#yes id love for that to be more whump than asks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

transboysokka · 9 months

Note

*whump wheel ask* also id like to say that it won't be awful because your writing is amazing (unless you meant in a subject matter way in which case I think we all enjoy that)

for the pairing maybe sokkla if you write for that, or if not zukka everybody loves zukka

Whumpwheelwhumpwheelwhumpwheel yayyyy! You got it!! The whump wheel is my favorite kind of wheel!!

I tried to do something with sokkla for this at first but really im just not familiar enough with the dynamic to write it well so uh... here's some zukka whump!!

Also I 100% appreciate the compliment but yes I absolutely mean in a subject manner way. I love to write and read awful whump

Send me a 💀 and a character/pairing and I will spin the whump wheel and write you something awful!

The wheel has selected: Blinded!

I'm so sorry in advance

[okay yeah so this is basically Dead Dove Do Not Eat. I'm just gonna tell you now this is a lead-up to a canonical Major Character Death, though I don't write the death here.

TW: Graphic injury, TW: mention of vomiting, CW: Divorced Zukka, TW: Mentions of torture ]

Zuko spat blood, hoping Sokka wouldn't hear, and that he also hadn't heard the wet cough bubbling up in his throat since he'd been returned to their cell from his most recent interrogation.

The Red Lotus was playing games with them, and he was tired of it. And he wasn't as young as he once was- he really didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"Talk to me, Zuko..." Sokka's voice came from across the cell, weaker than it had been even a few hours ago.

The conversations had been their only line of communication, their only line to sanity for the past however many days they'd been locked up down here like animals.

They'd both awoken blindfolded (Zuko's blindfold was just an eyepatch over his right eye, which he knew was meant to humiliate him, but frankly made no practical difference- it was too dark in here to see anything out of his bad eye anyway) and chained to opposite walls, hands behind their backs for maximum discomfort.

Zuko's ankles were also shackled to keep him from bending. He could still breathe fire from his mouth, but he'd already discovered it was no help in escaping, and only served to anger the powerful benders that were holding them.

He thought about how to answer Sokka's question. The good news was that their blindfolds saved them from having to see each other's injuries, and Zuko knew Sokka was lying to downplay the effects of his torture just as much as Zuko was to him.

"It wasn't that bad this time," he tried to keep his breathing steady and voice even to suggest that more than half of his ribs were not in fact broken, and that none of them had pierced a lung, "More of the same... They just kept asking me where the Avatar is... I told them I've been finding creative answers to that question for over fifty years now... and they ought to try something new." He didn't tell Sokka that they had tried something new, and he'd paid the price with his flesh.

It would all be worth it, Zuko knew, now that young Korra was safe and the Red Lotus couldn't get to her. He'd promised Aang before he died that he'd keep her safe- they all had- and his life meant nothing next to that.

And with any luck, Tonraq and Tenzin would be here to rescue them any time now.

Zuko had lived a full life, and he was prepared to sacrifice it- but he wished his torturers would hurry up because he really didn't know how much more pain he could take.

He'd lived a full life, and he wasn't nearly as young as he once had been.

The biggest torture of all was sharing this cell with Sokka. Sure, things hadn't worked out between them, but Sokka would always be the love of Zuko's life, and it ripped him apart that he could only guess as to what had been done to him.

Zuko had suffered here, yes. Neither of them had been fed their entire time here. The only reason he hadn't died from blood loss was the bastards kept cauterizing his wounds. The only chance he had to drink water was in the icy tub he was constantly held down in. The only reason his heart didn't give out completely during any of the torture sessions was because Ming Hua was there to bring him back every time.

But it was nothing compared to what he could only guess Sokka had been through.

Sokka had admitted to a nasty head wound- Zuko could confirm that based on how lost and confused he'd sounded this whole time (Agni, he just wished he could hold him) and how he had repeatedly vomitted when there had still been anything in his stomach to throw up. He'd said they'd broken his legs, both of them, and burned his skin (just a little, he'd said, but Zuko could tell by the severity of his fever that it was more than just a little).

Whatever they'd done to him most recently worried Zuko the most. Sokka wouldn't talk about it, but he'd come back with his spirit broken. The deadness in the man's voice made Zuko's skin crawl, and knowing it had once been full of so much life, and remembering the moments he'd shared with that voice and that spirit... It was almost too much for Zuko to bear.

Sokka swore to Zuko he hadn't told the Red Lotus anything, and Zuko believed him, but that worried him more.

The cell door creaked open. Zuko hated that his first instinct was to make himself as small as he could, almost invisible, like a kid again.

It was too soon.

It would be Sokka's turn now, and Zuko didn't know if he had enough strength left to survive.

Or if Zuko had enough strength left to lose him.

He jumped when he felt a rough hand brush against his face, tearing off the eyepatch. He blinked up to see P'Li standing over him. She reached down and unchained his hands from the wall. Zuko just looked up at her in confusion, not enough strength left to figure out what this meant. This hadn't happened before.

The expression on her face was not kind.

"Say goodbye to your friend," she said, "It's his turn next and Zaheer's decided we only need one of you alive."

It took an embarrassingly long time for Zuko to comprehend her words, but when he did he filled with rage. He tapped into new reserve of strength he didn't know he'd had left and lunged for the combustion bender with a roar.

She didn't even flinch, just reached out and shoved him hard, causing him to fall hard back onto his back, sending him into another agonizing fit of wet coughs.

"You have ten minutes. Pathetic old man..." She was already outside the cell, locking the door behind her without a look back.

Zuko blinked the stars out of his eyes and slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. It registered to him that he hadn't heard a sound from Sokka this whole time. Did they already-?

He whirled around to find Sokka's familiar form slumped over across the cell. Slowly, painfully, Zuko crawled over to his side.

Tears filled his eyes instantly as he took in the sight of his dear friend. If it weren't for the groan coming from Sokka's lips as Zuko laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, Zuko would be sure the man was already dead.

The first thing he noticed was that Sokka had been more honest about his injuries than he'd expected. But he'd downplayed them tremendously.

His legs were broken, but crushed would be a more apt descriptor. He had been burned, badly. Repeatedly and nonstop, it seemed, with a fire whip, all over his body. He was covered in blood from various injuries, and his head wound-

Zuko choked back a sob.

"Agni, Sokka, your eyes..."

"My eyes...?" Sokka slurred. Zuko moved his hands to cradle the man's face. Sokka flinched but then leaned into the touch, "Zu, that you...? ...Feel like shit, can't see. Help me take this blindfold off?"

Zuko sobbed again.

Sokka wasn't wearing a blindfold.

Those bastards, those... savages... had burned out Sokka's eyes. His beautiful, blue, kind, Sokka eyes... and they'd fucked him up too much for him to even realize it.

"D... don't worry about it, babe. It's... real dark in here anyway..." Zuko tried to keep his voice steady for Sokka, for their last moments together. There was no way out- Zuko knew this was the end. "Can... can I hold you?"

Sokka grunted in affirmation and Zuko tried very, very carefully to arrange their bodies in the way that brought them both the least amount of pain. Eventually, he'd managed to pull Sokka up into his lap (difficult, with Sokka's hands still chained) and bring his arms around him.

Still, it had left Zuko out of breath, head spinning, and Sokka had screamed and gone limp.

"...Don't worry about it..." came Sokka's voice eventually, already prepared for the apology on Zuko's lips, "...This is nice... Like old times..."

His body burned from fever and Zuko didn't know how much longer he would last even if he wasn't about to be tortured to death.

Zuko felt so, so sick...

"Sokka... Do you... know what's happening?"

Sokka chuckled dryly and nodded, " 'S about time, don't you think? I've been dying for days now..."

Zuko's throat tightened. Normally, he'd shout at Sokka for being so morbid, but he didn't say anything. It was the truth, after all.

"I always loved you, you know? Even though we... it couldn't be perfect..." Sokka's voice was stronger now, like he knew this was their last chance to have this conversation.

They were both sobbing.

"Sokka, I'm... so sorry for everything... But it was so good while it lasted..." Zuko pulled him tighter, as tight as he could without hurting too much, and wished he could just never let go, "And I'm so sorry I've failed you. I'm not... strong enough to fight them off when they come for you..."

"You didn't fail. We saved Korra. That's what matters. Just.... Take care of Katara? And Izumi... Maybe I'll see you soon?"

Zuko couldn't help but to laugh through his tears. He really did wish they were going to their deaths together. That would be the only real way for this to end.

Sokka shifted his head in the darkness, turning toward Zuko, searching. Zuko met Sokka's lips with his own and they shared one long, desperate, overdue final kiss.

It was salty and bloody and full of decades of things left unsaid, of decades of love and pain and the lost opportunity to grow old together.

And when it ended, they knew there was nothing else need be said.

"Just hold me," Sokka said.

And Zuko did until the very last.

#quesTian #drabble #whump wheel #atla #zukka #divorced zukka #there is so much pain in here im so sorry i just... it got away from me

4 notes · View notes

genuinehc · 9 months

Note

from a whumper, about your post:

(sorry in advance if this comes off as aggressive, i really dont mean it that way, just bad at talking)

i am aware of the fact that, for some people, whump is a sexual thing, but the idea that its like that for a lot of people is a bit..odd? (at least thats how i read your post, sorry if thats not what u meant)

whether anyone likes it or not, 'kink' is automatically associated with sexual content. one of the things i see most often from whumpers is that whump isnt a sexual thing for them (often stated when explaining to non-whumpers)

yes we get whumperflies but for me at least its akin to the feeling i get at other things i really enjoy. its just a really excited/satisfied stomach feeling, something id also get when playing a high-energy board game or even seeing a non-whump trope i really love in film/tv! for me id say its sorted under the umbrella is excitement, but its not the same at all as sexual excitement like kinks are thought to be. and saying that it has specific feelings (stomach butterflies, twitching fingers, etc.) is kind of.. obvious i suppose. every emotion has that; we pace and bounce our legs when nervous or bored, we get tense and our hearts race when scared or angry.

for me, intimacy has nothing to do with whump. (in fact thats one of the reasons i usually dislike intimate whumpers because they usually venture too close to romantic or sexual content for my tastes)

like someone else said, i think the main reason that whump blogs dont like interactions from kink blogs is that it shifts the idea of it being nonsexual whump to sexual whump (which, given how many people ive seen with rape/noncon as squicks, could be unsettling) (and even for whump blogs have post/reblog sexual whump, the whump community heavily confines whump to fiction rather than reality in a way that isnt followed or obvious that its followed by kink blogs. which may also make people uncomfortable)

sorry for the long ask, just had a lot i wanted to say

You’re totally fine. :)

I do feel like I want to give further context to my frame of reference, though, because I feel like it’s central to why I’m asking:

I am 1000% a neurospicy internet old who is returning to fandom and fandom adjacent spaces after almost 20 years away from being an active participant in them. An entire subculture of a subculture grew up while I was pursuing other nerdy interests and I am equally delighted and curious about what the standards are and how they came to be.

This line of inquiry is an attempt to bridge something that feels very intuitive to me with my observations of the whump community. There is a gap in understanding or terminology or both, and that gap is with me: I’m the one misunderstanding the culture. After nosing around the edges for a couple of years, rather than try to understand through observation alone, I’m finally just asking: what is up with this?

What I’m learning from the lovely people who have been kind enough to take the time to share their opinions and experience is that there isn’t a single answer (and tbh, I wasn’t expecting that there was and would have been disappointed if there had been). The last 30ish hours have had a lot of really good discussion and I’m enjoying getting more insight, especially from thoughtful people with more experience in this community.

Thank you for taking the time to respond!

#anon asks #whump meta

1 note · View note

danny-chase · 3 years

Note

Do you think that Tim saved Dick in a way? Because we see Dick getting better as he gets closer to Tim and healing and getting back into the family, and ig it’s Tim who initiated that.

I literally don't have a yes or no answer for this... like most things in the Batfam - it's complicated. (Following answer is informed by 90s-00s comics, i can't really speak for new52 because it just... has so many issues one of which being erasing the relationship between Dick and Tim for *checks note* no discernable reason other than possibly *checks note* Didio hates legacy characters and wants only bad things for them so he could have excuses to kill them off or cancel their comics... idk just a guess)

Warnings: for Bruce stans - just look away i'm about to bring up bits of canon you most likely don't like, for Dick stans - Devin Grayson's run is mentioned, for the lovely anon - i wrote an essay, hope you are prepared

Tim coming into the family gave Dick a reason to occasionally hang around Bruce and i'm not sure if this is an exaggeration or not but he did sort of save that relationship - but whether that was a good or bad thing at the time, i can't really say. For sure - it starts off good, Bruce is actually trying to be a good dad (he comes down to Blud to check on Dick, adopts him, trusts him with his own city, calls him for backup, etc.). But we also see throughout Bruce Wayne: Fugitive/Murderer how unhealthy the relationship between the two can be. Dick built his core values around Bruce - if Bruce had actually killed here it would have been devastating for Dick (he was pretty much on the verge of a mental breakdown simply because they couldn't find proof Bruce wasn't guilty). The two literally got in a fist fight during the arc because Bruce was being uncommunicative and Dick couldn't take it anymore, snapped, and punched him when Bruce said "Bruce Wayne is dead only Batman now" - this tied into Dick finally having the relief and validation of being adopted and he couldn't handle Bruce stripping himself (and by extension, his fatherhood of Dick) away. In this era of comics Bruce had gotten physical with Dick before (here's me venting like an annoyed loser), and here's a clip from Bruce Wayne Fugitive that i just, *sigh*, canon Bruce, my detested.

Now on the other hand - getting Dick involved in the batfam more doesn't just mean he was hanging out with Bruce. His relationship with Tim is pretty great and I can definitely see where it was healing for a while - but also - to give credit where credit is due, the healing he goes through during this era of comics can also be attributed to Barbara and the Titans (the fab five specifically). Wally literally joins the Titans to give Dick a "social life" (me - it's because he's gay and wants to spend more time with Dick, actually, screw you DC you know i'm right). Donna plays a major part in keeping Dick's emotional well being in check. So like everything was going fine - Dick was healing, spending more time with friends, spending a lot of time with people he loved, like Tim, except he was neglecting his health and not sleeping - but overall he was in fact, managing, and moving past the deaths of Jason and some of the other Titans. With the current Titans - he was a hardass (which like ~trauma~ so I understand), but like things were going relatively okay.

And then Donna and Lilith died. And hooof Donna dying was like really really bad for his mental health.

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files (2003) #1

[Image ID: Dick sits in a room staring at a photo, the phone rings in the background, and he doesn't even acknowledge it, the voice mail plays: "I'm not here. Leave a message after the beep." The photo is shown closer in the next frame, it's of the five original Teen Titans - Roy kisses Donna on the cheek, tipping his hat his other hand making the okay sign, Donna has an arm around Roy, the other hand on Dick's shoulder, Garth proudly stands beaming with his hands on his hips, and Dick has both his arms around Wally's neck. Everyone is smiling in the photo. A voice plays over the answering machine: "Dick, it's Roy - pick up the phone... c'mon... please... I know you're there... just pick up. Dick, we need to talk... you can't just... please..." End ID]

For context - the previous page noted that this is Dick SIX WEEKS after Donna died. Usually Dick's the one who moves on quickly, but Donna dying broke him in a way nothing else had before - and that could be partly because he was still recovering from everyone else's death.

Up to this point, Dick had been healing and Tim was definitely a part of that, but then DC decided to throw the absolute book, bookshelf, and library at him. Reading Outsiders (2003) it's very clear he's very traumatized, and around the same time, Devin is literally whumping him like it's the whump Olympics, breaking him and Babs up, burning down his childhood home, blowing up his apartment complex (killing all but like two of his neighbors), he's literally sleeping on fire escapes using newspapers as covering because he has nothing, and the bad thing i don't like to think about (i'll let you know if you ask but that one needs lots of tw, but if you know where i'm going you know what it is already), Blockbuster is killed and he blames himself - and loses it over breaking Bruce's one rule, Bludhaven is nuked, and he pretty much tries to kill himself.

So basically, he was on the path to healing (with Tim as part of that) before he got absolutely destroyed (and almost killed off by Didio in one of the crisis). Tim in his own right, was also going through a lot in the meantime, his dad died, Steph died, Kon and Bart died, i don't remember what else happened and i haven't read that era of Robin yet. Things were good until they weren't anymore, and sometimes i think Dick would regret ever exposing Tim to the life they live, and questions whether he should have just sent Tim packing x2. They do get to spend a year together on a mental health cruise, but then Damian comes into the picture, Battle for the Cowl happens, and they have their falling out. But whatever happened on that cruise must have been really healing for Dick because he actually kind of rocks it in this era - he keeps things light with Damian, Alfred notes at one point how he makes things easy because he has lightness in him, and he patches things up with Tim - catching him in that panel of Red Robin - from there they kind of go back to normal, there's a lightness to the way they banter with each other (also here) and Tim returns the favor (from the Red Robin incident) by pulling Dick out of the water.

They've saved each other multiple times over (physically), and in both in the Black Mirror and Gates of Gotham, Tim helps out in a period where Dick is starting to fall apart from the pressure of holding things together for so long (something Tim might feel guilty for, because he did run away from Gotham on a wild goose chase for Bruce). In that period, it's really clear that Dick saves Tim (he reminds him in RR, that someone does actually care for him) and then Tim saves Dick from being torn apart by Gotham.

I should point out - Damian, while starting off as kind of a hinderance, does eventually start helping Dick as well. By the end of their relationship (before the New52 destroys everything i love), Dick has helped Damian grow emotionally, and through that process Dick probably finds meaning and value in their time together, probably a lot like he used to feel with Tim. And of course, physically, they've both saved each other multiple times by the end of the run.

So yeah. I think Dick finds meaning in growth in mentoring his younger brothers, and it's likely a healing process, that healing just has some twists and turns along the way, and sometimes, on bad days, he probably feels like maybe he shouldn't have intervened at all, but i think on most days, he's proud of what Tim's become.

...I hope this is coherent lmao

#the old: blame everything i hate about comics on Didio #thank god he got fired #tw suicide #i am so long winded oop #i'm in too deep #does this count as character meta?#maybe #Dick Grayson meta #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #i'm kinda sad that Dick and Tim's relationship is misunderstood in a lot of fanon - because it's something that can be so personal #it's not as black and white as people seem to think #as in like... they're usually really good for each other and have a healthy dynamic #even in RR (I haven't read all of it) people take things out of context and just... ignore that Dick reached out to Tim afterwards #and like asked him to go to therapy (not arkham why are y'all obsessed with Dick throwing his brothers in arkham get help)#Tim also straight up throws Dick over his shoulder and starts a physical fight in that series #so... it can be a toxic relationship too but idk i like to highlight the good parts #i see a lot of - Dick begs for Tim's forgiveness for taking Robin away fics out there #but like there relationship isn't that simple #if they ever talked it out in canon - they'd have to address Tim lashing out physically at Dick (Dick would probably not be having it)#and the writers might then be like - hmm maybe we should address all the times we had Bruce hit him too #so like yeah i get why we never saw their reconciliation on panel (they just kinda were like okay we're fine now :D)#but still it's something i'd like to see explored from a more balanced perspective - instead of a - i project on Tim so he's always right #i probably also wouldn't be the best person to write it because i project on Dick too much #not that i would make Tim beg for Dick's forgiveness - Dick would forgive him in like .000001 seconds and def doesn't hold it against him #that's just how Dick is (he'd probably prefer if it wasn't brought up and they just pretend it never happened)#but also knowing Dick he probably feels guilty as fuck for the way RR went - which like *sigh* martyr #batfam #batfamily #batfam meta

61 notes · View notes

touchmycoat · 2 years

Note

cnovel!anon: you're reading 成化! I need to reread since it's been a while and I was too influenced by the drama the first time through. (I feel like the drama woobified Tang Fan a lot more than the novel.) Yeah, I had the same thought re 诗一行, though it may just be a common type of novel structure building from stories like 包公案 with its episodic but interrelated mysteries. How do you like it so far?

yes!!! i watched maybe 10 minutes of the first ep, went and read the first two chapters of the novel, went back to finish watching the first ep with my buddy, then am now on uhhh chapter 54 of the novel, post-kidnapping arc.

that character intro really does matter, huh? The drama opens on Tang Fan eating and the novel opens on Tang Fan dealing with sexual harassment, the difference is STARK haha. I haven't seen enough of the drama to make up my mind on this yet but I will say I spent the entire first ep asking my friend (who’s seen a handful of eps) "is he really just?? a pouty baby boy????" Not necessarily in a bad way but it'll depend a lot on how the show pans out lmfaooooo. Sui Zhou’s hot tho!! Very much my type, but am i tripping balls or does his VA have a non-Beijing accent??? He’s also not the peak icy steel of the SZ I picture from the books but I’m a fan of his aura and am excited to see how far he takes this service top malewife energy.

novel-wise, i fucking love it dude. I too am a Holmes fan so the cases are very cool, especially how MXS paces her set-ups. It feels like she really gives you a big handful of clues to figure things out yourself as a reader, and it's not super centered around TF's thought process. Also her writing style makes me chuckle ‘cause it’s soooo exposition-heavy. As a writer, I lurch heavily toward the screenplay/stageplay adage of “advance the plot through dialogue,” so it’s very refreshing to read her dense histories and interpersonal connections so confidently interspersed through the action/dialogue scenes. I feel like I’m learning a lot about novel pacing.

(Also another reason I’m excited to watch the drama and see how it adapts such a novel. Already we have the first two mysteries collapsed into one, and the implied efficiency in that move has made me perk up hahaha.)

千秋無雙成化 all seem to deal with the question of how to do good, huh? Thousand Autumns throws the two extremes into the same camp and have them work out the difference. Peerless explores 不擇手段可是還有底線的人. Sleuth is pretty explicit in its central contemplation of ethical principles vs. ethical action and has returned to it again and again.

id-wise, i'm vibing. I’ll confess I’m pretty disappointed there wasn’t more whump & aftercare following the kidnapping thing but I’m just a drama-loving sadist. I deeply need to know how MXS plans to escalate their relationship??? Yanshen and Fengcui maintained their antagonism for so much longer and so had reasons to keep stoking that ship fire, but Suitang is just???? settled??? They just gave me half-naked sweaty post-spar Sui Zhou so that’s nice but like, something’s gotta happen, and soon.

(also of course I’m so fucking into the bitchiest teenage prick Wang Zhi. I don’t know where the plot is going but he’s such a fucking pain and I want him to top Tang Fan too.)

#sleuth #buddy sorry i keep answering in essays i'm just excited #yeah i don't love 小白臉s in the first place and TF's actor is definitely not the kind i like #novel!TF in my mind's eye is def...比較有威嚴 more beautiful and less cute #but that's completely superficial lmfao if the actor sells the role i don't usually maintain the superficial opinions #like w wyb #TF feels XL-like #in terms of the 八面玲瓏 abilities #but XL's got those 800 years to get super settled into who he is #TF has more of a real day-to-day bite #if that makes sense #i love this guy #also i completely agree w you MXS's strength is def in her characterizations #they're so distinct and vibrant it's exciting to watch #anon

6 notes · View notes

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Note

god your bthb prompts are so good 😭😭, i was wondering if you could do any of these with tarlos?

rage against reflection

suicide attempt

flashbacks

forced to kneel.

not all of them, of course! pick whichever you think you’ll do best at!

my only preference is physical whump at some point, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to! thank you love!

thank you my lovely!!! i chose forced to kneel - i hope you enjoy it! as always, i am looking for prompts to fill the remaining squares - if you have one, don’t hesitate to send me an ask!

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: forced to kneel

ao3 | 2.2k | tarlos

Carlos exchanged a tight-lipped look with his partner as they pulled up to the scene. Every available patrol unit had been called here, and he could see more than a few paramedic vehicles on standby in case things went south. He couldn’t help the nerves twisting his stomach into knots; hostage situations were always difficult, and there was something about today that had Carlos on edge.

He didn’t know why, but he had the strangest sense that something was about to go very wrong.

He and Rachel walked to where the lieutenant in charge of the scene was briefing them.

“We have reports of at least one hostile, but be aware that there may be more,” he was saying. “Presume they are armed. There are at least ten hostages, located in the conference room on the ground floor. Negotiation attempts have as yet been unsuccessful; the suspects’ motives are unclear.

“A group of you will enter the building with a view to neutralising the suspect. I’m sure it goes without saying, but do not engage in a manner that would harm the hostages, or you. Let’s not make this any more complicated than it needs to be. Understood?”

They nodded, at which the lieutenant appeared grimly satisfied. He began assigning positions, and Carlos knew even before he got to them what he was going to say.

Sure enough, “Reyes, Moreno - you’re going in,” the lieutenant said. “Get ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Carlos’s nerves only grew as they strapped on their bulletproof vests, and he checked his gear twice to make sure he was prepared. Rachel nodded tightly at him and he returned the gesture, before heading into position.

Tightening his grip on his gun, Carlos spared a brief thought for TK. TK, who would no doubt hear about this over the news, if the numerous press vehicles arriving on scene were any indication. Carlos just hoped he would make it out of this in one piece, so he could get home to his boyfriend and collapse into his arms.

He was broken from his thoughts by the order to enter crackling over the line. Carlos let out a shaky breath, then steeled himself, body tight as they headed stealthily through the hotel. They managed to locate the conference room without any problems, though Carlos’s instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong.

There were four of them, though; surely one of them would have noticed if anything was truly amiss?

No sound came from inside the room. Locking eyes with Rachel, Carlos held up his fingers and silently counted down before forcing their way inside, guns drawn.

There was no one there. No one, except for the terrified hostages tied up at the far end. After sweeping the room, Carlos rushed over to them, Rachel on his heels, and began freeing them, holding a finger to his lips so they wouldn’t alert whoever had done this.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, pulling the gag out of the mouth of the woman in front of him.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you, I -” She trailed off, her eyes widening at something over Carlos’s shoulder at the same time as Rachel yelled his name.

Carlos didn’t even get a chance to turn before something cracked across the back of his head, and the world went dark.

He woke slowly, the fog in his brain taking a long time to clear. When it did, Carlos realised several things all at once.

One: he no longer had his gun or radio.

Two: he was tied up, and a quick glance to his right showed him that Rachel and the other two officers with them were in a similar situation.

And three: he might not make it back to TK after all.

It was this final thought that kicked his brain back into gear, and he frantically tried to come up with a plan to salvage the situation. There were two men standing on the other side of the room, and a third by the door - the hostage-takers, he presumed. None of them were looking directly at him, so Carlos tugged experimentally on his bindings. To his surprise, they were fairly loose; if he was quick, and quiet, he might be able to get free.

What he’d do then, Carlos didn’t know, but one step at a time.

Keeping one eye on the men, he carefully maneuvered himself, twisting until, at last, the ropes fell away from his wrists. He let out a relieved breath, then turned to Rachel, reaching to pull at her bindings.

He didn’t get far, however, when hands were on him, wrenching him away from her.

“Hey!” one of the men growled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Carlos didn’t answer, praying that Rachel would have the sense to finish freeing herself and do something while they were focused on him. He yanked himself out of the man’s grip and managed to deliver a blow to his face before he was grabbed again, this time being forced to his knees.

The cool metal of a gun pressed against his forehead, and Carlos didn’t miss the sound of the safety clicking off.

“Trouble, aren’t you?” the man holding the gun hissed. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

Carlos closed his eyes, allowing his body to sag minutely. The grip they had on him was too firm; there was no way he’d be able to escape from this kneeling position without earning a bullet to the head.

Though, he thought mournfully, there probably wasn’t anything he could do to avoid that bullet at this point anyway.

For the second time, he thought of TK, holding his face in his mind’s eye. He’d never hold him again, never kiss him again, but if he had to die, then Carlos was going to do it with the comfort that his last thought would be of TK’s smile as they had parted that morning.

Distantly, he heard a quiet click, and then -

TK checked his pocket for the twelfth time in five minutes as he exited the locker room, grinning when his fingers closed around the small velvet box.

If everything went to plan, in a couple of hours, Carlos would no longer be his boyfriend, but his fiancé. The thought sent a thrill through him, though it also simultaneously set his nerves spiking. Logically, he knew nothing could go wrong; he’d planned the evening to a tee, and he was confident that Carlos would say yes.

Buying the ring had been hard, memories flashing through his mind of the last time he had been in that position. But he was doing it for all the right reasons this time, and TK knew that Carlos was it for him. Proposing would be a formality, really, though that didn’t make it any less special.

He’d even begged Carlos’s mom’s help in teaching him to make tamales, and he was going to pick up a flower arrangement on his way home.

Everything would be perfect.

His teammates were still sitting in the communal area when he entered, eyes glued to the tv screen. TK frowned; he thought they’d have all gone home by now.

Paul was the first to notice him, and TK’s concern only grew as he got everyone else’s attention, their worried gazes falling on him one by one.

“What’s going on?” he asked warily. They had a silent argument, before Marjan slowly got to her feet, approaching him hesitantly, hands clasping and unclasping in front of her.

“I know you’re probably going to anyway, but don’t freak out.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “There’s a hostage situation at that big, fancy hotel across town. Apparently it’s pretty serious, they’ve had to send police in, and, um, well…”

Marjan paused, and TK felt dread wash through him, knowing what her next words would be.

“He’s there, TK. He’s gone in.”

TK spent the next hour alternating between pacing and staring at his phone, desperately hoping for it to ring. Paul had shut the news off pretty quickly after an announcement that shots had been fired had nearly sent TK into a panic attack, and now they were all watching him closely, to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, TK guessed.

It made his skin crawl, having so many pairs of eyes on him, even if he understood why. He appreciated it, really, but if anything, it just made the urge to run stronger. He was about to make a break for the doors - just for some air - when a shrill sound cut through the tense silence.

TK’s phone rang.

He didn’t bother to check the id before answering, almost dropping his phone in his haste. “Carlos?”

“Um, no,” a distinctly female voice said. “It’s Rachel, actually, I’m Carlos’s -”

“His partner,” TK cut in, anxiety roiling in his stomach at the knowledge that it was Carlos’s partner, not Carlos himself who called him. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Rachel answered, apparently undeterred by TK’s lack of politeness. But he barely got a moment to feel relieved before she continued, “He’s in the hospital.”

TK let out a choked sound. “Hospital?” he whispered, the team looking up at him in alarm. “Hospital isn’t fine.”

“I know; that came out wrong.” She sighed. “Carlos got caught up in the middle of the shooting and a bullet grazed his side, but he’s okay, I swear. Last I heard, they want to keep him overnight for observation, but he’ll be fine.”

TK collapsed into the nearest chair, his head falling into his hands. Someone - he couldn’t tell who - started rubbing soothing circles on his back, and TK unashamedly leaned into the touch. “Which hospital is he at?” he eventually managed.

“St. David’s.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“Yeah, no problem.” A pause. “He really saved our asses today. I thought you’d want to know.”

TK breathed out shakily as he ended the call, allowing himself a moment to ride out the residual anxiety still coursing through his body.

“You okay, man?” Paul asked tentatively.

TK looked up at them. “Can one of you drive me to the hospital?”

As Rachel had promised, Carlos was sitting up in bed when TK arrived, looking as he always did - beautiful, happy, alive. His face lit up with a grin when he spotted him, and TK all but ran to him, barely remembering to thank Judd for the ride.

“Carlos,” he choked out, tears springing unbidden to his eyes as he carefully hugged him, mindful of his wound. Carlos hugged him back, his head buried in TK’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Ty,” he said. “I’m okay.”

TK pulled back, his hands moving to frame Carlos’s face. “Are you, though?” he asked, checking his boyfriend over.

“I am,” Carlos promised. “They’re even sending me home tomorrow.”

He smiled, and TK couldn’t help but to smile back, falling into the chair next to the bed. He grasped Carlos’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across it as a comfortable silence fell between them.

“So much for date night, huh?” Carlos joked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

TK laughed drily. “Yeah,” he said. “Your mom’s going to be so disappointed you never got to try the tamales she helped me make.”

He said the words without thinking, and regretted them as soon as they were out. TK winced as Carlos straightened, turning to stare at him.

“You’ve been cooking with my mom?” he asked, shock and confusion evident in his voice.

“Um.” TK swallowed nervously. “Yes?”

Carlos frowned. “But… Why?”

“I, uh… Fuck.” TK closed his eyes, knowing there was no way he could talk his way out of this one. When he opened them again, he shifted in his seat, breaking their hands apart, and reached in his pocket for the ring box. “For the record, I had a whole plan for tonight, and not one part of it involved my boyfriend being in the hospital.”

“What are you talking about, Ty?” Carlos asked, bemused.

TK smiled at him, pulling the box out. Carlos’s mouth dropped open in shock when he saw it, and there were tears in his eyes when he looked back at him.

TK took a deep breath. “Carlos, these past two years with you have been the happiest of my life. You brought colour back into my life, and you’ve kept it there every single day. I love you more than I ever realised was possible, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I never imagined that I would be asking you this in a hospital room, but I guess it’s kind of fitting for us, huh? So - Carlos Reyes, will you marry me?”

For a few nerve-wracking seconds, Carlos just stared, gaze flicking between TK’s face and the open ring box, tears slipping down his cheeks. Then, he brought his hands to TK’s face, a broad smile on his lips.

“TK Strand, I will marry you.”

And TK laughed, not caring about the tears on his own cheeks as he slipped the ring onto Carlos’s finger, leaning forward to kiss him. They were both smiling too much for it to be a proper kiss, but TK found he didn’t care - nor did he care that his plan hadn’t worked out.

Because Carlos Reyes was his fiancé, which TK thought was pretty damn perfect.

84 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Lost Their Voice From Screaming: Chris

For the @badthingshappenbingo prompt “Lost Their Voice From Screaming” (requested for Chris by Anon) - here you go! Timeline is during Chris time training at the WRU Facility.

CW: Dehumanization, degrading language/victim blaming, noncon touch, referenced noncon, forced drugging, ableism (may be tough for those who underwent ABA therapy), internalized ableism, institutionalized pet whump, captivity, restrainted, shock collar, whump of a minor (character is 17)

---

Handler Petrus is already in the training room when the boy is escorted there, going over some paperwork at a desk in the corner. He glances up at the trainee, gives him a perfectly normal smile, and beckons him inside with a quick, absent-minded gesture. “Come on, ‘499.”

His friendliness is a trap, and the boy knows it, but there is no way to avoid any traps here. The boy must step into them, again and again, until he learns to love the way it feels as they close around him.

Even if he had a way to escape, he’d never think of it fast enough. His thoughts drift slowly, drugged into a foggy numbness. He feels fear, but only around the edges. In the center of his mind, it’s all just… smoke.

He glances over his shoulder at the two handlers who escorted him, who give him blank, uncaring faces in return. Once he’s fully inside, they close the door, and the boy swallows at the sickening familiarity of the ssshhhh-click of the lock.

Alone, now, with his primary handler. Alone, and the only way out of the room is Handler Petrus’s keycard, the ID he wears on a bit of blue stretchy nylon clipped to his belt, right next to his black baton.

“Good morning, ‘499,” Handler Petrus speaks warmly, affectionately.

The boy takes a breath, keeping his expression carefully blank, hands hanging at his sides. He’s wearing the weights again, heavy hexagonal pendants that swing from short chains off the cuffs they put around his wrists. When he moves, they clink together, and he has to work harder. He can’t hide it, if he tries to tap on himself or the walls.

He managed to get one around to where he could hold it pressed into his palm, fingers curled, and he can settle himself just a little by letting his fingertips just brush along its textured edges. It’s something, to settle the nerves that crackle inside him no matter how much they drug him, how chalky they make his meals taste. The fog can’t quite steal all of him away, but he is not allowed to move.

He must be still.

He must-

Handler Petrus clears his throat and the boy jumps, his heart racing in a sudden panic as he realizes he’s been silent too long. It’s hard to understand, when he has to be quiet and when they want him to speak. He can’t read their faces very well, only the punishments that follow his failures. “Trainee-”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, H-Handler Petrus, I, I, I was only, I was-”

“223499.” Petrus’s voice goes cold, and so do his eyes, and the boy’s weights click together as his hands jerk in an aborted attempt to tap on himself to calm down. There is no calming. He has to learn how to calm without touch, without taps, without the things he needs but they tell him he isn’t allowed. “I will give you one more chance. Good morning.”

Silence is better than stammering.

The boy’s breath comes shaky and he hears a faint whine at the edge of his own exhale that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He whines more now, whimpers, makes animal noises because it’s safer than using words. They like those sounds. They hate his words because he uses his words all wrong.

He speaks with careful, plodding slowness. “Good morning… Handler Petrus.”

“Better. Do you know why you’re here, when this was meant to be a rest day?” Handler Petrus sits back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk idly. The boy’s eyes drift there with a twist of ravenous envy.

Why does his handler get to tap when he doesn’t? How is Handler Petrus chewing the ends off all his pens different than the boy tapping on the walls? How in his foot tapping, like it is right now, his work boot hitting the cold tile floor that freezes the boy’s bare feet, any different than the boy bouncing on his feet?

He doesn’t understand how one kind is okay and another isn’t. He doesn’t know why he has to be a statue now. He doesn’t know, and no one can explain it, and no one ever even tries.

“Yes… yes, Handler Petrus.” He wants to rock. He wants to rock, and tap, and move his hands. The heavy weights make his shoulders ache just carrying his hands around all day. But they… they help, he tells himself. They keep his hands still.

He has to be still.

Stillness is better than what I do.

“Tell me.” Petrus’s pen stops tapping, the boy’s eyes frozen on it. The end is all chewed to bits. The boys swallows as he feels a rush of saliva in his own mouth. Deep inside, he remembers he used to chew on the ties to his hoods on coats and sweatshirts-

A sharp stab of pain cuts the memory off before it gets any further, and he closes his eyes against it, the overwhelming pain and the weight of the fluorescent lights on his skin. He feels the buzz, tangible and obvious, a pressure he can’t run from.

“Tell y-you…” He’s trying to buy time, to get his mind back, but his foggy drugged-up brain struggles to lurch in this direction at all. The weights click, clack, together, and he remembers. “Because… b-because H-Handler… Handler Everly… caught me. In my room.”

Petrus starts tapping his pen again. The sound is deafening in the silent room. “Caught you doing what?”

“T-... tapping. With my… my fingers. On… the wall.” It’s so hard to speak like this, and he doesn’t know how other people can do it. He has to let words drop like stones and somehow hold them one at a time when they want to fall out all at once. Somehow, he manages. It’ll only get worse if he can’t use his words right.

“Good. The first step to fixing the problem,” Handler Petrus says easily, amiably, “is acknowledging it exists. I thought we broke you of that nonsense, ‘499.”

“I’m… sorry, sir.”

Petrus finally stands, dropping the pen on top of a stack of papers. The boy’s eyes drift over there, and there’s a word he almost remembers written across the top in thick black block letters, it starts with D, he remembers the letter D-

More pain. He winces, this time, whines at the stab of it right behind his eyes. He has to close them tightly against the tears that instinctively well. By the time he opens them again, Handler Petrus had closed the gap between them. When the handler’s rough thumb rubs across his lower lip, the boy goes perfectly still.

Statue boy - don’t blink don’t move don’t tap don’t breathe.

He waits.

Handler Petrus drops his hand, with a slight smile on his face. “You really do try to be good for me, don’t you, trainee?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” He feels sick with the handler so close to him, knowing what usually comes with the proximity. His clothes, the thin white t-shirt that’s too big and hangs on him like it belongs to someone else, the shirt black shorts… they feel suddenly too constricting. He wants them off, but not because he wants this. He just wants something more. He wants to be coated in clothing, covered in layers of it, until no one can touch him anymore.

“But you failed today. You waited until you were alone and you broke rules. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, trainee?”

He had a name once.

Didn’t he?

Did he ever have a name?

The boy’s breath hiccups with a sob he wants so badly to let out, and he nods shakily, lowering his eyes down to the floor, to those heavy black boots all the handlers wear. Steel-toed, snapping ribs with a kick at just the right angle. He’s seen it happen to a trainee who threw a punch. He’s seen worse, too.

Everyone sees worse and worse and worse and when they think it’s as bad as it gets, the handlers find something new, something that cuts deeper than they knew a cut could go and still be survived.

“That’s right. Discipline.” Petrus’s smile is thick in his voice. “Discipline in a humane and necessary method of ensuring continued good behavior in a pet, right, trainee?”

The boy only nods again, his heart rabbit-fast inside his chest. He doesn’t look up when Petrus’s hand brushes against his face again, his knuckles just touching the boy’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw.

He feels the collar around his neck shift, the slightest warning before the shock follows a half-second later on its heels, and his head jerks up, tears bubbling too quickly for him to blink them back. “H-Handler-!”

The pain rips through him, races along nerve endings from toes to top of his head, catches air in his lungs and refuses to allow them to exhale it.

“Eyes on mine,” Handler Petrus reminds him softly, taking his thumb off the button to the remote that controls the shock collar of any trainee within his radius. The pain fades, the boy’s muscles trembling as he forces them to lock, meeting the handler’s eyes with difficulty. He hates looking them in the eyes. The handlers all look cold to him, he hates it, he hates it.

“Y-Yes, sir, yes, so… so sorry, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m-”

“Sssshhhh. Silence-”

“-is better than, than stammering, sir,” The boy finishes quickly, shaking, and he is rewarded with a smile from Handler Petrus, and finally… finally… he can breathe out.

“Discipline is essential,” Petrus reminds him, voice low. “Get on the table.”

Every training room has one. A padded table - like an exam table in a doctor’s office, the boy thinks, before the pain wipes that memory away, too - with restraints that line the sides, the top and bottom. He knows this table too well, has spent whole days strapped down here. The boy shudders in disgust and his body’s memory of worse things, darker things, pulled from him against his will.

But, no, it’s not.

He signed up for this. They tell him all the time. He wants this, to be strapped down, to be visited when he is trying to sleep, to have handlers tell him things and touch him and worse. They promise him he asked for it, specifically to be this. They tell him he was made for this, or he wouldn’t have signed the contract.

It’s not against his will.

Somehow, all this horror and agony and disgust and the way he never, ever feels clean… somehow, this is what he wants.

They tell him, anyway. They tell him he wants this.

“S-sir? What am, am I… learning today?” He is already moving, following the command obediently. The padding for the table is slightly warm when he climbs up onto it, looking over to Petrus for guidance on how he is meant to position himself.

“Not to think you have an ounce of fucking privacy, and not to tap on the fucking walls ever again. Now, we’ve been kind.” Handler Petrus moves to him, gently pressing a palm into the center of his chest, until the boy shifts onto his back, swallowing against the nausea that threatens to bring up the chocolate shake he was given for breakfast.

How can he have wanted to be this, when it always makes him feel so sick, and scared? How can this be what he signed up for, when he is always holding back a scream behind gritted teeth while it happens?

Handler Petrus hums as he takes the weighted cuffs off the boy’s wrists, letting them drop to the floor with a careless clatter. He takes a thin wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the veins on the inside of the boy’s wrist, and looks up at him.

The boy stares right back, right into his eyes. They look like empty cold marbles in the handler’s face, skin like putty twisted into a smirk.

He hates looking them in the eyes.

Each wrist is shifted fully above his head, buckled into the straps there to hold them fast. Shoulders that have carried pounds of weight at his wrists for days now ache as they are forced into a whole new position, and the boy’s top teeth come down on his lower lip until he feels pain that overwhelms the pain in his arms, if only for a second.

Then the handler moves to his ankles, securing them to the sides of the table. This isn’t… this isn’t a position the boy knows. It’s not a number, but it’s also not a position good for… for…

“S-sir?” His voice trembles.

“Sssshhhh. Just be still.” Handler Petrus pats his stomach, and the boy realizes he’s still clothed. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved - his training usually involves no clothing at all - or even more terrified of the horrible unknown of what could be done that keeps his clothing on. “You broke the rules. Now you receive your discipline.”

He steps away, and the boy’s head twists, trying desperately to follow his movements across the room, but he can’t quite see him. He hears the sound of a drawer being pulled open, then pushed shut again. A click - something opening, maybe? The boy flinches with every noise, because he doesn’t know what they are, and not knowing is worse than whatever it could possibly be.

Or so he thinks.

Until Handler Petrus comes back into his vision with a small square alcohol wipe and a syringe filled with a pale yellow liquid.

The trainee has never received this one before, but he knows what it is. They all know, soon enough. There’s a whimpering sound he only belatedly realizes is his own voice, and yanks hard against the restraints.

Of course they don’t give. He’s exhausted from never sleeping, weak from wearing weights on his wrists, weak from the lack of real food, weak from the drugs. They cheat, he thinks with a sudden wild defiance, as Handler Petrus grips his left arm at the elbow and wipes quickly along the crease. They cheat to break the trainees down, because maybe they couldn’t win without it.

Win what? He signed up to be this, whatever they want him to be. He’s a natural slut, a whore, they told him so, they told him over and over and over again, natural-born slut, made for it, you like this, you want this, you want it you want it you want it-

He cries out as the needle breaks the skin, slides in, finds his vein. It’s an awful feeling, like the drip at the beginning that he can barely recall beyond the eternal press of the needle, the sight of the IV bag slowly emptying and being refilled where the boy hung helpless against the wall.

The handler’s thumb presses lightly into the boy’s arm as he depresses the plunger on the syringe. “After this, I think you won’t break the rules again, even alone.” Handler Petrus smiles at him, but his eyes are still so, so cold.

Just like the liquid that moves into his bloodstream. He gasps at the ice of it, and he can’t begin to thrash, only be held still, forced to take it, just like he is forced to take everything here. Because he wants to be forced.

They tell him he wants to be forced.

He can’t remember, but… but he must have, because how else did he get here?

All pets are of legal and consenting age and sign contracts of their own free will fully informed as to the consequences of their decisions-

The cold dissipates, mixes in with his blood, his heart pumping the new drug through his body all too quickly thanks to his rapid, panicked heartbeat.

“Please, please, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry-sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, didn’t, I just, my body, my body has to, to to to-to-to move, Handler, s-sorry-”

“Your body does what we tell it to do,” Handler Petrus says, pulling the syringe back empty, giving the boy one more smile. “And nothing more. You will understand that now.”

He walks away, leaving the boy to breathe, in the awful anticipation of what he has never experienced before but knows is coming.

He listens to Petrus drop the used syringe in the biohazard disposal box along the wall. He has the symbol memorized, the bright orange lid with black writing he can’t read. He could turn and look and see that if he wanted. But the boy only stares at the ceiling, gasping in breaths.

It starts as heat.

His veins start to burn, like fire pulses through him and not blood. It’s not the warming heat of the purple drug, the one that leaves him panting and desperate, the one that makes them all laugh at him even as they offer to give you what you need. This heat is sharper, stronger. It moves straight from a sense of warming to pain, and the boy catches his breath.

The pain begins in his arm, where the needle went in, but it spreads with each beat of his traitor heart until every inch of him is burning.

At first he whines, and whimpers. He pleads. Apologies tumble from his mouth, catch on his tongue, as Handler Petrus walks back over to his desk and turns his chair around so he can watch. The boy manages to turn to look at him just long enough to realize he is drinking out of a travel mug with a cat on one side. The sharp pain that comes with trying to read is less than the agony in his bones and so he clearly sees the words NO TALK ME ANGY WITHOUT COFFEE written on the side, and lets out a gasping, breathless sound that might be hysterical laughter as he realizes that he’s reading it.

The laughter breaks into sobs as the pain doesn’t stop building. His back arches off the table, wrists and ankles yanking at the straps that restrain them, twisting until they are rubbed raw, until they bleed, until he cannot imagine hurting any worse than he hurts now and still the pain keeps building.

He can’t hurt worse than this and then somehow he does.

At some point, the sobbing tears turn into screams.

Handler Petrus keeps watching, sipping his coffee from his mug, as the boy screams in helpless perfect agony.

The sound of his pain bounces off the ceiling and the walls, contained within the heavily soundproofed room. Only Handler Petrus - and whoever might be checking the security cameras right now - gets to enjoy this show.

The boy is aware of nothing, now - his vision has narrowed to a horrible pinpoint. Everything is white around the edges, the pure cold clear white of the tiny room he sleeps in. The only thing he feels is pain.

Pain, and pain, and pain - because he couldn’t be still, couldn’t be a statue, couldn’t be good when no one was watching just as much as he is when their hands are on him. He wishes their hands were on him now, anything would be better than this, anything-

He is begging, he thinks, but the begging isn’t words, just shrieking screams.

At some point the screaming stops.

Oh, his throat is still tensed with it, mouth open in a perfect rictus O, his eyes wide and bulging and running endless tears that collect and pool in the shells of his ears before they drip to the waterproof padding on the table beneath him. His breath still exhales with a force that keeps all the muscles of his body tense and shaking.

But the screaming stops, because at some point he has no voice left to scream with.

When that happens, the Handler has finished his coffee and started back on his paperwork. He glances up, briefly, and gives the boy a pleased smile. Then he looks back at his desk.

How long it lasts, the boy will never know.

The pain fades in increments, so carefully and slowly he doesn’t realize it a first. Eventually, though… eventually he understands that it’s less than it was, and then less again. He goes limp against the table, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling again. He can feel the trickle of blood along his wrists, his ankles. He can feel the sharp glass-shard pain of his throat when he swallows, hear the whistling exhale of his breath.

Eventually, he can even feel the clothes laid over his skin again.

Handler Petrus’s hand in his hair is gentle and soothing, and the boy pushes into it desperately, trying to please him so it won’t happen again. So he won’t be hurt again.

Handler Petrus chuckles, his voice low and deep, and traces his fingers over the boy’s face, down his neck, rubs a circle just behind one ear. The boy whimpers, but no sound comes out.

“Will you break the rules in your room again?” Handler Petrus asks.

The boy tries to say no, sir, but no sound escapes from him except a hoarse whistle. His eyes widen in panic as he tries, again and again, and he can’t make a sound.

“Perfect,” Handler Petrus murmurs, and undoes the straps at his wrists, moves down to free his ankles. He takes the boy’s hands and helps him up to sitting, smiling at his pale face, the pinch of pain when he swallows. “Silence is better than stammering, 223499. And you can’t stammer if you can’t speak, can you?”

The boy’s eyes are wide and, in the nearly colorless room, terribly green. He nods, slowly. His mouth automatically forms the words, yes, handler, although he can’t say them.

“Good. And you won’t break the rules now, will you?”

A shake of the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, soaked with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. No, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you back to your room. No more training today.”

The boy can barely stand as he is helped off the table, leaning heavily against his handler. Petrus’s hand around his back supports him, keeps him moving, and the boy is grateful for the gentleness.

The handler could have chosen to have him train, today. Instead he is taken back through the maze of hallways to the room he stays in, shaky and weak, and deposited on the cold floor. Shivering, the boy drops to his knees.

When the handler’s fingertips press against the underside of his chin, he raises red-rimmed eyes. He hates looking them in the eyes so, so much.

But he’ll do anything not to feel the pain again.

“We see everything you do,” Handler Petrus says, almost gently. “Everything. Do you understand me, trainee?”

The boy swallows, licks at dry lips, and nods.

“If I catch you tapping again, I’ll give you the full dose next time.”

That wasn’t the full dose? It can get worse than that?

The boy whimpers, hoarse and barely-there, and then winces at the pain that comes from making any sound at all. He shakes his head, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be so good, mouthing the words he can no longer speak.

“Damn straight,” The handler replies. He presses his thumb against the boy’s lower lip, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the handler push it inside, press down against his tongue. His thumb tastes like salt and skin and the boy knows that taste as well as he knows the taste of the chocolate shakes.

He is silent.

Still.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy.” Handler Petrus pulls his hand back, ruffles the boy’s hair. “That’s my statue boy. Don’t break rules again.”

He leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, and the boy is alone in the white room.

The need builds and builds inside of him, but he doesn’t try to tap on the floor, on the wall, on himself. He curls into a ball on the floor, arms over his head to try and create enough darkness to sleep, and pushes down the need he has to tap, to rock, to do something with his body into a twisted little ball of fear and pain deep inside himself.

He is good. Just like they want him to be.

Just like he wanted.

They tell him he wanted this, to be fixed of his wrong words and his wrong hands. They tell him over and over again, and so it must be true.

In the white room, the boy weeps.

His tears are silent, and his body is still.

Just like they wanted.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump

247 notes · View notes

solarpunksoftie · 4 years

Text

Thinking about TMA entities and which I'd serve and why

It's incredibly likely I could be a step away from serving The Ceaseless Watcher as it is. I ask too many probing questions, am fascinated by other's suffering, and have a thirst for knowledge and knowhow. I want to be privy to drama but never part of it, I am a relentless eavesdropper, I have the urge to put people in dangerous/frightening situations to see how they react to it (im sane tho, so I'd never because thats fucked up. But the intrusive thought is there). I write and read whump more than any other content. As a kid I was That Kid who creeped out teachers for staring too long and Knowing too much and I'd move my mouth when they talked because I already Knew what they were going to say. I have very high perception and often notice what others don't; if you lost your pen or whatever I'll likely track it down immediately.

Next is probably The Choke (mandated "choke me daddy" joke). I love being underground, I garden, I feel most at peace with dirt under my nails and the feeling of cool dark soil against my skin. I am, however, deathly afraid of being Trapped.

My Depression would definitively make me a victim of The Lonely, and the resulting isolationism and rejection of loved ones would mean I'd be inflicting a bit of The Lonely on them as well. I'd be as much an avatar of it as Martin is

I have a definite connection to The Stranger, primarily because I am Automotanophobic, meaning I have a deep visceral fear of mannequins, dolls, and anything within the Uncanny Valley. I am also an actor, and performance and adopting new identities is natural to me

The Hunt fills me with a sort of malicious delight that none of the other fears could give me. That thrill of the chase is there, yes, but the dominance and bloody victory over your prey.. seeing them cower before you. Thats the Good Shit 👌

The Lightless Flame carries a similar malicious delight as the hunt for me. It gives a sort of power over others that could be intoxicating.

Id want to be an avatar of the Spiral simply for the wacky reality bending powers

#personal #tma #the magnus archives #tma entities #I'll probly add to this later #and I'm gonna say #I'm not an evil creep #im just focusing on what my potential is to be a monster #because we all have that potential #and it's important to be honest

16 notes · View notes

thatsgonnaleaveamark · 5 years

Note

eight, nine, and ten if you haven't already answered those!

8: What is the main character trait you like to see in a whumpee?probably like a snarky, sarcastic talking back type, cant get enough of that9: Who is your favorite whumpee? (at the moment, or in general if you can)this is always a question i avoid because i genuinely cant pick a favorite or top three or whatever. so here i go again naming a lot more than im asked for: rn its Martin Rauch/Moritz Stamm from Deutschland 83/86, then Delsin Rowe from Infamous Second Son, Jacob Frye from Assassins Creed Syndicate, Juno Steel from The Penumbra Podcast, Wil Ohmsford from The Shannara Chronicles and a bunch of OCs10: Name one character you would love to see/read whump of but can’t find any.i honestly cant think of any right now, i just blanked, i seem to be very lucky with choosing whumpees that actually get whumped in media and are a favorite to whump in fics. Oh actually, my own ocs lol, many times ive thought how i want to see them whumped and then realize id have to do that myself and then i dont. maybe also Winn Schott from Supergirl, but i dont really watch that anymore Ah also Alec Lightwood from Shadowhunters yes

thank you for the questions :D

#whump things #ask game #seems like im into video games huh #scars-and-vulnerability

4 notes · View notes

hazza-bearstyles-blog · 6 years

Note

Can you do a harry centered one where harry goes missing (like with witness protection) and it's right after his solo tour and the other boys hear and freak out. He comes back months later and he's been hurt and the boys refuse to leavve his side and they all get together. Make it long and angst/fluff filled plz!

Find My Way Back To You

A/N: So I made this up about the WPP as I went. And the two songs that Harry ‘writes’ are actually ‘Skin’ by Rag ‘n’ Bone Man and ‘I Found’ by Amber Run and they do not belong to me.

Word Count: 7K+

Warning(s): Abuse; Harry whump; attempted kidnapping; attempted murder

Disclaimer: I do not own ‘Skin’ by Rag ‘n’ Bone Man and ‘I Found’ by Amber Run.

All day, Harry had a very strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He woke up feeling anxious and he wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea to leave the flat today. But he had to. He had things to do.

“C’mon, Piper,” Harry called out to the Shiba Inu dog sleeping beside him. “It’s time to get up.”

Piper yawned and hopped off the bed, looking at her owner excitedly. Harry smiled down at his baby girl and scratched behind her ears. He stood up and opened the bedroom door. Piper ran ahead of Harry and over to the door, begging to be let out. Harry chuckled as he got the dog’s leash and attached it to her collar. After putting on a jacket and shoes, he opened the door letting in the crisp Californian morning air.

“Alright, let’s go.”

They walked out the door and took a walk around the block so Piper could relieve herself. After about 30 minutes, the pair made their way back home. Harry went about making himself and Piper breakfast. Once he was done, he went to his room to change for the day and let Jeff know that he was on his way to the recording studio.

It was as Harry was saying goodbye to Piper and walking out of the house that he felt he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder as he locked his door but there was nothing and no one there. Shrugging, Harry turned to head to his car. The whole time he drove to the studio, Harry still got the feeling that someone was watching him. It was a relief when he finally reached his destination and got inside.

“Hey, Harry!” Serena the receptionist at the desk greeted him.

Harry grinned and high-fived her as he walked past. “Jeff here yet?”

“Not yet, dear. He should be in soon though.”

“OK, I’m going to head back and start working on this new song,” Harry said as he made his way into the back of the studio.

The curly-haired man sat down at the piano once he was inside and started playing. This new song that he was planning out was going to be a love ballad. It was a song that was really close to his heart because when he thought about the ones he wanted to share it with, his heart ached when he remembered that he couldn’t. At least not in the way he wanted. Harry sighed as his mind drifted to the four men that he was hopelessly in love with. Yes. Four. Harry Edward Styles was in love with none other than his former bandmates, Niall, Zayn, Liam, and Louis.

Harry had longed for them for years but it’s not like anything would ever come from it. Zayn hated him. Hadn’t talked to him since he left the band. He had grown even closer with Louis, Liam and, Niall after Zayn had left, but once 1D broke up, they all seemed to drift apart. They all had different lives now. And don’t get him wrong. Harry was super glad that they had all escaped from Modest Management and that they all seemed to be thriving in their own ways but… it still hurt to not be as close as they used to be. Writing this song helped let out his emotions though.

‘And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be. Right in front of me. Talk some sense to me…’

Harry spent the rest of the morning pouring his heart and soul into his song. He and Jeff exchanged a few ideas when the older man came in and they spent the day writing out the music for the song. By the time either man realized what time it was, it was well into the afternoon. Harry looked at his watch and got up.

“You want to grab dinner, mate?” Jeff asked as he got ready to leave.

“No thanks. I’m going to go let Piper out and take her for a walk and then I think I am going to head back here and work some more. I have more ideas to write down.”

Jeff smiled at his friend and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t work too hard, Curly.”

With a promise to his friend that he wouldn’t, Harry was out the door and on his way home.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

The uneasy feeling didn’t return until Harry and Piper were making their way into the empty studio after he dinner. The curly-haired-man looked around in apprehension before he entered the studio again. Once he and Piper were inside, he felt like he was not alone but he pushed the feeling aside. He had work to do.

Heading to the back room to write some more Harry didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone in the building. It wasn’t until a hand landed on his shoulder. Crying out in surprise, Harry jerked around and came face to face with someone he hadn’t seen in a couple of weeks. Not since he got the restraining order.

“Jack. What are you doing here?” Harry asked shakily.

Right away, Piper started to growl at the man. She stepped protectively in front of her owner, tail raised in warning to the stranger.

Jack took a step toward Harry. “You’ve been ignoring my calls. Why?”

“You know why. Now leave before I call the police on you.” Harry said sternly.

Jack had been one of the interns for the record label for 6 months before they had found out that he had been stalking Harry for at least a year. They had fired him and upped Harry’s security. Things had seemed fine until Jack had shown up in front of Harry’s house. Luckily, Jeff and Mitch had been with him and they had called the police on Jack. After that, Harry had gotten a restraining order against the intern and Jack had seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Until now.

And Jack looked horrible. His eyes were red and his hair greasy. He had sores all over his face and his clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed. “I need your help, Harry. I’ve gotten into some trouble.”

Harry shook his head and pointed at the door. “No Jack. I am not doing anything for you. Get out.”

Jack’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “Well then. I see how it is. You have a bit of success and now you’re above everybody else right?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t owe you anything.”

That wasn’t what Jack wanted to hear. He angrily turned around and punched the wall. “Fine, Styles. Don’t help. But know that this was your last chance. First, you get me fired and then you filed a restraining order against me? Now, this?” He took a step towards Harry but stopped when Piper began growling again. “I thought we had something special.”

“We don’t and we never did.” Harry snapped back. “That was all in your head. And I don’t, nor have I ever, owe you anything. Now get out before I call the police.”

“You’ll regret this, Harry.” And with that, Jack slammed the door.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry couldn’t concentrate the rest of the night. He kept seeing Jack’s face and hearing his threats. Piper stayed by him, growling every time she heard a sound and it frayed Harry’s nerves even more. It was midnight when Harry decided to finally call it a night. As Harry was walking out of the building, he heard voices coming from near where he parked the car.

“You promised me, Jack. Where’s my money? I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“I promise I’ll have it. Soon! I just need more time, Carl.”

“That wasn’t the deal kid. You’re really leaving me no choice here.”

By this time, Harry had reached the parking lot be he was hesitant to go any further. He could see the source of the two voices and saw that one of them was Jack. He really didn’t want to have another conversation with the other man and he definitely didn’t want to get into the middle of what was going down. He debated turning back towards the studio and calling an Uber to come pick him up. He would have done that if something hadn’t flown in front of them and spooked Piper, causing her to start barking.

Jack turned towards Harry as the other man, Carl, took out a gun and shot him point blank. Harry’s hands covered his mouth in shock and he fell back in a hurry to get out of sight. He desperately tried to get Piper to calm down.

“Hey, kid. I hope you’re not trying to run. Because it’s no use.”

Harry was shaking in fear. Piper growled at the other man and stood in front of Harry protectively. “No Piper. Get back, girl.

Harry looked up and saw the man standing five feet in front of him, his gun pointing right at him. Harry wasn’t sure what would have happened next if another man hadn’t come running out of the nearby alleyway, gun drawn and yelling for Carl to freeze.

Carl turned his gun towards the other man and shot at him but missed. The newcomer, in turn, shot at Carl and got him. Harry wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or what but he suddenly remembered how to get up and run. So he did, dragging Piper with him.

“Come on, Piper. Let’s go, girl.” He made it to his car and slammed the door shut. He tore out of the parking lot, driving away. His hands were shaking as he finally pulled to a stop, 10 minutes later. Looking around, he realized that he had pulled up in front of a police station. Taking that as a sign, Harry and Piper got out of the car and walked into the station.

“Can I help you, young man?” Asked the concerned elderly lady at the front desk.

“I… I need to report a… a… murder…” As Harry uttered the words, he felt himself getting sick. He bent over and threw up all over the floor.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

“OK, kid. Just a little longer.” The detective told him kindly. “Do any of these men look familiar?”

Harry looked down at the pictures that Detective Gellar was showing him. It only took him 30 seconds to make an ID. “Him. I think Jack said his name was Carl.”

Detective Gellar got a worried look on his face as he recognized the man but he quickly got rid of it. “Carl Meyers.”

“Who is he?” Harry asked.

“He’s the head of a drug ring that we’ve been trying to arrest for the past year now. He’s extremely dangerous.”

Harry began shaking again the more he heard about Carl Meyers. “Should… should I get more security? What should I do?”

Detective Gellar shook his head. “Not quite.” He got up. “Wait here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Harry felt himself grow more and more apprehensive as the detective got up and left. What was going to happen? He looked over at Piper who was sleeping in the corner. At least they were safe. Right? He looked up as the door opened once more letting in Detective Gellar and a new face.

“Harry Styles?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock. It was the man that shot Carl in the parking lot. What was he doing here?

As if reading his mind, the man introduced himself. “Agent James Harrison. I’ve been working on the Carl Meyers case for a while now. We need to talk.”

Harry slowly nodded.

“Carl Meyers and his men are still out there and until we catch them, it isn’t safe for you to return home. We need to hide you.”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry stared at himself in the mirror, tears in his eyes. He had just learned that his time in Witness Protection would be spent in isolation with only his contact coming to check on him every few days.

“C’mon, Daniel. Don’t just stand there forever. We need to get this hair shaved so it’ll be easier to hide you.”

Harry looked at Harrison in confusion. “Daniel?”

The agent rolled his eyes at the kid. “You. You’re Daniel. Remember? We can’t go by your old name anymore.”

Harry looked away again. “Right. Daniel.” He whispered. He looked at the razor that Harrison was holding. “Let’s get this over with.”

Harry sat down and let the older man run the razor through his curls. “You know it’s not enough just to shave my head.”

Harrison grunted in annoyance as he finished. “I know. Your damn face is everywhere. That’s why you’re being sent to the middle of nowhere, kid. Where no one can find you until we resolve this.”

Harry closed his eyes tightly as the tears threatening to fall again. He didn’t want to cry in front of Agent Harrison however so he took a deep breath and steeled his nerves.

“So, northern Alberta?” Harry asked as he stood up.

“Yes. You leave in just a couple of hours.” Harrison sat the razor down. He sat down across from Harry and looked at him. “They said you could bring the mutt with you.”

Harry looked at him surprised. “Piper? I can bring her?”

“Yes. There’s no harm in it. Can’t leave you out there completely friendless can we?”

Harry felt a burning behind his eyes again as he nodded. “Thank you.”

Harrison only looked at the kid out of the corner of his eye. “Hmmm. Don’t mention it, kid. Now let’s go over everything again.”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

It was a couple days later that Louis was going about his morning routine like normal. He happened to be scrolling through his news feed when a headline jumped out at him.

‘Where Is Harry Styles?’

Louis narrowed his eyes in curiosity as he clicked on the article. He wished he hadn’t. Jeff, Harry’s manager had not seen the young singer since a couple of nights ago when the police were at Harry’s house due to a break in. Harry hadn’t shown up to the recording studio the next day. And when Jeff had gone to Harry’s flat in LA, he hadn’t received an answer and the place had been ransacked. After numerous calls to Harry’s mum and sister and anybody else that might have seen or hear from him, Harry was declared missing.

Louis wanted to throw up. Harry was missing. No one had seen him. His place was destroyed. Where was he? Where was Harry? Was he hurt? Louis hoped he wasn’t hurt. Louis sat there in shock for a few more minutes before he snapped out of it. He grabbed his phone and made a call.

A shaky voice answered. “L-Louis?”

“Anne, I just heard,” Louis responded as he began pacing back and forth.

A sob escaped the woman’s mouth. “My baby is missing, Louis. He’s missing.”

Louis spent the rest of the morning on the phone trying to soothe Anne.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

When Liam heard, he was spending his morning with Bear. He was feeding the baby when a knock came frantically on the door. Liam walked over to answer it and Cher walked in.

“Are you OK?” She asked in concern as she hugged him.

Liam looked at the woman in confusion. “What are you talking about? Cher, what’s going on?”

Cher looked at Liam in shock. “You haven’t heard?”

Liam shook his head in bewilderment. “No. What is it?” He was becoming more and more nervous by the second.

“Harry’s missing. It’s all over the news. No one has seen him in two days and his place in LA was torn apart.”

Liam felt his heart stop at those words. Harry? Missing? Maybe he hadn’t heard right?

“I’m sorry… what?” He asked his ex.

Cher sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s true. His mother and sister haven’t heard from him and his manager has been tearing the city apart looking with the police.”

Liam wanted to drop everything and fly out to LA right now and help look for his missing friend. He needed to be there. It was a well-known fact amongst the members of 1D that Liam was the most protective of Harry. Even if they had grown apart, that fact had not changed. Now Harry was missing.

But how could Liam leave Bear? It was his week with him. Liam looked at Cher and she seemed to read his mind.

“Bear can stay with my mother. Don’t worry. You do what you need to. We understand.”

Liam nodded gratefully and turned to kiss his son’s forehead. “I love you, cub. You be good for grandma and I’ll be back soon. And so will Uncle Hazzy.”

Liam booked the next flight to California.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Niall heard through some paps that cornered him as he was walking out of his home in LA.

“Niall? Do you have anything to say about the recent disappearance of Harry Styles?”

Niall paused at that and turned to look at the reporter who had spoken. What?

“Niall! Over here! Has Harry tried to contact you lately? Do you have any idea where he might be?”

Niall looked at the paps, confused. What were they going on about?

One of the camera women saw his confused look and lowered her camera, looking at the Irish man in pity. “You didn’t know, did you? Harry Styles has been missing for two days now but he was officially announced missing today.”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat. What? He quickly took out his phone to call Harry. Harry couldn’t be missing. He couldn’t.

“Hey! It’s Harry! I’m out living my life! Leave it at the beep!”

Niall’s heart began to beat rapidly when all he got was voicemail. He hung up and tried texting his curly-haired friend.

To Hazza BearHarry!? Where are you? Please tell me that you’re OK!

Niall knew this would be in vain though. He was so immersed in trying to figure out a way to contact Harry, that he didn’t notice when one of the reporters had walked up to him. He did notice when they got in his face and began shouting more questions at him.

Niall quickly shoved the reporter aside and ran back to his house, slamming the door shut. He slid down the wall and stared at his phone, praying that his phone would light up and it would be a response from Harry. The more that the Irish man stared though, the more dismal that hope became. How could this be happening? Harry couldn’t really be missing. Could he?

Niall was snapped out of his thoughts when his phone lit up. He almost half expected it to be Harry calling to say that it was all just a joke. That he was really fine and there was no need to worry. That of course was too much to hope for. Niall was surprised when he looked at his phone and saw who it was. He quickly answered.

“Zayn?” He asked, voice cracking.

“So you’ve heard?”

Niall swallowed thickly and whispered a confirmation. “He’s missing, Zayn. How can he be missing? What… what happened?”

“I don’t know, Nialler…” Zayn replied. “I don’t know but I swear we’ll find him.” A long silence. “I’m coming to LA. I booked the next flight out. And if I know Louis and Liam, they’ll be there soon too. I have to go pack. Will you be alright?”

Niall shook his head as if Zayn could see him. “I’ll be OK when we find him and he’s safe.”

“I understand. I’ll be there soon.”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

When Zayn had heard the news, the only thing he could do was stare at his phone in shock. Harry was missing? He had been stalked and possibly kidnapped? How could this be happening?

Zayn had been in the middle of recording his new single when he had decided to take a break. Checking his phone, he noticed that he had a ton of missed alerts and messages from his manager. Confused, Zayn checked the messages from Ryan first.

From Ryan BaileyHave you seen the news?

From Ryan BaileyZayn? Seriously! It’s all over the news!

From Ryan BaileyAre you OK? Call me! Let me know that you’re alright.

Zayn shook his head in further confusion as he scrolled through all his messages. There was also one message from Safaa.

From Baby SafaaZayn! Did you hear? Harry’s missing! Are you OK? Call me or mom!

And Zayn had to read the message ten more times before the words sunk in. Harry was missing. What the hell. Zayn quickly clicked on the first news article that he could find and what he read sickened him. Some asshole had been stalking Harry and he had been reportedly seen near Harry’s recording studio. There had been a disturbance later that night at Harry’s house but they hadn’t caught the guy. The last people to see Harry alive were the police there that night.

Zayn’s blood ran cold at that sentence. ‘The last people to see Harry Styles alive…’ Was Harry…? No! He couldn’t think like that. Harry was alive. He had to be. Because he swore if someone had hurt Harry… Zayn sat down to himself when he felt the familiar urge to protect Harry arise. Where had that come from? Because he and Harry didn’t talk anymore. Hadn’t talked in years now. Zayn shook his head again. That wasn’t important. Whatever had happened between Zayn and the other boys was not important at the moment and it could wait until Harry was found safe. The Bradford man immediately booked the next flight to LA and then called the one person he knew would pick up.

“Zayn?” A choked voice came through.

Zayn sighed. “So you’ve heard?”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry looked around his new home with sad eyes. This is where he would be spending the next few months. Maybe more. There was already furniture set up in the tiny house but it was all covered in sheets and dust. Almost like it hadn’t been used in years. Harry guessed that that was probably true. The air smelt cold and stale and Harry shivered as he looked around the house.

He looked down as Piper nosed his hand. Smiling down at the dog he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“This is our home for a while, girl. What do you think?”

Piper looked around and started sniffing at everything. The dog sneezed as she disrupted the dust on the couch. She turned to look at her owner, bewildered. Harry chuckled softly as he motioned for her to come back to him. He gave her a quick hug before letting her go and setting his duffel bag down on the couch.

“OK, you two. This is it for the next few months,” Harrison said as he walked into the living room carrying a few boxes of food for Piper and Harry. “It’s not much I know but it will do.”

Harry gave the agent a small smile. “No, it’s good. Thank you.”

Harrison sat down the boxes of food in the small kitchen and began to put things away. Harry went over and began to help him. It was awkwardly silent for a few moments before the older man decided to break the silence.

“You know, if I remember correctly, there is a keyboard or something around here somewhere. You know… if you wanted to play anything.”

Harry looked at him and nodded. “OK. Thank you.”

The gruff man nodded and began to walk around the house making sure everything was set up properly. Harry turned back to the kitchen and decided to make some dinner for them. After about an hour, Harry was setting two plates of spaghetti on the table and a bowl of kibble in front of Piper. The dog barked happily and began to dig in hungrily.

“Thanks.” Harrison nodded as he started to eat. “This is really good, pop star. Ever consider becoming a chef as opposed to a singer?”

Harry nodded. “I did. I used to work in a bakery but there’s something about music that just… it speaks to me and I can’t imagine my life without it.”

Harrison ‘hmmed’ but continued to eat. As soon as he was done, he got up and got ready to leave. “I should get going, kid. I have to let HQ know that you’re safe and settled. I’ll be back in a little over a week to check on you.”

Harry nodded quietly but didn’t say anything. As soon as the door shut, it was like a switch was flipped. Harry’s eyes began to sting and, after days of trying to keep the tears at bay, he could no longer hold them in. The curly-haired man buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

He looked up when he felt a paw on his leg and whimpering. He saw Piper staring up at him with sad brown eyes and ears drooping. Harry got up from the table and made his way over to the couch and motioned for Piper to follow him. As soon as he sat down, the Shiba Inu dog jumped up onto the couch and laid her head onto her owner’s lap, trying to comfort him. Harry only bent his head down and buried his face into the dog’s neck, crying his heart out. This was going to be a long few months.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Two Weeks Later

Two weeks. Two weeks it had been since Harry had been reported missing. Two weeks since the world had come crashing down around Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn. It had been a long and grueling couple of weeks. Zayn and Louis had fought almost every moment upsetting Niall. Liam had tried to get them both to calm down and focus on finding Harry to no avail.

“What are you even doing here, Malik?” Louis had asked. “You haven’t even talked to us in years. “So why?”

“Because Harry is my friend too and I am just as worried as you guys are.”

“That’s rich.” Louis scoffed. “You cut off all ties with us. Especially with him. Do you realize how much you hurt him?”

“You don’t think I know that!?” Zayn shouted back in anger. “I think about it and regret it every day. I wish I could take back what I said so much.”

“Then why did you bloody say it to begin with? I thought we were friends! I thought we were all a team!”

“Guys…” Niall tried cutting in but he was ignored. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. Liam rested a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“You want to talk about friendship? If we were such great friends, how come none of you noticed how bad the anxiety had gotten? How come you didn’t notice that I wasn’t happy anymore? Why were you all so damn busy with your own lives that you didn’t notice that I had stopped eating?”

Louis’ mouth snapped shut when he heard all that. He tried to reply but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Luckily, Liam and Niall had no such problem.

Niall got up looking at Zayn with concern. “You what? Zayn… I…”

“I thought you guys just didn’t care anymore so I decided that I didn’t care anymore either…” Zayn whispered as he sat down with his head in his hands.

“Zayn…” Liam said as he sat down next to the older man. “We always cared. And we still do care. I am so sorry that you felt that way.” Liam wrapped an arm around Zayn and pulled him into a hug.

Louis sighed and knelt in front of the Bradford man. “Zayn… I… I mean… I just…”

Zayn gave Louis a small smile. “It’s OK. I know. I’m sorry too.” The smile fell off his face and he buried his face in his hands. “I wish it didn’t take Harry disappearing for us to talk again. I wish he were here right now.”

Niall rubbed his eyes and nodded in agreement. “I wish he was here too.”

The four sat there, thinking about their youngest friend and how much they each wanted him back in their arms. They were brought out of their thoughts when Jeff walked into the room with Anne and Gemma.

“Boys, it’s time for the interview. Are you all ready?”

Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Niall looked at each other and nodded. They all got up and headed to the interview for finding Harry. With this, they hoped that some helpful tip would come in and that they would be able to find the youngest in no time at all.

That had been two weeks ago. Since then, they had gotten one unhelpful tip after the other. They had been constantly harassed by reporters and, to make things worse, there was no sign of Harry anywhere. They couldn’t even find Piper, Harry’s beloved dog.

They had the police searching around the clock for Harry but they never found anything. No paper trails. No phone calls. Nothing to track him by. No ransom notes had been sent in. No threats. Nothing. It was like Harry had disappeared right off the face of the earth and it was beginning to wear on everybody. The police had even tried interviewing Jack, the guy who had been stalking Harry for months, but he had shown up dead.

Where was Harry? Was he OK? Was he hurt? The boys desperately wanted to know but the more time passed, the less chance of finding the Cheshire lad seemed to arise.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry sat and watched the interviews and everything that his friends and family were going through. Tears stung his eyes, not for the first time since this whole ordeal began. Piper, bless her heart had spent the entire time trying to make Harry feel better. She cuddled up to Harry when he cried, she played around trying to distract him from everything and she protected him every time they went out for a walk making sure everyone and everything knew that he was hers.

Harry had found the keyboard that Harrison had mentioned and he began playing on it, coming up with more songs every day. It seemed that, aside from taking Piper for walks, there was nothing else to do. Harry needed music now more than ever. There was one song that he had grown particularly close to called ‘Skin’.

‘Seconds from my heart, a bullet from the dark. Helpless, I surrender. Shackled by your love holding me like this, with poison on your lips. Only when it’s over, the silence hits so hard’. Cause it was almost love, it was almost love it was almost love, it was almost love. When I heard that sound when the walls came down, I was thinking about you; about you. When my skin grows old, when my breath runs cold, I’ll be thinking about you; about you…’

Harry had written this when he saw the guys on TV begging for him to come home safely. He wished he could be with them right now. It hurt seeing them hurt. It hurt seeing his mom and Gemma hurting. He just wished that none of this had ever happened. But this was the situation he was in. In order to keep his loved ones safe, he had to do this. Harry laid down with his head on Piper’s belly and fell into a restful sleep.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

It was a few months later, during one of Harrison’s visits when everything came to a head. Harrison received a call two hours into his visit with Harry.

“Harrison. What? Are you sure?”

Harry looked up at the agent in curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll have to ask him what he wants. I am not putting his life in any unnecessary danger.” He hung up the phone.

Harry looked at him expectantly.

“They caught Meyers and his men. And you’re the only living eyewitness left. They want you to testify.”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

One Week Later

“Kid, are you sure you want to do this?” Harrison asked as he rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry nervously ran a hand through his curly locks that had slowly begun to grow back. “No… but I do know that it is something that I have to do.” He looked up at the agent that had protected him for the past few months. “If I don’t then this monster is let go and then what? I live in fear the rest of my life? Or worse yet. Let him threaten my family?”

Harrison gave Harry a barely-there smile. “You’re a good kid. Brave too. I know men twice your age who would just cower away and only think of themselves.”

Harry smiled back up at the agent but it disappeared when he saw the bailiff gesturing for him to come forward. Harry could hear the district attorney from inside the courtroom.

“We call Harry Styles to the stand.”

Harry paled at that. “Here we go…” he whispered.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry was shaking by the time that he was done with his testimony. Carl Meyers had been sneering at him the entire time and Harry felt like he was going to throw up. He had to do this though. Had to. He couldn’t back down and let this bastard win.

It happened as Harry was stepping off the stand. He saw one of the court officers reach into his belt and draw a gun aiming directly for Harry. Harry ducked down as he heard someone yell his name. He cried out as he felt something hit his shoulder.

“Harry!”

Harry fell to the ground and cried out again as he hit his injured shoulder. The next thing he knew Harrison was next to him, putting pressure on his wound.

“Hey now. Stay with me, kid.”

But Harry found himself losing the battle to stay conscious

“I need a medic over here. I need one now!”

The last thing Harry remembered was Harrison calling out his name.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

Harry groaned in pain as he awoke, noticing that he was in the hospital. “Wh-what…happened?”

“You were shot in court.” Came a voice from right beside him.

Harry turned to the side and saw his mom looking at him. His mom that he hadn’t seen in months. His mom that he had longed to hug. Tears began to fill his eyes.

“Mommy?” He asked, voice cracking.

“Oh, my baby.” Anne leaned forward and gathered Harry into her arms. “Oh, baby. It’s going to be alright. You’re safe now.”

“I was so scared mommy. I just wanted you and the boys the entire time to be there.” Harry sobbed as Anne held him.

“I know, love. But you made it through and you’re safe now. You’re safe.”

It took a while for Harry to calm down but he did eventually. Once he stopped he laid in his mom’s arms not wanting to do much else. Eventually, he looked over shoulder and saw a sight that melted his heart. Liam, Louis, Zayn, and Niall were all sprawled out on the couches in the room and cuddled together. Anne turned to see what her son was looking at an chuckled.

“They haven’t left your side since they got here. That was two days ago.”

Harry looked at his mom surprised. “I was out for two days?”

Anne smiled sadly at Harry. “Yes, love. You lost quite a bit of blood. We were all worried about you for a while there. It was lucky that Agent Harrison was there to keep pressure on the wound.”

Harry looked back at his mom at the mention of Harrison. “Is he OK? He didn’t get hurt, did he?”

Anne shook her head. “No, baby. He wasn’t.”

Harry sighed in relief when he heard that. Looking back over at the boys he smiled. “I missed you guys. I missed them.”

Anne smiled at her son. “They missed you too. It hurt them to not know if you were alright. They were so relieved to hear that you had reappeared. I think it’s safe to say that they feel the same way about you as you do them.”

Harry looked at his mom in shock. “Wh…what?”

“Oh, Harry, love, I’ve known for a while now. I know that you love all of them more than just friends. And I can tell they feel the same way.”

“You… you don’t hate me?” Harry whispered, still looking at his mom in shock.

“Oh, Harry.” Anne cupped his chin in her hand. “I could never ever hate you. No matter what. And I only want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Harry’s eyes began to water again. “I love you, mum.”

Anne hugged Harry close. “I love you too, baby.”

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

It was a few more days before Harry was officially released from the hospital and Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Niall had yet to leave his side. They stuck around for everything. Niall even found a way to sneak Piper in and out of the hospital so the dog could see her owner. Harry didn’t know if it was the fact that he hadn’t seen these boys in months or the fact that they were catering to everything he needed, but he felt himself falling more and more in love with them.

A couple of weeks later and the five boys had been living at Harry’s flat in LA. Harry had decided to take a couple of months off to spend with family and friends. Harry enjoyed having his old bandmates around and it was like old times. Zayn and Harry sat down and talked about what had gone down between Zayn and the band and now their friendship was stronger than ever.

One day, Harry was sitting at the piano in his house and singing the song he wrote all those months ago. Niall was the only one home at the moment and he was busy on a phone call with his manager so Harry chose to let everything go while he played. His feelings for the boys had been growing more and more and he was feeling miserable knowing that it was never going to happen.

‘I’ll use you as a warning sign, that if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind. And I’ll use you as a focal point, so I don’t lose sight of what I want. And I’ve moved further than I thought I could, but I missed you more than I thought I would. And I’ll use you as a warning sign that if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind… And I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me. Talk some sense to me…’

“That’s really beautiful. Who did you write it for?”

Harry looked up in shock. He hadn’t heard Niall come in at all. The Irish man was smiling at Harry as he walked into the room. He sat next to Harry on the piano bench.

“Uh… hi, Niall. I didn’t hear you come in…” Harry looked away trying to hide a blush.

Niall smirked over at his friend. “I see that blush! There is someone isn’t there! Who is it?”

Harry looked at Niall in confusion for a quick minute. He wasn’t entirely sure but he thought he heard a slight edge to Niall’s voice. What was that?

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

“Are you OK?” Niall asked in concern. “You spaced out for a minute there.”

“Oh… oh yeah… I’m good!” Harry smiled at the older man. “I was just thinking about the reason for this song…”

Niall smirked at him again an looked down at the lyrics. “So who is she?”

Harry looked down as he felt the blush returning. Being this close to Niall was making his stomach do somersaults. Maybe he should tell him? After all, if this experience had taught him anything, it was that life was too short.

“Well… it… it isn’t a girl…” Harry stammered.

“Oh,” Niall said as he turned to look at Harry. “Who is it? Someone I know?”

Harry blushed even harder. “Well…”

“Oh, I knew it! It’s someone I know!” Niall bounced excitedly. “Who?”

“I… don’t know if I can tell you…” Harry mumbled as he closed his music notebook.

Niall looked at him in concern. “Hazza… you can tell me anything. Is this because it’s a guy? Because I don’t care about that. The lads and I love you just the same.”

Harry sniffled as he looked at Niall. Was he really going to do this? “It’s just that… it’s not jus… one… The guy I mean.”

Niall’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. More than one guy? Could he mean…? No. “More than one guy…? Well… Haz if they make you happy… Do you mind if I ask who they are?”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath to gather his courage. “Iloveyouandthelads…”

Niall blinked at him. “I’m sorry… I missed that…”

Harry’s anxiety was going into overdrive. “I… I love… you and… and… the others. I ha-have for a while now.”

Niall sat in shock when he heard that. Harry what? He loved them? He did? This… this was a dream. A dream come true. Niall couldn’t say how long he had wanted to kiss the younger man and take him in his arms. He had actually wanted to do that with all his former bandmates but he didn’t know that anyone else had felt the same. Niall was about to say something but Harry beat him to it. He had taken Niall’s silence the wrong way.

“I… am so so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Oh, God. Please don’t hate me, Niall. Please. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.” Harry’s breath was becoming more and more erratic.

Niall reached over and brought him into a hug, holding him tightly. “I don’t hate you. Could never hate you, baby. Shhh…. calm down now, Haz. Try and match my breathing. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another body soon joined. “He’s right, Haz. We’re not going anywhere.” Zayn said as he held Harry from behind. “Just breathe with us. We’ve got you.”

“They’re absolutely right, love. We’re here for you.” Louis chimed in as he knelt in front of Harry.

“We always will be,” Liam said, sitting beside Louis.

Harry just sat in their arms for well over an hour before he gathered enough courage to look up. “You... you guys don’t hate me? I would understand if you did...” He whispered the last part.

He felt a hand cup his cheek and bring his face to look at Liam. “We could never, ever hate you, baby. We love you too much.”

“Haz...” Zayn breathed as he kissed the back of Harry’s head. “I think it’s safe to say that, we’re in love with you.”

Harry looked around in shock. He hadn’t been expecting that. He had hoped of course, but he hadn’t expected this to come true in his wildest dreams. Looking at his friends’ faces, he saw nothing but the truth.

He felt a pair of lips gently brush across his. He looked up shyly at Niall as the Irish man smiled at him.

“Does this mean we’re together now?” Harry asked looking down at his hands.

Louis brought Harry’s hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “Yeah, Haz. We’re together. We’re boyfriends.”

“I love you guys,” Harry whispered.

“We love you too, Haz. We love you too.

~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~- ~-

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think and as always, send in the prompts! I am so sorry it took so long but I feel sooo much better now! Love you all!! XxxOoo

#Zianourry #Zarry #Narry #Lirry #Larry #one direction fanfiction #1d prompts

49 notes · View notes

justsomebucky · 6 years

Text

Everything

Summary: AU. Reader rushes to her ex-boyfriend’s side when he’s in an accident.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,733

Warnings: language, angst, referenced car accident/motorcycle accident, hospital, doctors, injury, fluff, more angst, more fluff, drunk driving mention, nothing gory, I’m not a damn doctor okay? Shonda Rhimes taught me this shit.

A/N: This is my last submission for the lovely Erin’s ( @theassetseyeliner) writing challenge. My prompt was #28. “I got into a car crash and you’re still my emergency contact even though you’re my ex.” Special thanks to @denialanderror and @soldatbarnes for talking me down from the ledge. Gif credit to @whump-they-it-is since tumblr is dumb and it wouldn’t show up in search even though it was perfect. Thank you!

Phone calls are made for all sorts of reasons, even in the era of texting. They bring sad news, happy news, good news, and bad news…

There are also those sorts of calls that change your life, for better or worse. You were in a meeting with Tony Stark and Happy Hogan when you got that sort of call.

Naturally, you didn’t answer.

There were, of course, three valid reasons why you didn’t answer.

The first is that you were in the meeting and didn’t want to be disrespectful. You had just been promoted to Mr. Hogan’s team lead. It was a highly sought-after position since he was Mr. Stark’s top advisor. You weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted to do, but it was a start.

The second reason was that you didn’t recognize the number. It was bad enough that you used caller ID to screen people you actually knew (even sometimes your family, which you were a little ashamed to admit). Why would you even bother with a total stranger?

The third was probably worst of all, but it was most applicable: you hated talking on the phone. You spent a lot of your time on a phone as it was for business purposes, so personal calls were put on the back-burner. Why call when you could text?

Why text when that person could just leave you alone, you know?

Anyway, you didn’t answer the first time. There was too much at stake during the meeting.

You had worked hard to get where you were. You’d sacrificed so much, you could finally relate to that girl in The Devil Wears Prada (though Happy and Tony were far nicer than her boss). There were missed appointments, disappointed family members at holiday gatherings, and of course the biggest hit to your life…The Breakup.

You were officially alone again, after a year-long relationship came crashing to the ground about six months ago.

Anyway.

The phone rang a second time when you were walking out of the boardroom with the official company timelines in your hands for the construction and completion of a new facility upstate.

You weren’t in charge of these ventures, but you had to be prepared in case Mr. Hogan became indisposed on some other project, which happened a lot at Stark Industries. If Mr. Stark ever had sudden inspiration for something, you better believe Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts were right there with him, pulled away from everything else they were working on.

You wanted to be that person, too. You wanted the responsibility, the ‘in’ with Tony Stark…you wanted to be worthwhile to the company since you didn’t feel worthwhile anywhere else.

It wasn’t until you were in the quiet safety of your own office that you answered the call on the third attempt. Whoever it was, they were persistent.

You shrugged off your jacket, switching your phone to your other ear as you accepted the call. “Y/N speaking.”

“Hello, this is Dr. Palmer from Memorial Hospital. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?”

Memorial Hospital? What the hell?

“It’s Y/N Y/L/N. How can I help you, Dr. Palmer?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’ve been trying to reach you because you are listed as the emergency contact for James Barnes. You do know him?”

You froze in your seat, eyes wide as you tried to digest what she just said. That was a name you’d been trying to forget.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Please,” you said softly. “Call me Y/N. Is he…is James okay?”

“I don’t typically like to discuss emergency cases over the phone. I –“

“I get it, Doctor. I’ve been through this before. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You pressed end on the call and stood up, grabbing the jacket you’d just placed on the back of your chair to fend off the chilly air.

Mr. Hogan’s secretary Maria looked up at you as you rushed past. “Where are you going? You have another meeting in three hours!”

“I know,” you called back. “It’s an emergency. I’ll be back!”

Her confused face is the last thing you saw before the elevator doors shut.

“Yes, hi, I’m looking for Dr. Palmer?” You leaned over the information desk in the emergency room, trying not to crawl over it and find the information yourself. You didn’t want to be rude, but you were in a freakin’ hurry.

“Which one?” a nurse whose name tag read Scott Lang asked you. “There’s actually several –“

You shook your head at him. “It was a woman in the ER! She took the case for my boyf- my friend James Barnes. Can you look it up that way?”

“Sure I can.” Scott typed for a second, then furrowed his brows at the computer. “I have a Barnes here, but he’s listed as being in the morgue…oh.” He looked up at you. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.”

You reeled at his words, taking a few steps back and feeling a little faint. Your limbs felt like jelly.

Was Bucky really…gone?

“Oh wait,” Scott continued, typing again. “That said Barnabes. Sorry, my fault. James Barnes has been moved to a private room on the third floor. You could probably find Dr. Palmer there.”

“Oh my god,” you shouted, seething with anger. A few people passing by stopped to stare at you, but you couldn’t help yourself right now. “You can’t just tell people that their loved ones are dead and then say ‘my fault!’”

“Look, lady, I’m sorry. This is my first day. I screwed up, okay? Please don’t tell my supervisor, I’ve got a kid at home,” Scott pleaded. “I really am sorry.”

It took a second or two, but you managed to get your breathing under control enough to speak at a normal volume. “Fine. What is the room number?”

“Three-ten.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “I won’t say anything, Mr. Lang. But please be a little more careful.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way to the third floor.

Nurses and doctors were rushing around, some with worry etched on their faces, and some laughing and joking with each other. How could so many different emotions be taking place in one building?

Babies were being born just as others were dying mere floors away. It was truly insane to think about.

You slowed down when you got close to his room, and as you peered in you realized no one was in there with him.

But Bucky…

He was laying there on the crisp white hospital sheets with about ten different wires and gadgets attached to him. You glanced up to the heart monitor, where the signal showed a steady, strong beat.

For that you were so very grateful.

You moved closer to the bed, careful not to disturb anything as your eyes raked over him. He had scrapes all over his face and arms, and butterfly bandages over several cuts on his chin and forehead.

“What happened to you?” you whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of his long brown hair back.

“He was in a motorcycle accident.”

Your hand recoiled as you looked up at Dr. Palmer. Either you’d been too focused on Bucky to notice her, or she was super stealthy.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said, reaching her hand out to shake yours.

You felt a little mortified at the fact that you still didn’t quite have full strength back from the little information desk episode. Your hand was clammy and shaking.

“Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Palmer.”

“Please, call me Christine.”

You nodded. “So, an accident? Is he okay?”

Christine flipped a page on the chart. “James is- “

“Bucky,” you interrupted. “He prefers to be called Bucky. It’s a, uh..it’s a nickname.”

“Bucky,” she repeated. “Okay, good to know. Bucky is asleep. We gave him some powerful painkillers after he complained of severe abdomen pain upon arriving at the ER. He’s got some lacerations, contusions, and three bruised ribs. He’s going to have limited mobility for a while. Little things like lifting heavy objects, reaching for things, and vigorous physical activities are not going to be possible until he heals a little.”

You nodded again. “But he’s okay? I mean, no permanent damage, no brain trauma, nothing like that?”

The doctor pressed her lips in a straight line while she glanced over more of the chart. “Actually, when the EMT asked him his name, he remembered, but he also got the date wrong. He thought it was six months ago.”

“Amnesia? Is it permanent?” The thought of Bucky forgetting any part of his life made you nauseated.

“It’s most likely temporary. I’ve seen it before, especially after a quick trauma like this. Could be hours, could be days…maybe more, but not likely. We’re going to have to wait until he wakes back up to determine if there’s any residual effects from a potential concussion.”

“Why would he be allowed to sleep if you thought there might be a concussion?” you asked, frowning at the doctor. “I’ve had them, and the first thing they told me was to not go to sleep.”

“And the first thing you did was?”

“Sleep,” you admitted.

Christine nodded. “The body knows how to heal itself in most cases, Y/N. We didn’t believe there was any major brain trauma when he was brought in, and his first scans showed no signs of swelling or bleeding. He had been wearing his helmet thankfully. So, we wait until he wakes up.”

“What exactly happened in the accident? In case he can’t remember but wants to know?”

“The police said a drunk driver ran a red light,” she explained. “They knocked him off his motorcycle onto the hood of their car. He’s lucky that was all. If he had landed on the pavement or been thrown elsewhere, we’d be discussing a situation way worse than this.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes flickered back to Bucky’s sleeping form. “So with those injuries, how long will he be kept here?”

“Probably just overnight, to be honest.”

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you tried to process all of this. Bucky could have died.

He could have died.

Christine started walking backwards toward the door. “I have other patients to see, but if you need me just press the call button.”

“Thank you.”

You grabbed one of the chairs from the corner and dragged it closer to the bed, sitting still for a moment while you stared at his face. The sound of him breathing with oxygen tubes up his nose was sort of weird. It reminded you of how deeply he used to sleep when he was beside you at night.

“Your hair’s longer,” you murmured, leaning forward. “And you need a shave, Buck.”

The realization that he could wake up at any second and find you here fawning over him made you a little bit uncomfortable, but when would you get another opportunity to say what you were thinking without him arguing back?

“I have no idea why you kept me on as your emergency contact. In fact, you probably forgot all about it. I don’t think you’d want me here…not after everything we said to each other. We argued about everything…money…schedules…we found a way to be angry. It wasn’t healthy.”

You sighed, shifting back in your seat a little as you let your eyes drift to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s for the best that we broke up. I only seemed to make you miserable.”

Little patterns of grey and white speckled the ceiling tiles. You hated that Bucky would wake up and the first thing he’d look at would be these ugly tiles. He should be home, safe in bed…not here.

“I know I put work first a lot. It’s dumb but…Bucky, you’re so successful, you know? You worked hard to get where you are and I didn’t want to be the one leeching from you. I wanted to establish myself…”

The whirring sound of the air being circulated was your only response.

This was actually really therapeutic for you. Maybe the two of you could have made it had you bothered to stop yelling and actually listen. You were just as much at fault about that as Bucky was.

Oh well.

“Was it worth it? I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, your voice catching a little. “I feel like the breakup made me wake up a little, you know? I feel like…it’s that old stupid saying, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”

Being honest and vulnerable wasn’t really your thing. That’s probably why this was easier with Bucky asleep.

“I thought that working even more hours and distracting myself would help, but it hasn’t. I still love you, after all…I loved you then. I wanted to be with you. I assumed I was doing enough, and we broke up anyway.”

Good thing he was a heavy sleeper.

“I didn’t want to lose you. It’s my fault.” Your voice had gone down to a whisper again, eyes filling with tears as you finally said it out loud. The ugly ceiling tiles blurred into one big ugly blob. You blinked a few times, causing the tears to roll from your eyes down your cheeks, where you wiped them away quickly.

No one needed to see that.

“I guess, if I had to say something to you without you knowing, it would be that I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Your eyes widened and you sat back up at the sound of Bucky’s soft, raspy voice. His eyes were still closed and his brow was furrowed.

“How long were you awake?” you asked, your tone more accusatory than you intended.

“Long enough.” Bucky’s blue-grey eyes struggled to open from his medicated haze. He blinked a few times, focusing on the awful wallpaper across from him, then shifted his gaze to you.

You wanted to hide from him. You felt stupid for assuming he was sleeping this whole time, stupid for revealing your deepest thoughts to the one person who should have heard them six months ago, long before the two of you ended things.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Your leg started shaking involuntarily and you tried to shift to a more comfortable position, as if there was one. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Don’t go back in your little shell. I get that you- “

You watched with wide eyes as he grimaced in pain. “Should I get a nurse?”

Bucky turned his head slightly. “Not yet. Can I get- is there water?”

There was a little pink pitcher and plastic cup sitting on the table beside his head, so you stood up and poured a half-glass of water for him, holding it to his lips as he took a sip.

“Thank you.”

Since you were already up, maybe now was the time to exit. “They told me that you had to stay overnight, Buck, so I should probably go. I’ve got another meeting to get to, and I…” Your voice trailed off as you realized he was chuckling.

“Oh, Y/N.”

“Don’t do that. Your ribs are bruised.”

“It’s just too classic, Y/N. You running out on me for work. Give Mr. Stark my regards.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You want to do this here? Bucky, you nearly died today. I don’t want to fight.”

“Then sit down and finish telling me what you tried to when you thought I was asleep.”

The two of you had a stare down for a second, but you eventually relented, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair.

“What did you hear?” you asked again.

“That you didn’t want to lose me, and that you were sorry. But even the doctor said that I wasn’t really hurt, you know. You aren’t gonna lose me. Close call or not, I’m still kicking.”

He thought you meant lose him to death.

Well, that too, but…what a silly man.

“I didn’t mean lose you specifically today, though that would have been…let’s not even talk about that. I meant lose you back then, six months ago when we broke up. And I am sorry, by the way. I did mean that sincerely.”

Bucky looked confused. “What are you talking about? None of this makes sense…I thought I was the one who bumped my head?”

Dr. Palmer’s words about possible amnesia as a side effect of a concussion came back to you.

“Bucky, what is today’s date?”

He made a face at you. “They already asked me that in the ER. It’s May something. I was always bad with dates.”

“It’s November, Buck,” you murmured, frowning at him. “I need to find the doctor.”

Steve Rogers enveloped you in a big hug the second he laid eyes on you in the waiting room. “How’s Bucky?”

You pulled back, letting your arms fall to your sides. “He’s got some cuts and bruises…he bruised three ribs. He seems to have a concussion.”

“Wow, he got lucky,” he commented, leaning against the wall.

The two of you were standing outside the waiting room door, far enough out of earshot of Bucky’s room that you could discuss things freely.

You had to tell Steve the truth.

“The doctor said he’s got a bit of temporary amnesia.” You looked at Steve, concentrating on his bright, warm eyes to stop from crying again. “At least, they think it’s temporary.”

Steve’s face fell. “Oh, no. How long of a time frame has he forgotten?”

“Six months.”

Understanding flashed in his eyes. “So he doesn’t remember that the two of you broke up, does he?”

“No,” you whispered, looking down at your feet. “It could be from a concussion, could be from the meds they gave…a specialist is with him now.”

“How are you holding up, Y/N?”

You glanced back up at him. “I’m supposed to be back at work here in about twenty minutes. Do you think you could sit with him through dinner?”

“Sure, I don’t mind at all.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t his emergency contact.”

Steve gave you a look. “I’m not.”

When you didn’t reply, he kept talking.

“Y/N, Bucky never does anything without good reason. So that means there’s a good reason why he left you on the call list.”

“But we broke –“

“It doesn’t matter. That love doesn’t just disappear,” he told you gently, reaching up to brush an errant tear off your cheek. “He still had hope that the two of you would reconcile.”

You turned away from Steve, glancing down the hallway toward room three-ten. “Does it matter? If all we were was angry, does it matter?”

“I think it does. You both were hurt, and learning together how to be in a mature partnership. You’ve grown a lot since this, haven’t you?”

“I- I guess?”

Steve’s mouth lifted a little. “Come on. Give yourself some credit. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t, knowing full well that it could lead to something uncomfortable. You can’t tell that the thought of reconciling didn’t cross your mind, at least since you spoke with him?”

Well, when he put it that way…

“And Bucky’s grown, that I’m sure of,” he continued. “He’s tried to become better at listening. He’s working on himself, too.”

“That’s…that’s good.”

“It is.” Steve reached over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll remember eventually, and the two of you can talk it out at the very least. But you’re here, Y/N, and that says everything in my opinion.”

You nodded, pulling Steve in for another hug. “Why are you so smart all the time?”

“I’m just observant,” he replied, kissing the top of your head gently. He pulled back and gave you a little push down the hallway. “Now go to your meeting. We’ll be fine.”

Happy and Tony kept you longer than you expected, though Pepper was missing in action for the first half of the meeting.

When she walked in, the first thing she did was sit beside you and offer you a smile. There was something in her eyes that you’d never seen directed at you before, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“So Y/N, when do you think you can make the trip upstate?”

“The, uh…the trip?” You were confused; no one had ever mentioned you taking a work trip.

“Yes,” Happy said, sounding a little irritated. “It’s in the itinerary on your desk. I take it you never made it back to your office from your emergency?”

“I didn’t tell Maria to put it on her desk,” Pepper spoke up, pushing a file in front of you. “And she isn’t going upstate, Happy, that’s currently your job if I remember correctly. I was nosy and read over Y/N’s proposals from the beginning of the year, and I loved almost all of them. There are a few I want to get started on right away. She’d waste away on some construction site upstate.”

He looked completely baffled. “But –“

“No buts, you heard her,” Tony said, clearly enjoying himself. He grinned at Happy. “Better get packing, pal.”

Happy grumbled to himself the entire time from the chair, to the doorway, and all the way down the hall from what you could hear.

“So uh, what’s the word?”

Your eyes flitted back to Tony’s. “I’m sorry?”

“The person in the ER. He okay?”

Pepper gave you an apologetic smile. “I called to have flowers sent after Maria told me. She was worried about you. I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged. “He’s not that bad off. Cuts and bruises, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony said, glancing at Pepper.

“Tony’s been in a lot of accidents,” she told you, rubbing your back. “He seems to think he’s invincible.”

“Incredible is the word you’re looking for, darling.”

Pepper chose to ignore him. “Listen, we discussed it and we want you to take some time off. Go be with him until he’s well again.”

“But he’s…but what about –“

“Happy’s taking over the projects permanently, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Tony interrupted, pushing his glasses up his nose. “He’s going to be upstate for the remainder of the construction and development. I’m reassigning you to Pepper’s team, where your hours won’t be nearly as long because she’s a bleeding heart softy.”

What the what?

“That means I’m your new boss,” Pepper added, smirking at Tony before giving you a warm smile. “And I say take all the time you need. When you come back, we’re gonna start on some of the projects you had in mind, okay?”

Was this real life?

“Thank you.” You tried not to get too excited and emotional. “I can’t even begin to thank you both enough.”

“Actually, you can,” Tony countered, giving a little shrug. “By coming back and kicking some major ass.”

You were full-on grinning now. “That I can definitely do.”

Four hours had gone by. It had been four hours since you left Steve to sit with Bucky.

By the time you got back to the hospital, you felt like you had entered the Twilight Zone or something. Nothing was making sense, but you weren’t about to question your sudden good fortune at work.

And you weren’t about to squander this second chance they’d given you to make things right, even if it just meant repairing your friendship.

Steve was still sitting in the chair beside Bucky, though you could tell he was tired and wanted to leave.

“Go home to Nat,” you said, giving him a smile. “I’ve got this.”

He said goodnight to you both and took off, leaving you alone with your ex-boyfriend.

“So, while you were gone, a funny thing happened.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at you, as if waiting for you to guess.

You didn’t need more than one guess. With a knowing sigh, you flopped into that wonderfully uncomfortable chair once again. “Your memory came back?”

Bucky nodded. “Steve mentioned something to me that sounded familiar but not. Ever have that happen? Where you can practically feel the answer on the tip of your tongue but you aren’t quite there?”

“I guess?”

“Anyways, he brought up maybe asking Natasha to marry him. And I thought to myself, wait a minute…they just met, didn’t they? Turns out, they met about a year ago, halfway through our relationship.”

You waited for the hammer to fall.

Bucky looked down at his hands for a second. There was something in his palm, something he was turning over and over.

When he looked back up at you, he also held up the object.

It was a diamond ring.

“I’m confused,” you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the ring. “Is that for Natasha? Why do you have it?”

“Y/N, if this was truly six months ago like my brain tried to tell me, I’d have given you this by now.” He turned the ring a little so you could see it better. “They found it after the accident, still stuck in my wallet where I’ve been keeping it all this time.”

“What?” you whispered, feeling your own hands started to shake. This was all news to you.

Holy shit…what a mess.

“Yeah, I found it in this bag of my personal effects over there on the nightstand,” he said, nodding to the table where his water cup sat. “I stared at it for a minute. And after that, I remembered everything.”

Your eyes met his again, unsure of how to react.

“Say something,” he pleaded, lowering his hand and gripping the ring in his palm again.

“What do you want me to say, Bucky?” Your eyes filled with those damned tears again, something that happened more today than it had since the week you broke up. “I fucked up.”

“I fucked up, too, Y/N. We both had issues.”

You nodded, looking down while tears slipped off your chin and landed on your jeans.

“I feel like this is a second chance for us, though,” Bucky added in a softer tone. “Don’t you?”

This time when you met his gaze, and all the fight…the walls he put back up…all of it was gone. It was just Bucky, your Bucky, with a hopeful light in his eyes.

“Bucky,” you began, feeling your resolve slip a little. “We fought before. What makes you think we won’t now?”

“Maybe we just had to grow up a little.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and the hand not clutching the ring reached for yours.

You let him grasp your hand, giving his a little squeeze in return. “Maybe.”

“And you can’t tell me you didn’t miss me, Y/N. I mean, you rushed here, worried about me, and it wasn’t because we’re friends.”

“No,” you admitted, trying and failing to hide your own smile. “It wasn’t that.”

“So we try again. This time, we stop to listen to each other. This time we work things out before letting it escalate to anger and resentment. I’m guilty of it, too, and…well, if you wanted to try, I promise I’d try harder.”

“Can I ask you…why did you leave me on as your emergency contact?” You bit your lip, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

He probably just forgot.

Bucky gave you a big smile. “You think I’d want Steve’s mug to be the first one I see after something like this?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling at his joke. Even when he was in pain, he was always trying to make someone else laugh.

His smile faded as he watched you. “No, seriously, Y/N. In a real emergency, I can’t think of anyone I’d want to be here with me more than you. And that…”

Now Bucky was blinking rapidly, trying to keep his composure. You didn’t need to hear the end of his sentence to understand his sentiment.

You stood and leaned over, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips.

That was everything.

That’s what Bucky had been about to say.

You understood, because that’s how you felt, too.

“Hold on to that ring, then,” you instructed, giving him a bright smile. “Because if we’re giving this another go, I’m not letting you get away this time.”

His eyes were mischievous again. “Did you learn how to get what you want from Tony Stark?“

“Pepper Potts, actually.”

You shut him up with another kiss.

#bucky barnes x reader #erinswritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #I can't succeed at angst I'm sorry #jsd everything

1K notes · View notes

maychorian · 7 years

Note

Do you know of any good Voltron fics with hurt Keith?? I can never find any, and if I do they're super shippy. Ships are fine, but I really enjoy some good gen. Thanks!

I definitely have some of these, though not nearly as much as I have hurt!Lance. I’ll see what I can do.

Between by SilverkleptofoxWords: 2,086 Author’s Summary: Between the biggest revelation of his life and his whole world changing, there is no time for Keith to rest and recover. His teammates make sure he does anyway. Tag to Season 2 Episode 8.My Comments: Almost unnecessarily detailed hurt/comfort based on canon injuries, haha. I love it.

Measuring Up by MoonlitWaterSunnyRiverWords: 1,092 Author’s Summary: Keith has insomnia, and finally decides to *do* something about it. Turns out he’s not the only one up at night. Keith & Lance friendship, written for Platonic VLD Week. My Comments: Aw, boys. Good talk.

Scattered by avidbeaderWords: 27,974 (WIP 11/?)Author’s Summary: Separated by Haggar’s parting shot, the Alteans and their new Paladins must regroup and find one another across the galaxies. Along the way, they will discover tragedy, treachery, and hope. Season 2 AU, no ships. My Comments: Really good action fic following the Season 1 finale. I got sucked into all of the paladins’ separate adventures really quickly, and it’s so satisfying to watch them slowly reunite. I’m really worried about Keith, though.

Aftermath by tristen84Words: 1,975 Author’s Summary: After his ordeal at the Blade of Marmora base, Keith turns out to be in worse shape than he thought. Hunk and Lance try to help. My Comments: I believe there was a call for more post-ep 8 Keith whump? Yes, it is here. I especially like that it’s Lance and Hunk who do the supporting in this one.

Insomnia by GriffinRoseWords: 15,278 Author’s Summary: They reunite after the Wormhole Incident all in one piece. Mostly. But some scars can’t be seen. Keith can’t sleep, no matter how hard he tries. Luckily he’s got the best team/family ever who are not about to let this go. No, seriously, they won’t let it go.My Comments: Absolutely wonderful, subtle hurt/comfort and teamy goodness. What was really wrong and how to fix it was obvious to me early on, but it was fun to watch the team slowly figure it out.

Casserole by genericfanaticWords: 1,922 Author’s Summary: After Shiro “dies” on the Kerberos mission, Keith is all alone. Some days are harder than others.My Comments: This author really excels at sharp, almost harsh depictions of pain and grief that are so realistic that you can feel it yourself. So good.

Wolves by Utsukushin (UserFromPluto)Words: 2,498 Author’s Summary: Keith’s hands shook, and for a second he allowed himself to give in to weakness, slumping forward so his upper body rested on Red’s dashboard. His eyes slipped closed, and immediately he was assaulted with a brutal wave - flashes of laser blasts and screams, the violent jolting of his lion in combat, tiny droplets of blood flying off his sword… “Keith?” (Keith has a hard time calming down after battles)My Comments: Stressed-out, hyper-vigilant Keith is really well-written and vivid, and the team’s concerted effort to surround him and make him feel safe again is lovely.

No Desert For You by MikiriWords: 5,373 Author’s Summary: They may have won, but what happens after? Keith worries of returning to Earth and the team comforts him as best they can.My Comments: SO sweet and comforting. Wonderful paladin pile, and I love how they just went around the room taking turns telling Keith that he’s been adopted and he’s not going back to the desert alone. Ever.

A Little Unsteady (Hold Onto Me) by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbeeWords: 13,385 Author’s Summary: Takashi Shirogane is nine years old when he holds his brother for the first time. “I’m here,” he’d whispered to his fussing baby brother, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.” And Keith stopped crying. He didn’t laugh; he looked up at Shiro with big, skeptical eyes. A challenge. Like this tiny person was saying ‘oh yeah, prove it’. And Shiro, newly nine years old, promised that he’d prove it. Shiro and Keith’s childhood in moments.My Comments: Modern setting AU, but with a few tweaks I could absolutely see this working in canon-verse. It’s incredibly touching and well-written, and Shiro’s development from reluctant child to fiercely protective big brother was beautiful to watch. Both boys went through a lot of heartache, but by the end they’re together, and you know they’re going to be okay.

Closure by wolfsan11Word Count: 7,837 Author’s Summary: Between finding Pidge’s family and healing up from the final battle against Zarkon, the Paladins only think of heading home, back to Earth. Keith has a hard time with that idea and the team helps. My Comments: This is just the sweetest. Everyone needs to hug Keith and reassure him that they’re family, no matter what.

A Gift Horse by To Be or Not to- Oh forget it (Mikki)Words: 17,801 Author’s Summary: The paladins of Voltron are the universe’s only hope, and they are ready to fight against the Galra. The only problem is, they’re one short. After stumbling their way through freeing a planet however, they might just find the solution to their problem in the form of a ‘gift of gratitude’. No one is happy about it.My Comments: Tagged as slight Klance, but reads gen. Warning for abuse, including implied sexual abuse, and slavery. So yeah. Team Voltron is “given” a Keith who has been raised as a Galra and enslaved for years. And then they proceed to absolutely bungle their handling of him. But I really liked Lance doing his best to get to know Keith as a person rather than a problem to be solved, and I find the concept really interesting. This is one of those fics where I want to write the sequel, because a LOT of work is going to need to be done to get these characters anywhere near healed after something like this.

Trial by Ordeal by To Be or Not to- Oh forget it (Mikki)Words: 89,187 Author’s Summary: They’re supposed to be two sides of the same coin, or something like that. The truth is a bit more complicated. (Character study of Keith and Lance)My Comments: This is long, but absolutely worth the effort. Warning for depictions of abuse in both parts, but it’s treated realistically and respectfully. There were parts in Keith’s chapter that I had to stop reading for a while and do something else, and pretty much everything in Lance’s chapter made me ache for him and the family he left behind. But it’s really, really good. Amazingly well-written and deep and lifelike, and it all makes so much sense, for both of these characters. I’ll be thinking about this one for a long, long time.

Burning Bright by RaccoonDoomWords: 2,221 Summary: For an anon request on my tumblr: “Can you do a klance fic where Keith is sick and Lance is surprisingly good at taking care of him despite his mood swings and bouts of delirium?” Not exactly what they requested but eh close enough. The first time sickness hit the team, it hit Keith. Hard. At least it’s easier to be sick when you have a team than when you’re alone in the desert.My Comments: Keith doesn’t know when to ask for help, but fortunately he doesn’t have to. Lance acts exasperated, but I think he secretly likes being needed, and he’ll step in wherever he can.

Keith Alone by cheshirereeWords: 5,328 Summary: Keith grows up alone, then he gains a family. It somehow becomes a cycle. Vent fic. My Comments: Very sad at the beginning, but well-written backstory and character study. This history for Shiro and Keith makes a lot of sense, and I loved the way Keith gradually came to accept the other paladins, too, and learn to interact with them. They have more in common than they believe at first.

An Echo of Thunder by WashiPuppyWords: 6,934 Author’s Summary: Good thing Lance has a plan. Okay, the second part of the plan had a few holes. It was a work-in-progress. Keith didn’t need to know that though.My Comments: HOLY EVERYTHING BATMAN I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. I can’t even…I don’t want to spoil it! Just, okay, Lance and Keith are in trouble, right, and they both want to protect each other, isn’t that adorable, but THE LIONS. RED AND ALSO BLUE. Read it read it read it. If you read nothing else on the list this week, read this one. It made me SO happy. Fave. Fave of all time.

Call of Duty by APendingThought for MilkTeaMikuWords: 4,184 Author’s Summary: Lance thought he could handle most things when it came to Keith. He was not prepared for an infant Keith with an ear infection, however. My Comments: I may be aro/ace, and I definitely am, but there is still a very id part of me that is EXTREMELY pleased with the image of an attractive man taking care of a baby, and this story fed that part of me in the most wonderful way. Sweet and satisfying.

Conditional Acceptance by yet_intrepidWords: 6,914 Author’s Summary: Shiro’s looking for a job. Keith, new to the Garrison, needs a tutor to be allowed to stay. He also needs a lot of other things - a decent meal plan, for one, but more importantly, a friend. My Comments: Oh, gosh, this fic broke my heart, but it’s SO good. I would happily accept this as canon. I mean, I kind of have already. Poor Keith is so scared and sad and needy, and Shiro is nervous and out of his depth but so badly wants to help. And Matt as Shiro’s roommate is amazing. I just adore this one to pieces.

What If The Storm Ends? by earthstarWords: 17,913 Author’s Summary: After the fight with Zarkon, Keith finds himself stranded alone on a strange forest planet. All hope seems lost when he gets bitten by venomous creature, but he finds aid from someone he’s not sure he can trust. My Comments: I usually avoid Galra!Keith stuff, idk why, guess I want to see what canon does first. But I am a HUGE sucker for a wise and protective adult trying to take care of a scared and needy kid, and that’s what this is. The plot is great, as well as the character interactions and development, and I would happily accept this in canon.

Standing on the Edge by LenoirWhittlethornWords: 2,901 (WIP)Author’s Summary: Keith doesn’t know how to ask for hugs. My Comments: Golly, I am just ACHING for more of this. It’s so cute and sweet and touching. Keith needs all the hugs, omg. He doesn’t know how to ask, but fortunately the others know how to give.

assistance by asexualreyWords: 1,096 Author’s Summary: Keith managed to break his leg and Lance almost feels sorry for him. My Comments: This one is short and sweet, a little funny, a little sad, but very in character. I would like for these silly boys to be friends eventually, please.

Prison Bonds by GriffinRoseWords: 18,295 Author’s Summary: Keith and Lance are captured and stuck in a cell together, but it’s not the Galra. They almost wish it was. These Cordalians feed off of emotions, and their favorite emotion is sadness. Worse, they’ve found a way to make their victims relive their worst memories to make that pain fresh again, and Keith has a lot of terrible memories he’d rather not relive. My Comments: SO GOOD. SO MUCH PLATONIC CUDDLING. Lance and Keith are both suffering horribly, and all they can do is comfort each other and wait for rescue. I’m so happy that it’s gen, too. And it’s finished! Run, don’t walk. It’s so great.

Impractical Immune Responses by hufflepirateWords: 4,829 Author’s Summary: Keith discovers that he’s horribly allergic to something on the new planet they’ve landed on, and Coran discovers that his cryopods are completely unable to do anything about seasonal allergies. Luckily, the rest of the team has some ideas about what to do. Keith may not be good at acknowledging his weaknesses, asking for help, or letting other people take care of him, but he’s about to get a LOT of practice - enough to start surprising himself.My Comments: I really like how EVERYONE has an important role in this, all doing their best to take care of Keith and help him feel better. And Keith’s development is really lovely, as he starts off scared and distant then slowly warms up to the idea of leaning on his teammates for help. It’s a very sweet fic with a bit of depth, just how I like my h/c.

You stole a BABY?! by genericfanaticWords: 24,324 Author’s Summary: The castle ship has a new stowaway, and Keith and Lance must figure out how to take care of them without alerting the rest of the crew. My Comments: Warning for child abuse, though it’s in the past. But yeah, this is a great angsty, h/c fic with endgame Klance but more importantly, Keith and Lance taking care of an adorable alien child. It’s well thought-out and plotted, and I enjoyed it from beginning to end. Loved Lance being smart and analytical with his research and Keith showing his fighting chops in an unfamiliar situation, too.

#askbox #voltron legendary defender #space kageyama #rec request #please reply and reblog with more #stvles-stilinski

50 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The Only Name Left: Kauri

CW: Forced drugging, conditioning, shock treatment, beating/violence, impersonal violence, abuse/domestic abuse, referenced/implied noncon

The Keira referenced in this piece is @fairybean101‘s OC and the Colton referenced is @shameless-whumper‘s OC!

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl

[ERASED] woke up with a pounding headache in a room he’d never seen before.

There were plain white tiles on the floor, plain white walls, a plain white ceiling with light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, dim and undefined. The vaguest thick black rectangle was probably a door, but there wasn’t any handle on this side.

When he’d walked out of the library, he’d been wearing a hoodie unzipped over a T-shirt and jeans, his usual beat-up old tennis shoes. He and Keira had been studying, and it was late and pretty dark outside. [ERASED] wasn’t great with math and had hoped Keira could help him - and there had been a guy, right?

For [ERASED], there was always a guy.

There had been a guy talking him up, offering to buy him a drink at the bar off-campus even though he was underaged. He already had a fake ID, though, he’d gone to that bar like six times and they hardly ever carded anyway. He’d kind of tried to say no, but the guy was really cute, and eventually he’d said yes and left with him, Keira pissed off and right on his heels with her laptop swinging in the messenger bag against her side.

“[ERASED], god damn it, you’re the one who asked me to come study! You can’t just fuck off with the first guy who looks at you!”

“Sure as fuck can, Keer,” he’d called over his shoulder, laughing.

[ERASED] was always a sucker for a pair of dark brown eyes and the kind of guys who flashed a smile that never stayed long. He was weak in the knees for that kind of intensity, Mom and Keira both complaining he didn’t have the common sense God gave a goat.

Keira got all the common sense and the brain for math, the flash and fireworks that brought you attention - [ERASED] was fine with getting the poetry, the words, and with making his own really, really fun mistakes.

He didn’t exactly think this guy looked like the type to date, but [ERASED] wasn’t super into dating right now, anyway - and he definitely looked like a good story to tell later, maybe a new poem.

There was a van in that spot where the two circles of streetlights did not quite meet, and the guy grabbed his arms. He remembered Keira yelling, and then [ERASED] lost some time for a while.

Jostling and the pinch of a needle in his arm and zip-ties around his wrists and then nothing, nothing at all, only a fuzzy darkness

When he woke up in the white room, his clothes were gone. Instead, he was wearing a large, thin white V-neck shirt and tight black shorts, made from the same kind of fabric as Keira’s yoga pants. [ERASED] had to blink against a weird woozy feeling that settled deep inside his veins. He’d been wearing sneakers. Now he was barefoot, and his toes felt nearly numb from the cold.

There was some kind of constriction around his neck, and he lifted his hands up to feel at it. His fingertips brushed along something like smooth flat metal as wide as his palm, with some kind of rough circles that stood out from the sides. As soon as he touched it, there was a sudden surge of sharp pain that raced through every single nerve and [ERASED] let out a strangled cry, jerking his hands away, where they clutched pointlessly in the empty air.

As soon as he wasn’t trying to touch the collar, the pain receded, settled into a pulsing ache. [ERASED] heaved in gasping breaths, his hands held out, and he slowly put them back down on the floor.

He didn’t have to try that twice.

He could barely keep his eyes open - he felt drunk or on downers maybe, woozy and weak.

Distantly - outside the rectangular shape he thinks must be some kind of door, although he couldn’t see any doorknob - [ERASED] could hear a rhythmic clicking sound, like someone using a walking stick or maybe a lady wearing high heels.

The sound grew louder, passing his door before it faded away, a quick efficient movement past him to a different door down the hall. He heard some high-pitched beeps and then a woman’s voice spoke, warm and melodic.

In answer, someone else responded low and fast - it sounded like they were asking for something, saying ‘please’ over and over again.

He did not know to be truly terrified of that sound yet, but he felt the first stirrings of fear anyway. He pushed himself back against the wall, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the dizziness that still clung to the edges of his mind.

He couldn’t remember…

Where was Keira? Why did he feel like his brain was made of sludge?

Where the fuck was he?

Kauri wakes up to the hoarse sound of his own breathing and knows exactly where he is. He can smell the disinfectant they use to process the rooms between trainees, can feel the circulated cold air chilling his skin and raising goosebumps on his arms. Under his hands, the flat tiles feel like ice, or stone.

He’s home-

No.

There’s a soft beep, muffled, and it’s not Keira because Keira’s gone, she’s gone, Owen broke her and Kauri is broken and he’s here, he’s here, he’s home. Back in the Facility. back for repairs.

Home.

Welcome home, 645898, they’d said as they shoved him in here and slammed the door.

He’s been here for days, maybe, alone in the room, just like before. It feels like his life with Owen was all one awful wonderful dream from the drugs - he used to have those, vivid nightmares he couldn’t stop when they got the dosage wrong or purposefully gave him too much. He might even think it had been a dream, if it weren’t for the bruises around his throat.

He cracks open eyes that feel glued shut, and his throat aches. It's swollen and he can barely swallow, breathes with more effort than it should take, with an audible rasp.

There are other aches, too, deeper ones, from the time between waking up on Owen's floor and when he put him in the car the next morning. Aches inside and out, the pain of Owen’s lost faith in him, how badly he had failed - and the pain of the punishment Owen had doled out until the first gray light of dawn.

When he raises one hand, slowly, he can feel the slice across his forehead, more than three inches long, shallow but healing. Not infected; they cleaned it with something when he got here.

His shoulder hurts, a pulsing throb that gets a little less painful every day - or after a while, anyway... what's a day when the light never changes and time only exists for the handlers outside the doors?

The shoulder hurt would have been knocking into the entertainment center, and the ache along his lower back, just at the bottom of his spine… most of that is from being pinned to the floor, but maybe some is the statue from Owen’s trip to Africa.

What country? His brain asks sarcastically, his stupid fucking thinking that got him back here in the first place. Owen just says Africa like it’s all one big fucking country. Well, welcome to Africa where the capitol is Africa City, you stupid fucking asshole I fucking hate you I fucking liked him more than you, I liked him more than you every fucking moment he was near me, I hate you

I hate you

No no stop I love Owen he's good to me I was bad, I broke protocol, discipline is a necessary tool for correction this is discipline I was bad

He wants to lock me up

I need to be locked up

I don't want to be locked up anymore

He lets out a broken half-sob, jamming the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to tell himself to stop thinking so fucking much. He’s not made for thinking, Owen doesn’t want him to think.

I know I told them to make you brainless, but this is something else.

Something’s wrong - the wall they built inside of him is cracked, and he can’t lock everything back up behind it. The memories slide in and out and the person he used to be wants to push through. Something’s wrong with him, he’s a failed pet, a failed project, broken boy.

He wants to know what he sent to Colton, what he needed him to know, what was so important that he’d get himself thrown back here to get the information into hands he could trust. He can’t remember what it was. He can’t remember the words.

Why does he think he can trust him?

Why does he want to trust anyone but Owen at all?

Kauri grinds his teeth together, pushes harder, until his eyes ache and it joins the throb in his forehead, until his face is one big pain that reminds him, tells him to remember that he isn’t supposed to know anything at all.

You are not a person here. You are just a number. They can take anything away, and they’ll take it all away, and you will go to your knees and you will say ‘yes, sir’. The only person who wants the number boy, the only person to call you a name, is Owen.

And Colton, he said, he said

Do not listen to aberrant pets

But he listened to me he cared about me no one cares about me

Fuck I'm the aberrant, I’ll wreck him, I wonder if I got him in trouble, too. God I hope I didn’t get him in trouble, please please please let him not be in trouble because of me, please please

He held onto me when I needed someone to, he said, I remember he said

don’t

BELIEVE WHAT YOU ARE TOLD

It was nice to have another pet to talk to, pets

DO NOT TALK TO OTHER PETS

Should try to stick together

I didn’t

YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS

I didn’t sign up for this

He didn’t sign up for this, he didn’t think

DON’T THINK

Why had he wanted so badly to send the message? There had been something he knew, something he knew that was so vital he wanted to tell Colton, because Colton was allowed to read and write, so he could write it down… but Kauri couldn’t remember what it had been, anymore.

Probably he was the only person who had thought whatever-it-was mattered. Probably Colton forgot him as soon as he’d walked out the door with Owen’s hand resting against his back, as soon as he’d been in the car. Pets don’t care about each other.

It’ll be better for him if he forgets it, that’s why we’re what we are, because we wanted to forget.

Worse than the loss of any hint of access to Colton - every video chat where he might be in the background while Owen and the Host were talking, every visit, the ski trip where he and Colton were up earlier than their owners every day - worse than losing all of that was the realization that he had really, really messed up with Owen this time.

That’s not worse, you know that you want something better than Owen

Owen is the best I could ever hope for

That’s a fucking lie you deserve better, you just forgot

“What else is out there, we forgot we don't remember?”

I hope you’re not in trouble, I hope I didn’t hurt you, I hope

Stop it stop it stop it pets don’t make emotional connections with each other

You were so lucky and you and you fucked it up, Kauri

Owen was so good to him, took such good care of him, hardly ever hurt him. He never left bruises that stayed, he always hurt Kauri only in secret ways that healed quickly, ways no one would know about but them.

He’d been so lucky to have someone like Owen, an owner who really genuinely cared about him even if it wasn’t the same as being free, and he’d gone and fucked it all up, gotten himself sent back here, and he couldn’t even remember why.

The defiance - the feeling of a fierce and sudden joy he’d felt bubbling inside of himself as he typed the letters, even though he didn’t remember what the letters had been or what message he had sent - had been a mistake. He’d made Owen so angry with him, he knew better. He knew he wasn’t supposed to read or write, and still he’d been stupid and bad and thinking and Owen might not forgive him for it.

There were marks on Kauri - the bruises and scrapes, the scratches and the ache inside of him its own growing scar. Owen never left marks, before Kauri started thinking. He always apologized, every other time, but this time he hadn't.

This time he had kissed the bruises as they blossomed and whispered mine, mine, mine against Kauri’s hair as it kept hurting and hurting and hurting and Kauri couldn’t even get the breath to cry.

The next morning Owen had taken the collar off, pulled out the key and slid the white-gold chain in a whisper over his skin, away from his neck. He’d felt so scared, without it. Everything felt so empty and exposed. Collars were safe. They meant your owner had you, and your owner is the safest thing in the world.

Owen is safe and he hurts me. It’s all the same.

Then they came here, Kauri's bare neck bringing on a fear he can't shake - will Owen forgive me for what I did wrong? - and he thinks three days have passed, but it could have been five, or two, or nine. Could have been any amount of time at all.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows first, fighting against the familiar dizziness, the dark fog that threatens at the edges of his vision. Finally he manages to sit with his legs out to one side, resting his weight on his hand and hip.

I shouldn't have done what I did. I shouldn't have tried to tell someone. I shouldn't have. I messed up, I screwed it up, I knew he was already mad and… and I messed up. And we don’t remember, that’s what we are, we never remember.

It was so fucking pointless to try, and I’m so sorry, and I would do anything to have him hold me and tell me he cares again.

There is a small rebellious voice that whispers, there are other 'hims' than Owen.

Kauri looks up and sees the door - plain white like the walls, only different because you could see the thin black line of the frame. No handle on this side. He knows if he looks back down at the tiles and starts counting, he will count 162 in this room, just like every other room. Featureless white tiles with white grout between. Featureless white walls, white ceiling, white light from everywhere and nowhere at all.

He’s wearing the plain white shirt and black shorts, training clothes. A bare neck, not even a shock collar, nothing at all. Like he doesn’t matter. Like no one wants him now.

He should be collared. He's only safe with a collar on. A collar means someone cares about you. Owen didn’t kill him - but he gave him back, which is much, much worse.

And Keira is gone.

Kauri’s throat tries to close again at the memory of the CRACK, the metal and plastic disc going so still and silent, the little red lights for her visual sensors going out. Being here does not make Kauri cry - but knowing that Keira is gone does.

He can barely choke out tears against the pain in his throat, but he can’t stop them either, and he pushes his back up against the wall in the corner, where he used to always sit for hours and hours, and curls his knees up to his chest, shaking with the sobs that come out broken and rough-edged.

They don’t like crying here, or not too much of it - but he can’t seem to stop. He’s been crying for hours or for days or fuck it, maybe weeks, nothing changes here and-

He’s lost her.

She was the only thing left, and she’s gone.

He doesn’t know how long he cries for, only that by the time the tears finally run dry he is breathing with sounds that feel like scraping claws, fighting for air. Kauri swallows against the pounding of his heart, winces at the sharp pain in his throat. When he brushes his fingers against the thin skin, he can feel the twinge of bruising there at even the slightest bit of pressure.

He sent the message to Colton, but he won’t ever know if the other Box Boy saw it and he doesn't even remember what the fucking message was.

In the Facility, your memories feed the sharks, they take them and eat them and all you are left with is a body that serves the owner.

When he hears the click of heels outside the door to his room - thinks for a brief second here comes the shark with the sharpest teeth of them all - his heart starts to pound even as he instinctively moves onto his knees and then pushes himself slowly to his feet.

If she’s here, then she won’t want him to be kneeling when she enters. She’ll want to see him kneel, for her, to show respect. He remembers all of this, he knows what the Director wants him to be, to look like, to do to prove he is broken.

Kauri fixes his eyes on the line of grout between two tiles, hands loose and open down at his sides, and feels the emptiness around his neck like the prelude to an execution as they press the passcode to unlock the door to his room.

Kauri is back, and he’s-

This was home.

The world spun and twisted, danced to one side and jumped to the other. 645898 couldn’t hold any of it, it slipped through his fingers. He felt like his brain was full of clouds, and sometimes they strapped him down and put something between his teeth and there was pain that went on and on and on.

When the pain was gone, he remembered less and less.

Except he knew what they wanted him to do, now. What he was going to be, what they kept telling him he’d signed up for even if the clouds and the fog, the dizziness, meant all he could remember was a pen in his hand and a man in a suit reading words off a paper. He kept asking for someone - he can’t remember who any longer - and Everly had to take him away and give him more treatments, more pain, until he no longer asked for her.

Until she was gone.

Until he had lost her.

He signed a contract, they tell him. He wanted to start a new life, a fresh start where someone else would take care of everything, and all he had to do was be good and look pretty. He doesn’t remember thinking any of those things, but the world is a riot of dizziness and fear and pleasepleaseplease and I’ll be good and I’m so sorry and maybe he did sign it.

He must have.

They tell him he did.

He can remember laying the pen back down and staring at words drifting like falling leaves across a world that wouldn’t stay still.

“Lights on, 645898,” He heard from the other side of the door, and he waited, swallowing hard, feeling the shock collar shift and move against the skin of his neck when he did, standing in Position One.

He knew most of the positions now, and it was easier just to go along with it, even when they got to the other positions, the ones that twisted his body and taught it things he didn’t want to know.

They never touched him, until he was in the higher number positions, and then they never stopped but he didn’t care anymore, all that mattered was that it was a touch that didn’t hurt. It was a touch that felt good, and he wanted to feel good. He wasn’t the only one here being taught to feel good in all the wrong ways, he knew there were others, and 645898 wasn’t supposed to be ashamed, but he was.

Something in the way his blood moved too slow through his veins, in the dizzy spin of the world around him, set his skin alight when they touched him, and it meant… it meant he was being good, and wouldn’t be hurt. He had fought them, in the beginning, but now he understood it was the only way he’d ever be touched that didn’t hurt.

All he wanted now was to be told he was good and touched again.

He was shivering, but he was always shivering here. The air moved over his skin, seeming to drift right through the shirt and black shorts, and he kept his eyes down, waiting. He didn’t know why they said ‘lights on’ or ‘lights out’. The white light that came from nowhere always looked the same. Sometimes he slept and they woke him up, sometimes when he was bad he didn’t sleep.

When the door clicked and then opened to show his handler looking in, 645898 was ready for whatever they would do.

Kauri’s handler comes in first - it’s not the one he remembers, it’s someone else entirely, dressed in a different uniform and with a different dangerous smile - and moves around behind him. He doesn’t see her right away, even if the cold air in the room seems to change, to electrify around him with her presence.

There’s no shock collar around his neck, but she doesn’t need one, does she?

He’s shaking too hard to hold himself up, and his handler’s gloved hands wrap securely around his upper arms, just below his shoulders. Blood rushes in his ears, deafeningly loud, but never loud enough to drown out the click of her heels on the tile floor, closer and closer.

He sees sharp black heels come to a stop just in front of him, and knows that the soles on the bottom will be a deep and bloody red.

His skin is a mess of shivers and fears, but still he feels the way her fingernails dig in as she takes his chin in her hands. She snaps her other fingers and his eyes jerk up, on instinct, and her face is blurred with his tears but that has never made her less of a monster.

“645898,” Karen Renford says in her deceptively warm voice, “I hear you have been a very bad boy.”

Kauri does not quite nod - her fingers won’t let his head move at all. He manages to keep the pleas, the begging right there behind his teeth. She doesn’t like begging, not really, and it’s worse if he begs. He tells himself to be brave - they’ll see what I sent, they’ll see - he’ll see - and she can’t take that away from me, even if I don’t even know what it was - but at the cold judgement in her eyes he wilts, he curls into himself, he starts to cry again even as his throat aches and aches, and it makes him cry harder. “I d-didn’t, I wasn’t, I’m s-sorry, Director Renford, I’m-”

“Sssssshhhh. You have been very naughty. Breaking all sorts of rules. You’re very lucky, you know - Mr. Grant was offered refurbishment and a full refund and he refused.”

Kauri’s eyes widen, and he feels a sudden burst of hope inside of him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Hope, and a wave of pure and genuine love.

“H-He refused, D-D-Director?”

“He did.” Karen smiles at him, and it’s a smile without warmth, but he still clings onto it with everything left inside of him. “He wants his Kauri, not a new boy at all. All he’s asking for is a little… adjustment.”

I’m so lucky. I’m so fucking lucky. The thought is not sarcastic, or edged, but desperate and scared and sincere. Owen still wants him just as he is, he doesn’t want to ERASE and start over, and Kauri is so unbelievably lucky.

He fucked up so badly, he was so bad, he disobeyed and he was so so bad and Owen still wants him, and he’ll thank Owen on his fucking knees when he goes home again.

“Normally we like to give the pets a night to get used to their new home, but you already know everything here, don’t you?” Karen Renford’s lips move in what she probably imagines is a smile.

Kauri nods, slowly. “Yes, Director Renford.”

“Good boy. Now, this won’t be like last time. Your owner has signed off on a few new things I’ve had in the works, disciplinary measures to ensure you go home thoroughly chastised. How does that sound, 645898? If you’d like to be Kauri again, you’ll have to be very good for me. We’ll see if we can’t make sure you never, ever misbehave like that again.”

He nods, he nods as quickly as he can, because he does, he wants to be good and stay Kauri and go home to Owen. He doesn’t want to stay here at all. Please, please, he’ll be so good, he’ll be everything Owen wants forever if Owen will just put that collar back on his neck and say you’re mine.

Kauri doesn’t care anymore if being safe hurts, because everything hurts and if he has to choose, he’ll pick the kind of pain that feels good sometimes, too.

“Wonderful.” The gloved hands leave his arms and somehow Kauri stays standing. Karen drops his chin and wipes her fingers off on her suitjacket like Kauri was dirty, looking him over with critical eyes. “I’ll be taking charge of this myself, but don’t think it’s because you’re important, pet. If your test is successful, I have someone in my own home who deserves to look as lovely as you will when we are done. You’re going to be our first human test. And if you are successful…” She considers him for one more moment of silence, and Kauri holds his breath.

He doesn’t even hear a word she says. He doesn’t care. He’ll do anything, anything at all, to go home to Owen again.

“Perhaps we’ll have to arrange a little public demonstration. Everyone loves us when we’re writing them checks, and my goodness, 645898, you make for some compelling video content, don’t you?” She smiles, again - cold and inhuman but there’s very real humor there, and Kauri swallows against a spike of fear. “We need to ensure that everyone involved understands that you will not disobey again. Hm?”

“I won’t,” he whispers. “I won’t disobey, Director.”

“No,” she says quietly. She might sound smug - but it’s hard to tell, her voice is almost always the same. “You won’t. Now. Don’t you think I should receive the respect I am due, 645898?”

Before she even finishes the sentence, Kauri has already dropped onto his knees into Position Two, the movement instinctive, robotic, automatic, trained. Position Two is easy - it's what Director Renford wants after that that he hates. He bends himself in half on the floor, kissing the pointed toe of each black shoe, then rests his forehead on the cold tiles.

In his mind, Karen Renford smells like the disinfectant they use to clean the tiles.

“Good boy,” she says, low, pleased with him. “But not good enough, and far too late." She looks to the handler standing behind him. "His owner has authorized force. I’ll need him pliable and useful for surgery, but you have three days to have your own fun, and I’d like him perfectly sober when I start cutting. Let’s begin, shall we?”

She turns, and her heels click on the floor as she goes.

Surgery?

Kauri doesn’t look up, only clenches his eyes shut as tightly as he can and braces himself. He can worry about what surgery means later, for now he knows exactly what will happen and how it will feel.

He hears the swish of the black stick through the air, the moment before it hits suspended in time, and then he whimpers into the white tiles as it connects with his back and pain blossoms, electricity racing through the nerves underneath his skin.

Then a pause, and the black stick connects again.

He cries out helplessly, tears pooling on the floor beneath him, trying to dig his fingernails into the unmoving, unforgiving tile.

He’s not trained for pain, and each blow is an agony reminding him of what he’s done.

This is what you get for disobeying.

This is what you get for thinking.

This is what you get for every lingering look

For every word you shouldn’t have spoken

For every brush of a hand

This is what you get for trying.

This is what you get.

Kauri screams, and screams again, and it echoes down the halls where other boys are curled up or kneeling or standing in their own rooms. Somewhere there is someone else who thinks they’ll defy and fight back, who thinks they will remember their own name, but they won’t, not for long.

And while they’re planning pointless defiance, they will listen to Kauri scream.

“You can’t make me eat this shit!” [ERASED] all but screamed the words, and the large room - full of others like him, older and more than a few that seemed even younger (but that’s not possible, you have to be eighteen, they said everyone who signs is eighteen or older) - went silent.

“I don’t know what would ever make it think that we can’t,” one of the handlers said to another, neither of them even looking at him. Like his protests didn’t even land, didn’t matter. And they didn’t.

“He’s new,” the second handler said with a shrug. “Everly’s boy. 64… something.“

"He’s loud,” the first handler said pointedly. “Why the fuck is he being loud? They’re supposed to be too fucked up for that."

[ERASED] picked up the tray, the colorless thing on it shaped like a small loaf of bread, and with hate burning through his veins, he threw it as hard as he could until it splattered against the wall, the tray clattering to the ground. Every other boy, man, whatever - all of them looked down at the floor, nearly all at once.

"Oh, that’s why he’s loud,” the first handler said, unperturbed. The protest meant nothing to them, didn't matter at all. “Someone’s been skipping their doses."

"Everly should’ve caught that. He’ll get written up for this shit."

"Listen to me,” [ERASED] hissed at them. He knew they wouldn’t by now, they never listened, but he still spoke up because there were days he didn’t feel like he even had a voice any longer, and he couldn’t always remember where he’d come from or who he’d been before, but he knew he would never, ever volunteer for this. “I won’t fucking eat it and you can’t fucking make me! I know it’s drugged, I know we’re all drugged, and you wouldn’t have to drug us if we were actually volunteers! We wouldn’t have to forget everything if there wasn’t something you wanted us to forget!"

"Someone’s having a Soylent Green moment,” First Handler laughed, and [ERASED] glared up at him. Then he unclipped the black stick from his belt, and [ERASED] felt very real fear - and regret.

Why hadn’t he just eaten his food? Why had he worked so hard to remember his name today, wanted to have time without the drugs? Why wouldn’t he just let it go, like everyone else? Why couldn’t he just be good?

Second Handler moved to the side while First Handler moved closer, and then [ERASED] backed up, stumbling over his own feet, trying to keep the guards in sight. He tripped over something, falling backwards until Second Handler shoved him back again, and he twisted to see one of the other boys had stuck his foot out to trip him.

The boy didn’t look smug or victorious. He was probably just as scared as everyone else. But he’d curried favor by turning on [ERASED], taken a chance to maybe get himself something extra, a little more food, an extra drink.

He wanted to blame him, but he couldn’t, not really. He might have done the same, if he hadn’t spent three days refusing to eat the rations that made his brain slip and slide, that made him lose himself to the fuzz and the words they made him repeat, over and over again.

First Handler grabbed him while he was looking at the other boy, tangled fingers hard into the brittle black curls that had gone dry and frizzed with the harsh soap that was all they got to clean themselves with here until a buyer had been found, and [ERASED] cried out in pain as he dragged him closer, his scalp a riot of burning. “Let go! Let go! Let-"

The black stick went up and came down again, and [ERASED]’s voice cut off like someone had simply turned him off.

Then they hit him again, and he managed to get out from the handler’s grip, falling onto the floor, his muscles jerking from the electrical current that ran through the black stick, curling himself into the smallest ball he could manage, crying out with every blow.

“I kn-know my name,” he whispered between blows, “I know who I a-am, can’t f-f-forget, I know my name, I know my n-n-name, I know-”

CRACK.

The stick hit his head and [ERASED] went limp on the ground, conscious but barely. The other boys stayed still and silent, the sound of a sink dripping in the corner the only noise other than the slight rustle of boys in black shorts and white shirts shifting on benches, not looking at each other, not looking at him.

“Had enough, Soylent?” First Handler asked, grinning down at him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and when he tried to push himself up, his arms refused to hold his weight and he collapsed back down again.

“I kn-know my name,” he hissed, glaring up at them, his heart pounding all out of rhythm. “You c-c-can’t take my name away.”

“Oh, yes we can.” Second Handler laughed, and this time two black sticks connected with him, and the world narrowed to darkness and pain.

He groaned as they hit him again, and again. His arms jerked, his body thrashed, he saw sparks and dancing lights that weren't really there. “My name is [ERASED], and you c-can make me answer to a number but you can’t take my name from m-m-me…”

When the handler leaves, Kauri is curled on his side in a ball, hands over his head, and everything hurts.

His body aches from the blows, the bruises already forming, some of them right over the bruises Owen had left behind. Muscles jerk and twitch under his skin from the shocks. He can barely breathe through the agony in his throat, and he gasps shallow little breaths that keep him dizzy and disoriented.

Somehow, the tile underneath him never warms up.

Kauri cries, and all he wants in the whole world is to hold onto his name. If only they’ll let him stay Kauri, he’ll never, ever try to have any other name, ever again.

He fucked up so badly, and Owen will forgive him, but he has to earn it first.

Earning forgiveness is going to hurt so much.

He’ll do anything to keep Kauri.

It’s the only name left.

#erase to control #whump #defiant whumpee #broken whumpee #violent whumper #tw: VIOLENCE #shock collar #tw: abusive relationship #creepy whumper #referenced/implied noncon #conditioning #tw: forced drugging #dehumanization #pet whump #captivity #tw: violent beating #this part is dark #and there are some more dark parts #but just remember future Kauri!

97 notes · View notes