#i came here for mike whump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

afewproblems · 7 months

Text

Season Two Halloween AU Part Eight

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

As always, thank you thank you to the lovely Jess @strangersteddierthings for letting me brainstorm and send spoilers!

***

Eddie pulls gently on the strap of Dustin's safety goggles, trying as much as he can not to snag his curls in the process.

Almost everyone is decked out in their make-shift protective gear, with bandanas over their mouths, swim goggles --hell, even an old diving mask that Lucas found in the Byers basement. Mike won the painters mask, even though it's slightly too big on his little face.

When Eddie asks if all of this is really necessary, Dustin, Lucas, and Mike all glare ferociously at him before shouting over top of one another about how the Upside Down is toxic and that Will had been lucky last year, and to stop being an idiot.

Eddie looks to Max who shrugs and pulls down her own swimming goggles over her eyes.

"Don't look at me, I'm new here remember?" She mutters, walking towards the pile of various items the kids brought with them. She grabs a pair of rubber gloves and tosses them at Eddie who manages to catch one while the other falls limply into the dirt.

"They went in full body suits last year, on oxygen, to save Will," Dustin adds, his voice slightly muffled by the floral scarf wrapped around his face, "as little exposed skin as you can, it isn't safe".

Eddie can't help but picture the last Sci-Fi pulp story he read in a zine with government conspiracies and men in yellow suits investigating supposed 'crash sites' in the desert.

He shivers and pulls his own black bandana from his back pocket to put on.

Steve hasn't moved since they parked and hauled everything out of the van for their descent.

He sits in the sliding side door of the van with his head between his knees and the bat between his hands. Steve had insisted on coming with them, despite the fact that he'd only just managed to stop vomiting about five minutes ago and the nausea is still kicking his ass.

Stubborn idiot.

Eddie shakes his head as he turns back to Dustin to find the kid has wandered closer, standing right beside him now.

"He's dating Nancy," Dustin says quietly, tipping his head towards Steve as surreptitiously as he can.

Eddie freezes at the words and tries to keep his face blank in the way he's seen Steve do, he's not sure he's managed it but the way Dustin rolls his eyes.

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, with what he isn't sure of given the chorus of shitshitshitshitshit playing on a loop in his head.

Dustin beats him to it.

"But Mike told me they've been fighting lately, if it helps?"

Eddie just stares, his mind running a mile a minute, his eyes search Dustin's face for any hint of malice or disgust. But there's nothing.

"You don't…care?" Eddie says slowly, softly, he looks around to the other kids to see if anyone else is listening.

They all continue to argue and bicker over the equipment except for Max who has walked over to Steve to hand him a pair of rubber gloves. She leans down and tilts her head to look at Steve who still hasn't moved from his position in the van door.

Dustin shrugs, "why should I? I know what people say about it, but you protected us, you stayed," he looks at Eddie with fierce blue eyes, "bullies talk a lot of shit about other people for what they like".

"And you're not bad Eddie, you're good, just like everyone here".

Eddie blinks trying to ignore the tightness in his chest at the words and the sting behind his eyes.

'You're a good kid Ed, that's all that matters,' Wayne had told him the day he came out. 'And I'll love you no matter what'.

So that was at least two people who didn't think he was the town 'freak' -- but a stubborn image of Steve's expression that night by the pool comes to mind as he vehemently argued against being scared of Eddie during the now infamous Halloween party.

Three people then.

"If it helps, he wouldn't shut up about Dallas after he and Nance watched the Outsiders last year so," Dustin shrugs again, this time with the slightest teasing grin.

Eddie is overcome with such a strong feeling of fondness for the kid that he reaches out and pulls Dustin into a one armed hug that's really more of a headlock than anything else. Eddie takes off Dustin's hat to ruffle his hair before putting it back on and tugging it down over the kids eyes, he snorts at the squawk that Dustin makes in response.

"Dallas huh?" he says with a grin before clearing his throat, "I've always been more partial to a pretty boy myself".

He laughs as Dustin pushes him off muttering under his breath, "everyone's obsessed with relationships," which only makes Eddie laugh harder.

Maybe it's the hysteria of the situation, maybe it's the exhaustion loosely wrapping itself around his hands, but in this moment Eddie lets himself push away why they are standing in the middle of this field in the pitch dark, and lets himself reach out for what was previously impossible.

He claps Dustin on the back and tips his head towards the rest of the party getting ready.

"How distracting can you be?" Eddie asks in a low conspiratorial voice.

Dustin frowns, his eyes dart from where Max is struggling to pull on a second blue rubber glove after getting the first one on to where Steve is finally managing to sit up in the van, pulling on the gloves Max left him with, and rolls his eyes again.

"Yeah, yeah, you get five minutes," Dustin drops his voice slightly, and if it's an imitation of Eddie barking orders at the kids earlier, it's pretty good actually.

Eddie huffs and sends Dustin a wink before turning on his heel and making his way to the van.

Steve has managed to finally sit up properly and in the moonlight it appears that the green caste to his face is also gone. He looks up as Eddie approaches, and sends him a wane smile.

"How you feeling?" Eddie says softly. He crouches down on the balls of his feet so he and Steve are at eye level and reaches out for his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It's as though a dam has burst ever since he was able to gather Steve in his arms in the van, he can't stop reaching out for him.

"Like my head has a pulse," Steve answers after a moment, "kinda how it felt after Jon cleaned my clock last year, but worse".

He shrugs and gives Eddie a small smile that stretches his split lip until a small bead of red appears, Steve winces and swipes his hand over the cut, "I'm kinda hoping it doesn't become a yearly thing, you only get so many concussions ya know?"

No Eddie doesn’t know, but he was also never a jock, dodging elbows, or balls, or apparently monsters in the woods on the regular.

He looks back at the kids, only to see Dustin pointing at the watch on his wrist; even in the dark Eddie can read Dustin's expression.

Hurry up.

Eddie swallows roughly and turns back to Steve, who doesn't move his gaze quickly enough to hide his own stare.

The wistful pinch of Steve's brow is still there, plain as day, and it cements Eddie's decision.

He leans closer, close enough that his nose is nearly touching Steve's own.

"I need to tell you something, and I need you to let me get through it because we don't have a lot of time, okay?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes search Eddie's face as he slowly nods, his mouth opens but Eddie reaches up and presses his palm to gently cover it.

"You caught me off guard before," he whispers quickly, before Steve can move the hand on his mouth, "when you told me about your Nonna".

He sees Steve's eyes go even wider and feels him freeze under his hand, but he has to keep going.

"And I thought, you couldn't possibly be saying what I thought you'd were saying, I couldn't--"

Eddie forces himself to meet Steve's gaze this time, as though he could simply transfer his thoughts directly, save himself the embarrassment of trying to make the words come.

He takes a deep breath in, releasing it slowly through his nose.

"I couldn't let myself hope, not then".

"But when I thought you were dead on the floor, that Billy had broken you into a million pieces and we would never be able to put you back together again and I realized," Eddie moves his hand now, letting it travel along Steve's jaw, to the back of his head. He swipes his thumb along the crest of Steve's cheekbone and tries not to let the way the other man holds his breath deter him.

"That I might not get another chance to be that person your Nonna told you about, if I didn't tell you how I felt".

Steve blinks again and Eddie halts, letting go of Steve completely as he watches the wide hazel eyes grow shiny in the moonlight.

Oh fuck.

Steve's nose flares slightly with how rapidly he's breathing and his mouth opens and closes in quick succession as he seems to struggle to find the words to respond.

"I--"

"Steve! Eddie!" Mike calls out from behind them, "we are running out of time! Let's go!"

Eddie curses under his breath and whirls around; Mike stands at the edge of the cavern, his hands on his hips in a similar position to one Steve held earlier, the painter's mask pulled up to reveal the irritated frown on his face.

Dustin has his own face in his hand but looks up soon enough to offer Eddie a resigned shrug.

He catches Max watching the exchange with curious eyes, her face tilting between Eddie, Dustin, Mike, and Steve, but he can't think about that now.

Not with Steve pushing himself up from the van on unsteady legs, he brushes past Eddie, reaching up with a shaking hand to pinch his nose.

Eddie darts a hand out to catch Steve's elbow, halting his path.

Steve lets him.

Eddie takes a step closer, wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he could have said to make Steve so upset, had he read him wrong after all, had he overstepped somehow?

"Steve," he says softly, his grip on Steve's elbow is loose but steady as he pulls him closer.

Steve doesn't turn to look at Eddie but he doesn't move away either.

"What the hell is the hold up assholes!" Mike barks out again and Eddie lets himself throw a dirty glare at the kid, which Mike merely rolls his eyes at.

The attitude on these kids.

Mike does eventually turn, pulled by Dustin, back to the rope that Lucas is securing to the nearby fencepost, hopefully distracted for long enough to let Eddie figure this out.

But before he can say anything, Steve is pulling himself away from the grip on his elbow, “Eddie--”

"Please,” the word falls out of his mouth, desperate, louder than he wants, “please Steve, just, promise me we'll talk”.

Steve turns his face slightly, just enough that Eddie knows he sees him.

His eyes are no longer wet, but still red rimmed, his nose slightly pink, the same way he looked that night at the halloween party sitting on that rock in the dark.

“Okay,” Steve whispers into the night air, quickly and quietly before he presses forward.

Eddie lets him go, his empty hand drops limply at his side as he watches Steve make his way back to the kids. He snatches an unused pair of goggles from the nearly empty pile on the ground and checks the post where Lucas had secured the rope.

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve seamlessly moves back into Babysitter mode, and while some part of Eddie is relieved at this, he can’t help but miss the way it felt to hold Steve, to put him back together again.

Even if it was just for a moment.

Part Nine Now Up!

Tag List:

@eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @steveshairspray @hellfireone @eddielives1986 @sunswathe @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson @queenie-ofthe-void @rainbowsaw @sp0o0kylights @littlebluejane @hi-im-eff @phantypurple @just-ladyme @thoroughlycollected @justrandomfandomstm @swimmingbirdrunningrock @finntheehumaneater @dynamic-powerm@nightmareglitter @genderless-spoon @zaddipax @thebiblesays @pyrohonk @emly03 @geekymagicalpotato @sidebarre @lemon-astra @cipounette @discreetapple @starlitlakes @saphhicwitchbitch @marvel-ous-m @lingeringmirth @honorarybrit81 @bookbinderbitch @finntheehumaneater @lololol-1234 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @monsterloverforhire @gaydrieeen @starlight-archer @homosexual-having-tea @devondespresso @rennnnon @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog

And a few people I think may be intersted!

@steddierthings @steddie-there @stevesbipanic @henderdads

303 notes · View notes

aceofwhump · 9 months

Note

Hi! Do you have any favourite recovery fics??? Like Buck recovering from any one of his mishaps (or Anthony Bridgerton, or Matt Casey, or Mike Warren, etc) where they cover the process (the part that shows always skip where in one ep things are absolutely fucked and in the next they’re absolutely fine I’m looking at you and your rebar 9-1-1)

Thanks!!!

I have a TON of good recovery fics. Recovery fics are some of my favorite things to read! Especially really long ones where the character is recovering from a trauma. If you don't mind other fandoms I've got a ton of recovery fics to rec. Not a lot for Anthony Bridgerton or Mike Warren in terms of recovery fics for canon whump sadly. Actually there's not a lot of recovery fics for them period. But I hope some of these other ones will sate you!

The Witcher:

Hold On by CaptainRex_ika

It has been months since that day on the mountain, a day that left Jaskier alone. Now, he finds himself a captive of Nilfgaard, who just want Geralt and that child surprise of his, and they believe Jaskier is the way to get the White Wolf's attention. After all, he is known as the Witcher's Bard. Jaskier believes that this time Geralt won't come for him...not after that day.

warming of a heart by Alexlively88

tws: A/B/O, past rape/non con, abortion/discussion of abortion, rape recovery

Killing a rusalka is just a normal day in Geralt's life. It's just his job. What isn't his job is rescuing abused omegas. He does it anyway. Or, Jaskier is done with life. To his disappointment, life isn't done with him just yet.

If You Ask Me for My Fire (Just Watch Me Burn) by DigitalSaiyan

tws: past rape/non con, rape/noncon, rape recovery,

Jaskier has zero intention of sharing the degrading experience of getting tortured. Ever. He’ll bury the memories and someday they’ll be as scabbed over as Caingorn was. Which had been completely, absolutely, fine. And the only reason that wound is bleeding a little now is because Geralt came out of nowhere—after the most humiliating experience of his entire life—and reopened it. But that’s fine because he’ll leave and return to the terror of his smuggling work and forget about Geralt all over again. There's nothing hard drink and the constant danger of execution won’t get his mind off. There’s something therapeutic about fearing for one’s life that makes anything not of immediate concern go away. So yes, things were just fine before Geralt showed up. Two years post-Caingorn, Geralt rescues Jaskier from jail and sends him with Ciri to Kaer Morhen. However, Geralt starts to suspect Jaskier is hiding serious trauma.

Panic Attacks by AllTheQueensHorses

Jaskier, captured by Nilfgaard and tortured for weeks, has panic attacks because no one knows where he is and no one is coming to rescue him. Basically a giant whump fic with plenty of angst and hurt but no comfort until later. Trigger warnings throughout the whole story for panic attacks.

Broken by GonEwiththeWolveS

In which Geralt finds out Jaskier was tortured. Or, the self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic.

What am I, if not a bard? by Mi_chan

Geralt knows something happened to Jaskier. He doesn't know the details, but he knows he needs to do something to help the bard. Jaskier is stubborn and refuses to talk to him. Geralt doesn't give up that easily, though. ~ Since the series totally downplayed Jaskier's trauma, here's the fix. The bard is hurting, he's scared and doesn't know what to do with himself, but Geralt is there, acknowledging his pain. ~

an incessant burning by 1derspark

“Jaskier,” Geralt prompted after a while. “Can you look at me?” He shook his head and hoped that his mumbled "no" would be heard. Geralt sighed but didn’t try to move him. His hand was running a comforting trail up and down Jaskier’s back. Eventually, he spoke again. “Yen, she told me some things, but I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, and Jaskier could hear him swallow. A click of guilt in the throat. He reached over to Jaskier’s arm. When he didn’t startle or protest Geralt took his arm. He rubbed a gentle finger over the wax burn. It was a barely-there thing, nothing to get all riled up about. But even having his arm exposed made Jaskier want to crawl into a hole. (Or Jaskier’s newfound aversion to fire, and the comfort he deserves.)

Hand in Trembling Hand by PenAndInkPrincess

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers at last. Geralt shifts so he can look at him. “I’m sorry I’m…like this, now.” “You don’t have to be sorry.” (Jaskier has a hard path to walk while he's healing. Geralt and Yennefer help him with this part.)

Ted Lasso:

an excess of warmth or coldness by bartonbones

When Jamie is seriously injured during a match, Roy and Ted are reminded how much they care about him--as a son, or as a younger brother, or as an exposed nerve. Jamie is reminded what it's like to have people care when his face gets knocked in.

Lemons and Lavender by LivingProof

He peels his eyes open. Shit, they really must be giving him the good stuff, cause he could swear he knows that dark figure lurking in the doorway, where his old man came in a few minutes ago. He blinks a few times, waiting for it to vanish. It doesn’t. “Roy?” he croaks. He blinks again, and Roy…or whoever…is standing beside him, 'cept Jamie still can’t tell, cause he can only see his back, cause whoever it is isn’t looking at Jamie, he’s looking across the room. Towards that window. At Jamie’s dad. “The fuck do you fucking think you’re fucking doing here?” Yeah. That’s Roy.

Barn Raising by altschmerzes

After the locker room disaster in Manchester, Roy drives Jamie home. The chaos they find when they arrive at the house swiftly proves it is not a safe place to spend the night, forcing a change of plans and a reroute to Roy’s own home. The following day Jamie experiences, in this order: The most bewildering breakfast of his life, a penalty kick clinic with a seven-year-old, and an overwhelming display from his teammates that brings him face to face with the fact that not only has he been accepted back in Richmond it’s also possible he might be, in a way he can’t remotely process or understand, loved here.

The Same Story by altschmerzes

It would've been traumatic enough for Jamie's father to ruin Richmond's most recent victory in front of the whole team, but when the confrontation turns violent in front of a gaggle of reporters, the ensuing social media firestorm is even worse. Over the next two and a half weeks, Jamie will have to navigate the charges against his father, walk a gauntlet of publicity that he never asked for, and prepare to give the interview of a lifetime.

Sandman

Bones Don't Rust by not_whelmed_yet

The same capture & rescue fic everyone has written, but playing off two ideas: - I wanted to see Dream’s physical recovery take long enough that he could begin his mental/emotional recovery before heading back to the Dreaming - There’s a lot of ways to hurt an anthropomorphic entity without taking them out of their snowglobe

I will find you in your dreams by Salmaka

A story where Dream, confused and weak from his time in isolation doesn't make it back to the Dreaming but ends up in Hob's house instead.

To Learn to Breathe Again by ironlin

Upon returning back to the Dreaming, Dream finds himself struggling. Thankfully, Lucienne is there to help.

9-1-1

To Be Loved by Scribbles97

Buck knew he was spiralling, that the dread that had been shadowing him since leaving the hospital should have left when the doctor had given him the all clear. Yet, he can't help but feel like he's still missing something. Eddie hadn't been able to give him the answers, but maybe Bobby could. Calm, dependable, reassuring, Bobby always had the answers and helped him through stuff.

Goosebumps by Princessfbi

Everyone kept telling Buck he was supposed to rest, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to do that when the cold was an incessant prickling under his skin. Five Times Buck Struggled to Stay Warm After Being Struck By Lightning and Put Into A Coma and One Time He Didn't.

Don't (Wanna) Know Who I Am by altschmerzes

Buck takes a nasty fall out on a job, and when he wakes up, he can't remember anything. Not what happened, not who the people in his hospital room are, not even his own name. The next two weeks he spends being passed from house to house every few days, Chimney, Hen, and Bobby taking turns keeping an eye on him while he tries to remember his life. The way back is slow and hard, and begs the question - who actually is Evan Buckley, and is he someone worth remembering? (Luckily, the rest of the 118 is there with an answer, if not to the first question, then at least to the second.)

Once Upon A Time

puppet strings by bewilderedmoth

Having technically died on more than one occasion now, having finally put all that trauma behind him and settled down in Storybrooke, August had hoped his troubles were long gone. When Gold returns to town in his quest to find the Author, hopes of a trouble free life in the sleepy town crumble away to dust. (A whumpy re-write of August's torture in S4, Ep 16. Set within the 'mess is mine' universe, but not actually canon to that AU)

they are mine by Lil_Redhead

Killian is still trying to deal with his emotional pain after returning from the underworld and all he needs is a motherly touch. Takes place after 5B season finale.

Unforgotten by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable

Killian went through so much in his centuries of life, especially in the Underworld. Nightmares were to be expected. This is canon-compliant with my Undefeated story, and it will eventually be a part of a larger collection of works dealing with the aftermath of everything he's survived, and some he didn't.

You can take the boys out of Neverland by WinkyCutto

The Lost Ones don't like having to live by the rules and Henry and his family are about to find out that bringing them back to Storybrooke may not have been the best idea... Hook whump galore, you have been warned.

Superman & Lois

Path to Recovery by Beth4LC

It’s been a month since Clark lost his powers and there are still no clear answers to when he’ll get them back. In the meantime, he focuses on connecting with the members of his family.

Powerless by Beth4LC

Clark is home and recovering after Ally’s near-fatal attack, and he starts to adjust to his new reality.

Lucifer

Deal by hearmerory

Chloe didn't spend five years being best friends with the Devil just to let him go back to Hell. But recovery? Relationships? These are not things Lucifer has ever found easy. In the weeks after Lucifer's return from Hell, he and the humans, angels and demons who surround him find out how long, hard and traumatic those roads can be.

Crystals by OkamiShadou98

After seeing Lucifer's scars, Chloe searches for the truth about her partner and his shadowed past. In doing so, she comes face to face with the psychological demons he shields himself from. Recovery is a long, twisted road for the Devil and his Detective. Eventual Deckerstar.

The Man From Uncle:

Agents, Missions, and Hospitals by Tallihensia

Getting hurt on a mission is enough to make a partner’s blood run cold. The aftermath and recovery, though, is almost as bad. Caring and trust makes it better.

The Martian:

Waiting in the Sky by midnightradio

Mark is back on the Hermes but getting rescued isn't quite as easy as it seemed. Fighting for your life is easy, but living with what you had to do to survive is harder.

I Win, Mars by chuckisgod

You didn't just have to save him. You have to put him back together, too. Ares 3 was in time to save Mark's life, but not quite his mind. The Hermes has hundreds of days of space travel before they all get back to Earth. It's a ship running without maintenance, and the primary engineer has the world's most severe case of PTSD. What happens? Canon-compliant.

Just Keep Going by chuckisgod

"And this is how this story ends. The story of Mark Watney is the story of a man who was stranded on Mars, and instead of giving up he did everything he could to make it back to Earth, because that's the point." What would being abandoned on an entire planet do to someone? A window into Mark's emotional state on Mars. A sincere attempt to stay true to the real-life health effects of solitary isolation.

Life on Earth by watneykingofmars

A series of drabbles and one-shots about Mark Watney readjusting to life on earth.

Avatar the Last Airbender:

Hearth and Home by lets_support_frogs

After his Agni Kai, Zuko flees the Fire Nation without Iroh or his crew. He finds himself stranded, alone, and injured in the Earth Kingdom when taken in and raised as a healer and farmer by an Earth Kingdom couple. He finds new ways to use his bending and to influence in the changing of the war with new understanding of himself, his bending, and the war. As someone with new perspectives and influence he is able to provide a greater understanding of being a teacher, warrior, and friend when meeting the gaang. or Where Zuko gets to recover before using anger to protect himself when he is adopted by a nice Earth Kingdom family

#fic recs #whump #recovery #fanfics #mod's fic recs #mod replies #ask #mod post #i know i'm forgetting some but i'm going blank again #i read too many fics lol

107 notes · View notes

brightlotusmoon · 5 months

Text

Here's that 03 TMNT scene I can't figure out what to do with.

Tagging @diploglottis @sacredartist33013 @dysfunctional-doodle because of the whump factor.

The high pitched whine in his head slowly faded, and he was able to feel his body again. It hurt. His nerves were on fire, his muscles felt beaten and torn. Everything felt heavy, even the groan he let out.

"Mikey!" a familiar voice sighed just above him. "He's waking up, guys, careful."

There was soft shuffling. A warm furry hand caressed his bruised aching head. He managed to open his eyes, and Master Splinter filled his vision. "Dad?"

Splinter smiled. "You are safe, my son."

Something wasn't right. Splinter died. They all died.

Donnie's voice made him look up. His brother's purple mask damp with tears. "Hey, little brother. How are you feeling?"

Mikey gazed at him, drinking him in. "Is…is this real? Are you really alive?"

Donnie's face paled and his coffee brown eyes widened. "Of course, Mikey. Of course this is real."

Murmurings around him had him trying to lift his head; he needed to see his brothers. "How? I saw you die…"

Raph and Leo came into view, both angry in very different ways. Leo's finger wiped at Mikey's cheek. "That never happened, Little One. We promise you."

"First they drug him," Raph murmured, "then they slap on virtual reality goggles and his brain tells him we died? Fucking sinister."

Raph's voice was shaking. Raph's voiced almost never shook. Only when one of his brothers was seriously hurt.

How bad had his captors been? Mikey couldn't remember.

The confusion must have been obvious, because Donnie asked, "How much do you remember, Mike?"

Mikey let his eyes sweep over everyone, drinking in the sight of them Not Dead. "Big and tall guys grabbing me. White room. Table. They… kept injecting me. I couldn't move. They put something over my eyes and…" he trailed off as his brain squeezed, aching.

"My son," Splinter murmured.

"I don't want to remember."

Leo exchanged long looks with the others. "Okay. You don't have to tell us."

The pressure all over his head eased a little. Mikey inhaled shakily. "But… I knew which hallucinations were drugs and which were VR. Up until the… the end."

It hurt to talk. His throat felt raw, almost bloody. He must have been screaming hard. His whole face throbbed. Talking exhausted him.

“Aw, Mike…” Raph leaned down and pressed his forehead to Mikey’s. Mikey shivered and sighed, exhaling hard.

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2003 angst needed more closure #writing is hard

18 notes · View notes

riahlynn101 · 8 months

Text

Whumptober: FNAF - Day One: Drugging

(Starting off easy, light whump).

Trigger warnings: Non-Consensual drug use, implied/referenced death, children being harmed (implied).

Takes place in the FNAF movie universe.

Characters: Vanessa, Mike, William, with some mentions of the missing children and Garrett.

Note: I already know everything in this will be proven wrong when the movie comes out on the 27th, but I hope you all enjoy this anyway :D!!

Implied (future) Schmelly (Mike Schmidt x Vanessa Shelly) near the end.

The days following Garrett’s death were...hard.

Michael could vaguely recall wandering the halls of his house, half-dazed, and on the rare chance he was forced to venture outside (back to school, to help out at the diner, or to help run errands), he stuck to the shadows, head bowed, and never, ever smiling.

Harder still when his mother-breaking free from her catatonic state-decided she no longer wished to be a part of their family and fled in the middle of the day while everyone else was gone. She left just a single note dotted with water-stained marks.

But life pushed on. If his mother’s absence hurt his father, he never said a word about it. And, after a couple of weeks, it was as if she’d never existed. All her possessions pushed to the back of their stuffy attic, just like….

The diner was closed down as well, which put a bit of a damper on his father’s usual jovial mood. It wasn’t due to lack of business, even with the incident, the towns folk routinely visited the little restaurant. There just wasn’t anything else to do (and the incident hadn’t happened to one of their children).

Michael actually wasn’t quite sure what caused his father to shut down the location. He also never asked. He preferred not to speak anymore. Using his voice took too much energy, and there just wasn’t a reason to do so anymore.

Besides his father, there was no one else that wanted to talk to him.

His mother used to call him a chatterbox. Michael would follow her around the house prattling on and on about his newest drawing. He liked to point out the bright colors he used, the lines he painstakingly drew, and the backstory he came up with for the character while drawing. His mother rarely spared him a glance, moving about the house while doing chores. Michael’s father was much the same, though he would occasionally throw him a boon. (The red animatronic fox currently performing on the tiny stage to his right is proof enough of that). But Garrett….Garrett loved to listen to him talk. He would sit with Michael for hours on end, asking for more pictures.

Michael hunches further over the table, a drawing pad in front of him. His father doesn’t trust him to stay home alone anymore, so he’s forced to come here after school. He hates it. The lights are too bright, the pizza tastes like cardboard, and everyone is way too loud. But saying anything about it means Michael has to talk to his father, and he has no energy left to argue.

It’s the beginning of summer, so the restaurant is filled to the brim with families. He just barely got his usual booth. Thankfully, since it’s out of view of the animatronics’ performance, no one bothers him.

The booth is closer to the hallway leading to the parts and service room than the stages. He prefers it only because people don’t wander over to him very often. Though, he hates sitting so close to the hallway. He always feels like he’s being watched.

Suddenly, a glass full of chocolate milkshake is placed down in front of him. Michael glances up at his father. “What?” He asks, remembering (just barely) to keep the sass out of his tone. He had been in the middle of drawing his millionth rendition of a warped-version of the Fredbear animatronic.

(Sometimes he wonders where it is now. His father never brought it up, but it’s his life’s work. Surely he didn’t just throw it out. But then again…it was the thing that inadvertently caused Garrett’s death. Michael ignores the wave of guilt that crashes over him.)

His father laughs, ruffling Michael’s hair. “Sorry, didn’t know you were busy. Thought maybe you would like a milkshake, but if you really don’t want it…” He trails off, reaching for the glass.

“No. I do want it,” Michael insists, grabbing the cup. “Sorry,” he mutters, bowing his head.

His father tsks. “It’s been a hard couple of years, Mikey, but we’ve made it through. I promise it’ll get better. Much better.” His father pats his head and moves along.

Michael gives a muted smile at his drawing pad. His father was never one for affection, and the last two years have felt like a decade, but maybe he’s right. Maybe things can get better.

He continues drawing, occasionally stopping to take a drink of the milkshake. It’s one of his favorites and not something his father allows him to have very often. Though, through the chocolate he can taste something a little bitter. Michael thinks of not finishing it, but the allure of his favorite drink is too much to resist. Besides, he reasons, slurping it down, it’s probably nothing.

He finishes up his drawing just as Freddy and the gang power-up for their umpteenth performance for the day. Michael yawns, feeling a wave of sudden tiredness pass over him. He looks around. The diner is less full now. Children are still crowded around the stage, but there’s less of them than before. There’s even less adults. The ones that remain sit on the opposite side of the diner chatting with their friends.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael sees something greenish-yellow move. He turns his head to look, but the room starts to spin. He rapidly blinks, hoping the action might help him wake up a little.

It doesn’t.

Michael slumps in his seat. His mouth feels strangely dry, and he has to fight to stay upright. “H-h-h…” he tries his best to get out. The words feel stuck in his throat, far beyond his reach. His tongue is suddenly too large for his mouth.

Michael looks around, but no one seems to pay him any mind. The kids’ cheers cover up his pathetic calls for help.

His eyes land on the opening to the hallway. Spring Bonnie-one of the original duo from Fredbear’s Family Diner-stands in the doorway. The rabbit, costume worn and frayed in some places, raises a comically large paw. It waves at Michael.

In a last ditch effort to get help, he sticks his arm out. Distantly, he hears his sketchbook thud on the floor. No one even looks his way, too preoccupied in their own little worlds. Michael’s world tilts to the side, and then, all he knows is darkness.

-x-x-x-

At eight-years-old, Vanessa knows two things for certain.

One, if given the option, one should always choose strawberry milk over regular milk.

And two, her twin brother is an idiot.

Their parents allowed them the freedom to come to the restaurant unsupervised with the caveat that they remember the golden rule: don’t talk to strangers. A rule her brother evidently forgot the minute their parents were no longer in view, because all it took for her brother to break it was a large rabbit. In a way, it kind of reminds her of Bonnie. Both are bunnies with large ears and cute little noses, but that’s where the similarities end. While Bonnie is a blueish purple (depending on the light), the rabbit chatting with her brother is an ugly yellow. There are rips in the costume, and she briefly wonders where the restaurant had been hiding the hideous thing.

She vaguely remembers another restaurant across town. But Spring Bonnie looked nothing like this rag-tag worn down thing. Besides, everyone knows the owner sold that restaurant after what happened to his son.

“C’mon, ‘Ness,” her brother says, smiling brightly at her. He rejoins her at their booth, which holds all their prizes from the prize corner, their leftover Faztokens, and some of their plushies that they brought from home. On the opposite side of the restaurant, lurking in the shadows, the ugly-rabbit-thing waits for her brother. “We can eat all the pizza we could possibly want-”

“We can do that out here,” she interrupts, feeling a little uneasy. “Mom and dad left us with some money.”

“Yeah, but-but Spring Bonnie said there’s a surprise he wants to show us. Just us, ‘Ness, please.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “Mom said we shouldn’t talk to strangers, and I have a bad feeling about this. Please, maybe we should just go home.”

Her brother scoffs. “Goody-goody.” He stomps off back to that thing.

She puffs out her cheeks, frustrated with her stupid, dumb-dumb brother. “Fine!” She yells, though it’s hard to hear over the obnoxious kiddie music. Vanessa turns back to their table, tamping down her apprehension at the situation.

She cleans up their table, stuffing their prizes and plushies into each of their backpacks. Vanessa ought to leave his stuff at the table, teach him a lesson, but she knows her brother. And if any of his plushies get stolen she’ll never hear the end of it.

Slinging a backpack over each shoulder, Vanessa makes her way to one of the booths closer to the hallway. She slides onto the seat. It’s not ideal, but she can’t go home until her brother comes back. And she can’t go watch the performance, because she can’t stop worrying.

Someone coughs. Well, less coughs and more sputters for air.

Curiously, Vanessa peers over the table top. She sits on her knees, leaning over the table. “Hello…? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this table was taken. I can move.”

The person-a boy, a little older than her-lays sprawled out on the plastic seat of the booth. He continues to gasp for air, fingers twitching and eyelids fluttering.

Vanessa sits back, unsure of what to do. Her parents taught her what to do in case she caught on fire, what to do if someone tried to bribe her to get into their car, and a whole host of other things. Things that won’t help her now. Except…wait!

She hops to her feet. “Stay there, I’ll be right back!” Vanessa might not understand what’s happening, but she doesn’t need to. All she needs to do is find a phone.

-x-x-x-

William stuffs the Spring Bonnie costume into the trunk of his car. It would be a pain in the ass to scrub the fabric free of blood later, but he doesn’t have the luxury of time right now. Someone called the police already. He can hear the screeching sirens in the distance. Time for him to get gone.

He heads back into the pizzeria once more. Stepping around overly-energetic children, and worried parents who can’t find their kids, William makes his way over to his son.

While Michael might be the cause of his wife leaving and Garrett dying, he is still William’s son. Through and through he is an Afton, and it’s for that reason that Michael is coming with him.

He reaches the tiny booth, nestled away from the others. Drugging Michael was only so he could more easily sneak the kids out of the main dining area. He would have hated for his son to be a witness.

For all Michael’s faults, the boy is actually quite intelligent. Even if he didn’t immediately recognize William behind the mask, he’d eventually put the pieces together.

It was better for everyone that Michael remained asleep.

“Come along, Michael. Time to go-” He gazes upon his son. “M-Michael…?” William furrows his brows. His son twitches in his sleep, gasping for air. He gently soothes back Michael’s sweaty bangs off his face. His son’s skin burns under his hand.

Uh, oh, that can’t be good.

Maybe the dosage he’d given Michael was higher than he thought. He only meant to knock him out for a couple of hours. He wheezes again, spittle starts to leak from the corner of his mouth.

“No, no, this isn’t good. Michael, wake up now. I need you to wake up,” William murmurs, shaking him lightly. “I need you to breathe.”

Michael hardly responds, beyond a small twitch of his head and a quiet groan.

Worry pools in his gut.

The sirens sound closer now, and he needs to be long gone before they get here. He makes a split-second decision.

“I’m sorry, Michael. But I promise, one day, we’ll meet again.” He places his son back onto the seat. Gently, he combs his fingers through his son’s dark curls. He slinks back into the shadows, opting to take the backdoor out of the pizzeria.

-x-x-x-

Vanessa chews at her bottom lip, watching the paramedics hurry into the building. They look mildly confused at first, so she directs them to the booth where she found the sickly-looking boy.

He’s still there, and she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. The paramedics move him to the floor, one of them stays hunched over him. The other, an older woman with graying blonde hair, turns to Vanessa.

“Hey, you were the one that called us, right?”

She nods.

“You did a very brave thing. Is it alright if I ask you some questions?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Okay, thank you. Uh…do you know his,” she gestures over to the boy, “name?”

Vanessa shakes her head. “No, I just found him there. I think I’ve seen him around here, but I don’t…uh…I don’t remember his name.” She steps from foot to foot. An old worry suddenly overtakes her. “Um…Miss…I- my brother. I can’t find him.”

The paramedic frowns. “Oh, well that’s not good. I’m sure if you ask one of the nice police officers here, they’ll be able to help you.” She points to one of two police officers milling around the pizzeria. Vanessa hadn’t noticed them come in.

Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and it’s all she can do to fight back sobs. She doesn’t know why, but seeing the police there makes everything feel too real, too adult. Like her brother being gone is serious and not just a stupid decision she can hold over his head for years to come.

“Oh, honey,” the paramedic says, rubbing her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Some other kids apparently went missing today as well, so I’m sure they’re just having fun somewhere else.”

Vanessa sniffles, wiping her eyes. “Real-really…?”

“Yes. Will you be okay to go tell one of the officers about your brother?”

Hesitatingly, she nods.

“Brave girl.” The paramedic gives her one last pat on the head, before turning back to the boy.

Vanessa ventures over to the police, hope blooming in her chest. Her brother will be just fine.

Later, after they all learn that the children weren’t, in fact, somewhere else having fun. Vanessa will cling to her mother’s dress, guilt gnawing at her. The what-ifs and has-beens running through her mind. In between snotty tears and quiet sniffles, she’ll spot a leather bound book - no larger than a notebook or diary. It will be laying all alone, forgotten, near the booth she had first found the boy in. Curious, Vanessa will grab it on their way out, tucking it into her backpack. For the next two decades, it will become her guide. The strange drawings and ramblings of the artist make her feel oddly vindicated - it makes her feel seen.

It won’t be until Vanessa’s well into her twenties that she’ll meet the artist. It won’t be until even later that she’ll recognize the boy she saved all those years ago.

And, without skipping a beat, Vanessa will think to herself:

Some things are just meant to be.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #alt prompt #drugging #fnaf michael afton #tw drugging #mike schmidt #fnaf au #fnaf movie #fnaf vanessa #fnaf missing children incident #queue

18 notes · View notes

persage · 2 years

Text

My Responsibility - S. Harrington

Pt 2. Dead Man

Whump!SteveHarringtonxReader

Summary: After the events of Season 4 Steve has to deal with the consequences of his injuries and only the reader realizes his condition are getting worse.

PART 1 Masterlist

Words: 2.4 k

Tags: whump! angst! romance! Steve Harrington x Bestfriend!Reader. Protective!Steve andJim Hopper being a good dad for the group.

Taglist: @ducky-is-dead-inside @carpediem1219 @lexiecamposv @gloryofroses19

A.N (feel free to skip) : thank, you all for your support on the previous part! I didn't expect it at all. The story will have at least other 2/3 chapters, if you wanna be added to the tag list just ask❤️

He is a dead man walking, Steve Harrington has known it for a long time. Even while you were in the Upside Down trying to find a way out, he already knew he was gonna die soon.

The demobats had just attacked him and you were running away, scared as hell. All he could think about in those moments were his burning wounds, fire exploding in his veins. He couldn't stop moving, because you would have stopped with him and he couldn't let you. You were his whole world, he needed to keep you safe. As you were running by his side, turning from time to time to check if he was still with you, he had pictured both of you in his bed lying together in an indissoluble hold. Dreaming was the only way not to collapse. Every step he took made him want to cry out in pain and he felt his wounds contorting on his stomach. Keeping up with Nancy, Robin and Eddie was hard, but you were beside him making sure he didn't keel over which, honestly, seemed quite likely. The bats screeched again and as he turned Steve saw that they were swarming towards the five of you.

"Go" He screamed at you "I'll be right behind you ."

"I won't leave you Harrington."You weren't going to let this self - sacrificing man get mauled for your safety.

Steve was already doomed, he has been since those monsters ripped through his flesh, Something had changed in him, he felt the infection growing and expanding, moving in his body like a poison and he was exhausted in a way he never experienced before. He wanted to sleep forever.

I need help.

Steve Harrington had already made his decision when Nancy was taken by Vecna. When all of you barely came back through the portal in Eddie's trailer, he had decided not to reveal his condition to anyone. Then things evolved quickly and there was no more time to waste. He had to carry on with his mission - a crazy suicidal plan- and he couldn't let go, he couldn't be weak, not when Max was putting herself on the line for the world, not when Vecna was ready to take each of you with ease, not when you were walking in front of him with an axe in your hands and two guns in your belt ready to set that bastard on fire. You were armed, capable, dangerous but that was never enough to stop Steve from worrying about you. He thought back to when you disappeared, during the mall massacre, and for hours he had believed you were dead.

A hole in his chest, a part of him ripped away. The Harrington boy didn't want to feel anything like this ever again. He could relax back in the real world, without Vecna, knowing kids and the rest of his friends were safe. For now he simply had to get to the Creel's house without loosing consciousness or being attacked again.

Watching him as they settle his unconscious and trembling body on the bed is awful. It's like having shards stuck in your throat. Joyce closes the door gently, to grant him some privacy in that tidal wave of people. You haven't even noticed your friends around you: Will, Mike, El, Jonathan, Nancy and a guy you don't know. They are all here. Hopper has to practically detach you from the door of El's room - where Steve has been placed - by force.

"The boy is strong. He'll be fine, don't worry." You take a moment to actually look at the man and feel guilty for not doing it sooner. He is much more thinner than you remember him, his hair has been shaved off and God knows the horrors he must have seen. Everything you know about how he's here is just a few snippets of the conversations you managed to gather while worrying about your best friend. Something about Russians and a labor camp, something scary.

"I'm sorry." You say. You're sorry because you haven't even bothered to hug him, greet to him properly or tell him how sorry you were for his death and that you are happy to see him again. Hop has always helped all of you, he has seen you grow up and you have learned to love him. Jim Hopper is a hero. Somehow he reminds you of Steve and can't help but remeber that time when, right after high school, you advised him to consider a career as a cop if the one a babysitter didn't go well.

"Working with Hopper, God that man would kick my ass." Now you really want Steve to be awake, not only because you know how happy he would be to learn that no, you haven't lost Hop too, that there is hope, but also 'cause you desperately want him to see the way the man cared for him, the way he gently grabbed him, hugged him like a baby and carried him safely into the house.

"I'm happy you're here and ... I don't know how it's possible ... But now I feel safe. With you." You throw yourself at the man in an unexpected hug. Jim stands still for a while before wrapping his arms around you. This is the first time you have hugged each other in many years.

"What happened to Steve?" Nancy asks, concern is clearly visible on her face.

"His injuries were more serious than he led us to believe." You let a hand run through your dirty and sweaty hair. You know it's your impression, you know they don't think so but you feel judged, like they are silently saying. "It's your fault."

"Why didn't he say anything?" It isn't really a question, Nancy Wheeler knows Steve well enough to understand his reasons but Robin answers anyway, letting go of a nervous laught that you recognize right away. It's the same as when she was taken by the Russians, the same as when things are going really really bad and she doesn't know how to react.

"We're talking about that dingus. He might come to us with his head cut off and still say that everything's going to be fine and he's totally safe. And he would ask us if we are okay" You smile because it's true and no one could have said it better.

"I should have known." You let the words slip from your lips.

"Don't be too hard on yourself kid." Hopper comforts you.

"We should have known." You appreciate Nancy taking a piece of your distress, sharing the burden of responsibility with you. It's absurd, because if there's one person you've been dreading lately it's Nancy: brave, beautiful, and more complicit with Steve than you in the last few days. During your mission you couldn't tolerate the way in which those two supported each other, finding a long lost harmony between them, the same one that made you you suffer deeply when they were still a couple. She was the first one to dive into Lovers Lake while you had that extra second of hesitation that was enough to make you feel inferior. She was the one who bandaged his wounds, the one who collected his secret dreams before the battle: a family, six kid and a trailer. Steve has mentioned it to you once but the tone in which he talked about it to Nancy was different, it seemed more like an invitation, a way to tell her: do you want to be part of my dream?

But now jealousy doesn't matter, you're just thankful that there are so many people who care about him. When he wakes up, he will finally have to understand that he is loved. You turn to the door, biting your nails until blood comes out. Joyce has told you to wait, to take a moment for yourself to breathe but it is physically impossible. You need him like air

She have looked at you like she wasn't sure you were okay, searching for wounds on you."

You are just like him." Eleven have told you, approaching slowly. " You always put someone else before yourself" You have hugged her gently, when thing will get better you will ask what happened to her.

"Don't you do the same? With Mike, with Hop, with ... Max"

"But they know how I feel, they know why I do it. Does he know?"

"I think so. Not the way I want to but he knows it."

Now El's words ring in your ears. Does he know?

"Enough now." You say, rushing to the door, only to be stopped by Hopper's gentle hands. "Y/ L/N. Either you calm down or don't enter."

Robin approaches you, shakes your hand and you immediately feel better 'He doesn't need to see you worried. Now put on a calm expression, you enter first and I'll go in later." Robin Bukley , I think i love you. She is probably giving you the only minutes of solitude you will have with Steve before Dustin arrives with the others, who have gone to get him in the meantime. Once Henderson is here, he will stick to Steve all the time. You just want a moment to make sure he's better and whatever Joyce is doing is working. You open the door and against your expectation his big, brown, beautifully alive eyes are on you.

"You're awake." He nods weakly. He is still pale, sore and sure has a fever but he is awake and this is enough for you to feel your heart lighter. Your legs move before your mind, you are immediately beside him and squeeze him tightly. "You scared us"

"Sorry". He replies, turning away when you break away from the embrace. Something is bothering him you know, you understand it but you will have time to discuss about it later, now you look at Joyce happily.

"I have cleaned his wounds and gave him something for the fever, it should subside soon. We'll have to keep an eye on him." You sigh relieved, with a new hope that you don't find in Mrs. Byers's gaze. She seems sad, worried. "What else?" You ask, with a lump in your throat. Joyce lets her gaze slide between you and Steve. "I noticed some ..." She doesn't know how to tell you. "They are like black veins, starting from the wound and spreading along his body." The woman pulls back the bandages that cover the wounds slightly so you can see them: black pumping veins widen along the stomach and chest.

"They weren't there before." You say arching your eyebrows in confusion. He is not surprised and he's avoiding your eyes. You put a hand on his arm as Joyce walks out of the room.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"They only come out sometimes ... When I feel bad."

"Steve, I didn't ask you this." Your tone is harsh and you don't want to be mad at him, yet you already know what he will tell you. It's scary, honesly.

"The war isn't over. We don't have time to worry about this." To worry about me.

"But we do have time to let you die, is that what you mean?" You feel the tears sting, but you don't let them fall. "Steve." You beg him, grabbing his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. You are so close you can feel his warm breath on your lips. He remains silent, his eyes flow over your face and his look is intense, full of so many untold feelings. He would like to kiss you, he would like to finally let himself go in your arms, he would like to tell you what has been tormenting him for months. He would like to tell you that he loves you and you can take everything he has, everything he is. He's yours. He has always been yours. He hates seeing you sad and concerned because of him. Steve Harrington is a dead man and the last thing he can do for you is walk away, make it easier for you. Silly boy.

You lean your forehead against his and he moves away with a sorrowing expression. Getting away from you hurts more than any wound or any poison in his body.

"Everyone saw me, didn't they?" You nod. "We needed help."

"You shouldn't have brought me here. You shouldn't have let them see me like that. Those kids don't need any more trauma" You close your hands in two fists in need to to beat him to the point he will not be able to say certain bullshit.

"And don't you think that if...you die it wouldn't be a trauma for them? For Dustin? He has already lost Eddie!"

He doesn't answer.

"Go away, I'm tired."

"What?"

"Go away Y/N I don't want you here." And as he says these words his voice trembles.

"No." You grab his hand.

"Y/N. Go away." He finds the courage to look you as he breaks your heart, his words are cold and there isn't a single emotion on his face. Slowly you let go, get out of bed and with unstable steps you leave the room. You've never hated anyone like you hate him right now, him and his stupid lack of self-care. Also you've never loved anyone like you love him right now, with your throat full of tears and stomach twisted in a grip. There's a muffled sob coming from his room.

"Thanks for leaving me there." Dustin says entering the shelter. He looks angry, nervous but you don't care. "Go to him." That's all you can say before you go out to get some air in the woods. You need to be alone, if you stay there, if you opened your mouth you would scream, cry or beg. And you're too tired even for that.

184 notes · View notes

ailendolin · 1 year

Text

Whump Wednesday - 52 - BBC Ghosts

Title: Quiet [AO3]

Characters: Thomas, Humphrey & Alison

Prompt: Alison is crying after Lucy's betrayal when she's sure Mike won't hear her and get worried. She's being found by one or two of the ghosts and comforted by them. - Prompt sent in by the lovely @magicaltear

A/N: Thank you again for this wonderful prompt, dear! As always, it took on a life of its own but I hope you enjoy your fic! 💙

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

Quiet

“Do you hear that?”

Thomas stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening. His eyes widened when he heard the sound Humphrey must refer to. “That sounds like fair Alison!”

Humphrey raised one very unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“She’s crying,” he said pointedly.

Biting his lip, Thomas lowered his eyes, feeling chastised even though Humphrey hadn’t actually called him out on anything. “Sorry.”

“Never mind,” Humphrey sighed and did the eye roll equivalent of waving Thomas’s apology away. “We should probably go and see if she’s all right.”

Thomas lifted Humphrey’s head a little higher so he could look him in the eyes. “Humphrey, if she’s crying then I’m sure she’s not all right by any definition. And no wonder after what she’s been through! To be so ruthlessly deceived by someone she welcomed into her home and held so very dear …”

He trailed off, willing his thoughts not to stray towards a letter, a tree and a broken promise.

“I suppose we know a thing or two about being deceived by loved ones, don’t we?” Humphrey mused quietly. Nodding, Thomas bit his lip. “Maybe we can help.”

“Do you really think so?” Thomas asked, unsure. “I – I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

A barely suppressed sob filtered through the wall beside them. They looked at each other.

“I’m pretty sure we couldn’t make it worse even if we tried, mate,” Humphrey said sadly.

Thomas sighed softly, knowing Humphrey had a point. He knew what it felt like to lock himself away in a dark corner of the house, hoping no one would find him but also wishing someone would just so he wouldn’t have to carry the weight of his feelings alone anymore. No one ever came looking for him, though, and if someone accidentally stumbled upon him by chance they always had an excuse ready as to why they couldn’t stay which hurt. Thomas couldn’t be sure that Alison would welcome their company in the same way he would if their places were reversed, of course, or if she would welcome it at all, but he would gladly risk her anger if there was even the smallest chance that she needed a willing ear to listen right now.

Having made up his mind, he readjusted his hold on Humphrey, cleared his throat and stuck both their heads through the wall of the en suite bathroom.

“Alison?” he asked softly.

Alison jumped.

“Oh for god’s sake, Thomas, not now!” she choked out, her voice thick with tears, and turned her back on him in an attempt to hide her face. She was sitting fully clothed in the bathtub, hugging her legs close to her chest, and her obvious grief over the loss of a sister that had never been hers to lose in the first place made Thomas’s chest tighten in sympathy.

He glanced down at Humphrey, silently begging him to take the lead and say something.

“We don’t mean to bother you, Alison,” Humphrey said. “It’s just – we heard you crying and wanted to ask if there was anything we could do to help.”

Very slowly, Alison lifted her head to look at them. Her eyes were red from crying and darkened with more sorrow than a single person should have to bear on their shoulders. “I was trying to be quiet.”

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. Of all the things she could have said in that moment. He was bitterly familiar with the pain of trying to be quiet so no one would have to bear witness to his emotions. His earliest memories as a child were of being shushed. He had been too young to be able to talk and hadn’t understood why his crying upset everyone so much that they sometimes locked him in his room. The nanny always took pity on him once he’d cried himself hoarse; on very rare occasions, it was his mother. It wasn’t until years later that he’d learned about the headaches his mother had been suffering from for most of her life, and it took even longer for him to understand what that actually meant: namely, merciless pain inside his head that turned even the most beautiful golden sunlight into agonising fire and the softest and gentlest if sounds into a cacophony of agony that made his stomach churn until he wanted nothing more than to be left alone in a dark and quiet room until the horrible affliction passed.

None of that had lessened the hurt he’d felt as a child, though, or undone the damage his parents’ abandonment had caused. He wondered if Alison had experienced something similar in her own childhood and was hiding from Mike right now because she simply didn’t know any better. He might not think much of her husband on the best of days but Thomas would have to be blind not to see the way Mike’s eyes had been resting on Alison all evening in concern. He had no doubt that Mike would be here in a heartbeat as soon as he knew she was upset and holding and comforting her. And yet Alison chose to hide herself and her grief away in the bathroom – just like Thomas would.

It broke his heart.

Shifting Humphrey’s head under his arm, he gestured to the bathroom with his hand and asked quietly, “May we?”

Alison sniffed and then, very hesitantly, nodded. Thomas faded through the wall and, careful to avoid her feet, sat down on the floor next to the bathtub. He chose to face the wall instead of her, hoping that this would make it easier for Alison to talk about what grieved her so deeply since it would for him. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he balanced Humphrey’s head on top of them as best as he could. And then he waited.

For the longest time, Alison remained silent, her breath hitching every now and then in-between soft sniffles, until–

“I just feel so stupid,” she choked out and hid her face against her knees. “The whole thing was completely crazy – like, movie crazy – and I still fell for it! I mean, how naïve do you have to be to get conned like that? God, I’m such an idiot.”

Thomas lowered his eyes. The letter inside his waistcoat with Isabelle’s misspelled name felt even heavier than it usually did.

“You’re not an idiot, Alison,” Humphrey said softly. “Or any of those other things you said. You just trusted the wrong person.”

“I trusted a stranger,” Alison spat out in self-loathing. “One of the first things parents teach their kids is never to trust–“

“Everyone can be a stranger,” Thomas interrupted her, his voice barely above a whisper. His wound throbbed dully in his side – a painful reminder of how true those words were. “Even those closest to us. Perhaps those most of all.”

The room blurred around him for a moment as he remembered a young boy, more lost than any child should ever be, looking up to his cousin and feeling so, so grateful that he was allowed to tag along on his adventures. That feeling had never changed, not even when Thomas had grown up. He had always trusted Francis with his whole heart and words could not describe the hurt that welled up inside him every time he thought of his cousin’s betrayal. Francis had not just taken his future away from him, he’d also ruined most of the happy memories Thomas had of his childhood with his actions on that fateful October day. Every kind smile they had shared over the years was now tainted with doubt and all those encouraging words Francis had so generously bestowed upon him in their conversations now left a bitter aftertaste.

“Thomas is right,” Humphrey said, gently bringing the bathroom back into focus around Thomas. “You can know a person for decades and still wake up one day and realise that you never knew them at all.”

Alison sucked in a sharp breath and looked down at her lap. “Does it ever get better?”

No, Thomas thought.

“It gets easier,” Humphrey said. “Things like that take time but eventually, you’ll learn to forgive yourself and to trust again.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anyone after this,” Alison said with a shake of her head, roughly wiping the heel of her hand over one cheek.

Humphrey’s face softened. “You would lead a very lonely life if that were true.”

His eyes met Thomas’s, gentle and kind and so understanding that Thomas couldn’t help but feel seen. He didn’t know how but Humphrey must have noticed that he tended to keep some things desperately close to his heart and drawn the right conclusions. Not sure how to feel about that, Thomas dropped his eyes.

“You would not live,” he whispered, staring at his knees. “Your heart would be safe but you would wither away. Even the most resilient flower cannot bloom without the sun.”

“Well said,” Humphrey agreed softly.

The corners of Thomas’s lips twitched into a sad semblance of a smile. He supposed Humphrey knew as much about existing without living as he did, possibly even more given that his isolation was rarely by choice. Thomas certainly wasn’t the only one guilty of forgetting about him and leaving his head lying around in all sorts of places but he was guilty of it, and he suddenly found himself regretting all those times he had groaned and rolled his eyes when Humphrey asked him to pick him up.

Biting his lip, he forced himself to meet Humphrey’s eyes and say what he couldn’t with words: that he was sorry, and that he would try to do better in the future. Humphrey’s face softened and to Thomas’s surprise there was no blame in his eyes when he nodded, only quiet understanding. It made Thomas want to weep.

“Well.” Alison cleared her throat before she slowly uncurled from her no-doubt uncomfortable position in the bathtub She stretched out her legs in front of her. “For what it’s worth, I definitely won’t let any so-called long-lost relatives into my house again anytime soon.”

Thomas glanced over at her. “That would probably be wise.”

Alison smiled at that, a little wryly, perhaps, but she sounded genuinely grateful when she said, “Thanks, guys. I – I think I needed this.”

“Any time,” Humphrey said easily, as if they all hadn’t just bared their souls a little in front of each other right now. “Do you want us to leave you alone for a bit or–?”

“Actually, I think I’ll go find Mike,” Alison said and pushed herself to her feet. Her eyes were still red from crying and her cheeks still flushed but she seemed – not exactly at peace but one step closer to accepting what had happened and being able to let go of the self-blame that was tormenting her.

Thomas remained silent when she stepped over him on her way to the sink to splash some water in her face, and he didn’t move when she smiled at them once more before she left the bathroom. Her steps had faded down the stairs by the time Humphrey asked him quietly, “Are you all right?”

An hour ago Thomas would have nodded, forced a smile onto his face and changed the subject. Now he shook his head. “No.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Humphrey said. “Brought up a lot of memories, didn’t it?”

And guilt, Thomas thought. He looked at Humphrey, took in those kind blue eyes that were way too often ignored and left staring at nothing, and found himself saying, “Perhaps we could … talk about it? If you’d like? I don’t think I’ve ever heard about what happened with your wife – at least not directly from you.”

It was a clumsy attempt to make amends – Thomas realised that – but it was an attempt nonetheless and judging by the small smile pulling at Humphrey’s lips, he recognised that too.

“I would like that,” Humphrey said. “Mind putting me on the bathtub? Then you won’t have to hold me the whole time. Just don’t leave me there,” he added with an edge to his tone. “Please don’t leave me there. The bathroom is really not the place to get stuck in if you know what I mean.”

His eyes flicked over to the toilet and despite everything that had happened that day, Thomas found a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep within him.

“I won’t,” he promised and sat Humphrey down with more care than he probably would have before.

“Thank you,” Humphrey said, clearly relieved. “Now, about Sophie. Where to start…?”

Thomas shifted a little to get comfortable, and as he listened to Humphrey’s story, he felt closer to him than he had to anyone in a very long time. Perhaps, he mused, they could help each other learn how to live again.

It was about time.

#thomas thorne #humphrey bone #alison cooper #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #my fic #whump wednesday #wwff challenge

24 notes · View notes

heytheredeann · 8 months

Text

Fic stats meme

I was tagged by @cha-melodius and @thetamehistorian, thank you! I'm curious to see the answers to these tbh looool

Rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.

Most hits: Stretch (Buck/Eddie, 911)

Buck and Christopher don’t get separated during the tsunami. Eddie loses about ten years of his life in one day.

Knew the answer to this one LOOOL, it's just a little canon divergence set during 3x02, I still get comments on this pretty often actually, I'm happy it resonated so much! Though I did write it four years ago, so I don't dare re-reading it because I would most likely want to rewrite the whole thing loooool

Second most kudos: Everywhere I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace (Mike/Harvey, Suits)

Over the years, he became pretty good at dealing with the bond, keeping his soulmate’s emotions at bay just as well as his own, but today he’s in a terrible mood because of Jessica’s request to find himself an associate when there doesn’t seem to be a decent candidate out there and he’s having to deal with this crippling anxiety pushing from the back of his mind. He’s tried calming them both down the way he usually does when his soulmate is freaking out about something, but nothing seems to be working and he’s not sure if it’s because his own bad mood is getting in the way or whatever is happening is the end of the world for the guy.

Soulmates AU, from FIVE years ago, oh boy looool. I remember that I just really liked the idea of the whole "feeling what the other is feeling" soulmates AU, still kinda do, I enjoy that type of magical bond, though I have never really been much into the concept of soulmates itself.

Third most comments: Concession (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher)

Geralt not-so-secretly loves being the little spoon. Cuddling Without Plot.

I skipped a collection to count for this, because that's a bunch of stories together, and this is what came up! I had kinda forgotten I had written this LOOOOL, but it's just Geralt getting cuddles, which is always good and necessary.

Fourth most bookmarks: I held you hand as you shook in the middle of the night (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher)

Five times Jaskier snuggles up with Geralt, and one time Geralt seeks him out instead.

STILL cuddles for Geralt, I'm seeing a pattern here folks LOOOOL

Fifth most words: Stumbling (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU)

First things first, they need to find Illya.

Finally something more recent LOOOL. This was a TMFU Exchange fic for @huggiebird, just whumping Illya like there's no tomorrow, as you do loooool

Least words: Proof of life (Geralt/Yennefer, The Witcher)

“It’s okay,” he says, only moments after waking up from his light sleep. “It’s okay, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

Tiny 271 words fic about Geralt comforting Yennefer, because I love them <3

#this was fun #i like that this version does the second third fourth etc thing #that way the answer is less likely to always be the same fic #ANYWAY unsurprisingly my most popular fics are from those times when i happened to want to write something popular loooool #ely has shit to say #not spn #tag game #writing is hard #cha-melodius #thetamehistorian

3 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 3 years

Text

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #ghost story #horror #strange lieutenant duckling #lol trust me #happy ending of sorts

65 notes · View notes

phoenixthemenace · 2 years

Text

Here's another fluffy whump four your Saturday afternoon. This is for day 17, self inflicted wound. It's a companion piece to this mornings post.

R & J Forever

A couple weeks after the spectacular debut of Roy's tattoo, Chet and Johnny were out bowling together when the subject of said tattoo came up.

"You wouldn't have the guts, Kelly." Johnny said as he rolled the ball down the lane, grumbling over the split he wound up with.

"Well. You're certainly a far braver man than me, to go up against the phantom with such lousy bowling skills."

"Shut up, Chet." Johnny said, tossing his opponent a dirty look before skillfully picking up the spare. "Ha!"

"You don't have the guts either, Gage." Chet said, taking his turn in the lane.

"It's not a matter of guts, Kelly, but desire."

"Likely story."

The needling went on like that through two games until Chet had Johnny’s pride on the ropes and Johnny had several beers into Chet. They piled into the Rover and headed to their next destination for the evening. Johnny had wheedled the name of the shop out of Roy.

*****

Johnny proudly showed his new artwork in the locker room at the start of the next shift. Smokey the Bear stood proudly on the left side of his chest, directly over his heart. Roy looked at Johnny in disbelief.

"I pick up one lousy overtime shift and this is what you do?"

Johnny was offended. Splaying his hand across his chest he fired up immediately.

"Listen Pally, I don't need a babysitter!"

Fortunately his rant was diverted by Chet’s appearance.

"Besides, you should see what and where Kelly ended up with his!" Johnny said with unbridled glee.

"Shut up, Gage." Chet grumbled, burying his flaming face into his locker. Which caught everyone's attention.

"What did you get, Chet?" Mike asked, not bothering to hide the laughter.

"Where did you get it, Chet?" Marco asked in a similar fashion.

When Chet turned his back and loftily ignored them, Johnny took it on himself to explain.

"Remember when he took that axe and put feathers on it?"

"He got a fire axe with feathers on it.." Roy said incredulously. "On his ass?"

The entire crew lost it at Johnny’s confirming nod.

Later, at roll call, Cap announced that they'd be doing some drills today. Particularly the one Chet dreaded the most, the timed gearing up drill. He protested, but blushed and stammered when asked why he should be excused.

"Listen. If you twits want to go out and get these self-inflicted wounds, that's fine. But don't expect sympathy from me!"

To their credit, they all tried not to laugh.

*****

Two weeks and some major drama later, Roy and Johnny lay wrapped around each other as the warm afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of Johnny’s apartment window. Finally able to take the time, Roy was admiring Johnny’s tattoo while those wonder filled brown eyes studied his face in return.

Johnny loved to look at Roy, so he didn't miss the look of delighted surprise when Roy saw the cleverly hidden R & J.

"No forever?" Roy asked.

"It's there." Johnny reassured him. "It'll just take forever to find it."

"I'm looking forward to it."

#febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday17 #emergency!#johnny gage #roy desoto #chet kelly

5 notes · View notes

pleasancies · 3 years

Text

A Terrible Way To Unfriend Someone

wordcount : 890+

content : lady whump, beating, caretaker turned whumper, restrained, defiant whumpee

This one is some sort of a continuation to my don't snitch oneshot but you don't have to read it to understand this one. Don't snitch was a bit similar to this to be honest, maybe even more extreme? Meh. Tagging : @summer-of-whump

***

Why did she always end up tied to a chair? It's unnatural how Amy got herself in danger. To be fair, she herself is prone to join violent occupations and uncommon hobbies. Despite the numerous terror she had to inflict on other and herself, Amy's time as a henchwoman was still the best years of her life. She was such a boss.

Not that she's in actual danger. Amy is sitting alone on a table. The walls and floors are familiar to her. It's a small space, but not suffocating. Familiar even. Soon, someone will join her and ask her stuff.

Yeah, she's in an interrogation room.

Which is honestly a giant flaming bullshit of an ordeal because she hasn't done anything illegal. The last 'bad' thing Amy does is trying to deliver forbidden materials. And by that she means pamphlets and papers, not drugs. An Officer barges in on Mike's house and beat the shit out of her. It was a mess. But she handled it well. Amy spat blood on his shoes, and glared at him like a tough guy in an action movie. It's cool. There's some jail time but the matter is resolved quickly. Thanks to the overly violent way the Officers detained her and Mike. She might have nightmares for a week afterwards but it's the adrenaline! Her ribs was also broken. It's also true that she never step foot in Mike's house again but it's obvious the guy needs some time alone.

The Network should consider that before telling them both to take a break. The last two months was mind numbingly boring and suddenly... She's here.

After the initial questioning, nobody comes for a very long time. There wasn't much she could do to entertain herself, seeing her hands are cuffed behind the chair. She tried to nap on the table. Her position strained her shoulders and she might be very sore tomorrow but eh, who cares? Gotta take as much pleasure that you can. She's not going to let the police torture her with sleep deprivation and confusion.

Well, she had to admit this entire thing is confusing. She didn't do anything, then someone higher up got caught up in something. The Network is still standing, right?

Of course! It was standing before she was born, it couldn't have collapsed while she's gone! That's impossible. She would have heard news of what's happening.

Amy shouldn't think of that. She shouldn't be paranoid. She's not some damsel in distress, no! She's the one causing distress and disturbance. Amy stared at the CCTV watching her. Heh, so comfortable spying on her with a donut. She could feel the judgy eyes boring a hole over her head. She'll show them.

"Hey!" Amy shouted. She flips the camera off, "When do you get to beat me up?!"

"Now."

That voice sends a shiver to her spine. The Officer was at the door. He walks inside, pushing the door ever so gently so it doesn't squeak.

"You again? What's your problem, dude? I haven't done anything."

Amy clenched her jaw. Her shoulders tensed. Her feet shakes under the chair. She was angry! What are they punishing her for now? Existing? Ridiculous. The Officer looks at her with pure calm and it pissed her off even more.

"You're here more for a friend, actually." The Officer looks outside, then made a gesture. "Come here."

His steps was uncertain. There was a confused look in his face and the clothes doesn't seem to fit his body. Mike couldn't even look at Amy. He kept staring at his boots. His clothes are brown. Officer uniform.

"You're a fucking narc now?!"

"We- we were in the wrong. Amy, listen. Don't just shut them out you should hear them first."

Amy lets out a bitter laugh, "You were indoctrinated. And I thought you were the smartest of our friends."

Mike was going to speak, but the Officer touched his shoulder. "No arguments. Remember what you came for."

He gulped and drew a shaky breath. Slowly, he pulled out the baton from his belt. A horrible premonition settled in Amy's gut.

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

The first blow tipped her from the chair. She fell, hands crushed by her own body weight and the metal. Amy didn't have a chance to react— a boot struck her in the face.

She yelled, "You think doing this is being in the right?"

Mike heaved her up by the collar. He threw her to the wall. A burst of pain engulfed the right side of Amy's body. She curled on herself as much as she can, the chair on her back limiting her movements. Mike pulled her chair so she was sitting upright again.

Her vision went dark as he struck her in the eyes. Another jab split her lip. Mike brings up the baton again. It met her middle. This time she screamed. Old injury burned. Amy crumpled to the floor. She broke into a coughing fit. Every gasp of breath rattled her chest.

"That's enough, Mike. You did well."

Amy couldn't move. Her entire body trembled in pain. The world was growing dark, and everything seems to spin. Mike stared at her, his face unreadable.

She gave him her parting gift, a bloodied spit that land on his trousers.

#whump fic #lady whump #beating #caretaker turned whumper #multiple whumper #restrained #summer of whump #summerofwhump #summerofwhump18 #defiant whumpee

6 notes · View notes

whumblr · 4 years

Text

Custody 30 - The new guy

Part 1 - Continued from Part 29

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @special-spicy-chicken @burtlederp @oops-its-whump @whatwasmyprevioususername @chocopiggy @hurtmebeautifully @im-just-here-for-the-whump

~5 years ago~

With a final punch, Eric beat down the man in front of him. He slumped against the wall, blood spilling over his lips, out cold.

“If anyone else wishes to take responsibility for last night’s massive fuck up, speak now and you’ll maybe hold on to your tongue,” Eric addressed the room, taking out a white cloth from his pocket. He wiped his knuckles and let his icy gaze glide over the attendees. Not one of them dared to meet his eye, their glances directed at each other or straight ahead, and they remained silent.

“No? Can we get back go it then?” He dropped the bloody cloth on the unconscious man at his feet and walked back around his desk, passing the group of men assembled for the meeting. Some didn’t seem to care about what just happened, others seemed more anxious. Maybe not for the man lying on the ground, but more for their own wellbeing.

“Kyle, get that new medic in here. I’d like it if Collin could at least hear the conclusion of this meeting.”

The young man standing at attention by the door nodded quickly and hurried out of the room.

“Leister, those two guys who panicked last night were yours, right?” Eric continued and sat down. “I assume you will deal with them accordingly?”

“Already taken care of,” the man named Leister, one of the few in the room who didn’t seem bothered by the violence and Eric’s outburst, responded calmly. No one had second thoughts about what he meant.

“Good, then at least that’s sorted. Most of the seized items won’t lead back to us, but I don’t want to give the cops any reason to start sniffing around here. And with Mike gone now I need someone else who can handle the integration of our profits.”

While they were discussing their financial business, Kyle returned, a wearied looking man following. The men looked up at the sound of the door, but didn’t give the new medic a second glance as he knelt next to Collin to inspect his injuries.

As the meeting continued Eric’s eyes lingered over the man. He hadn’t met his new doctor yet, he didn’t meet most of his ‘employees’ and while he didn’t care much whether Collin would receive the right treatment, he was curious if the doctor knew what he was doing. He watched as the medic felt around for broken ribs and disinfected the injuries to his face. He didn’t ask what had happened. Good man.

“Mike would hide the transactions in mountains of paperwork. We could just continue his method,” one of the men spoke a little louder, trying to catch Eric’s attention.

“Maybe,” Eric said absentmindedly, blinking back to the conversation in front of him. Before he could continue he was interrupted.

"That will never work," a bored voice came from the back.

The conversation fell silent as they realized it was the medic who’d spoken up. The men threw anxious glances at Eric and concerned looks at the stranger, who was still hunched over the man knocked out on the floor, treating his wounds.

Eric gave an almost sheepish smile. "Who's this?"

"It's… He’s the medic you asked for. The new hire."

Eric stood. "Yes, yes. What I mean is," he said while walking over to the doctor, who still didn't look up. Eric stopped, looming over him. "Who does he think he is?"

This guy is so dead. Seemed to be the collective conclusion of the room.

But the man didn't appear to feel rushed or panicked for speaking out of turn, even though Eric was practically breathing down his neck. He didn’t even look up, just finished up his work. The oppressing silence in the room didn't seem to unnerve him either. Without a word, he simply stuck a last plaster to his patient's face, put everything else back in his little first aid kit, and rose slowly making direct eye contact with Eric as he stood.

"Shaun Kester," he said by means of introduction, holding out his hand. “That’s who I am.”

The corner of Eric's mouth glided up simultaneous with his eyebrows. Amused, he took Shaun's hand and they shook.

“You have a habit of interrupting conversations, Shaun?” His tone of voice was casual, inquisitive, but the men in the room knew better.

“I think you interrupted your own meeting by pummeling down one of your attendees.”

Eric was silently amused. "How about I beat the living out of you as well? Right here and now."

Still maintaining direct eye contact, almost daring Eric, Shaun just shrugged.

Eric had to admit, he was mystified and wondered if the man actually had a death wish. He didn’t show any sign of fear or even a hint of worry. His eyes seemed dead and uncaring, though there was still a spark in them that Eric couldn’t place. It piqued his curiosity. It was certainly a breath of fresh air compared to all these yes men who just followed his every decision, too scared to get a word in. He wasn’t used to backtalk. Granted, most who dared were snuffed out.

"Maybe you could join us?" He gestured to the empty seat left by the man who was still unconscious on the floor. Let’s see if he can back it up.

The sudden change of tone did elicit a reaction from the doctor, but the confused scowl quickly disappeared, his face a blank again. "No, thank you. I have to get back.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. What is it with this guy? Most of these smartasses only spoke up to try and earn a seat at the table. To play with the big boys. And that was only if they had the guts to pipe up in the first place. Now there actually was someone who got this far and he refused?

"You have any place to be? Besides, your patient may still be in need of assistance. Especially when he wakes up and opens his dumb mouth again."

Shaun looked back to the man and mulled things over. Then, without a word and just a long exhale, he walked to the empty seat but didn’t take it and remained standing behind the chair instead, his hands folded behind his back.

Instead of walking back to his desk, Eric walked to the opposite chair and stood behind it as well, leaning forward on the back. The man sitting there shifted nervously.

“I think you were about to explain some things to us.”

Shaun met his eye. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he had to talk his way out of this. If anything he seemed bored and irritated at having to explain the basics to a bunch of moguls.

“How come the IRS hasn’t been knocking the hinges out of your door yet?” He sighed, but relented. “Buried transactions might have worked years ago. These days there are special algorithms that pick up anything that’s even slightly off. Won’t work anymore.”

“Most suspicious transactions don’t get reported,” Leister’s deep voice cut in.

“True, but you don’t want to be in the 10 percent that do get reported.”

“We buy someone off, then.” Another man spoke, but Shaun shook his head.

“You’ll want to involve as few people as possible. With an outlier you risk blackmail or them getting caught, if there’s anything you don’t want it’s snitches.”

The men pondered at the words and seemed interested. While they had been knee-deep into drug trade for years, actually trying to get the profits through Eric’s company was new to them. Though it was mostly the man’s silent confidence that intrigued them. “What else?” they asked.

“Transfer it through as many organizations as you can. Hide the origin. Make use of privacy and protection laws, go international, set up a front. Plenty of options.”

“Those are all some pretty basic tips, though.” Eric tested the waters, see if the man’s confidence would hold by trying to downplay his words. Without missing a beat, Shaun’s bored eyes locked with his.

“Then why didn’t you think of it?”

Besides that obvious mic drop, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Eric however was visibly surprised and let out a laugh. “Touché,” he merely said, though his eyes narrowed.

"You'll have to tell me, you seem at ease around these subjects. I thought you’re a doctor?"

“I was a doctor.”

“Well, you’re still my doctor. I like your way of thinking but I don’t think I hired you for anything else except to fix up little… work related accidents.” He nodded at Collin.

A groan cut through Eric’s words. As if on cue, the man in the back started to wake up. Eric paid him no mind and continued talking, but Shaun responded to the pained sounds. He turned his back on Eric while he was still in the middle of his sentence, promptly ignoring him to take a look at his patient.

Confused, Collin squinted at this unknown man shushing him and trying to help him up. He glanced at Eric and refused the help, stumbling to his feet and returning to his seat as if nothing had happened.

“Good to see you back on your feet, Collin,” Eric said. “While you were out we may have found a new adviser to help us.”

Shaun was already on his way to the door and turned at the words. Some of the men carried an eager expression and seemed interested in working with him, or least in hearing more of what he had to say.

“No, thank you,” he just said again. “I’ll leave you to it. Excuse me.”

Continued here

#whump #whump fic #beating #intimidation #whumper #backstory #small last minute interlude #custody series #my writing

34 notes · View notes

queenofbaws · 3 years

Note

May I please have my weekly dose of random Chris whump? Somethin for the holiday maybe?

The problem wasn’t the sky (lovely), nor was it the grass (still very nice and surprisingly green despite the season), nor even the dirt beneath it (chilly but otherwise unoffensive), no, the problem was bigger than that - the problem was, uh, he didn’t remember how he’d ended up on the ground.

“Aw fuck, wouldya look at that,” came a voice, and then through his squinted eyes, Chris made out a familiar leer, “Now, you know the boy’s a geek, you see the glasses, you see the barbecue dad choice in clothes, and this is what you go and do?”

“Y’okay man?” Matt asked sheepishly as he appeared next to Josh, his face set against the (distressingly bright) sun; he couldn’t quite remember, but he felt like maybe, just maybe Matt had...tackled him?

Then, also popping up, appearing much less concerned than the other two, there was Mike, repeatedly tossing a football into the air and catching it: “Here, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Josh turned away from Chris to offer Mike an amused look, muttering, “Need I again point out the glasses?”

Whatever had happened, the wind was well and fully knocked right out of him, so there was little more he could do but lie there wincing until his lungs decided they’d be willing to hold air again.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

#wacem #queenie writes supermassive #happy (almost) thanksgiving to all (americans)#after todays apple butter incident i never want to smell cinnamon or allspice again #six sentence weekend

6 notes · View notes

haro-whumps · 4 years

Text

Box Boy Plurality: 02

Second whumpee won the poll. Be warned, this chapter’s a longer one

CW: Dehumanization, slavery, creepy + intimate whumper, brainwashing, manipulation, illegal business practices

Tag List: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-blood

Masterlist

Ren looked up from their work computer, eyebrow arched. It wasn’t time for Yanni to come in and complain about the broken clasp on her phone charm, which Ren would ever-so-generously offer to replace for her. She wasn’t due to notice it until her midafternoon coffee break, since she wasn’t overly invested in checking the thing during work hours.

It wasn’t Yanni, unsurprisingly, but it also wasn’t anyone Ren could say they recognized. Oh, sure, they’d seen the man’s face around before, but they’d never spoken with him, and they weren’t even sure what department he worked in.

“Mx. Pavlish, is it?” he said with a friendly, though nervous smile. He was an okay actor, though. They could only discern his nerves due to their practice at it.

“Hello,” Ren said, carefully, pleasantly neutral. “I’m afraid I can’t recall us ever meeting.”

“Ah, we haven’t spoken,” he said, taking the somewhat-cramped office chair they kept available for visitors and dragging it over to their desk. “My name is Mike.”

He offered his hand for shaking, and Ren inwardly cringed at the feeling of his sweaty palm against their own. They took a squirt of hand sanitizer immediately after, and Mike chuckled with a self-conscious little rub to the back of his neck.

“So, Mike, what brings you here?”

“I work in security,” Mike said, and Ren felt every nerve in their body become immediately alert. “I know, uh, about your little ploy.”

Blackmail, then. He was here to blackmail them. They very, very carefully sized him up.

“And what ploy, exactly, is that?”

“You unplug the ethernet cords to Jasmine’s and Cassandra’s computers just so you can be the one to fix them,” Mike stated, and Ren’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’ve been sitting on this for a while,” Ren mentioned, “I haven’t done that in going on three months now.”

“Wait have you been doing something else?”

“Is that relevant to this conversation?”

Mike chuckled again. “I guess not. But hey, listen, I get it. We all want to impress pretty ladies, right?” He gave Ren one of those nudge-nudge wink-wink kind of smiles, and Ren tilted their head consideringly. Maybe not blackmail? His tone and mood weren’t exactly right for it, but Ren couldn’t rule anything out. “Look, my cousin’s friends with Jasmine, I could have her set you two up on a ‘blind’ date, if you want.” Mike even made the little airquotes around the word. Precious.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’ve kinda got a favor I’d like to ask you?”

Hm. Wishy-washy. The threat of tattling on Ren for the sabotage hung, but distantly, left on a backburner that Ren could be aware of but neither would necessarily acknowledge, while Mike offered a perceived reward instead. Ren lifted their finger to their lips, pressing it horizontally along the line.

“I’m listening,” they stated evenly, curious.

“So, I saw you on the news. And your box boy has been, ha, everywhere. And you’re kinda like, the model citizen of whumpee-ownership, yeah?”

Ren blinked slowly, and said, “I might be.”

“God, ha, kinda cagey aren’t you?”

“I prefer to know what I’m dealing with. Continue.”

“Right, so,” Mike shifted in his seat, hands moving from the armrests to scratch at the side of his nose and then back on the armrests, “the law states that pets cannot be held legally accountable for crimes they committed under past owners. The idea is that the new owners will discipline them better, yada yada, behavioral psychology babble, you get the drift. Anyway. I am in possession of a particularly… let’s say, criminal box boy. Defiant and loudmouthed and it turns out he’s been getting into trouble while I wasn’t looking. Ha, pretty embarrassing for a security guard, huh?”

Yeah, no way in hell this guy hadn’t been using his pet to do the things he was too chicken-shit to do himself. It was a smart move, though, Ren would give him that.

“So basically, I need to do some... let’s call it whumpee-laundering. Change hands before the cops get the dna work back. He’s a good lad, y’know, don’t want anything bad to happen to him, much less for him to get locked up. So, howsabout you, oh model pet owner, take him for, what, a week? Two weeks? Just long enough for things to simmer down. I’ll take him right back off your hands as soon as this whole mess blows over, and I will definitely get you a date with Jasmine. Yeah?”

Ren stared at him contemplatively. Definitely not blackmail, this guy was in a bad way, and didn’t want the cops to have custody of a defiant whumpee that would talk the moment it was taken in. He needed Ren to say yes to this deal. But contemplative silence on a man already squirming in his seat worked wonders to sweeten the deal.

“And hey, I mean, he’ll be legally yours, right? So, like, whatever you wanna do to him while he’s at your place, you can do it. I mean, as long as you don’t kill or sell him, I do want him back. But like, if you wanna, fuck, I dunno, chop off his arm or some shit? Be my guest. As long as I get him back alive I don’t care, no restrictions, right? It’ll be fun, he’s got a pottymouth but if you gag him he’s not a bad looker, all things considered.”

Ren hummed, tapping a finger up and down against the back of their own palm, hands clasped loosely in front of their chin, elbows on their desk.

“Say, Mike?”

“Yeah?” he answered eagerly, body jumping lightly in the chair, sitting up straighter.

“I appreciate the offer to set me up with Jasmine, but I actually have no interest in dating her. You’re right; it is the simple act of showing off that I like the best.” Mike visibly began to panic, and Ren took a small mercy on him. “But there is something you have that I would be deeply appreciative of receiving.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I want full access to company surveillance cameras and audio recorders, on my devices, and no record of my permissions.”

“Oh.” Mike blinked, and then grinned. “Oh! Oh, yeah, of course, easy as pie, I can so do that for you. So you’ll take him? Tonight, ideally?”

“When I meet him, I will assess him,” Ren stated. “If I perceive that he is any threat to my own box boy, the deal’s off.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, I gave the wrong impression!” Mike said with a much more relaxed laugh. “He’s got a defiant mouth but he won’t act up. His bark is way worse than his bite, don’t worry, he isn’t a fighter.”

“I’ll see that for myself, but very well. Bring all of his paperwork with you,” Ren said as they wrote down their number on a notepad. “Text me. I’ll send you my address. Meet there at 5:30, and no earlier. Bring any disciplinary tools you own along with him.”

“Not gonna use your own?” Mike asked with a glance at Ren’s hand sanitizer.

“Don’t own any. I have the blindfold and sensory deprivation hood that came along with my pet’s box, but I haven’t used the blindfold since unboxing him and I’ve only touched the hood to put it away somewhere in the basement.” Actually, where had they put that thing? “My pet is too well behaved for such things.”

Mike whistled. “Nice. You get an expensive model?”

“Well, he wasn’t cheap. But he was exactly what I wanted.”

“Ooo, custom?”

“In training. His appearance was already precisely suited to my desires.”

Mike laughed and extended his hand again, before seeming to think better of it and he shot Ren a two finger salute. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

Ren nodded in return with a pleased little. “See you tonight.” Ren thought of one last thing. “Oh, and Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you told him that you only plan on selling him temporarily?”

“Ah, no, just recently came up.”

“Don’t tell him this isn’t a permanent arrangement. He’ll be easier to mold, that way.”

“You’re the boss,” Mike said with double pistols, and left their office.

The moment the door closed behind him, they pulled out a notebook and began jotting down a list of pros and cons. Their agreement had been deeply tentative, not that they’d let Mike know that. They would thoroughly scrutinize the concept, and then rigorously test the box boy himself once he was brought over.

The idea of having someone to yank around, though. To punish, perhaps with some of the tools Host had listed in their disciplinary video… Ren swallowed, their mouth watering. Skin that they could pinch and cut and bruise, not deeply, nothing permanent, nothing too mean. Someone they could sink their claws into and throw away in a week or two, leaving their home unblemished and perfect, just Soren and them. Just a quick little fix. Just a nice little treat.

The potential cons outnumbered the pros, but the potential pros were of a much higher quality.

They drove home quickly that night, bidding Yanni a very short goodbye, citing business that needed attending, and they weren’t even lying.

“I bet you just wanna get home and cuddle your boy,” she teased them, sticking her tongue out.

“And I bet you’re going to do the same to your babe,” Ren teased in return, wiggling their eyebrows at her. Yanni giggled and admitted to being guilty as charged, and didn’t whine or cling any longer. See? Convincing her to get her own pet had been such a wise decision. So useful.

“Soren!” they called the moment they walked in the door.

“Exalted!” Soren called back, and they noted the sound of a hair dryer cutting off. “You’re home earlier than usual!” Soren said as he rushed down the stairs. His hair was still a little damp, they noted, as they pulled him into a hug.

“I am. I have a big evening ahead,” Ren stated, handing him their lunch bag and prying off their jacket.

“What’s on the agenda, Exalted?” Soren asked, hanging up their jacket for them and following them into the kitchen.

“Tonight, depending on how introductions go, we will be adding a new box boy to the house.” Ren snorted, pulling down a glass and opening the fridge, digging around for their ginger ale. “Well, a used box boy. I’m taking him off a coworker’s hands.” They “casually” glanced over their shoulder to see Soren’s reaction, and he was white as a sheet.

“E-Exalted? I, I don’t…”

“Soren, baby?” they asked sweetly, pretending not to understand.

“If-If I haven’t,” Soren stuttered shakily, eyes wide and vacant, staring somewhere far past the kitchen tile, “If I’m not, pl-pleasing you, if this, is,” he raised a shaking hand to his hair, a front lock, one of the beautiful portions he might have turned into bangs, “is about, what I almost did, I’m sorry, I can do better, I can be better, please, I don’t--I can’t--please, Exalted, I just need to know, just tell me and I’ll do it, I want to, I, I need to, please, just tell me, tell me anything I’ll do anything Exalted please, please, I can be good, I want to be good! I want to, I want to be good, I want to, Exalted, I want to be good for you just tell me please I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything!”

Ren sipped idly at their ginger ale, not bothering to mask their face with concern or pity when he clearly couldn’t see them anyway. God, he sounded so pretty like this. Tears budding up in his eyes, his hands shaking so visibly, his body trembling in a more subtle, yet equally delicious way. It was all so perfect to watch, to listen to as he broke down. They knocked back the rest of their drink and set the glass down on the counter.

“Soren, angel,” they crooned, face twisted up artfully and voice sweet as honey. They gently pried Soren’s hand from his hair and placed it on his collar, which made him gasp, eyes blinking rapidly, immediately grounding him. They caressed his face, then tilted it up. Petting at the lock of hair he’d just been tugging at, they smiled pityingly. “My sweet little bird, no no. You haven’t done anything wrong, pet. I’ve forgiven you for hurting me so badly, it’s in the past my darling angel, weeks in the past. My precious, sweet Soren, shush now, shush. Nothing bad is happening to you. This will be a good thing! Just because I’ll have a new plaything doesn’t mean I’ll neglect you, Soren, sweetheart. And you’ll have someone lower than you on the pecking order! Won’t that be nice?”

“I--I--”

“Shhhh, Soren, shhhhh, shush now. It’s okay, it’s alllllll alright. You’re my favorite, darling, you’ll always be my favorite plaything, don’t worry.”

“Th-thank you, thank you Exalted, thank you.”

“There, there’s a good boy. So well mannered, saying exactly what you’re meant to.” Ren hugged him tightly, too tight, but only just a little. “Don’t forget, my pet. You will belong to me forever. You will kneel at my feet only, you will eat only when I am the one to give you food, you will never set foot outside this house without me and you will never belong to anyone else. You’re mine, mine alone, and mine forever, Soren.”

“Yes,” Soren said, sounding grateful and relieved, just like he was meant to. “Yes, Exalted, thank you, thank you so much.”

Ren grabbed a fistful of hair and kissed him, and he kissed back eagerly.

“Soren, tell me you love me,” they ordered sweetly, and Soren beamed.

“I love you, Exalted! I love you, Ren!” He leaned against them and they let him. “I won’t ever love anyone as much as I love you, Ren.”

“I know you won’t, my angel, you’re so good.”

And that was when the doorbell rang.

“Right on time,” Ren mentioned with a glance at the kitchen clock. “Come along, pet, let’s go interview our new potential plaything.”

“Yes, Exalted.”

Mike looked no less awkward standing up than he did sitting down, Ren thought, as they opened the door. He held himself like an adolescent trying out for theater who had no idea how to act and was in possession of limbs too long for his body. Behind him and to the side, a box boy carried his box on his back, looking very much like he was about to be crucified or somesuch.

“Come in,” Ren welcomed, “Take off your shoes.” Not that it mattered. The boy was filthy and bloody. Every room he set foot in would need to be thoroughly cleaned. Honestly, Mike couldn’t have even given him a bath before bringing him over? He really was in a rush.

“Set the box down; let me get a look at you,” Ren ordered. They observed the box boy, a young man with short (ugh) brown hair, too short to even grab efficiently. Nothing to yank him around by, and no time to grow it out. Whatever, they'd just have him wear a leash or somesuch. Brown eyes, tan skin, ambiguous ethnicity. Somewhat muscled, but half-starved and visibly exhausted, so he moved with a weakness. He let the box thunk down on the carpet, and when he raised his eye he met Ren's boldly.

“Position two,” they said with a snap of their fingers, and they heard a pair of knees hit the floor before they saw the new boy kneel. They turned with surprise and saw Soren kneeling, which prompted them to laugh.

“Oh no, no, Soren, angel, sweetheart, no. Both of you, position one. Soren, now, listen--haha! You just stand there and look pretty okay?” They pet his hair, admiring the way he flushed with embarrassment over his mixup. “You just stay put right here and watch. I'm interviewing the new boy and testing his behavior, alright? You stay put.” They kissed him and turned back to the boy. He was, at the very least, standing in position one, his chin tilted up just a little too high for submission but that was something that could be beaten into him. “Position six,” they ordered, and he held out his wrists with a silent glower. But, ah, to listen to his breathing, was that fear they could detect?

He was bruised and bloody and tired, in all ways just in a horrible state of disrepair. He would require so much fixing, and honestly that thrilled Ren. They took his barcoded wrist and read off the numbers tattooed underneath it. 843-902.

“02, huh?” Ren mused aloud. “I think that’ll make a fine nickname for you.”

“Oh, his name is--” Mike started, but Ren cut him off.

“Irrelevant.”

02’s nostrils flared. “If I'm going to buy him, and I think I will, then the creature he was before coming into my service is entirely irrelevant.”

“Oh, good, you'll take him then?” Mike asked, sounding nervous and relieved. Ren delighted in how much control they had over him, at that moment.

“I'm not done deciding yet.”

Mike’s flash of nervous panic was so delicious, really. As was 02’s confliction. He didn’t know if he wanted to stay with Mike or be taken by Ren, aww, how cute.

“State your type,” Ren ordered, and 02 snarled. Honest to god snarled. Ren had to swallow, salivating at the thought of how much fun it would be to break that.

“Fff-” 02 choked on his own word, conditioning clearly warring with whatever it was that he was trying to do, and Ren arched an eyebrow. “Fuck you.”

They saw Mike twitch agitatedly in their peripheral, but didn’t pay him any mind.

“Position five.”

02 dropped like a rock, his forehead actually hitting the floor, and Ren chuckled. His Processors had done well with him, whoever they’d been, but not quite well enough. The image was all too clear now. Mike had bought himself a box boy, discounted for his bad mouth, and used his excellent behavioral obedience in order to commit whatever crimes he’d forced the boy into, while tolerating his naughty little words as nothing more than a background nuisance. Or, given the bruising, knocking him around for the disobedience, but never bothering with legitimate training.

“State your type,” Ren repeated, their tone taking a special quality that meant firm disappointment. Soren eeped behind them, and they got to watch 02’s chest seize.

“Combination, Ren.”

“Oh no, darling,” Ren said with a laugh, “You don’t get to call me by name.” They nudged his temple with the side of their foot and stated, “Position two.” Once within range, Ren gripped his chin and forced him to look at them. “You will refer to me exclusively as Exalted, or, if you feel I am in a particularly good mood with you, you may call me Honored One. My name is not to come out of that filthy little mouth of yours. Not until we’ve cleaned it thoroughly. Understand?”

They released his chin but he continued to hold their gaze. “Yes,” he stated, “Honored One.”

“Aww, Mike,” Ren cooed, turning to him. “He thinks he’s cute,” they intoned, sounding very much charmed, like a child had just fallen over while dancing.

“I know he’s got a big mouth but he really does obey,” Mike assured.

“I can see that,” they said airily. “Come join me in my office, we’ll discuss price and the paperwork. 02, take your box down into the basement and stow it in the back corner of the laundry room, on top of the other one there. Take Position two in the center of the room when you are done, and wait. Soren, heel pet.”

They led Mike and Soren away from the foyer, not checking if 02 was obeying and not needing to. He might hesitate or linger, but Ren knew with full confidence that by the time they were done signing the papers and lightly harassing Mike for the evening, 02 would be exactly where they’d told him to be.

“Actually,” they said at the door of their office, turning with raised index fingers. “Soren, baby, why don’t you go ahead and get started on dinner for us, mm?” Ren kissed him and patted his cheek sharply, twice. He nodded, worrying his lip, but scampered off to do as he’d been told.

“He’s beautiful,” Mike commented, before Soren was entirely out of earshot. “Even prettier in real life than in the ads, and I mean, wow,” he said with a chuckle, “you know?”

“I do know,” Ren said, gesturing for Mike to take a seat as they closed and locked the door. They pulled up their surveillance cameras on their computer, turned away from Mike, and got their scanner ready to make copies and digital files of the documents. “Did you bring the tools I requested?”

“Sure did,” Mike said, patting his backpack. “Retractable cane, whip, two different gags and a muzzle, which, heh, he hates so much, let me tell you. Handcuffs, too, those too.”

“And the documentation,” Ren prompted, watching him pull them out of the bag.

“You are, heh, quite the presence, you know that Ren?” Mike said as he pulled out a manilla envelope, a cheap blue folder, and some--GOD--loose leaf papers. The fucking audacity, really. The messiness, the lack of professionalism. He couldn’t have haphazardly shoved them into the cheap folder? He really had to go around carrying official legal documents loose leaf? Their BLAW405: Filing and Organizational Systems professor would’ve made a five minute ordeal of tearing this poor, poor fool a new one. Ren tried to make themself pity Mike’s incompetence, because it was just about the only thing preventing them from feeling an unseemly amount of rage.

“Like really, I’m a security guy, you know? I’m kind of hired because not a lot of people intimidate me but you’ve just got this, uh, aura, I guess? Just sorta the way you talk and hold yourself and--oh, yeah, you just, yeah go ahead,” he cut himself off as they took the papers from him and skimmed over them, sorting them into some semblance of a reasonable order to be holding these files in, and read over them quickly but carefully one by one. They were familiar with most of this--they did, after all, possess a box boy of their own--but it never hurt to be thorough.

“I have a certain way with people, it’s true,” Ren commented idly as they shifted through the papers. “Sign here. You’re quite fortunate I am in possession of a notary’s stamp and can forge an impressive signature, you know that Mike?” Ren asked, pulling the stolen (well, illegally purchased. Their mama was a persuasive woman in her own right, and there was little on the black market she could not or would not acquire for her child, at their asking) stamp from one of their locked drawers.

“Oh, fuck, we gotta get a notary for this?”

“Some countries do not require it, and I hear the American legislation on transfer of ownership even varies from state to state, but our homeland is a little more meticulous in these matters. But like I said,” they took the signed paper from Mike and aligned the stamp carefully, before bringing it down with a satisfying thunk, “you’re in luck.”

“You are,” Mike said, chuckling nervously, kind of breathy and rather high, “really something, huh Ren?” They loved his discomfort.

“Mm,” they hummed, pleased, preening a bit, but hey, they deserved to. “Sign here.”

Four signatures later, Ren tapped the stack of papers against their desk, bringing them all nice and neatly in line, and then set them into their copier. “Now, the access files I requested?” Ren prompted, extending their hand. He unzipped an interior pocket in his windbreaker and produced a thumbdrive. “Perfect. You’ll have 02 back as soon as you’re ready for him.” Their copier whirred to a halt and they took the stack of copies from the tray, then slid all of them into the manilla folder, rather than breaking them up like a moron. They held it out for Mike and flashed him a darling smile. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little dazed, taking the folder like it might get up and start moving. “You, you too. Ha, wow, you are efficient.”

“It’s why I have the job I have, and why I lead the life I live.” Ren stood and ushered Mike out of their office, then out of their home. “See you next time.”

“Yeah, thanks again!” he called, and they waved with a bright smile.

“Exalted?” Soren said behind them once they shut the front door, “Dinner will be ready in 40 minutes.”

“Perfect, Soren. I’m going to go greet our new addition, you may come if you want to.”

“Yes, Exalted, I would like that,” he said, wringing his hands anxiously. They placed their palm on top of that worried movement, and Soren stilled instantly.

“Shhh, pet. Remember, you’ll always be my favorite, alright?”

Soren nodded rapidly, but did not appear soothed. Hmm. “A-are you,” Soren hesitated, searching for the words. “Are you going to punish 02 for his defiance, Exalted?”

“I am,” Ren admitted easily. Soren twitched, distress increasing. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re worried for him?”

Soren nodded. “You’ve always been so good to me, Exalted, I don’t want, um, I don’t--I…” Soren pulled on a lock of his own hair, and they shushed him again, caressing his cheek.

“He’ll only get what he deserves, my precious angel. I can treat you well because you’re a very good boy for me, Soren. I’ve rarely had to punish you; you only occasionally fuck up. But my coworker clearly hasn’t given 02 the structure or discipline he needs in order to make him good, so I’m going to have to fix him. And fixing him will require punishing him. Don’t worry, though, pet, I won’t be cruel. The punishment will fit the crime; he won’t get anything done to him that he doesn’t deserve. I promise. He’ll deserve everything that happens to him, baby, sweetheart, I promise, I promise, absolutely all of it.”

Soren nodded again, gripping his collar and relaxing, a little. It was so nice to see him keyed up and anxious. It was so nice to make Mike squirm and sweat. It was so nice, knowing that their own personal chew toy was kneeling painfully on the concrete floor of their laundry room, just waiting for them to go down and bloom a few more bruises across his skin. Perfect, perfect, all of this, perfect. Exactly what Ren deserved.

“Yes, Exalted.”

“Come along, pet,” Ren beckoned, and Soren followed them down the stairs.

02 greeted their arrival by spitting on the floor at Ren’s feet.

“Oh, disgusting little bug, aren’t you?” Ren asked mildly, stepping over the splotch. They gripped his chin again and he glared up at them. “Tell me, 02, which do you consider to be worse? Death, or refurbishment?”

02’s eyes went wide, suddenly struck with fear. Ren of course would do neither, this was a temporary arrangement, after all. But 02 didn’t know that.

“...Exalted?” 02 asked in a voice that was very very very small.

“Answer the question. Which is worse?”

02’s chest began raising visibly, rapidly. Hard to miss, with how thin he was. “D--”

“And don’t even think about lying to me, slave.”

02’s breath caught, a delightful little gagging noise escaping him. “Refurbishment, Exalted.”

“Hm. Then allow me to make something very clear to you, 02. Soren outranks you in every capacity. You will not eat until he has eaten, you will not sleep unless he has first gone to bed, you will not so much as speak if he has something to say. And if you decide that that makes you jealous, or angry, or if you just decide you don’t like my precious boy for some miscellaneous reason, allow me to make it entirely understood that if you harm so much as a single strand of hair on his head, I will personally instruct the Processors to make sure you beg for death before they put you up for resale.” They released his chin with a small flick of their fingers into the soft underside, and were gratified by the little jerk, and the way his eyes stayed on them. “Do you comprehend?”

“You--you’re warning me to keep my hands off your pet?” he asked, fearful and yet still incredulous.

“Of course,” they said, placing a hand on the front of his close-cropped hair and slowly stroking his skull, cradling his head. “Soren is my precious little bird. And you?” Ren moved their thumb sweetly, back and forth, against his prickly hair. “You’re nothing more than some worthless mutt.”

#whump #slave #box boy #bbu #dehumanization #brainwashing #manipulation #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #codependent whumpee #possessive behavior #multiple whumpees #defiant whumpee #ren #soren #02 #mike #mine #writing

83 notes · View notes

repulsivepangolin7 · 4 years

Text

SEAL Team fic. Crush pt1

A/N: So, I recently fell into yet another wormhole and binged the first two seasons of SEAL team in less time than I should have used to watch it. I figured out a few things: 1. This show is freaking awesome once you get your bearings. 2. Sonny is cool, I dig him. 3. I love Full Metal (Like seriously, what a highly qualified dork!) And 4. There is NOT ENOUGH Scott Carter (Full Metal) fanfiction.

Oh, and as some of you MIGHT know… I’m too hung up on H/C and whump… Word count: 1860

You forget to be scared after a while. That was the truth for some of them at least. The problem wasn’t when you were neck deep in a FUBAR situation, it was when you were trying to get some shut-eye at home in your own bed. You took a deep breath and pushed the fear down and moved on.

But one thing was for sure, life had an impeccable way of telling you to take a breather every once in a while. Nature’s way of telling you to slow down a bit. A sucking chest wound, an arterial bleed, blood loss, a massive concussion. You know, stuff like that.

He tried getting his bearings as the dust settled. Last thing he remembered was someone yelling ‘incoming’ and diving for cover.

His sight was blurred and all sound seemed warped. His ears was ringing and his head was spinning, but it was nothing compared to the immense pain that was his left leg.

He forced himself up on his elbows, positive he was going to hurl as the world tilted on its axis. The sight that met him didn’t help too much.

One of the concrete walls had caved and landed on his leg. He barely stopped himself from trying to tug his leg free, he knew damn well it wouldn’t budge and all that would happen was that the pain would tenfold and he would probably do more damage to his leg than there already was.

Blood was soaking his tactical pants right above where the concrete block ended. First thing needing to happen was a tourniquet, then he had to get that thing off of his leg.

He barely noticed Bravo 1 ordering a radio check and sit rep before the fifth time he called him up by his nickname.

“Yeah. I’m here. Hear you Lima Charlie.” He sucked some air through his teeth, “My leg’s stuck under some rubble. Think I busted it.”

“Do you need assistance getting loose?”

“A-firm.” he took a second look at the bloody mess under the block of concrete, “Gonna need a tourniquet and help moving as well.”

“Okay, you’ve got it.” Jason paused, “Bravo 4, this is Bravo 1, you’re closest to Full Metal. Can you get to him? Out.”

“Bravo 1, Bravo 4. Sure can! Out.”

* * *

“Oh, damn…” Trent grumbled as soon as he had a visual on Full Metal, “How bad is it brother?”

“Think my leg is crushed.”

“Actual crushed?”

“Worse than just a break…” Metal gave a minimal shrug, but the pain written all over his features spoke volumes, “Hurts like hell.”

Trent nodded as he sat down beside Full Metal. “Tourniquet first. Then we’ll figure out how to move this.”

Full Metal nodded a bit, “I will be of minimal help during that part of this OP.”

“What? When we’re moving the block of concrete?”

He grimaced, “Something tells me whatever pain I’m experiencing right now is just a taste test of what’s to come once the initial shock wears off and my leg actually gets jostled.”

“I think you might be right, buddy.” Trent nodded, “You might want to administer at least 10mg of morphine before we start.”

“Already did.” Metal answered and reached for the spent auto-injector pen in order to wave it around and show it to Trent.

“Is it enough?” he asked as he dug a tourniquet out of his gear.

“Look at my leg. What do you think?” Full Metal growled, “Not gonna take anymore just yet, I’m gonna need it later as well.”

“Pretty sure the rest of us will be willing to share ours.”

“I don’t want to take so much one of you will actually have to keep an eye on me, to monitor for overdose.”

“I think you’re big enough to handle 20mg of morphine.” Trent shrugged as he leaned forward in order to wrap the tourniquet around Full Metal’s thigh, “This is gonna hurt…”

Full Metal nodded and placed his gloved knuckled between his teeth.

Trent wasn’t surprised when Full Metal suddenly went lax. He didn’t know the full extent of his injury, but one thing was for sure, it had to be painful as all hell. Full Metal wasn’t exactly one to fuzz over nothing, actually, he wasn’t one to fuzz over anything as far as Trent knew him. And syncope was a natural response to pain.

“Bravo 1, this is Bravo 4. We need additional manpower here to get Full Metal loose. Out.”

“Bravo 4, good copy. You think you’ll get him loose if Bravo 2 and 3 join up?”

Trent looked over the rubble and Full Metal, “Might need more. I estimate this block of concrete weighs 2.5 metric tons. We also need someone to drag Full Metal free once we’ve got that weight off his leg. He passed out when I put on the TQ. Think he’s coming back around now…”

“Okay, Bravo 5 you keep watch on the south corner, alert us of any movement south or east. The rest of us, help Bravo 4.”

The confirmations came in one after another.

“Havoc, this is Bravo 1. We are forced to divert from our plan, please alert us of any movement close to our position. Out.”

“Bravo 1, Good copy. Do you need anything else? Out.”

“Might need medevac. Out.”

“Site is considered a hot-zone. Is it critical? Out?”

“Haven’t got eyes on yet. Stand by for further information. Out.”

* * *

Clay, Sonny, Ray and Jason managed to lift the concrete block enough for Trent to pull Full Metal out from under it. None of them surprised when the big guy passed out for a second time.

The guys let go of the slab and it fell down, resting on some other rubble 3 or 4 inches off the ground.

“Let’s try to check and stabilize his leg while he’s still unconscious.” Trent called out as he started cutting away at the fabric of Full Metal’s pants. “Clay, find quickclot combat gauze, tape and regular gauze. Sonny, find cravats or anything that can be used to splint his left leg against his right leg. Jason and Ray, anything that can be used as cushioning between his legs and between his left leg and the cravats.”

They all hurried to their tasks.

“How does it look?”

“Open fracture above his ankle and below his knee. Multiple deformities from knee down. Lots of soft tissue damage. He needs to get proper medical attention, he’s at high risk for crush syndrome.” Trent rattled off as he took the things Clay handed him, “Clay, can you find Sodium Bicarbonate, a peripheral IV line and a FAST1.”

“Sodium Bicarb, peripheral IV line and FAST1.” Clay nodded, “Got it.”

* * *

He woke up to one of Trent’s thighs on each side of his head, not exactly his favorite position.

“Heya buddy, really hoped you would be out for 30 seconds more…” his teammate winked down at him. “I’m just gonna place a FAST1. Already have an orange IV running in your left arm. How are you feeling?”

“-Like I got run over by a wall.” Full Metal answered, trying to mask a grimace, “How’s my leg?”

“Crush injury, like you predicted. You’ve still got a pulse distal to most of the injuries, if you wondered about that. Have sodium bicarb trickling into that IV you have in your arm. We’re waiting for medevac, tricky situation with this still being a hot-zone.”

Metal nodded, “But I guess you think I need it?”

Trent nodded, “The sooner the better. But, I also think you could handle a couple of hours delay. I just want to avoid that if possible. We managed to cover the worst gashes and stabilize your left leg against your right while you were out of it.”

Full Metal nodded a bit, taking in the information. “So. Crush injury. Muscle mass gets damaged, releases toxins. Clogs up kidneys. Renal failure. Am I right?” Full Metal met Trent’s eyes.

“Kinda. But that’s what the sodium bicarb is for.” Trent winked, “That, and they’ll probably load you up with saline once medevac gets here. How’s your pain?”

“Way too damn high.” he rolled his eyes a little, “7, I guess.”

“I’d guess 8 or 9…” Trent shrugged, “You passed out. Twice.”

“Probably won’t be the last time either.”

Trent nodded, “But, just looking at you and listening to you. I’d guess about a 4.”

“That’s why we call him Full Metal…” Sonny winked as he came into Metal’s view as well, “Seriously man, you are allowed to show that this hurts. I would’ve sounded like an air-raid alert. How are ya?”

Full Metal shook his head a bit, “Not good.”

“Maybe you should take that second injector…” Trent said as he readied the FAST1 introducer, “No need for you to suffer more than necessary.”

“You said it yourself. This is still a hot-zone. Medevac has unknown ETA.” Full Metal swallowed hard, “Might be here in 15 mikes, might take 6 hours. Or more. Have to save some for later.”

“We’ve got plenty.” Sonny said as he squeezed his shoulder, “You’re in pain. A lot of it.”

“I’m nauseous enough already.” Full Metal shot back, “Can’t remember morphine helping any in that department.”

“No, but it’ll help with the pain. And that might ease nausea.” Trent quipped back as he placed the introducer against Full Metal’s skin, “Ready?”

He got a short nod in return and pushed the introducer down.

The operator on the ground let out a single expletive and gritted his teeth.

“Sorry about that…”

“We’re good.” Full Metal nodded and held his fist up for Trent to bump it.

All of the sudden their earpieces buzzed on, “Bravo team, this is Havoc. Looks like we’ve a group of 4, potentially 5, Tango’s headed your way in a pickup with a mounted machine gun.”

Jason replied. The guys got their orders and quickly followed through.

“Bravo 1, this is Bravo 5, I have eyes on the pickup. Should I engage? Out.”

* * *

By the time Trent, Sonny and Clay had carried Full Metal to safety, the building they were in was once again taking heavy fire.

This time, Full Metal hadn’t passed out due to pain from being jostled. Probably because the injection had been given the time to reach full effect.

“You think you’ll be okay down here by yourself?” Sonny asked as he helped Metal lean up against his backpack.

Full Metal nodded slightly, his eyes squeezed closed as he prayed for the pain to pass.

“Hey, Full Metal…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to be okay down here by yourself?”

He nodded a bit more, “Yeah. As soon as I stop feeling like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Do you want me to stay here with you?” Sonny asked, “Or Clay, or Trent…”

“No-NO…” Full Metal shook his head, “I’m a big boy. Can take care of myself.”

Trent raised an eyebrow, “Alright, big boy… Just radio if you change your mind.”

Full Metal raised his thumb in order to show that the message was received and understood.

#SEAL Team #Full Metal #Fullmetal #seal team cbs #fanfiction #seal team fanfiction #scott carter

6 notes · View notes

ailendolin · 2 years

Text

Fluff Friday - 7 - Horrible Histories

Title: The Question [AO3]

Characters: Mike Peabody/Milton "DI" Bones, Sam, Bob

Prompt: Mike/Milton proposal fic - Prompt by the lovely @iris-in-the-rain 💙

A/N: This is a the sequel Just you wait and More than enough in which things escalated at HHTV News and the gang decide to quit and start their own news channel.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

The Question

“Sam? Bob? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Milton tried not to look as tense and nervous as he felt as he led his co-workers into his office. They were in the final stages of launching their own historical news channel – Ancient News – and didn’t really have the time for any distractions right now but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He had been carrying this thought, this idea, with him for months now – ever since things had come to a head at HHTV News and he’d spent the better part of a night comforting Mike after he had almost died in the Arctic trying to prove himself to their former bosses. They had still fired him, and barely a week later Milton had been demoted for acting out on the job, as they’d called it. Historical Road Traffic Accident Squad – he would have felt insulted if he hadn’t planned on quitting anyway the moment his contract allowed him to, just like Sam and Bob.

The last few months had been extremely trying for all of them but Milton only needed to look into Mike’s eyes to know that all the worrying, the exhausting, never-ending meetings and sleepless nights had been worth it. There was a lightness to Mike’s step nowadays that hadn’t been there before and his smiles came more easily now as well, as if a dark cloud had been lifted from his soul and finally allowed him room to breathe. The fact that neither of them had seen the inside of a hospital since they turned their backs on HHTV News played a part in that as well. Milton never wanted to have to sit by Mike’s bedside again, holding his cold and lifeless hand in his, and see him hooked up to various monitors – and if everything went as planned, he wouldn’t have to. Ancient News would be better than HHTV News ever was, and safer. There would be no more running away from wild bears, no trips to the polar regions without proper equipment, no running themselves ragged trying to meet a standard that was impossible to uphold. This time, they would play it safe – for all their sakes.

“This doesn’t feel ominous at all,” Bob muttered as he sat down on the sofa, pulling Milton from his thoughts.

Sam nodded in agreement. “I feel like we’re about to get bad news again. And where is Mike? Shouldn’t he be here too?”

Huffing out a nervous laugh, Milton raked a trembling hand through his hair and shook his head. “Oh no, he definitely should not.”

Sam narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s going on, Milton?”

Milton took a deep, steadying breath and sat down next to her. He had prepared a whole speech in his mind, had gone over it again and again last night when the worry and fear over his best friends’ reactions had kept him awake long after Mike had fallen asleep. But now that the moment was here he found himself stumbling over his words as if he were back in school and being forced to stand in front of the whole class and stammer his way through a poem.

“It’s about Mike – well, about Mike and me, really. And about you, in a way, but also not? I mean, it’s not like your role in this isn’t important because it is – it very much is – but it’s mostly about Mike and me and–“

“Breathe, lad,” Bob said softly and reached across Sam’s legs to give his knee a reassuring pat. “No need to be so nervous. It’s just us.”

Milton took another deep breath and forced himself to meet their eyes. “I want to ask Mike to marry me.”

He bit his lip, waiting for their reactions. Sam and Bob had been supportive of his and Mike’s relationship from the start so he knew, on some level, that he had nothing to fear here and yet the relief that washed over him when their faces lit up with pure happiness on his and Mike’s behalf was undeniably, breathtakingly real.

“Oh Mil, that’s wonderful!” Sam exclaimed, clapping her hands in a rare show of genuine excitement.

Next to her, Bob nodded fiercely in agreement. “The best kind of news anyone could wish for. Mike will be over the moon!”

“You think so?” Milton asked, unable to stop a little bit of his old self-doubt creeping in. “I know the timing’s awful with the launch of the new channel and everything going on right now. But it feels like a new beginning and I just … I want Mike to know that I’ll always be by his side, no matter what’s going to happen, you know? That he can count on me to be there every step of the way, that I won’t just up and leave him when things get difficult and–“

“Mil,” Sam said softly and reached for his hands. Her eyes were shining wetly even as she smiled at him. “Mike already knows all of that. He might have doubts about a lot of things but your love for him is not one of them.”

Milton felt his cheeks flush and managed a wobbly smile in return. “I know. It’s just – he’s been through so much, with his father and HHTV News and those … those guys he dated before me. And now everything is changing – in a good way, of course, but that doesn’t mean it’s not scary and I want our relationship to be something he feels completely safe and secure in and doesn’t have to second-guess.“

He looked up at them, a little helplessly. Sam gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Then I think a marriage proposal is a wonderful idea,” she said softly.

“And the timing couldn’t be more perfect,” Bob added.

Milton exhaled shakily. It was no or never. “Will you – will you give me your blessings?”

Sam’s smile softened as if she’d been expecting his question this whole time. Bob, however, looked completely floored.

“Mine as well?” he asked, his voice hitching a little with emotion. “Why? I – I mean, I’m flattered but I’m not related to Mike and–“

“You’ve been more of a father to him over the years than his biological one ever was,” Sam said, letting go of one of Milton’s hands to reach for Bob’s. “To both of us.”

Bob blinked at her, stunned.

“Really?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah, Bob,” Sam said, giving his hand a gentle pat. “Really.”

Bob cleared his throat, a little flustered, and turned to Milton. “Well, in that case: of course you have my blessing, lad. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for our Mike to spend the rest of his life with.”

“Agreed,” Sam said. “My brother is very lucky to have you, Milton.”

“No,” Milton said quietly with a shake of his head. “I’m the lucky one.”

————

The proposal itself turned out to be less nerve-wrecking than asking Sam and Bob for their blessings. Milton had known Mike for so long now, knew him so well that there simply wasn’t any room left in his heart for insecurity or doubt when it came to them.

That didn’t mean Milton wasn’t nervous when he asked Mike to accompany him to the Stone Age a day before the official launch of their news channel under the guise of doing a test run. He’d checked the timing again and again– Sam had checked the timing again and again – to be sure they would arrive at precisely the right moment in time – the perfect moment. He had been to the Stone Age before, several times even, but Mike had never gone that far back until now. Arriving in a long-forgotten era for the first time always felt special, almost magical, and Milton was counting on the element of surprise that came with that feeling of awe when they stepped out of the portal and onto a dewy, grassy plain that lay under the most brilliant starry sky that had not been touched by light pollution yet.

It never failed to take Milton’s breath away, seeing the Milky Way in all its beautiful glory like this, and judging by Mike’s quiet, reverent, “Wow,” next to him, the sight of a million stars and galaxies twinkling over their heads had the same effect on him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Milton whispered into the cool night air. As subtly as he could, he let his hand slide into his pocket. When his fingers found the small box resting there, he took a deep breath and slowly pulled it out.

Mike, unable to tear his eyes away from the night sky, shook his head in wonder. “It is. I never knew the sky could look like this. Why did you never–“

He broke off when Milton got down to one knee in front of him and took his hand in his.

“Mil?” he whispered, looking star-struck.

Milton smiled up at him, every fibre of his being overflowing with love for this beautiful, ridiculous, wonderful man that had trusted him with the most precious thing in the world what felt like a lifetime time ago: his heart.

“Mike,” he began softly. “If it were up to me, I would give you the moon and the stars so your nights would never be dark. I would make you smile every day and carry all your burdens so you knew nothing but joy and happiness until the end of time. But we both know that life doesn’t work like that. All I can give you is a promise – that I’ll always watch for shooting stars with you, even in the middle of winter when it’s freezing and the nights are long and dark. That I’ll try my best to bring joy into our lives even on the most difficult days and that I’ll always be by your side, no matter what the future brings.”

With shaking fingers, he opened the small box in his hand and revealed a simple golden ring that had both their initials and their anniversary engraved on its inside. He took a deep breath and smiled up at Mike. “Will you marry me?”

Mike fell to his knees in front of him, smiling more widely than Milton had ever seen him before, and pulled him into a kiss so full of joy that it left him breathless.

“Yes,” he murmured against Milton’s lips in-between kisses that felt as beautiful and endless as the sky above them. “Of course I will. Of course.”

Milton laughed and pulled him into another kiss, his heart soaring with love.

————

The ring gleamed proudly on Mike’s finger when they returned from the Stone Age. Milton stood back and watched with a smile as Mike proudly showed it to Sam and Bob, slowly realising that this was the start of the rest of their lives.

He couldn’t wait to see what it would bring.

#mike peabody #di bones #sam peabody #bob hale #horrible histories #fluff friday #wwff challenge #my fic

13 notes · View notes