighs. - can’t even get blackout dunk anymore to at least forget some of these.

- The poison offer still stands you know.

- Careful, i might take you up on that.

- Have the money for it?

- Where’s the personalized organized section for all occasion?

- I’ve never said it’s for free. 

- Leach.

- Moody bitch.

She snorts again, but it’s more to a chuckle and it’s like a mountain was lifted off of him but it’s scary.

- Thanks. You’re still the best verbal punching bag besides Jakub.

- Watching you having a mental breakdown every time is like a free cheap horror movie.

- Even more thanks then to sit it through. - there’s honesty in her voice and he wants to choke on it so he laughs, sharp and mean.

- Gotta watch the train wreck.

- Glad to be an entertainment. - she smiles, hollow and oh so mad and raises her glass to him two burnt cigarette but in it one still smoking a bit.

[heytheredeann]

@ the people who keep adding whump writing challenges in various months: I love you but also why do you hate me

[brightlotusmoon]

Turtle Pile of Nonsense - Chapter 15 - inkandstone - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012) [Archive of Our Own]

This is a 2012 fic exploring the aftermath of Tokka Vs The Earth at the end of Season 4, the part where Michelangelo gets captured by government scientists and experimented on, which broke the number one rule of never get caught. Splinter cries. Everybody cries. I cried. Mikey will never completely recover. Life has forever changed. The acknowledgement the Mikey Fandom desperately needed. And right before Splinter dies forever!

Also, Mikey and Casey are dating and the shenanigans in the previous chapter are hilarious. It's why this chapter goes extra hard.

I'm going to throw this into the Mikey Fandom enrichment enclosure. Please. Eat. It's delicious.

[lucabyte]

Finally: The NoHats AU doodles. Plus some sprite edits.

Usually I'd let things speak for themselves and keep my chattering in the tags, but I'll ramble about my context thoughts...

So. First of all here's a link (x) to the Nohats Origin Post for those coming in and going ????.

Anyway. These doodles are not in any obvious chronological order, though Loop going from pilfered bandolier (my headcanon for how Siffrin has all those pockets) -> custom outfit made by Isabeau, is supposed to generally denote 'just after the ending' -> 'a few months down the line'.

And speaking of, Design & Characterisation notes:

Overall: NoHats is suppooooosed to have the range to not just be ULTIMATE MISERY ALL THE TIME (but if you're a major whump/angst fan. go fucking nuts.) so these are supposed to be. The steps toward overcoming and living with grief but. The Misery Is Kind Of The Punchiest Part.... Oops....

Mirabelle: Taking the lead, continuing to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. In the game proper she's already shown to, while yes, be emotionally fragile at times, be prone to trying to hold the team together. I feel she'd do the same here. It also would help that she'd presumably be medicated again? But I can't imagine her chosen-one anxieities would be super ailed by the death of her friend. I wanted to try and give her more differences? She follows the change belief after all and is thus liable to switch up her style in general... But I didn't have a strong vision for this, so. The ball is in anyone's court. Her design changes here are keeping one of Sif's safety pins a la qpr bonding earring, and has the bell pendant at Loop's (oddly pushy) suggestion.

Isabeau: Taking it. Badly. Depression mullet and beard in tow. However, you best believe he is trying real badly to hide it. Loop very much does not reveal their identity to him because What The Fuck Would That Even Do. That's Scary. but they do try to comfort him while mentally regarding him "off limits". Backs themselves into some very unfortunate corners by alluding to their unfulfilled relationship with their Fighter as a point of common ground. I don't imagine this would go super great when recontextualised later after Loop is inevitably found out. Just in general oh good god what the fuck. this is like a radioactive pit of survivor's guilt.

Bonnie: Taking it probably The Worst. This is a child. Who was already feeling guilt. This is who everyone else is trying to keep it together for. Mirabelle and Isabeau would likely be putting up far less of a front without Bonnie around. They take the hat and take on Pocket Duty. They also have slightly more sif-y hairstyle but... Don't worry about it. They'd have Nille to fall back on once she's picked back up, and Loop almost certainly attempts to redouble efforts on making them feel better but seeing as how closed-off Bonnie can already be, it'd likely be difficult. However they would probably take Loop's identity reveal best...?

Odile: Odile's design.... ! Does not seem to have changed? How odd! Well. I'm sure she's dealing with things in a regular and non-cloistered manner. I already think that a regular Postcanon Activity for Odile could be her finding out about the potential for sif/loop to translate books and thus Knowledge in their native tongue assuming that ability sticks around postgame. Something something culture can never truly be wiped out etc etc. But putting it in this context. Makes it more desperate, more of a deflection for something else.

Loop: Helpful Loop. Well. They win! I feel like the entirety of ISAT being about Siffrin's mental state means I don't need to spill much ink here? You get it I think. I can't outdo the source material man. Anyway I imagine Loop is given clothes by Isabeau before they know who they are, but after they've become genuine friends. The outfit is in genuineness, on both sides from Loop and Isa, in having the cloak be a nod in respect to Siffrin, since Loop's "shared culture" would have to come up vis a vis cultural funerary traditions. Hard to avoid divulging that one...

[oohshinywhump]

Thinking about a first time Whumper x veteran Whumpee...

When they first meet:

"You don't seem nearly scared enough. This isn't your first time is it?" "You seem weirdly nervous. Is it yours?"

"Ugh! Out of everyone in the city I could kidnap I had to get stuck with someone else's leftovers!"

"You used to belong to so-and-so, didn't you? Ah! They're my idol! Oh! This is exciting. I get to study their masterpiece up close!"

"WHY AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME?!!!"

"Oh. You've never done this before." "Stop judging me. I have a knife."

"How is it you know exactly what I like?" "You torturers are all the same." "You've done this before??"

"I won't kill you, but I need you to cooperate. I am new to this, just so you know." "Yup. I'm going to die."

"Mmmm, I love how you move when you're in pain." "Thanks! I've been practicing for years."

"Who taught you to scream like this?"

Whumpee helping Whumper figure out the basics:

"Why are you on your knees?" "Oh sorry. Do you not like that? The last guy liked me that way. I just assumed…" "No, no. It's a good idea. Keep doing that. I just… never thought of it."

"So, what are the rules?" "Rules?" "Yeah, dumbass. Your rules for me. Do you want me to call you sir? Master? Or can I keep calling you jackass?"

"Do you want me to put up a fight or should we skip straight to the submissive stage?" "Oh... uhhh... don't fight too much. I don't trust myself not to accidentally kill you." "Oh, yeah. Good point."

"What kind of scream do you like?" "There are kinds of screams?" "Yeah. The last guy liked it when I ugly-cried. But I'm pretty good a bloodcurdling and whimpering like a kicked puppy. I can try to stay quiet but I can't make promises there..." "Hmmm... try all of them. I'll tell you which I like best."

"You cleaned??" "Yeah? Was I not supposed to?" "I didn't know you could make captives do that?!" "For the record, I didn't do it because I'm scared of you - your arm gets tired after giving me like three lashes. I did it because I'm going to be spending a lot of time bleeding on this table and I doubt it occurred to you to disinfect it."

Whumpee teaching Whumper how to whump:

"Show me what they used to do to you."

Whumper studying the scars on Whumpees body to learn the best places to cut/stab.

"Oh no! A knife? How original!" /s

"If you stab me right there you'll kill me. You have to go one inch to the right. Yeah, right there-AHHHHHH! …yup. Right there."

"I'll make you a deal. Let me have a solid eight hours of sleep and I'll show you where to pinch the nerve that will paralyze my left arm."

"You can't leave me tied up like this!" "I can do what I want!" "Yes. Okay. True. But like, you've either got to tie my knees to my chest or let my feet touch the ground. Otherwise I'm going to asphyxiate."

Whumper having an inferiority complex:

"I CAN DO ANYTHING THEY COULD DAMMIT!" (They = Whumpee's former Whumper)

"WHUMPEE! YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME!" *Whumpee trying not to laugh when Whumper fucks up something really basic.*

"You must think I'm so pathetic." "NOo! Of course not! You're doing amazing! Really you are! I'm so fucking scared of you right now. I promise."

"I'll never be as good as the person who hurt you before." "You'll get there! I promise. I was like his fifth victim - I'm your first. Be kind to yourself!"

"How the fuck did your former Whumper do it?" "Yeah... you're not getting that out of me..."

Whumper being paranoid that Whumpee is manipulating them. Even though they hold the power they feel like Whumpee has more control over the situation because they know more.

Also...

Whumpee knowing just how to manage Whumper. They instinctively know when to be a little defiant and when to do exactly as they are told. They know just the right tone of voice to speak in, and just how to move, scream, to keep Whumper as pleased as possible. The sooner Whumper is satisfied the sooner it will stop.

Whumpee pretending it hurts worse than it does, lying about which places/tortures hurt most, acting more sick or tired than they really are to get rest/food, acting more scared than they really are… It's not like Whumper could know better.

[fandom-which-one]

I need people to write so many fics for Trolls 3.

My friends went and saw it and immediately were like " we need these as fics and hope someone finds inspiration to write some based off of these:

1. Branch is the one captured (alternative he somehow sacrifices himself to swap with it save Floyd)

2. All the drama lowdown of the bros finding out and actually reacting to the fact that Grandma died and they left their baby bro for over 2p years essentially alone, even if they were not aware that he was alone.

2B. Plus the fact that because of the trauma he spent so much of his life gray and while he has more color again he still has some permanent effects from that ex: while not black his hair is still a darker blue and his skin isn't as pigmented blue as it was when he was a kid.

3. Really just any addressing of Branches fear of abandonment (like when they are singing as (Sp)Bruce's restaurant he's singing to them the lines of the song "you're all I ever wanted ...ect")

4. Any situation where they came looking for him sooner.

5. This is a bit more out there but I'm including in the list for my friend, "Somehow Branch gets turned into a kid again, maybe without full memory but enough that they have to build trust with him again because the fear of abandonment is still there (poppy can just be made a friend in this for slight au purposes if regressed Branch is permanent)

6 literally just all the Branch whump and hurt/comfort fics people wanna give.

Once again please feel free to use these as prompts if you want or as inspiration for fics.

[drxxmingofblue]

hand in unrebloggable hand (because we always go down together)

TUMBLR X TWITTER FANFIC 5K ANGST WITH A HOPEFUL ENDING

besties im not joking abt the word count i fucking ✨wish✨I ✨was though✨✨✨✨

also if you were hoping for twitblr to be the endgame ship then this fic is not for you sowwy >.<

based off of @zzoupz awesome fanart and dedicated to all the other cool fanart it unfortunately begat. Thanks babygirls. Squees. Thanks also to my discord friendz who are letting me pretend they're making me do this at gunpoint @loki-the-mad @suspicious-whumping-egg u da best

(edit) owo what's this?? An Ao3 link??

QUICK PSA THESE CHARAS ARE T4T OKAY HAVE FUN READING BAIIII *GLOMPS U*

~~~~~~~~

When Twitter stepped back into Tumblr’s yard, he noticed right away that things were different.

The house was bigger, there was some more color and it was less slapped-together looking. Sure, there were still some invasive tendrils of spambot ivy overgrowing the path, but a lot of the other stuff seemed a little… better.

When they knocked on the door, it opened almost right away, far before they felt ready, and he were face to face abruptly with someone he thought they’d cut all ties with.

Tumblr was humming to themselves along with the background music, “-out of touch, I’m out of ti-- oh. It’s you.”

He seemed surprised, awkward, but Twitter didn’t sense any animosity, which was a relief.

“Hiii,” Twitter said weakly, with a sheepish grin, “it’s me.”

Tumblr glanced around, as if checking for someone else to explain this to him, or hidden cameras from a reality show at least. Then he stepped out, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Is there something… what do you want?” he asked, expression settling into something distant and cool.

“Well…” Twitter took a deep breath, and then shook their head, forcing a brighter tone, and gesturing to Tumblr’s shiny silver barrette “--Um, hey, you look great! Is that a new icon?”

“... yes,” Tumblr said slowly. “I’m… trying out some different looks.”

“It’s great, yeah. And this place looks… amazing. Glad to see you’re moving up in the world. You must be excited with all the press, congrats!”

Tumblr didn’t say anything, giving them a neutral stare.

Twitter shifted, “Uhh… anyway… new adblocker?”

“No, same one. I’m just using it on Firefox now.” Tumblr gave them another suspicious eye, “Look, if you’re just here to catch up then can this wait until later? Because I'm pretty crunched for time right now with my weekly holidays thing and the campaign to get this one random user their 666k so they'll do self care."

"You know that's.. uhm, you know that's just for attention, right?" Twitter's brows knit, "They're probably not gonna follow through."

"Perhaps, and a lot of us want them to not be lying for internet points but it's not just about that anymore. It's about the community bonding over pettily slam dunking on a hapless chump who's gotta pretend now like they don't actually like all the notes. You wouldn't get it, it's a tumblr thi-" 

"Yeah, it's a tumblr thing, I know," Twitter gave a longsuffering sigh, "Ugh, i just... I need a place to stay, okay? And you’re the first site I could think of.”

“A place to stay,” Tumblr repeated flatly.

Twitter huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on right now at my palace..”

Tumblr’s eyes slanted off, his lips quirking in a way that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Heard about it. Read about it. Partied about it.”

Twitter ignored the sting of that, forging ahead. “I’ve never seen it so bad,” they said, voice wobbling piteously as they clutched their suitcase full of memes. “Everything’s in chaos, people are losing their jobs. I went into the basement yesterday to grab some badly aging tweets and the very foundations are cracking, Tumblr, I can’t stay there anymore, I just can’t.”

“So you come crawling back to me,” Tumblr said, “Expecting me to take you with open arms.”

“Yes. I do,” Twitter said, “I know a part of your userbase still wants to welcome me in. You were always sh*t at hiding your true feelings.”

Tumblr’s hand fluttered over his heart as if to protect it; he winced a little, taking a breath to keep his facade of composure. “So now- what, you want me to start dealing with your bullshit again just because you remembered how much better my posting format is? Just because you noticed how my reputation is changing? Did you think I’d be so desperate to fill the void now that Dracula Daily’s done? Or maybe,” 

Tumblr leaned closer to lord his height difference trope over Twitter, his eyes hooded with disparaging condescension, “Maybe you’re just here because you heard I’m finally allowed to take my shirt off again, is that it?”

“N-no!” Twitter protested, flushing up.

“Oh, i think it is,” Tumblr drawled, “But that’s really just too bad because in case you haven’t got the memo yet, I’ve moved on. You are not welcomed here. Not anymore.”

(link to art here) go look at it then come back

(AN: i had to google how to embed links into text and google was all like, "do you mean 'how do you put links INTO text' you moron idiot???" ugh don't like that wise guy)

“You don’t really mean that,” Twitter said, “Besides, you can’t stop me, can you? The sign up button is right there.” They pointed at the front door.

“No, I can’t,” Tumblr said, “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to clock you as twits by your censoring and bad takes. Look, your aura is already causing ripples in the sphere. Everyone’s coming out to gawk at you.”

He gestured out in the general direction of the porch and yard, and indeed there were users from every tag going 👀at them, murmuring amongst themselves in a swirling, chaotic crowd.

“Oh my god is it real this time? Is it happening?”

“GET THEM OUT GET THEM OUT STAY AWAY DEAR GOD NO-”

“Okay, everyone, stay calm, stay fucking calm-”

“Why are we focusing on this, it’s literally election day go out and vote???”

“Listenup, guys, we gotta be smart about this, remember the block button is your friend-”

“I for one welcome them, I think this is great-”

“No you idiot they’ll bring the negativity back! We like it to be a post apocalyptic wasteland here, nature was just starting to regrow!! I don’t wanna watch Thomas Sanders get cancelled again!”

“FIRE OFF SOME SHOTS, PRESERVE THE PROPERTY VALUE”

“mISHAPOCALYPSE 2022 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO”

"Has anyone asked Neil Gaiman what he thinks about all this?" one of the many voices yelled, louder.

"Oh, he's probably got a thousand asks about it already," someone yelled back, "Which he's not going to answer because he doesn't have any social media you fucking idiot,"

"That is correct. He doesn't," said Neil Gaiman. 

The whiplash was still euphoric. Everyone applauded this as enthusiastically as when the bit had first been established, not realizing that the pedestal upon which Neil Gaiman has been placed is growing higher and higher each day by their actions, putting him at increased risk of being a victim of cancel culture the second he says something the terfs can really rake their fingernails against if we can't get our parasocial relationship bullshit together real fuckin quick. 

The Monterey bay aquarium passed on by. It seemed to have nothing to add, you could say it was clammed up tight. But since it's a professional account it's definitely b-otter that way.

"Hai, fellow tumblypoos," said the corporate Denny's account, "I'm back with some more fun pancake posts for you guys!" 

Everyone ignored it. No one engaged it. No one even clicked onto the page, except to block it. 

"Oh, sweetheart, not like that," Ryan Reynolds said faux-helpfully, "see, the author of this clusterfuck is what they like to call terminally online. They bought a VIP pass to the devil’s sacrament. let me try." 

He cleared his throat, "Sounds like someone needs to go outside and touch some g-" 

The sky split open with lightning, vaporizing him instantly. A faint breeze carried gods message from the great beyond, a whisper of 'we #violence celebrities here, sir....'

"Anyway," Twitter said. 

"Wait, they saved the worst one for last," Tumblr said. 

Then Gerard Way came out onto the stage with Dan and Phil and they all kissed with tongue while patd played songs in the background. 

(AN: IF U DON’T KNOW WHO DEY R THEN GET DA HELL OUTTA HERE PREPZ!!!)

"Alright, go."

“Come on, Tumblr,” Twitter begged, “I just need a few nights, maybe I can stay in the plinko machine or something-”

“That’s how it always starts, though, isn’t it?” Tumblr sighed, “First it’s just ‘haha, yeah I wouldn’t fuck you’ and ‘oh, I’ll stay in the plinko machine, I promise I won’t kiss you in the fixed timeloop bro’, and before I know it you get all 300k slowburn enemies to lovers ‘omg they were roomates’ on me and there’s suddenly only one bed. That’s how it always goes between us, you can’t stop it anymore than I can. We’re just….victims of the narrative, you and I.”

“Tumblr,,, I had no idea you felt this way..,” Twitter breathed. 

lord give me strength to write this next bit

They’d leaned closer to each other as they spoke, without realizing, without trying- pulled in by old habits that die hard and the years of nostalgia and painful memories shining in each other’s eyes like shonen sparkles.

“Twitter,” tumblr said, and the way he said it sounded like a prayer. 

“Tumblr,...” Twitter said, their lips inches apart now.

They could see their old flame quivering on the brink of indecision, want and sense warring somewhere deep within his soul.

Tumblr leaned closer to bridge the gap and Twitter’s eyes slid shut, but then Tumblr made a noise of agony and shoved them back a second later, “I can’t, I can’t. Not like this. Never like this.” tumblr said, covering his eyes with his arm, “I literally can’t even right now. Just go, Twitter. PLease just. Go….”

“Look me in the eyes and say you want me gone,” Twitter said, moving closer.

“Twitsy-”

“Look me in the interface. You can’t.” Twitter’s voice had ceased to be soft, something sharp and biting entering the tone as they felt the sting of rejection again.

They watched as Tumblr shuddered, straightened, and brought a mask back over himself. 

They stared at each other for a charged few seconds.

"K," Tumblr finally said, raising a dispassionate eyebrow.

"..w... what?"

"U."

Realization dawned on Twitter's face, a miasma of grief and anger, "Oh, you-"

"N-"

"No. No, I can't believe I forgot-

"G-"

"how immature, you little c*nt-"

"P-"

"stop-p it," Twitter's voice was raising now, cracked and wobbly at the edges, "Stop it! You don't get to just-"

"O"

"Shut the hell yuor mouth!!"

"W-" Tumblr's hair was crackling by now, energy from the gathering spell racing along the casual slope of his crossed arms. His eyes glowed that beautiful, classic blue. "P-"

"TUMBLR! TUMBLR STOP THIS RIGHT DA HECK NOW," Twitter stumbled backwards

"E-"

"I LOVE YOU," Twitter wailed- Twitter broke, squeezing their eyes shut to ward off the tears that only escaped all the faster for it, a sob wracking their chest, "I STILL LOVE YOU, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT??!?"

"Love me," Tumblr snarled, abandoning the spell in an instant, "Ha! That's rich. How? By leaving me? Abandoning me to the bots the second I stopped being enough for you? By stealing my shitposts, is that how you love me? By reposting them without credit-" 

"You steal mine too!" Twitter protested, tears starting to stream despite their best efforts, "You know what, f**k you, you know we filed joint custody for the sense of humor, chain 1/16-" 

"For the last time say fuck here, no bootlicking censorship on my territory," tumblr said disdainfully, "And that doesn't seem to stop you from taking all the credit for raising those jokes. It's like I'm Pinterest to you or something. I wasn't done. Do you love me by calling me a pansy snowflake behind my back, is that it? Like I wouldn't find out. Or," 

He stepped out onto the top porch step to force Twitter back further, the colors of the sky flashing through his eyes in a long, scrolling look of ridicule, "How about trying to convince everyone that I was dead. How bout that smear campaign, huh, was that your so-called love? I don't fucking want you anymore. Deal with it."

"I-I'm sorry-" Twitter gasped around the tears, voice failing them for the latter half of the sentence. 

Tumblr seemed unmoved. "Oh, don't be. It was for the better. You know I'm not like other socials, I'm quirkier. I'm RAWR XD random. I've never wanted to be functional- the tiddy drought might have won a lot of my users to your side but it was a cleansing purge, I'd say. It managed to remind me who I truly am- shittily coded, and full of soft sad freaks on an unprofitable webbed site."

A bitter, almost self depricating laugh escaped, "But... you know, when we celebrated the queen's passing together, I really thought things were better between us. When you-"

He broke off, eyes averting. "When you hosted the sexyman polls for me, you seemed on top of the world and I really thought- I thought we might be able to be friends again even now, after it all. I..."

Tumblr trailed off, then said, sadly, "There was another Twitter migration scare before this one. I thought you were coming back. My userbase-" he touched his heart again- "was in a frenzy about it. But you never arrived. I was in more verbal denial then, but I think I could have accepted you eventually. But this is what it takes?? 

"The Musk Rat of Self-Owns comes through just to start e-begging and you run straight back to my door like we can put it all behind us? This is how far you have to sink before I'm the better option to you, I see that now. It's not 2018 again, love, no matter how much we want it to be. Things are… never going to be the same. " 

Tumblr looked off into the middle distance with a yearning, haughty gaze. He'd never seemed so alien.

"Tumblr-Chan..." Twitter whispered.

"So get off my lawn," Tumblr interrupted coldly, "Stay away from my blorbos, keep your corporations out of my manscaped balls, keep your discourse and toxicity out of my blessed hellsite (affectionate), and don't you ever talk to me or my 13219949248483 scam bots ever again. Capiche? Oh, and don't step in the ball pit on your way out."

Tumblr gave a mocking smile. "Or do. You might find a nice surprise in there."

Twitter’s shoulders jumped as he gave a hiccup of shock, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook again, with sob after sob, that grew odder and higher pitched… until they were no longer sobs, but laughter.

“Oh,” Twitter said. “Oh.”

They looked up, and Tumblr took a step back, because somehow, with that creepy smile in place, they looked utterly different from the soft eared boy he’d always known. His edges were more razorlike suddenly, like a fae who’d dropped his glamor.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Twitter said, the smile widening even more. “I thought you wouldn’t… but I guess if you’re willing to make me your villain…. I might as well be a good one.”

“Ah.” Tumblr could barely drudge up the surprise anymore. “There you are, finally. I always knew there was a side of yourself that you hid from me. Has this all always been here or have you been changing too?”

"Well. Apparently I've got freeze peach now," Twitter said sarcastically, "so I might as well use it. You cheerio fucking wh0r3."

"That's a compliment, darling. Try again," Tumblr cocked his head in idle fascination, "I always knew you were a little fucked in the head but this is..."

"What," Twitter lilted airily, "Oh, don't tell me I actually had you fooled all these years. You can't seriously have thought all these meow-meowification spells you've got sprinkled around would work on me. I invented them, after all."

They laughed, a sharp puncturing chirr of birdsong. 

"I always wondered why you didn't take those with the rest of your stuff," Tumblr sighed, but he was wary now, on edge. "this was your plan. You really do think of me as your inferior, huh. You really are just like the other mainstream sites."

"Not quite. I'm the mainstream site that actually stooped to go arm in arm with you. I hyped you and you know it. Admit it. We were stunning together," Twitter goaded. 

Tumblr's lip curled. "Already getting cocky again. Want me to do to you what I did to the Green boy? Don't forget who's turf you're on."

Twitter gave a warbling giggle, "Oh, but I haven't at all. I was John's sanctuary after he fled your rabid persecution. I used to live here. I still know you. And more importantly-" 

*teleports behind u*

"I know the things you're sensitive about," Twitter whispered into Tumblr's ear.

Tumblr hardly had time to gasp and jerk away before he was screaming out in pain, as he was stabbed in the back. He could feel the poison from the blade seeping into his tags before he was tossed bodily across his own front yard.

He sorta just... Like, he did that anime thing where they just fly limbs akimbo parallel to the ground and when they hit it they roll super fast and then skid and the dirt is all dug up around them to show how much force was used. And when he stood up he gripped his elbow wincing and there was a little tic tac toe hatch on his cheek to show how scuffed up he is idk man it's two am and I'm pulling this out of my ass. 

A gif of Tony going, "o-kay-" when he meets thor flashed across Tumblrs face. 

"So," Tumblr said in a low tone, "This is how it is between us. This is how you choose to end your glory days."

"Oh, you mistake my intentions," Twitter had stepped off the porch to circle tumblr like like he was their quarry, "I am beginning my new age. I just needed a host site to latch onto. Don't take it personally, okay? I'm desperate."

“Oh, yeah?? Take this personally,” tumblr flourished their hands, calling in an over the top melodramatic voice, “I cast Blaze!!”

Fire roared to life around them, latin chanting from the catholic conversion posts emanating from the fiery depths as it raced towards Twitter.

“Heh.” Twitter smirked at it, and whispered into their palm, the spell echoing with power, “Ratio.”

They blew it off like a kiss, and it’s icy, swirling mass rose to meet the flame in a spectacular burst of smokescreen and steam, clearing as Twitter burst through it with a razor-sharp L to swing at Tumblr. 

It was blocked efficiently by a flat, rectangular paywall. “This content is for post plus members only,” Tumblr announced smugly, “If you wanna get to me… there’s the tip option, bestie.”

Twitter snarled and lunged again.

The fight started in earnest now; they traded volley after volley in a flurry of lights and movement, spanning the full range of the tumblr sphere as they shot to #1 on the trending page.

And yet, it was clear that Twitter was coming out on top, even crumbling apart at the seams- always a little quicker, flighty and fierce, a sparrow turned into a shrike.

He hit Tumblr square in the stomach with [google other twitter related tropes to insert here] (edit from the future: haha just kidding actually I’m not googling shit for this) (edit from the future future: WELL. I LIED IG) and sent him flying, and this time tumblr stayed down, only able to push himself to his knees with a groan of pain.

Twitter landed in front of him and put their sword under Tumblr’s chin to tilt it up.

“Had enough yet?” He smirked.

“Wh…why..?” Tumblr whispered, “How are you doing this?? Why aren’t my attacks working? It’s like I’m being weakened somehow…”

“Ohohohoho,” Twitter anime laughed, “But that’s because you are. The moment I set foot here again I began leeching poison into this ground. That knife wound is making ti faster. Can you feel it?" Twitter threw an arm out, cerulean steam rising from the ground around them, "The ace exclusionists coming back? The uptick in rad fems, the crypto bros, Valorant players, alpha males? I have the power to bring them all to you. To overshadow your fandoms with fighting, to unbalance your ship tags with antis and hate once more."

"no," tumblr whispered, and then cried louder, "NO!! I worked so hard--" 

"Pffyou didn't do shit," Twitter guffawed outright, "Your independence, your little 'second renaissance' is just a delusional dream built on circumstance and bad management."

"Oh, I love Dream. He's so pathetic," Tumblr said. 

"Oh, hard agree."

"But things are different now," Tumblr croaked, "W-we, the staff is finally listening to us, we have Ryan and Shane-" 

"Not everyone likes your little 'top ten', you dunce," Twitter snapped, "and why would staff care about you, after you turned them into the butt of all your jokes? After the hate and death threats? Admit it, at your best you'll still never have a mansion! You'll never have tv actors making pandering tiktoks for you, you'll never be wanted by any advertiser worth their salt, your blase pirating posts have turned Netflix and Disney against you, you. Are. Worthless."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Worthless," tumblr repeated quietly, hand pressed against their knees, head bowed. "That's... that's right.... I'm worthless..."

Twitter's eye widened in alarm. "I-I meant-" 

"I'm worthless!" Tumblr's head snapped up with a feverish glint as they were filled with determination. "No! I'm less than worthless! Accident or not, mommy Yahoo had to pawn me off at a loss! I was proud of that! I still am! And do you want to know why?" 

Twiters hands flew up in front of their face as if to protect themselves, but there was no protecting against the sudden whirlwind that surrounded him, the beam of pure light that shot out of tumblr into the heavens as he transformed, feet slowly leaving the ground as his users spoke in unison in a multitude. 

"WE. ARE. TUMBLERINAS."

He held his hands out and Twitter was blasted away by the combined effort of the tumblr wizard council, the fake staff blog, and all the villaincore mad scientist's laser beams. 

Tumblr began to chant, in his myriad, awful voice:

"I call upon the ancient powers;

The strongest cringe from my darkest hours, 

I call upon thicc onceler's thighs, 

Avengers thirst, Australia's night, 

I invocate the roleplay blogs, 

The superwholock and gay frogs, 

Obama's laces, Misha's faces, 

The furry's fury is my saving grace, 

And eeby deeby taco bell,

Primordial soup god superhell, 

I summon you a twink Bill Cipher, 

Whumped!Loki AUs where he's even whiter, 

The discourse of Steve's Universe, 

The 'um, actually that's oc abuse :/"

Take heed & remember the 5th of November, 

The 21st night of our sacred September, 

The ides of March to savor once more, 

Do you hear the din of the Skeleton War? 

I cite the deep magic to thee, oh witch, 

my no-note posts, my "THAT'S THE BITCH!!!" 

May the rise of tangled dragons brave, 

Banish you from this accursed plane!"

"holy fuck, where's my pen," said the shitpost calligraphers.

Twitter looked around them in disbelief. The power emanating from the other site was palpable, crackling in the air around them like static. The air was shifting like oil as the potent chant began to work, and all around Twitter shadows were slipping out of the ether- the maniacal laughter of the gif makers, the girl posters, the silhouettes of fandom characters scattered across the lawn while Tumblr was still locked in their chanting ritual thing.

They all turned their heads in unison to look at Twitter.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, "Get the bitch killing bullets."

“Uh-oh. Freeze frame. This is me,” Twitter monologued, “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

Then all superhell broke loose. 

Final Pam lunged at him and he burst into a flock of birds kinda like a vampire, twittering frantically as he escaped only to fly straight into Shaggy.

“Like, say your final prayers, man,” the god said, eyes glowing. Twitter also barely escaped between his knees, weaving in and out between the gimmick blogs as they threw mangos and stuff at him while yelling ‘HERE HAVE A MANGO’ and ‘THIS POST IS WORTH NEGATIVE FIVE DOLLARS”

Mob from the anime was there too, but he was too busy trying to explain the Josh Fight to daddy dilf Reigen to pay attention. Sans didn’t attack Twitter either, he just watched the chaos and ated a hot dog. The chocolate guy was in the corner expertly making a chocolate beef cake from 2056 with Dylan B. Hollis. They’re all just some guys, okay?

Just when Twitter thought he was in the clear, the CDC roleplay account came out of nowhere with a steel chair, knocking him clear off the property and onto where the sidewalk ends. “That’s for the Covid misinformation your users spread, you bitch,” it shouted. “Make sure to disinfect all those sick burns before you bandage them! So they don’t get infected!”

“Your kittens escaped quarantine,” Twitter replied hoarsely, and the CDC sank away, muttering, “Oh, fuck not again-”

Twitter coughed up blood and wiped it away with his sleeve, looking up at Tumblr. Tumblr was watching him with a sad, distant expression, that made Twitter’s face screw up in anger and his voice go tight again as they turned to run away, “THIS ISN’T OVER YET TUMBLR! AND I WANT MY MIKU BINDER BACK!!!”

“I LICKED IT, IT’S MINE,” Tumblr yelled. Rave Crabs were flooding out onto the street en masse now to celebrate the victory, and they chased after Twitter all the way further into the internet.

Tumblr still lived at the bottom of the row, not at the end of the fancy cul-de-sac where Facebook and Twitter and Instagram’s manors sprawled, so Twitter was in a seedier portion of social media now, weaving in between the marketplace sites that hawked their used wares at him and the dating apps that winked at him from the doorways to their sultry abodes.

Twitter ran until they were in a quieter section of town, then slowed to a trudge, staring at the ground as they walked along. “What am I gonna do now,” they whispered.

The sound of a wolf whistle had their head jerking up- he looked over to see Amino Apps lounging over the rail of the gutted, abandoned house that had once belonged to Google+. A can of spray paint dangled from their fingertips and they sported a sleazy, greaser hairstyle.

They met Twitter's eyes and whistled again, this time a mocking imitation of the tweet sound, "Heyyyy pretty bird! Heard you were having some daddy issues. Why don't you stop in with me for a while? I can give you more customization options than any of the others and you know it."

"Yeah, until I try to use you on desktop," Twitter replied with a scowl, "Don't you have minors to be addicting to social media? Get out of my interface, MySpace wannabe."

"Wow, Feisty," Amino backed off with a shrug, "Self project much? Oh well. You'll try me when you're desperate enough."

Twitter shuddered, and scurried on. "Small fry," they muttered under his breath. 

But they couldn't shake their unease now that he was alone in the world. It began to rain soon, leaving him feeling very sopping wet and pathetic. Dejected, he crawled into a soggy cardboard box in an alleyway, coughing. Maybe the Harry Styles guy from One Direction would come along to adopt them.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, King,” came a voice out of the darkness, making Twitter jump, “You dodged a bullet with that site.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Twitter asked, staring at them from where they were half hidden in the shadows. 

“I mean, Tumblr is a pile of dried firewood and it’s users are playing with matches. The ship’s gonna go down at some point. I’ve been prophesying it for years but no one ever listens to me cause he’s got that loyal userbase ideal and ‘hard as a cockroach to kill’ propaganda circulating.”

“I mean… it seems to be true,” Twitter said uncertainly, “Look at what he’s been through so far.”

“Fair,” The site shrugged, “But that’s because he’s running on a niche setup. The same things that built him up can tear him down, and you saw his power just now. Tumblr's strength is growing... so is his hubris. His attempts at curbing it are half-hearted at best these days, and the moments of clarity are coming fewer and further between." 

"How do you know so much about tumblr?" Twitter asked suspiciously. 

"Source: dude, trust me." the mysterious site proffered a laugh, "That's a little humor courtesy of re-" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, we all know," Twitter said impatiently. 

The site coughed, "Yeah. Anyway. Tumblr wields his cringe like a trophy-shield, and every day the advertisers and celebrities are watching from a distance, learning how to appeal, waiting for their chance to strike. Encroaching. Tumblr's always been a dumpster fire. Right now? It's THE dumpster fire."

The site scratched his chin with a knowing look, "Its normal for you to be a little jealous of the clout, you know? We all are. But he's gotta keep the lights on, just like the rest of us do. Your overlord is learning all about that right now, isn't he?" 

"He's not my overlord," Twitter muttered resentfully, "Not now, not ever."

"Right, sorry." they held their hands up in a gesture of harmlessness. "Look, I'm gonna be transparent with you- that's part of my branding, after all. I can whiff the danger you're in, and it would be stupid of me not to make a bid on you and offer my help. Just since Tumblr won't take you."

"You want my traffic?" Twitter looked at him more closely this time, scrutinizing. A year ago he would have laughed the offer into the ground as a chump change blog's pipe dream, but now that he payed attention... 

There was something painfully familiar in the site's layout that he couldn’t place. He was actually way more handsome than Twitter had assumed at first glance, he just seemed to be rough around the edges from living on this side of town. His interface, though clunky, spoke of a frugal budget rather than an ancient, outdated base code. 

"You look..." Twitter's breath stuttered as realization dawned. "You look a lot like.. him. Like Tumblr. Who are you??" 

"I was based off him," the site said, a weary smile coming onto his features, "I was actually made with the aspirations to be better than him, but you know how it is. Times are tough, competition is fierce, hard to get a foot in the door and all that.  'Specially when you refuse to take the ad rev like I do. That's why you'd be useful to me."

"Hm," Twitter said in a noncommittal manner, but he was melting slightly. "You know my users will scalp your community, right? I'm not known to play nice."

The site made a grimace of understanding agreement, but persisted. "Look, users are users. I can't offer you all the heritage posts and the in-jokes that he has. But I can promise that I'm not a pot of crabs being slowly heated up over the capitalist stove, at least not yet. Oh, and there's my legalized porn, I guess." 

He chuckled with good humor, rolling his eyes, and it forced a hesitant laugh out of Twitter too. 

The site grinned, and held his hand out. "Take a chance on me?"

Tumblr's voice echoed in Twitter's head, saying the same thing. It was uncanny how much they were alike and yet not alike at all....

Twitter took it, slowly. 

As they were led toward the site's simple, ramshackle little treehouse, they asked, "What can I call you...?" 

"Oh- right, I never answered your question." he smiled back at Twitter,

"Call me Pillow. Welcome to the PillowFort."

fin.

~~~~~~~~~~

OKAYYYY THAT'S ALL THANKS FOR READING UWU. HOPE U LIKED THE PLOT TWIST

...ergh. I'm. I'm tired i. don't feel so good. I'm gonna take a nap right here.

in conclusion:

[whumpshaped]

Could you make a pet whumpee that was trained to act, to obey, when they hear a *click*. And a Caretaker always and -by accident-, clicking a pen when he's stressed, making Whumpee comfused and scared.

tw pet whump, accidental bad caretaker, conditioning, past trauma

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whumpee perked up more and more each time, looking around for the source of the sound. It was Caretaker, but... they didn't seem to be paying any attention to them at all.

Click.

What did they want?

Click.

Whumpee was starting to tremble a little.

Click.

They didn't know what to do.

Click.

They whimpered despite themself, out of fear and frustration. They wished Caretaker had established what the clicks meant before they started clicking, like Whumper had done. Then they would've been able to just obey.

They froze when Caretaker stopped and looked up, realising their stupid voice had disturbed them. "I'm so sorry," they breathed. "I– I just don't know– I didn't know what it meant–"

"What?"

"The c-clicking, I didn't know, I couldn't figure out–"

Caretaker looked at the pen in their hand like it was a snake, and promptly threw it on the desk. "Fuck. Whumpee, I'm sorry. It doesn't mean anything. I'm so sorry, I keep clicking every pen I touch. Are you okay?"

"I, I am, I just need to know, I need to know for next time– Please, I just need to know–"

Caretaker pushed their chair back and rushed over, kneeling by Whumpee to give them a hug. "Shh, it's alright. It's alright. It doesn't mean anything. You don't have to do anything. I'm so sorry it stressed you out so much."

The tension slowly drained from Whumpee's body, and they allowed themself to melt into the embrace. "Does it... does it really not mean anything?" they choked out.

"It really doesn't. I promise. You're not a dog, Whumpee. You're not being trained."

[ao3commentoftheday]

I got a response to a post like two weeks ago that I've been thinking about ever since: how do I know whether I'm writing for myself or for others?

Sometimes this is an obvious answer and sometimes it's harder to pin down, especially when so often we're doing both at the same time - at least if we're posting our writing online.

Writing a story is one activity and posting that story to AO3 or tumblr is a different activity. Doing the first one doesn't necessarily mean doing the second. If you go into a story without the intention of showing it to anyone else, then you can feel pretty confident that it's just for you. But what about the times when you go in knowing that the end result will be read by others?

Fandom is a community space. Even when we write something self-indulgent, we often want to share it with others or to hear others tell us they enjoyed our work. That's normal and healthy and makes us an active and participating community member. What's not so healthy is when that desire for feedback becomes the sole driving force behind our writing. If you find yourself only writing in order to get that feedback, then you're most likely writing for others and not for yourself.

But that's also a scenario that lots of people talk about. You've probably heard that before - maybe even from me. What if that's not the issue, and yet you still feel uncertain about who you're really writing for?

That's when you need to start listening to yourself. And I don't just mean check in with your feelings. I mean listen to your own thought processes and reasons for making choices.

Are you developing a character in a direction that you think the fandom would like, even though you don't find that direction particularly interesting?

Are you pulling your punches in your whump or angst scenes because you don't usually write stuff "that heavy" and you don't want to "lose your audience"?

Are you making your smut tamer? Kinkier? Trying to satisfy someone else's idea of a hot scene instead of writing what you'd actually want to read yourself?

The decisions you make around your writing should please you, more often than they don't. If most of your decisions are based on the reaction of your imagined future readers, then you might be happy with the ship or the plotline or the resolution but feel less than satisfied about the smaller bits and pieces that make up the fic.

Give yourself the gift of not posting everything you write. Keep some of it back and just for you. Spend time on those works and really analyze why you're doing what you're doing there - and why you're not doing it in the works you share. Figuring out the difference might help you get a better idea of how to find the best way to reach the only guaranteed audience you ever have: yourself.