“You’re still not dead?” | too weak to move (slightly) | overworked  

29th entry for @whumptober2021​

Read it on ao3

Title: My heart is gold, and my hands are cold    

Pairing: Jiang Cheng/Jin Guangyao

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

Excerpt:  

‘A-Chéng, you need to stop.’

Jīn Guāngyáo’s voice rings through the room, soft and spoken with care. Perhaps it’s their gentleness that tears Jiāng Chéng away from the laptop and paperwork in front of him.

Words: 2.271

The glorification of an unhealthy work/life balance is robbing us of ouf time. ⏰

Whumptober Day 29

Omar’s head dropped onto the book in front of him.

Grant looked over at Omar, concerned. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“None. Too much work.”

Grant sighed and began packing up Omar’s back pack. “Alright. Let’s go. You are taking a nap.”

CW: Alcohol abuse, overworked and underappreciated hero

“Hero..? Damn… When Sidekick called and told me what happened, I never expected… this.”

Hero was standing in the parking lot of the bar, bottle in hand, glaring at Villain. “Why are youhere?”

“I’m here to stop you from self destructing.”

With a frustrated yell, Hero threw the bottle in their hand at Villain. It missed.

“Wow.” Villain looked down at the smashed pieces of glass now littering the ground.

“Get the fuck away from me! I don’t want your help!”

“Are you always this expressive when you’re drunk? You’re usually so calm.”

Hero took a shaking breath. “Don’t talk to me— I don't— You shouldn’t have come!”

“Sidekick is worried about you. I thought they were exaggerating, but… Well, now I’m worried.” Villain started closer to Hero.

“Stay away from me!”

“No. Hero, you’re coming with me. Make it easier and go quietly.”

Hero tried to push Villain, but Villain just caught them close against their chest. “Let go!” Hero started thrashing. “Let me go you— you bastard!”

“Wow. Creative.” Villain rolled their eyes, forcing Hero across the parking lot to their car. “I’d put you in the backseat, but I don’t trust you to sit still.” Villain shoved Hero into the trunk and closed the hatch.

—

“Get me out of here!” Hero screamed, kicking and hitting the trunk’s interior as they felt the car come to a stop.

A minute later, the trunk opened to reveal Villain.

“If you don’t get me out of here right now, I swear I'll—”

“What?” Villain interrupted Hero. “You’ll do what, exactly, Hero? You can barely best me on a good day. Right now, you’re drunk. You can’t even use your powers, so tell me. Exactly what do you think is about to happen right now?”

Hero spluttered, speechless.

“Good. I’m glad we see eye to eye.” Villain tugged Hero out of the trunk.

“But… but this isn’t your base..?” Hero was looking at a cheap apartment complex.

“No, it’s not. What, do you live in your base?”

“Yes.”

Now it was Villain’s turn to be speechless.

“What the hell do you expect?? My whole life is my work!”

“You have no life outside of work?” Villain stared.

“I don’t have time for life outside of work! I fight you, Other Villain, Vigilante when they get out of hand, and now I’m expected to help out with Supervillain too! When am I supposed to have time??”

“Well you seem to be able to find time to drink…” Villain muttered.

Hero shoved Villain away and fell, suddenly off balance. “You don’t know what it’s like!” They angrily swiped the tears out of their eyes. “I do everythingforeveryone! And then I make one mistake— Supervillain gets away with one hard drive— and I take all the heat!” Hero curled in on themself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t even know why I try…”

“Hero…”

“Don’t touch me!” Hero snapped, saying at Villain’s hand as it brushed their arm.

Villain stood in silence for a moment.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Villain crouched next to Hero. “Hero, I’m sorry…”

There was another long moment of silence before Villain helped Hero to their feet. “Come inside.”

Luigi rubbed his head. The fucking migraine wasn’t going away no matter how many fucking pills he took. He downed his 11^th cup of coffee for the day. It wasn’t helping. It didn’t matter how black it was, it wasn’t keeping his fucking eyes open. Luigi slammed his pen down. The words were beginning to blur. Maybe he should get some sleep tonight.

He glanced at the document and sighed. He picked up the pen. He had to get this done. The deadline was coming up and it was nowhere near ready.

He shouted for his assistant to bring him another cup of coffee. He reminded himself not to stab this one. This one knew how to make coffee. He didn’t need to go through another 15 to find one who could make a decent cup. No one answered. Right the bastard only worked till midnight. He swore the boy nearly cried when he told him his working hours. He had to remind himself then that the boy was the only one who could make a decent cup of coffee.

His head screamed at him once more. Fuck. He was not getting any work done like this. He placed his head on the table. He just needed the migraine to go away. He could work through everything else. He took a breath and forced himself to sit upright. Just another hour or two. Then he would go to bed.

***

Pavi headed to the GeneCo offices. It was the 4^th night in a row that Luigi had stayed in the office overnight. He would head back in the mornings, take a shower, and head back to the office. His assistant told him that Luigi had been missing meals as well. Pavi sighed. Luigi had stopped working like this since papa died. Then suddenly, over the last few weeks, he’d started all over again.

What was Luigi working on anyway? He knew Amber had cut down his workload once she realized what their brother was doing. So what the hell was keeping his brother so busy?

Pavi entered Luigi’s office and sighed. His brother was asleep at his desk. He was hunched up at the desk; one arm below his head, the other wrapped around it. His back and neck were going to kill him tomorrow, he guaranteed it. Pavi grabbed Luigi’s coat hanging on the rack and draped it over his brother. Or maybe he should wake him? But knowing his idiot brother, he wouldn’t go back to bed. He would just continue working. What the hell was his brother working on?

Luigi was lying on a document open before him. Pavi pulled it carefully; trying not to wake his brother. He looked at it and froze.

Attempts 20 and 21: Failed. Faces still refuse to hold. Nerves are able to connect but blood supply still unable to be established. Subjects complained of constant severe, sharp pain up to the point the face rotted off.

‘Blood vessels too small? Increase blood vessel diameter by 1mm, bury deeper into the muscles.’ Was haphazardly written in pen below it.

Attempts 22 and 23: Failed. Removed old blood vessels and nerves, replaced with synthetic. Random fasciculation of muscles in the face. Blood vessels still won’t hold. Faces rotted at a faster rate. No sensation in the face.

Synthetic material not sensitive enough. Too many muscles. Synthetic works for nerves in arms. Remove nerves in arm and replace the nerves in the face. Replace arm nerves with synthetic. Nerves in arms too huge. Hand nerves may run to similar problem.

Attempts-

Luigi stirred. Fuck. Pavi closed the document and placed it on the table with the other stacks of company documents. “Pavi? What are you? Fuck.” Luigi squinted. “Turn off the lights.”

Pavi obliged. The room fell into darkness. “You need-a rest, fratello. Go to bed.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s-a nearly 4 in the morning.”

“Fuck.” Luigi rubbed his head. “I have to be up in 2 hours anyway.”

“I’m-a sure sorella would give you the day off.”

“Too much work to be done.” Luigi muttered but he still hadn’t lifted his head off the table.

Pavi grabbed the stack of documents on Luigi’s desk. “If-a you refuse to rest, fratello. I will-a burn all these documents.”

Luigi straightened. He cursed and grabbed his head. “That’s the only copy.”

That, not those. “Then you will-a do as you’re told. When’s the last-a time you slept, fratello?”

“I just slept.”

“I meant-a through the night, like a normal person.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re going to kill yourself like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t-a joined us for a meal in almost 2 weeks.”

“I eat here.”

“Barely.”

“I need to get that done.”

“What the hell is-a so important, fratello?” Pavi reached for the files.

“Don’t!”

Pavi skipped the first file. He opened the second. “This is-a just the budget, fratello. Just-a get the finance manager to look it over.”

“He has. I just need to approve it. Now give them back.”

Pavi closed the file. “No. I’m-a keeping these until you’ve had a proper rest.”

“Pavi.” Luigi growled.

“I’m-a telling Sorella you’re taking the day off. You better be there for dinner or the files are going up-a in smoke.”

“Pavi!”

Pavi left the room. “Buona notte, fratello.”

***

“Pavi, I need those documents back.”

Pavi turned to see his brother stalking up to him. “It’s-a been one day, fratello.” But Luigi must have listened to him and had a proper rest. He looked slightly better than the previous day…well this morning technically.

“I’ve slept. I’ve eaten dinner with the two of you idiots. I’ve done what you wanted. Now give it back.”

“The Pavi has-a already approved the budget, fratello. It-a wasn’t that complicated.”

Luigi stiffened. “You went through my stuff?”

“Just the budget. The Pavi was-a too lazy to read the others.”

Luigi relaxed. “I don’t need you doing my work for me.”

“One more day, fratello. You still-a look like shit.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“There was-a no deal. The Pavi will-a give you back the documents once The Pavi feels you have sufficiently rested.”

“At least give me the documents. Everything is in there. All the work is halted-” Luigi cut himself off.

“The work can-a wait a couple of days.”

“The deadline is fucking coming up.”

What deadline? Why would there be a deadline? It doesn’t make sense. “I don’t-a care, fratello.”

“This isn’t your fucking business.”

“I’d-a rather you not-a work yourself to death, fratello.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I’ve had my rest.”

“Just-a sit down and drink-a with the Pavi.”

“I have things to do.”

“That-a you can’t do without those documents.” He poured his brother a drink.

Luigi sighed and sat next to him. “Tomorrow. At the very least tomorrow.”

“The work will still-a be there next-a week.”

“I’m working on a tight schedule. The deadline is the end of the month.”

Something in Pavi’s chest clenched. Why was there a deadline? “Are you sick, fratello?”

“What? No. I told you, I’m fine.”

“Why a deadline?”

“I know you barely work, but everything has a deadline.”

“Not this. Why would this…” What month was it? September? There wasn’t a new election or law changes they had to worry about for their research. Why end of September? What was-

Oh.

Pavi started laughing.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“A birthday present. Fuck, fratello. You fucking scared me to death.”

“What are you-” Luigi froze. “You read the document.”

“I just-a wanted to see what you were so busy with, fratello.”

Luigi shot down his drink and said nothing.

“Fratello,” Pavi sighed. “The Pavi has-a looked like this for almost 20 years now. There is-a no rush.”

“I should have started this much earlier.”

“What-a was missing?”

“Test subjects.”

Pavi laughed. “Papa wouldn’t have let you hear the end of it.”

“Please. He would just be annoyed he didn’t think about it first.”

“Why didn’t-a you tell The Pavi?”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Nothing has even come close.”

“Fratello I… It’s been 20 years. It’s-a ok if it doesn’t work.”

“I know. But the least I can do is try.”

“Maybe. But not-a like this, fratello. There’s no deadline. Don’t-a kill yourself over this.”

“You’re being a fucking drama queen.”

“Not-a sleeping and not-a eating is not-a healthy.”

“Yes mom.”

“Fratello, I’m-a serious. There’s-a no rush.”

Luigi opened his mouth to argue more.

Pavi changed tactics. “I miss-a talking like this. Or us eating together as a family.”

Luigi sighed. “Fine. I’ll come home for dinner and drinks. Then I’ll head back to work.”

“Sleep fratello. You forgot sleep.”

“It’s a waste of time to sleep. I can do so much more if I don’t sleep.”

“Sleep is-a important, fratello. What’s so bad about sleeping anyway?”

Luigi sighed. “The nightmares get worse around this time. I’d rather not sleep.”

Pavi fell silent.

“It’s why you were up so late yesterday right? I can hear you scream sometimes.”

Pavi closed his eyes. “It’s-a been 20 years.”

“I know.”

“It-a doesn’t make sense.”

Luigi didn’t say anything. He just filled both their glasses.

“I don’t-a just dream of that day though.”

“What else could be half as traumatizing?”

Pavi was silent. “Being left alone. Mama’s gone; papa’s gone. Everyone we’ve ever known is-a dead…even if it is-a thanks to papa. I just-a…I don’t-a want to lose anyone else.”

“Pavi…”

“The face can-a wait fratello. It won’t-a stop the nightmares. I just…I just don’t-a want you killing yourself over it.”

Luigi sighed. “I’m not going anywhere, Pavi.”

“You can’t-a promise that. Mama never intended to leave. Papa didn’t intend to leave. But they did.”

“Paviche…”

Pavi gave his brother back the document. “I know you need-a this, fratello. But-a not like this please. Next year. You can-a work on it. But there’s-a no rush.”

“Carmela owes me a fuckton of annual leaves. I’ll work on this up to dinner, alright?”

Pavi sighed. It was a compromise he supposed. “Fine. Only if you promise to join The Pavi for-a lunch as-a well.”

“I’m going to be sick of seeing your face.”

“I’ll-a get a new one.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Pavi pouted. “The Pavi is-a bored eating alone.”

“Bullshit. You have the Genterns entertaining you.” Luigi sighed. “I don’t need a babysitter, Pavi. I don’t need you running around making sure I don’t kill myself.”

“I know. But it-a helps.”

Luigi looked at the document in his hand. He sighed and placed it to the side. He poured himself another drink and refilled Pavi’s. “Last drink. Then bed.”

Pavi smiled. “As-a you wish, fratello.”

Whumptober, Day 29 - Shikmaru/Ino

Prompt:All work and no play (“you’re still not dead”, too weak to move, overworked)
Fandom:Naruto
Pairing:Shikamaru/Ino
Rating:T
Words:738
Notes:Requested by @cinlat

—————-

Dusk faded toward night, falling over the training field like a heavy blanket. Kunai, shuriken, and armor littered the ground. Shikamaru’s head hung down, sweat dripping from his chin and the disheveled hair that had come loose from his normally tight ponytail. Drawing air into his lungs sent sharp stabs of pain through his back. His legs and arms trembled as he pushed himself upright. “Again.”

Ino shook her head, tipping up her water bottle “No, you need to take a break. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Do it again,” Shikamaru hissed, swiping at the bead of sweat running into his eyes.

The pair had been at the training ground since midday, but Shikamaru wasn’t satisfied with the result. Half a dozen wounds riddled his body, a testament to the fact that he still wasn’t good enough. Ino looked better for the wear, but he knew that she hid it well. Shikamaru hadn’t managed to land as many hits as she had, but fighting shadow possession took a toll on the body.

The girl huffed out a breath and tossed the bottle to Shikamaru. He caught it on reflex as Ino sank to the ground. “I’m tired,” she complained. “We’ve been working at this all day.”

“And, I’m going to keep going until we get it right,” Shikamaru growled. “I’m not going to risk another failure in the field because we didn’t work hard enough.”

Ino tipped her head to the side, studying Shikamaru with those aquamarine eyes that seemed too knowing lately. “It wasn’t a failure,” she corrected, voice firm. “It was a death.”

Overwhelming agony swelled in Shikamaru’s chest as Ino scooted toward him without standing. She rested a hand on his thigh, moving until her gaze filled his vision. “Asuma died,” she repeated. “He died, and it wasn’t your fault. Overworking yourself to the point of death won’t change that.”

“If I’d been faster or better, I could have protected him. I should have–” Something swelled in Shikamaru’s throat, cutting off the rest of the words. He squeezed his eyes shut before the tears could start again.

Ino pulled Shikamaru against her, and for a moment he had a disorienting realization of how soft her body was. Then, her hand was rubbing his back as if that could remove the pain that lodged there like a kunai. “He gave his life for yours,” Ino breathed, voice tight with the emotions choking Shikamaru. “It was his choice.”

But, it wasn’t fair, the childish part of Shikamaru cried out, tantruming against the price that being a shinobi exacted. None of it was fair. Why did it have to be Asuma? Why did it have to be me? Why couldn’t things have gone differently?

There were no answers, only more questions that piled on Shikamaru’s chest like a stone. It compressed his lungs, squeezing them until every breath was a physical pain. Something brushed against his lips, breaking the cycle of impossible thoughts. Ino held the water there, tears shining on her cheeks. She offered a tenuous smile that didn’t touch the hurt reflected in her gaze.

Shikamaru raised a hand to take the bottle, but his thumb brushed the tears from Ino’s cheek instead. She exhaled in a jagged, broken breath. The echo of pain in her eyes somehow managed to make him more aware of the ache beneath his breastbone. But, it lessened the sharp prick of abandonment at the same time.

Releasing the tension in a breath, Shikamaru tipped his head forward to catch Ino’s lips in a first kiss that he’d never imagined until that moment. The tentative brush did something warm and explosive along his sternum. Ino squeaked and pulled back, fumbling the water in her haste. Cold splash across Shikamaru’s stomach as he scrambled to the side. He watched the puddle spread in the dirt, embarrassment replacing the pain momentarily.

Ino crouched a couple of feet away, cheeks flaming crimson. Heat crept up Shikamaru’s neck as he rubbed it with a damp hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

When Ino moved closer and raised her hand, Shikamaru tensed for a slap. Her fingers traced his cheek bone instead, triplicating the blush under his skin. Ino’s tongue darted across her lips, then she smiled. “Let’s give it a second try,” she chuckled, “without the surprise, this time.”

Before Shikamaru could answer, Ino’s soft lips were against his, and the world was spinning.

Whumptober, Day 29 - Jack Morrison

Prompt:All work and no play (“You’re still not dead”, too weak to move, overworked)
Fandom:Overwatch
Characters:Jack Morrison (Soldier 76) and Angela Ziegler (Mercy)
Rating:G
Words:741
Notes:Requested by anonymous

——–

An insistent buzzing pulled Jack away from the hazy depths of unconsciousness. He blinked in confusion at the dark surface beneath one cheek and the bright lights overhead. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he was sitting at his desk. A report lay scattered across the surface, pages in disarray. His personal datapad lay to the right, live mission status blinking on the screen. It hadn’t updated since the last time he looked, but that wasn’t surprising; these things took time.

Jack thumbed the device closed as the buzzing came a second time. He glanced at the clock on the edge of his desk. The floating blue letters displayed 8:05. Shit.He’d meant to go back to his quarters and steal a few hours of sleep, but apparently he’d lost track of time. Jack eyed the wavy, damp spot on one page of the report and sighed before palming the control to open the office door.

Angela Zeigler stood outside, lips pulled into a frown. The woman already wore a lab coat over her black shirt and brown pants, clearly having been up for hours. Jack stifled a yawn. “Good morning, Dr. Zeigler.” His voice crackled from lack of sleep and he coughed to clear his throat. “What can I do for you?”

“We were supposed to be going over the new recruits’ medical evaluations and training programs this morning.” Angela stepped into the office and frowned. “Did you forget?”

Jack rubbed the sleep grit from his eyes and tried to remember what the meeting was supposed to cover and whether it was important. He wanted to dig into the details on the Blackwatch missions, but he couldn’t do that without raising red flags, especially with Angela looking over his shoulder. Jack didn’t want to draw any attention to the connection that he’d be better off ignoring. He offered a grin. “It’s possible.”

“You’re a bit pale, are you feeling alright?” Angela moved like she would reach across the desk for Jack’s face, then dropped her hand back to her side. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

All too keen blue eyes watched Jack, waiting for the lie, but he only dipped his head. “Of course.”

The woman hummed, tapping her fingers along her thigh. Jack knew that Angela was working herself up to confront him, but it wouldn’t take long. Part of the reason that he’d been so insistent in recruiting her to Overwatch was that she wouldn’t back down from what she thought was right, not even to a superior. “You slept here last night, didn’t you?”

“I had a lot of work to catch up on, and there are several time-sensitive missions that I had to follow,” Jack offered in his defense. It wasn’t much of an excuse, but it was the truth. He sighed. “Yeah.”

“You’re overworking yourself, again.” Angela moved across the office to the coffee maker. “You’re no good to anyone if you kill youself trying to do everything.”

Within moments, the warm scent of coffee filled the air. The mere thought of caffeine made Jack salivate. It would stave off the headache that was trying to form behind his eyes, and give him the energy to make through another round of reports. Angela approached the desk, two paper cups of coffee in hand. “We should get moving if you’re going to view all the evaluations,” she observed, sitting one of the cups on the desk.

Fighting back another yawn, Jack stood and stretched his back. Angela winced at the pops and cracks that his bones made, but she held her tongue. He wrapped his hand around the cup and nodded toward the door. “After you.”

Jack glanced at the cup in his hand and wondered how the woman knew how he took his coffee. He raised it to the lips and took a tentative sip of the hot liquid. The bitter taste of the bean was balanced by something that tasted a whole lot like bourbon. Jack’s raised eyebrow made the woman laugh. “Old medical school trick. It’ll perk you up and calm some of the caffeine jitters to get you through the day.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” Jack took another drink of the liquid and sighed happily as the dual warmth settled in his stomach.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Just don’t make a habit of it. Nothing beats actual sleep.”

Jack laughed. “You’ve got it, Doc.”

Students are like:

Teachers are like:

No. 29 - ALL WORK AND NO PLAY

@whumptober2021

@whumptober-archive

“You’re still not dead?” | too weak to move | overworked

Finn had spent all week at work, and the week before that, and the week before that too. Despite the Daniels’ help, Jess was struggling. She had assignments and cases to do, on top of trying to look after Amelia. She wouldn’t change her daughter for anything, but she just needed a break. Just ten minutes to herself.

They were meant to have the Saturday off together, a rare occurrence anyway without their schedules acting against them. Instead Finn had pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and left her alone in bed, blaming some work emergency. He promised he’d be home for tea, and that he’d make it up to her another day, but she knew he wouldn’t be back before dark.

With their day ruined and Amelia somehow still asleep, she figured she might as well crack on with some of her work. It wasn’t going to do itself, after all. She could catch up on sleep later, once her casework was done. Just in case, she kept the baby monitor nearby, waiting for Amelia to wake up and start her demands. With a glass she wasn’t sure didn’t have wine in, she sat down to work.

Sheila had told Fao Jess was having a hard time, Finn working more and more with less time at home. He had the Saturday off, unlike his brother. He was alone though, Ely on shift as well. With Jess struggling, he decided to go over to see if he could give her a hand with Ameila, let her get some work done.

He let himself into the house, hesitant to call out in case Amelia was sleeping. He couldn’t find Jess anywhere obvious, so headed into her little office space.

“Jess?”

She jumped, spilling her glass. “Fucking hell, Fao.”

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t want to wake Amelia if she was sleeping.” He said, glancing down apologetically. “Forgot I walk quietly.”

“Instead you give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry. Sheila said you were having a crappy time, with Finn doing overtime. Do you want me to take Amelia for the day?”

“I’d be fine without interruptions.”

“Sorry, sorry. Look, why don’t I take her, and then you won’t have any more?”

“I don’t need your pity.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Really? You think this is pity?”

“I think you sneaking in here and planning to take Amelia is pity, yeah.” Her voice wavered.

“I wasn’t going to take her without talking to you. She’s my niece, I just wanted to help…”

“I don’t need your help, I just need to get this done.” She stood, arms folded. “I don’t need any of your help. I can do this myself.”

“Sure. But you don’t have to. Surely getting your work done would be easier without Ameila needing something every five minutes?”

“It would be easier if Finn wasn’t constantly at work and my work gave me half an hour to myself.”

“Hence why I’m here.”

She groaned in frustration, turning away from Fao as the tears started to fall. She didn’t need their help, she had to do it by herself.

“Come on, let me take her out to the park or something. A few hours, give you some time to rest?”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“How am I meant to do it, Fao?” She turned to face him. “I’m trying my best but I’m not getting anywhere.”

“That’s what family is for, Jess.”

“I…I know that. I’ve just got to do it.”

He moved closer. “Come on, if the roles were reversed you’d want to help me or Ely out.”

“Of course.”

“So let me give you a hand?”

“Thank you.”

“I can do the housework, too? Put some washing on, change your bed, make dinner? So you don’t have to stress.”

“No, no. That’s too much.”

“I don’t mind. I’d just be sat at home doing nothing, might as well make myself useful.”

She hesitated. Finn couldn’t cook, and it was safer that he didn’t. “Tea might be nice.”

“Yeah? I’ll sort things for you.”

Jess moved forward, wrapping her arms around Fao. “Thank you.”

The hug surprised Fao, but he wrapped his arms around Jess. “I’ve got you, don’t worry about it.”

“Finn’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

“I’m lucky to have you as a sister in law.”

She pulled back to wipe her tears away. “God, I’m sorry. You came over to help and I’ve just broke down on you.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He said. “Break down all you like.”

“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I never realised it was going to be this hard.”

“Finn being gone so much doesn’t help.” He said gently, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

“It’s just the icing on the cake.”

“Yeah. It’s rough. I hope he’ll get back onto a proper schedule soon.”

“I’m proud of him, he’s always wanted to be like you and he’s doing it. I just… it’s hard.”

“God, it’s so hard. I couldn’t do what you’re doing.”

“She makes it all worthwhile, you know? Her little smile makes it all better.” She sighed. “Her screaming in the middle of the night doesn’t though.”

“She’s gorgeous, but she’s just as high maintenance as her dad.”

“Maybe more so.”

“Probably.”

“Takes after me too.” She tried to joke.

“Only the good bits, I’m sure.”

“Days like today, I’m not sure I have any good bits.”

“You do. Have you had any decent sleep? Why not give yourself a couple of hours?”

“I haven’t got time.”

He hugged her again quickly, and then pulled back. “I’ll stop distracting you, I’m sure you’ve got so much to do. Just shout if you need me though, yeah?”

“Thank you, Fao. For everything.”

“Anything for family.”

teheranb:

The sentence “why you have to push yourself this hard?” While Caretaker gently stroked Whumpee’s sweat dampened hair and watched them sleeping miserably in discomfort.

Whumptober Day 29!

Link to the Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/86685436

Title: Insomnia - Lois

Prompt: No. 29 ‘All Work, And No Play’ - “You’re still not dead?”, too weak to move, overworked

Word Count: 1289

Lois Joanne Lane was a night owl to the nth degree, though oddly enough, this was something of a recent development. Growing up in a military family, getting up with the sun had been a daily part of life and continued to be that way up until her second year of university when a combination of events including a midterm paper, a karaoke party, and what under highly specific circumstances could be considered a car chase suddenly revealed the truth: Lois got her best work done at one in the morning when there were no idiots around to bother her.

Her sleep schedule shifted drastically after that, and though it was a pain in the ass for a week or three as she tried to rearrange her classes to be mostly confined to the afternoon, it was around then that her professors discovered that damn, could this madwoman write. Lois rarely got to bed before two am, spending her evenings (and half of her nights) writing the articles, essays, reports, pieces, and works that would firmly establish her as one of the best journalists to come out of that university in nearly twelve years.

The habit continued, staying with her long after college and well into her first internship, then onwards and upwards to the bullpen of the world-renowned Daily Planet. Lois worked the typical nine-to-five bit in the office, ordered takeout (usually Chinese, but she had recently discovered an Indian restaurant on 5th and Barnes that had some mean curry), then began doing the investigative part of investigative reporting. Depending on the story, that could last long into the night but there would always be a bit of time and coffee-fueled energy left for Lois to return to her apartment and compile whatever notes she had procured into a nearly-legible Word document before passing out on her couch. The coworkers who didn’t call her ‘Mad Dog’ Lane for her tenacious passion for the work had started nicknaming her ‘Batwoman’, and to be perfectly honest, she couldn’t disagree with them. She loved working late and though it probably wasn’t the healthiest way to live her life, Lois found that she honestly didn’t give a fuck as long as it put her on the high road towards a Pulitzer Prize.

Unfortunately, being a night owl did not make Lois invulnerable to the bane of every writer’s existence - lack of inspiration caused by exhaustion.

She had been living off of four hours of sleep every night for a good week at this point, and it was finally starting to show - mostly in the bags under her eyes, but more worryingly in the fact that even a triple-shot espresso didn’t give her much more than a mild buzz. The worst had come to the worst: coffee had stopped working, and now Lois’ insomniac ass was just plain ol’ tired.

Most, if not all of her late night writing was done either at her dining room table or her couch, surrounded by piles of notes and empty coffee cups while the news played in the background to drown out any distractions while she diligently typed perfectly formatted Word documents containing what would hopefully be her next Pulitzer Prize-winning article. Even so, Metropolis Eight News played as loud as her neighbors would bear wasn’t enough to quite recreate the comforting bustle of the Daily Planet’s bullpen that had quickly become the tune to which her whole life danced. If she stopped her incessant typing long enough to think about it, Lois realized that her own apartment was quite lonely - and despite how much she told herself that she worked best when there were no idiots around to bother her, she still missed the company of fellow writers weaving the truth into their own articles and pieces.

Many of her coworkers at the Planet were constantly encouraging her to get a boyfriend, some even going so far as to set her up with dates which Lois really only went to for the free food. Cat Grant, who was well known for going through at least one man a month, also had a habit of catching Lois in the break room just in time to break into a long-winded speech about how a romantic partner would help get her mind off of work and teach her to have some fun.

(And help her sleep better at night, Lombard from Sports would add with what Lois assumed was his attempt at a ‘sexy’ wink. It honestly just looked like he had something in his eye.)

Lois was of the very firm opinion that there would be no significant others in her life anytime soon, and she wasn’t afraid to make that known throughout the bullpen - Lois J. Lane was officially unavailable and unofficially married to her job. That was about the closest she could get to telling Lombard to put his opinions about her home life where the sun doesn’t shine.

In the meantime, Lois was perfectly happy having her apartment to herself and satisfied any random urges she might have for a boyfriend with a weighted blanket, over-sugared coffee, and long showers. Speaking of coffee, her last mug of joe hadn’t done shit and her second wind was beginning to blow itself out… or maybe it was her third wind, though Lois knew that it could quite easily be her fourth - time tended to stop being real somewhere around one in the morning.

Setting her laptop aside, she got up to start the kettle boiling with the intention of brewing herself a nice, strong cup of black tea in hopes that her body would accept the caffeine she so desperately needed in a form other than coffee. She didn’t really expect it to work - she had already exhausted herself beyond any rescue besides sleep, though that would be just about impossible for Lois in her current state. Anyway, another caffeine hit was worth a try.

The next half-hour was spent waiting in vain for the tea to do its job and give her enough energy to maybe, maybe finish her article on the implications of a new tax law in consideration while Lois did her best to format one of her quotes from one of the city council members into something that would simultaneously grab her readers’ attention, accurately represent the situation and the council member’s statement, and still fit into a two-inch column of newsprint.

After a few minutes of useless effort, she redirected her attention to digging the tv remote out of its hiding spot between the couch cushions and turning the volume up a few clicks so she could hear the news a little bit better - not that she ever listened to the mud they broadcasted in place of real journalism these days - before she began to organize her mess of a coffee table slash workspace with a sigh. There were a pair of empty Starbucks cups that would have to go in the trash, along with a mostly-eaten takeout box of kung pao chicken and her pile of nigh-on incomprehensible handwritten notes for an interview she’d done that morning which Lois neatly stacked back into something that didn’t look quite as likely to topple over before collapsing back onto the couch. There wasn’t any point in trying to get more work when her brain was as frazzled as it was, though she was just as likely to catch even an hour of shuteye as she was to write a halfway-decent article at the moment. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep that night with her insomnia and tendency to overwork herself, but who needed sleep when they were in the running for a Pulitzer?