Angstober 2024 - Tumblr Posts
Welcome to another year of Angstober! We're delighted to unveil the prompts for this year of angsty, spooky fun.
What is Angstober?
Angstober is a yearly October challenge with 31 angst-themed prompts to inspire you to create. The challenge is open to all sorts of creative work - writing, art, edits, whatever you want - in whatever medium you want. Original work or fanworks? Whatever you feel inspired for!
How do I take part?
Tag your works with #angstober2024 and the day of the prompt (e.g., #day 01) to share on tumblr. Feel free to @ us directly in the post as well! To share your work on AO3, add it to the Angstober 2024 collection.
You can post your works whenever - early or late - and use as many or as few prompts as you feel inspired for! We'll do our best to reblog as many works to the @angstober blog as we can.
Is there a banner to post my work with?
Absolutely!
Anything else?
Nope. Happy Angsting!
2024 Prompt List
Again
2. Countdown
3. Self-Destruction
4. Blood
5. Do Better
6. Medication
7. “You Still Don’t Get It.”
8. Growing Pains
9. Promise
10. Humiliation
11. Wake Up
12. Rotten Touch
13. Shaking
14. Only Around You
15. False Hope
16. No One Else To Turn To
17. “Shhh…”
18. Falling Stars
19. Tear-Stained Cheek
20. Spare Me
21. Abandoned
22. Crocodile Tears
23. Safe/Unsafe
24. Dark Sunrise
25. You’re No Better
26. Persuasion
27. Curled Up
28. Perfect
29. Get Out
30. Nothing Else To Tell You
31. It Ends Here
Welcome to another year of Angstober! We're delighted to unveil the prompts for this year of angsty, spooky fun.
What is Angstober?
Angstober is a yearly October challenge with 31 angst-themed prompts to inspire you to create. The challenge is open to all sorts of creative work - writing, art, edits, whatever you want - in whatever medium you want. Original work or fanworks? Whatever you feel inspired for!
How do I take part?
Tag your works with #angstober2024 and the day of the prompt (e.g., #day 01) to share on tumblr. Feel free to @ us directly in the post as well! To share your work on AO3, add it to the Angstober 2024 collection.
You can post your works whenever - early or late - and use as many or as few prompts as you feel inspired for! We'll do our best to reblog as many works to the @angstober blog as we can.
Is there a banner to post my work with?
Absolutely!
Anything else?
Nope. Happy Angsting!
2024 Prompt List
Again
2. Countdown
3. Self-Destruction
4. Blood
5. Do Better
6. Medication
7. “You Still Don’t Get It.”
8. Growing Pains
9. Promise
10. Humiliation
11. Wake Up
12. Rotten Touch
13. Shaking
14. Only Around You
15. False Hope
16. No One Else To Turn To
17. “Shhh…”
18. Falling Stars
19. Tear-Stained Cheek
20. Spare Me
21. Abandoned
22. Crocodile Tears
23. Safe/Unsafe
24. Dark Sunrise
25. You’re No Better
26. Persuasion
27. Curled Up
28. Perfect
29. Get Out
30. Nothing Else To Tell You
31. It Ends Here
Nightmares
Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)
Word Count: 2.5K
Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx
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It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.
Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.
What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.
The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'
The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.
"After you, dear."
You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."
You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.
"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.
"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"
"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?
"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.
"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.
"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."
Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.
"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.
"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."
When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.
"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."
The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.
He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.
"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."
Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.
"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.
"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."
you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."
"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."
You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."
The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.
"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"
There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.
It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.
"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."
He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.
"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.
"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."
"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."
Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."
he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.
"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'
"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.
"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."
You sigh.
Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"
"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.
"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."
His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."
Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.
"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."
When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"
Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.
It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.
His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."
And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.
Again
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
This time it was supposed to be a win!
SHE was the one going in to con them! To catch Londes and rake in all that bounty and start to whittle down her entirely unjust debt.
How the fuck had it all gotten twisted around? How had she become the victim AGAIN?
She was Faye Fucking Valentine, dammit!
It had seemed so simple. Masquerade as one of many gullible fools seeking enlightenment or absolution or whatever the hell these people were enticed by. She just wanted a life free of debt. A slate scraped clean. A fucking chance at making her own mistakes instead of being held hostage by bullshit beyond her control.
The decrepit building should have been the first red flag. And, truthfully, it had been. Her hackles had been raised.
But it had also made sense. If you were conning folks out of a fortune by getting them to sign over their life rights and whatever... tricking people into paying out the ass for the "latest and greatest" gaming technology... why wouldn't you be holed up in some abandoned warehouse waiting for the dust to settle before emerging to lord your riches over the masses like the mastermind you were?
So she had swallowed her fear and ventured in. Crept past the rooms with doors blown off or otherwise unhinged, slipped underneath the tentacles of technology that reached down from the dislodged ceiling tiles to dangle in the air of hallways and vacant rooms alike. The sense of ill ease had ramped up when she came across the first body. But she hadn't been without protection. Her trusty Glock always had her back - was always tucked away behind her back until the gun was needed, in fact.
Who was the corpse? Who knew? The body was relatively fresh, so to speak. The air of the interior of the building was thickly cloying with the disturbing scent of decay, though this particular body showed no signs of that yet. So he wasn't the first, whoever he had been. But he certainly hadn't been killed in whatever disaster had left most of this quadrant of the city in disarray. Someone else searching for the man behind the program. Someone else hunting the bounty that Faye herself was after.
Her heartbeat pounded in her chest, all her senses straining. Perhaps it had been an overconfident oversight to chase this tech-whiz, this supposed guru, on her own. Like so many times before, the dollar signs of the bountyhead had filled her mind with all the ways she could spend said money after turning this yahoo in. Don't count your chickens before they hatch, wasn't that the saying? Well, Faye had the tendency to not only count her chickens but to daydream up all the ways she'd cook those birds too.
And now, poised on the brink of success... or else about to plunge into the time of doom that had met the other corpses she was encountering... now she was feeling regrets.
And... something more than that. There was a whine in the air, not quite like Ein's favorite way to voice his complaints... something more like... a high pitched hum, perhaps? It tickled at her fragmented memory. Something to do with televisions?
The combination of the sound-that-wasn't-exactly-a-sound and the rotting flesh of half a dozen unfortunate souls was beginning to take its toll.
Without warning her vision blurred. Stumbling, panting with abrupt fear, Faye continued forward. This was a mistake, her mind told her. You've fallen into a trap again... again... again...
Suddenly she was terrified right down to her boots. The enormity of the error loomed over her like the damaged ceiling tiles so far above that they were lost in shadow. She was a stranger in a strange land, utterly alone. No one knew where she was. No one was looking for her. No one would be coming to save her. Alone... alone... alone...
Alone again. Tricked again. No hope for you here, no hope at all...
Fumbling lethargically for her COMM device, Faye struggled to keep standing. She wouldn't give in to whatever was happening. She couldn't let this bastard win. Just a few more paces and she'd be in the room where all the intact cords seemed to be leading. Oh, wouldn't Ed be overjoyed to discover whatever lay at the end of this maze of wire? Ed... maybe just... Ed... if she called Ed, well, maybe she wouldn't have to share the bounty very much. Ed never cared about woolongs. Ed might be able to unravel the mystery... or at least let Spike and Jet know that...
"Help... I need... help..." Faye activated the COMM as she managed to enter the room at the end of the hall, dread tingling down her spine. So many bodies.
Was she about to become the latest? It wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR!
The COMM made a little noise as the connection was made. A sliver of hope shot through her and Faye grasped onto consciousness desperately. "I'm... in a little... trouble..."
COUNTDOWN
There's a limit to his time here. An unknown countdown eating up the hours and days and ...weeks? Months? Surely not years...
How long can a battery last anyway?
He had given himself a cutoff point.
Wallowing in self-pity is not really his style, but then again neither is doing this whole "life" thing on his own.
It's not like they'd been married. No "til death do us part" promises. But they'd been living together for years. It had been a good routine, one that was comfortable and suited them both well.
So what the hell had happened?
Anxiety squirmed in his stomach at the thought of her wandering the streets, aimless and alone, perhaps in a state of befuddlement. Had she been in her right mind when she left?
Paranoia made him rehash every moment of their last few weeks together. Had there been someone else? Had she been stepping out on him for months now? Had someone else managed to catch her attention and somehow steal her heart?
Was he not good enough? Did he not provide enough for her? He handled all the bills, set up all the appointments, made sure his insurance covered her in all regards... He footed each and every grocery bill, every brunch at Sally's Diner, every dinner at Thills House of Gills. He kept the car running smooth and the gas above half a tank at all times. Rotated the tires yearly, took care of the oil changes and general maintenance. He made sure she could take a shopping trip through the fashion district at least once a season. Took her to the cinema twice a year.
What more could he have done?
Did her tastes change? Did she suddenly crave a man who would treat her less kindly? Was he too respectful in the bedroom?
Was it a matter of inadequacy?
He flushed at the thought, embarrassed at the very idea.
Bile rose in his throat as he imagined her walking through a back alley, being accosted by a slovenly booze hound, climbing astride a man who called her names and pulled her hair and made her scream in a mix of pleasure and pain.
His heart rate sped up.
These intrusive thoughts were unbearable. He was haunted at all hours by the what ifs and the empty space on the other side of the bed...
It was eating him up inside. The guilt of not being what she needed. The shame of her abrupt departure. The worry over her fate. The open-endedness of his life when he'd thought it was all figured out.
Fall in love, move in together, live a happy life together, and it got sort of hazy after that but possibly some sort of dying in their sleep in the same bed someday.
Though he'd had nightmares for a while that he'd accidentally die on the job after the arm incident.
Abandoning her like that... It was not something he wanted at all.
So he'd pushed himself in physical therapy. Control was the only way to keep everything rolling on his terms. If he was strong, whole, and in control then there was no way he'd leave her by dying.
Having her leave him... Not being killed even but just - disappearing without an explanation... That was hard. It made his thoughts spin in useless circles. It made his heart ache. It fucking pissed him off.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Well, he'd leave. Fuck this whole place and her in particular. Fuck the job and all the shady behind-closed-doors bullshit. Fuck the partner who'd split - reassigned while Jet was regulated to being a paper pusher. Fuck it all.
He'd leave, dammit.
Soon.
Eventually.
Just in case she'd made a mistake, he'd stay for now.
Same place, same lock on the door, same hiding spot outside for the spare key.
She might be back.
Like a fickle cat.
All women were fickle, that was a given.
Well, he'd make sure she had a chance.
But eventually that watch would stop ticking. The countdown to zero. To giving up the ghost, letting go of the hope, and starting a new life somehow some way.
Damned if he knew what that would look like.
Freaked him out just to consider.
But that was a problem for future him.
For now he just had to swallow the bitterness he felt when considering any aspect of his rotten life. Box up all the frustration and shelf it for another day. Take it out on a criminal, yeah, that'd be satisfying. Take all the self loathing and the feelings of being somehow lacking... take all the negativity and smash his fist into someone else's face.
Aggression could keep him going for a while. Maybe someday his apparently unrequited love would morph into spite and he'd fuel his days with that emotion until he could waltz back into her life and show her all the ways she was missing out on a life with the true man of her dreams.
Or maybe he'd leave this miserable place and find peace of mind out there in the stars... learn to accept whatever his shortcomings may be and choose to be happy with himself.
He snorted. Yeah fucking right.
The inner turmoil had shifted into rage.
The clock continued to tick. She was still gone. And he had no answers.
It was time to go out and bust some skulls.
Self-Destruction
Usually it didn't bother him.
Life was shit. You did what you had to do to make it from day to day.
Sure, maybe he made some regrettable choices. Got tied into some piss-poor alliances. Set himself on a path of self-destruction.
The blood on his hands wasn't the blood of innocents. That was about all he had going for himself when he got into one of his dark moods. And it's not like he felt much remorse over the people he'd killed over the years, whether as a syndicate lackey or as a bounty hunter. Pretty much anyone he put a bullet or knife into (or beat down or blew up) had it coming to them.
Even so, he knew he wasn't a good man.
Faye would roll her eyes and remind him that nobody was good. (and then Ed would cartwheel by and Faye would grimace and Spike would raise his eyebrows like "you see? your argument is false." And Faye would throw her hands in the air and walk away because she had nothing else up her sleeve to deter his line of reasoning)
Jet would wax philosophical and Spike would tune it out because he was never high enough to hear all that and anyway he'd read books on Buddha and souls and all that jazz and none of it resonated enough to save him.
So he'd mope around the ship feeling like a shadow of a human, merely existing, and then some dangerous bounty head would be on the market and he'd take insane risks and maybe someone tough enough would mop the floor with him and he'd wind up on the couch in a state of drug addled pain filled misery that he knew he deserved.
Yeah, he was self-destructive. By force and by choice.
Getting hurt served him right.
Besides that, it made him actually feel alive.
Blood
It's not the first time that this has been an issue.
As long as Spike survives... it certainly won't be the last time either.
Doc had given Faye, still clad in a provocative crimson dress that revealed more of her skin than it covered, a curious side-eye when she trailed into the small office after Jet. With very little heads-up as to their abrupt arrival, it was no surprise that Doc was wearing pajamas underneath his hastily donned lab coat. He gestured impatiently at the table for Jet to unload the bundle of bloody rags that he had carried bridal-style from the Hammerhead currently parked on the roof of the unassuming medical building.
"Kid's a real piece of work today, hey?" Doc muttered. "Well, first things first. What's your type, girlie?"
Faye, wiping at the dust on her brow and making her way to run shaky hands underneath the faucet of the sink to get rid of the blood that ran from her fingertips all the way to her elbows, scowled at the old man.
"Not short old men that's for sure!" She snapped.
Despite the dire situation, Jet found himself chuckling at Faye's misunderstanding. Doc huffed and gave a nod of his head towards a cupboard that Jet began to root through for the proper tools to draw blood from Faye. He already knew he was no match for Spike, but maybe it would turn out Faye could give a little. It would certainly make it somewhat worth it just having her bitchy ass on board if she could donate to Spike given how often he was in need of a transfusion.
Watching Jet approach her with a needle, Faye's eyes widened in understanding. "Ohh. Yeah. I dunno." She finished wiping her arms hastily, the skin still pinker than usual from the vigorous scrubbing and from the residual streaks of Spike's blood that hadn't washed off in her haste. Accepting the swab of iodine from Jet's other hand, she wordlessly began to smear it all over the inside of her right elbow.
"We'll know soon enough." Doc told her, apparently choosing to ignore the snub she'd given him earlier. "Once you're done there... you should grab some gloves and a pair of tweezers from the drawer under that far cupboard. There's a lot of glass we're gonna have to pick out of him once I get these major wounds closed. There should be some skin-grow in a bottle in the fridge by the window. Get me that and a bag of O as well. Even if she's the right type, he's gonna need more than we can pull from her. Not too worried about the entry point on this bullet wound but the exit is gonna be gnarly. You said he fell down a flight or two of stairs? That won't have helped matters. This gash here... clean cut but who knows how clean the actual blade was. Kid's gonna need some heavy duty antibiotics to fend off any infections. I don't have that type of shit on hand here. Anyway, c'mere with that sewing kit. Set it there. We'll roll him first to check the damage on the back side before we worry about these other issues - don't want him bleeding out while we're doing busywork on his front half."
Jet worked diligently to obey Doc's instructions while Faye flitted about in the background somewhat uselessly. Her task of retrieving shards of glass from Spike's skin was one of the last things down the list of a slew of more critical injuries that had to be addressed first. Fortunately, Jet had some background in triage. It hadn't been a mandatory part of his ISSP training but he'd briefly considered enlisting in the Ganymede Military before finally settling on a cop career instead. Before that, he'd taken some training courses with the military cadets that had included an extensive course on treating violent injuries. Being able to patch up a bloody hole was apparently more crucial than learning how to fire the gun that could make such a gaping maw in a flesh-and-bone body.
The issue with Spike was of course the blood type. It had been one of the very few pieces of information he'd willingly offered up to Jet after they'd first partnered up. Said he was something of a danger magnet and had a history of getting roughed up. Needed Jet to know that he could give blood all day long but that he could only receive from other O types. Which was naturally an issue given that Jet himself was an A type. So, being able to request the right life-saving liquid was something that Jet needed to know - or to tell the medics whenever he had to bring Spike to an actual hospital which had thankfully been a rare occurrence.
More frequently, if they were in the area, they'd simply drop in on Doc. It cost a pretty penny but it was easier than offering an alias to the hospital staff and then breaking out when no nurses could try and catch them in the act. It wasn't a great system but it worked.
"Ah, no good." Doc announced as he inspected Faye's blood. "B, for the record."
"So what, my blood isn't gonna work for him?" Faye demanded pensively.
Doc shook his head. "Figured as much to be honest. You don't seem the O type to me."
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at the older man. "That feels like an insult."
Doc smirked at her and shrugged. "You do the research and you tell me. Anyway, we need more. The bags I've got on hand here aren't gonna be enough. There's a donation center down on the first floor of the building... if you think you can handle a little B&E then perhaps you can be a help."
Faye frowned. "What am I even looking for?"
Jet, busy helping to apply the skin-grow salve around the neat needlework Doc was using to close up the exit hole on Spike's back, sighed. "A freaking label that says O type blood, Faye."
"Look at the one in the trash over here." Doc said. "Take my ID card, you can swipe it to gain access to the center and the refrigerator room. I'll just say it got stolen if anyone asks. You'll owe me for that too, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, Doc. Add it to the tab, wouldya?" Jet already knew this visit was gonna cost them an arm and a leg. Poor choice of words, he reflected, considering his own substituted arm. Spike wasn't really at risk of any limb loss but it would be kind of touch and go for a minute just due to the severity of the wounds he'd received and the ways he'd made them worse by doing whatever the hell he'd been doing inside the smoldering wreckage of the cathedral. Jet had arrived after all the action so he missed seeing any of the excitement - thank fuck, syndicate business was no mess he wanted any part of. Undoubtedly though, Spike had made things worse on himself the entire time he was there.
The kid was always pushing his buttons. Choosing laziness over action more often than not. Picking fights with Faye that made Jet's ears ring with the volume they'd both reach with their shouting. Bringing back flea-covered dogs instead of bountyheads. Destroying bridges and buildings and vehicles during chases that negated any sort of money they'd hope to bring it anytime they actually did bag a bounty. It was a hassle and a headache and he was getting tired of it.
Tired of the worry. Tired of Spike's overconfidence paired with a casual indifference about his own life. If this is what it would have been like having a teenager then frankly Jet counted himself lucky to have not sired any offspring. This one adult was enough of a troublemaker to contend with!
But... Spike was also willing to throw himself fully into their missions when it suited him. He'd get down and dirty and be the one throwing punches or racing after enemies trying to flee in the zipcraft that could outmaneuver Jet's own with ease. Honestly, between the two of them, Jet wasn't entirely sure which of them was the brawn, the muscle, the tough guy. Jet himself was one hundred percent the brain but he was pretty tough too. He'd been knocking heads and choking folks out on the force for years while Spike was probably stealing beignets as a brash little asshole living on the streets. Not that he'd ever told Jet about his past but, well, some things just made sense.
Well. So what was another medical bill anyway? Doc was good about giving them time to pay him back - steady business was steady business, after all, even if the cash from taking those jobs trickled in over weeks instead of getting pulled from some insurance account and probably taxed and whatnot. Jet wasn't exactly sure how medical professionals got paid out, truth be told. A periodic deposit from an anonymous benefactor was just what the doctor ordered and it made Jet's life much easier.
Or as easy as it could be when one had a human wrecking ball for a partner. And a newly acquired foxy little mischief maker like Faye Valentine for that matter.
Between the two of them, he'd be entirely gray in the hair if he wasn't bald to begin with!
Do Better
In the quiet of his tent, long after McIllicuddy went to bed, Appledelhi let his carefree smile fade away.
There was no one around to impress - not that he was the type of man to bother with posturing anyway.
He was single-minded. Dedicated to his dream of mapping the meteors. Undaunted by the challenge of the ever-changing topography of the land.
It was his sole mission these days. After she died... after the fog of grief lifted and revealed the horrible mistake he'd made... after devoting half his life to scouting craters and the other half to investigating each and every orphanage or daycare center he stumbled across... now knowing that Francoise lived, he could focus the whole of his attention to the citizens of Earth. The inhabitants still scratching out a living on the pockmarked surface. The brave souls who chose to live with the sky stretched wide and wild above them despite the risk of being crushed by remnants of the moon still tumbling down...
He had made a promise in the wake of his wife's death... a heartfelt vow to do what he could to prevent accidents like that from claiming more lives... to build a system of warning that could keep people safe from the debris falling from the cosmos. If there was just enough knowledge gleaned... just enough algorithms properly programmed... just enough mapped out to ensure folks stayed alive...
For so long now he had been a man divided. Driven to chase the tails of meteors as they came streaking down, yet distracted by each and every grubby faced child glimpsed from the corner of his eye whenever they were near what remained of civilizations.
At last, at long last... his guilt over losing his daughter was assuaged. She lived... lean and hardy, bright and joyous... she lived perhaps a happier life than she would have had with him.
It was painful to admit that he had failed her after her mother died. He had been in shambles, out of sorts, distraught and devoid of any ability to take care of himself let alone a young child, scarcely more than a toddler. It had been for the best, he told himself again and again over the years, for the best to put her in a place of other children and adults who didn't forget to make meals or spend days wailing in misery or see in their darling child's face the ghost of the love of their life...
He had been a danger to himself and certainly to her as well.
This knowledge did not ever help him sleep at night after he came back to his senses.
By then it had been many months and he had gone many miles. There was no way to backtrack to exactly when he'd had the strength of mind to realize how to shield her, how to provide for her, by... abandoning her.
For years he was plagued with nightmares of what her fate might be. Did she still live? Did she resent him for leaving her? Did she even remember him at all?
Questions with no answer. Questions that served no purpose except to make him depressed.
So he strove to find answers to the other obsession in his life.
There had to be a reason his wife died, after all. It couldn't be pointless. It had to have meaning. He was determined to make something of himself, in her honor and memory.
To create a future for the inhabitants of this woe-begotten world.
His daughter was in good hands. Those gentlemen with her... they would do better for Francois - for Ed - than he ever could. Traipsing around piles of rubble, taking sensor readings of giant holes in the ground, calibrating devices to record the path of moon chunks tumbling tumbling tumbling down... that was no life for a child. No.
She lived, and she lived well. It was for the best.
She deserved caretakers who would do better by her.
She was his heart and soul. She deserved the very best that this universe could offer.
Sleep...
What a curious thing it was.
Necessary to recharge the human body yet fraught with dangers. It was a time of complete vulnerability... Removed from awareness of the world in which you dwelt, unable to defend against assault in that external realm yet also at risk from internal attack in the form of nightmares and sleep paralysis and other nocturnal terrors.
He loathed it. Dreaded it. Sought to rise above the need his body had for it.
But he also longed for it. The escape from the walls of his prison. The chance to see him again... to let memory coalesce into reality if only in the world of dreams...
And despite his warring emotions on the matter... regardless of how his frail human body required that unconscious shutdown...
He could not sleep. It evaded him. It eluded him. It refused him.
Days became weeks became months.
They plied him with drugs. Medications to reorder his synapses. Trial runs of this product, test batches of that... Concoctions created to tap into his neurotransmitters...
Guesswork, they admitted. Throwing possible antidotes to his issue at the proverbial wall to see what may stick.
He was drowning in medications. Desperate for the most debilitating ones. Jonesing for the injections that let him turn off his brain, that enabled him to briefly forget the silver-haired specter that haunted him constantly. Why would he have betrayed him? Lied to the courts and cast him to the wolves?
In his heart of hearts he knew the awful truth. But it was so much easier to simply go mad. His savior in the trenches could not be his downfall once they were free - it was nonsensical. The man he trusted so deeply, the man who had been so intimately a part of his life...
Better to avoid the weakness of sleep, where dreams would tease him and nightmares would force him to acknowledge the truth. Better to drive himself out of his own skull through sheer lack of rest. Better to succumb to the void through whatever combination of drugs cast him into a stupor.
And so he was an unwilling test subject ... though those institutionalized had little say over their own autonomy.
And so the shadow Vicious threw over his life grew larger and darker still.
You Still Don't Get It
"He's not like anyone else..."
The words haunted him. The images haunted him too. Yellowed scraps of someone's entire life, pictures of innocence... a life twisted into disaster. A military criminal, a felon, a person connected to whoever Julia was... a commonplace name that had sent Spike spiraling. Well, at least he could extend an olive branch to his erstwhile partner. And then tow this childlike adult woman back to the ship. Between the two of them he wasn't sure who was the most emotionally immature...
He often struggled with figuring out what made Spike tick but he'd never really understood women either. Here at least was a chance to try and see what led Faye to run off in a teenage strop. Why had she left the note? Why leave them any way of chasing her down?
Naturally Faye avoided explaining herself.
Her query in response was simple enough to answer (if he kept it on the up-and-up, choosing to focus on a minute detail instead of the way his heart had involuntarily clenched with concern once he realized where she'd fled) ... and when she brought up the sum left in the safe he had to try and play off that he hadn't known how much was there.
Her interest in Julia made his heart stutter and close itself off. Of course. Spike was the more handsome of them. More fun, more exciting. Made sense that a wildcard like Faye would be drawn to another daredevil instead of someone as stolid as Jet himself.
But what of Gren?
That troubled him. Finding her cuffed to another man's bed, that troubled him. The way she shrugged it off yet seemed so... touched. What sort of a hold could a near-stranger have on her already? What sort of person was this Gren who had somehow gotten tied up into the lives of two different crew mates whose paths were so different?
A question for a question, surely he deserved some answers.
"So, who is this Gren?"
A chuckle over the COMM. "You still don't get it." Faye didn't sound bothered by his asking. Amused, yes. Even maybe a bit interested. She seemed in better spirits than the depression he'd noticed as he released her from the cuffs and reached out to update Spike.
A sigh.
"He reminded me of you, if I'm being honest..." Her tone was thoughtful, soft. "Honorable fools, taking in strays... risking a bite to the hand that feeds..." Her voice trailed off into a series of coughs.
Grimacing at her opinion of him as much as at the sickly sounds she was making, Jet exhaled heavily. "Never mind. Shut your mouth, conserve your strength."
Growing Pains
It's hard to watch him grow.
Growing pains traditionally referred to the physical pain of growth - typically and especially in the legs during spurts. It's not pain exactly... it's a soreness in the thighs, calves, backs of the knees. She remembered it from her own youth and, given how big and tall his father was, it's no surprise that Jet was also going through physical changes as his body stretched, elongated, adapted to a new slightly older form.
But just watching him warp from an infant into a toddler into a young boy is breaking her heart.
The pain of watching your child grow up. The contradiction of being so proud for advancements and achievements... of being delighted in witnessing the world open up before their young eyes... of seeing them develop into capable individuals who didn't need mama to dress them head to toe every day... all those little joys and big joys... versus the unexpected pangs of sadness as he grew less and less dependent on his parents and grandparents.
Suddenly he could help Grandpa hook a worm for fishing. Suddenly he could be trusted to help Nana thread the needle without poking himself. Suddenly he was running alongside Papa on their way to the boat, not being carried on Papa's shoulders or in his arms.
Soon he would be able to help coil the heavy rope that held the anchor fast. Soon he would be able to reach the stove top to help prepare meals. Soon he would be too busy with friends to want to sit next to Mama at the park and watch the birds picking at the seeds they'd throw.
And oh, how she wanted that for him. A whole houseful of friends to race with and wrestle with and practice letters and numbers with. Kids his own age that would share toys and snacks and want to play with him.
He was such a serious little boy. So thoughtful. Always trying to do his part at home, always trying to pitch in. He understood the dangers of being on the ship in bad weather. He listened to his elders and remembered what he was told.
He was a blessing and she knew it. He would be the only one they'd ever get to have and that was fine, truly, because he was such a good child.
But ohh... to watch him grow was forcing her heart to swell with both sorrow and elation. Her sweet baby boy, her darling young lad... well on his way to being such a fine man.
Promise
Remember, I'll always be cheering you on...
What a fucking crock.
She had watched the tape a dozen times at least by now. Pausing it frame by frame to dissect the images as they coalesced onto the screen.
It was useless.
Every single one of those shy, giggling school children were strangers to her. But most especially the one that was apparently herself.
Tears welled in her eyes, just like they had upon her first viewing from the hallway, and she angrily dashed them away with a swipe of the hand.
Maybe she was like that innocent little child. Emotional and weak.
There's no way that kid could have gone through the horrors Faye had. No way that kid would have lasted even a day in this lawless future.
No way who she was today was someone that bright child would be proud of.
There was no one cheering her on.
No wonderful person beside her.
Though... the kid was right about one thing.
Faye had to reluctantly admit, if only to herself, that she was surely causing trouble to those around her.
Even in the act of receiving the stupid fucking tape... she'd learned that some mystery package had arrived in her name and she disappeared in a flash. If the thing had been a bomb or connected to anyone trying to get her to pay up... well, she'd left her comrades to settle the score or take the hit. Faye's Famous Disappearing Act. Now that was something that little kid couldn't find defensible.
Who was this kid? Clearly born into wealth just judging from the school uniforms and the enormity of the bedroom. Someone with a loving family. A lot of friends. A bright future.
All the promise in the world.
Who was Faye Valentine?
A loser. A con artist. A nobody with no one. No future and no past either. Stuck in the eternal present with no answers and no clue how to fucking proceed.
Sorry, kid.
She'd done her fucking best every day since waking up and she had nothing to show for it.
No one here to cheer on for anything at all.
Humiliation
The card reader beeped obnoxiously.
The cashier glanced surreptitiously at him for the fourth time.
Jet glared at the machine and only barely managed to school his expression into something less antagonistic when the cashier cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Sometimes the reader doesn't quite..." She trailed off, cheeks flushing with color.
There was a line of people queued up behind him. A bag boy patiently waiting to see what to do with the groceries he'd already carefully put into the paper bags at the end of the conveyor belt. A manager slowly making their way down the aisle of checkout lanes.
He knew better. The cashier was trying to be kind, to offer him an out... as if it was technology's fault that there wasn't enough in the account to cover what he'd painstakingly gathered (he'd done the math in his head the entire time, adding taxes and subtracting discounts, and still somehow he had misjudged...) ...but Jet knew the humiliating truth.
Well. Nothing to be done for it. Taking a deep breath in, he considered quickly what all was in the bags. What could he do without? What would subtract enough from the total to allow him to depart with his dignity in shreds but at least something in those sacks to feed his crew?
To feed Ed mainly. The other two could take care of themselves well enough. Even Ein was no slouch at hunting when the hunger was too much.
So, doing his best to ignore the judgmental stares that may or may not be aimed at him from the folks behind... he stepped up to the bagger and gestured curtly at the conveyor belt.
"Sorry bub, lemme just go through these and give a few things back to the lady here..."
His ears were ringing too much to hear the garbled tunes playing over the grocery store speakers. The cashier was staring down at her drawer to give him a semblance of privacy. And he did his utmost to shut out and ignore the rest of the populace of the place.
Wasn't the first time.
Probably wouldn't be the last time.
Still, the churning gut and the aching chest and the tension in his jaw... all of these kept the humiliation of the moment stacked on him like a scarlet letter.
Man, he hated being poor.
Wake Up
He wondered when it had truly started.
There was an undeniable allure to being mysterious.
Julia had gobbled up that bit about his eyes seeing the past and present... Faye meanwhile had seemed... sort of... betrayed by it.
Everything about the way he'd left her was unresolved and poorly done.
He'd been so confident that it was all about to be over. No one walked into the Red Dragon headquarters on a murder mayhem spree and lived to tell about it. Making it all the way to the top to confront Vicious had been a miracle - gifted to him by Shin, at such a terrible cost.
So he'd approached her, intent on stealing a kiss before he left. One little taste of those inviting lips... after all their time together, the teasing and banter, the push-and-pull of their not-quite-friendship... to give himself a bit of closure on that unread chapter, to give her a glimpse at what could have been...
But she'd pulled back and he'd caught himself in time. Loomed over her instead and gave her that line he'd once used on Julia in a much more playful setting.
And she had reacted with such outrage. Uncomfortable at the thought that he was giving her a piece of himself before taking the rest away. And he realized that's exactly what he'd been about to do. It's all he was capable of doing. To kiss her then would have been cruel. So he took a step away in every sense possible... told her how life itself was too unreal to be true...
Before he could walk away she bared herself to him in the most vulnerable way possible. Her admittance demanded something of him. A truth that he meant as a lie. Or had it been a lie he meant as the truth?
Sometimes he couldn't tell.
The dismal reality was that his fate was sealed. And if he didn't go, then their lives were forfeit.
Simple as that.
Jet understood.
But fate had decided to smile on him after all. Perhaps the universe had seen enough death in that building... so many lives destroyed by the syndicate, so many more that would fall if Vicious had his chance to rule...
All he knew now was pain.
Vicious had assumed Julia's death would wake Spike from the sentimental dream of forever after hand-in-hand... the impossible dream that had never been on the table at all.
In reality, it was Vicious's death that ended the nightmare of Spike's previous life.
And although everything throbbed and stung and ached and burned and brought new meaning to the word torment... there was something more...
A voice, humming. Not off-key but not in the same key as Julia had once hummed...
The same peaceful glimmer of a welcome back that he'd heard the last time he regained consciousness on the ratty couch of the Bebop.
The pale face of an angel who played at being a devil as often as possible.
Faye, blue-green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Mouth trembling as she strove to contain her emotions.
The humming stopped.
"You're finally up, huh."
Awake. Alive. And finally ready to admit that all he could see in either eye was her and the unknowable future that stretched out before them...
Statement of Juno Steel
Horroreyecollective
Fandoms:The Penumbra Podcast, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Teen And Up Audiences
Major Character Death
Other
Complete Work
22 Aug 2024
Tags
Major Character Death Rita & Juno Steel Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Benzaiten Steel & Juno Steel Benzaiten Steel & Sarah SteelJuno Steel & Sarah Steel Diamond Hijikata/Juno Steel Ramses O'Flaherty & Juno Steel Juno Steel Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Peter Nureyev Benzaiten Steel Rita (Penumbra Podcast)Sarah Steel Diamond Hijikata Jack Takano Captain Hijikata (Penumbra Podcast) Miasma (Penumbra Podcast) Canonical Character Death Canon-Typical Violence Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives) Canonical Child Abuse Child Neglect Child Abuse Canon Non-Binary Character Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives) Abandonment Nonbinary Juno Steel Juno Steel Needs a Hug Hurt Juno Steel Post-Episode: s01e18 Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place Emotional Hurt Manipulation The Lonely Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives) LonelinessSuicidal Thoughts Not A Fix-It Lonely!Juno Eye Trauma Prompt Fic Angstober 2024 Episode: s01e01-02 Juno Steel and the Case of the Murderous MaskImplied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Summary
Statement of Juno Steel about how he only hurts people so it ends here, statement begins.
Day 31: It Ends Here
Series
Part 1 of Angstober
Language: English Words: 1,344 Chapters: 1/1 Collections: 1 Kudos
Why Again by Horroreyecollective
Fandoms:Malevolent (Podcast)
Teen And Up Audiences
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Gen
Complete Work
05 Sep 2024
Tags
Major Character Death King in Yellow & Noel | Charlie Dowd Original Noel & Noel | Charile Dowd The King in Yellow (Malevolent) Noel | Charlie Dowd Original Noel Finley Torture Psychological Torture Angstober 2024 Hurt No Comfort Angst Prompt Fic Emotional Manipulation Manipulation
Summary
Noel/Charlie is being torture by The King in Yellow and just wants it to stop
Prompt 1:Again
My Reasons to Live by Horroreyecollective
Fandoms:Malevolent (Podcast)
Teen And Up Audiences
No Archive Warnings Apply
Gen
Complete Work
21 Aug 2024
Tags
No Archive Warnings Apply John & Arthur Lester Arthur Lester & Faroe Lester Arthur Lester & Peter "Parker" Yang Arthur Lester & Bella Lester John (Malevolent) Arthur Lester Faroe Lester Bella Lester Peter "Parker" Yang (Malevolent) Lilly the Buopoth (Malevolent) Blood and Injury Injury Episode: Coda (Malevolent)Angstober 2024 Implied/Referenced Character Death Hurt/Comfort Emotional Hurt/Comfort Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Summary
Arthur thought about his five reasons to live.
Day 02: Countdown
Series
Part 2 of Angstober 2024
Language: English Words: 527 Chapters: 1/1
This Is All My Fault by Horroreyecollective
Fandoms:Malevolent (Podcast)
Teen And Up Audiences
Major Character Death
Gen
Complete Work
25 Sep 2024
Tags
Major Character Death Arthur Lester & Faroe Lester Arthur Lester Faroe LesterTrans Arthur Lester Hurt No Comfort Trans Male CharacterPast Trans PregnancyDrowning Child Death Crying Grief/Mourning Past Childbirth It is refenced a tiny bit but not in detail
Summary
Arthur hears running water from the bathroom.
Day 19: Tear-Stainted Cheeks
Series
Part 3 of Angstober 2024
Language: English Words: 302 Chapters: 1/1
Credit to @gun-chucks for a post about this idea!
I Deserve This Treatment by Horroreyecollective
Fandoms:Red Valley (Podcast)
Teen And Up Audiences
No Archive Warnings Apply
Gen
Complete Work
04 Oct 2024
Tags
No Archive Warnings Apply Warren Godby & Bryony Halbech Emily Godby & Warren Godby Warren Godby Bryony Halbech William Godby Emily Godby Hurt No Comfort Past Violence Murder Unethical Experimentation Unethical Medicine Suicidal Thoughts Self-Esteem Issues Self-Hatred Self-Sacrifice Past Child Abuse Needles Medical Trauma Family Issues Angstober 2024 day 03
Summary
Warren thinks about what he thinks he deserves.
Day 03: Self destruction
Series
Part 3 of Angstober 2024
Language: English Words: 348 Chapters: 1/1