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#Feb-Whump-Ary
flowers-creativity · 4 years
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Sleepless
Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay), d’Artagnan Warnings: Some violence, sleep deprivation as (mostly) non-physical torture Summary: Porthos doesn’t know anything about the Ambassador, and he just wants to sleep.
Notes: Written as part of @yuckwhump‘s Feb-whump-ary, Day 16 - sleep deprivation. This is pretty long and rambly and very unpolished ...
AO3 link
The hit in his back made him stumble forward and almost pitch down onto his knees, but a rough hand grabbed the rope binding his arms behind his back and wrenched him back. “What did we say?” the man said next to Porthos’ ear.
“No sleepin’,” he mumbled. “No … sleepin’.” His tongue felt too large for his mouth, and he swallowed dryly, though it didn’t offer any relief. He blinked gritty eyes at the other figure that stepped in front of him, outlined by the torches flooding his small cell with light.
“Not until you’ve answered our questions, at least,” the man said, his voice and whole demeanour so much gentler than the one behind him, holding him in place. “Once you do, you can sleep to your heart’s content. Don’t you want that?”
Porthos blinked again and then shook his head. “Not … gonna say anythin’,” he slurred. A part of him screamed at him that this was the wrong answer. Didn’t he want to sleep? Yes. Yes. Sleep was a distant memory by now. How long had it been? He had no idea. The cell was alight with torches the whole time, the men coming and going too irregularly to establish any pattern. But it was important that he did not say anything. He remembered as much. Even if he wasn’t quite so sure anymore what he shouldn’t say anything about.
“Where is the meeting taking place?” the man before him asked as if he hadn’t said anything at all.
Porthos shook his head.
“How many people are accompanying the ambassador?” the man continued.
What ambassador? Porthos shook his head.
“Who will meet with him?”
Porthos shook his head. If only he would stop asking him stupid questions, maybe he could sleep then … His eyelids drooped.
Another hit in his kidneys had his eyes snap open and him gasping in pain. “I’m … I’m not sleepin’!” he protested. Was that why he was being hit?
“You can sleep in a minute,” the man before him soothed. “Just one question, and you can get an hour of sleep, doesn’t that sound good? Two, and you can get two hours, think of that.” He sounded excited, as if two hours of sleep was Paradise. It actually was. He was so confused, in pain, his head aching abominably, and they kept hitting him … That wasn’t the most confusing part, he was quite sure he’d gone through something similar before. But at least then he’d been left alone from time to time. He had been allowed to sleep.
Not with this bunch of bastards, though. They kept prodding him awake, and once he no longer minded the pinpricks and kicks against the back of his legs, they’d started in on the beating in earnest. How ironic, that he was almost relieved at how normal that felt? Not that anything else felt normal because his skin was itching, he was hot and cold at the same time, and his sight was wavering.
“Don’t you want to sleep?” the man before him asked, drawing his attention again.
“Yes,” Porthos breathed, latching onto the words. Sleep sounded heavily, so much so that he could feel tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He was so tired …
“Then come on, what use is it to you to annoy us? Just one question,” the man cajoled. He was so nice, and it sounded so easy. Just one question … Where could be the harm in that? If only he remembered why it seemed so important not to say anything …
“Where will the meeting take place?”
“What meeting?” Porthos slurred.
“The ambassador. He’s meeting Louis’ representative,'' someone hissed behind him, and Porthos jerked violently. Where had that man come from? Rough hands yanked him back again, and he bit back a moan at the ropes chafing his oversensitive skin, at how his arms seemed to stretch longer than they should be able to.
“Don’ know about any o’ that,” he said, blinking desperately at the man before him, willing him to believe it. He didn’t know anything right now, it seemed, it was almost a wonder he remembered his own name. He was Porthos, right? He was Porthos. Porthos du Vallon, of the King’s Musketeers. Porthos, son of Marie-Cesette, friend of Flea and Charon, brother of Athos, Aramis and d’Artagnan. Wait, was he still friends with Charon? There was something there …
“Your friend killed me,” Charon’s voice said. He swivelled his head around, and there he was, his old friend, a large blood stain covering his side. “I saved your worthless hide, and that’s how they repaid me.”
Porthos blinked at him stupidly. Right, Aramis had killed him, because Charon had … He had …
A fist in his ribs interrupted his recollections and made him curl forward, only to be yanked upright again. “Speak, you dog!” the man behind him snarled.
The man in front of him was still smiling pleasantly but his voice had more of an edge to it. “I’m sure you know something,” he said. “But I can see we’re not getting anywhere right now. So, you know, if you don’t have anything to say, I’ll let you think about it a bit … Maurice will keep you company, so you won’t waste time sleeping, eh?”
With an almost polite nod, he left the cell, closing the door behind him. Charon laughed. “At least, I get to see this. Maybe dying was worth it for this.”
Porthos growled at him. “Let me be, I’m tryin’ to sleep here.” But a painful yank at his bindings made him almost fall backwards as the man behind him said: “No, you won’t.”
“Athos!”
At the hissed sound of his name, barely more than an exhale on d’Artagnan’s breath, Athos sped up to catch up with him. Their youngest was pressed up against the wall next to a cell door, his head turned to the side as he listened for something. Through a small window in the door, bright light spilt into the dim corridor. Athos frowned at the strange sight - most of the time, prison cells were not exactly kept well-lit.
He sidled up to d’Artagnan’s aide and was able to hear what he was listening to - someone was talking inside the cell. “You know, once I get off duty, there’s a wonderful bed waiting for me. With a freshly stuffed mattress and a warm blanket. D’you remember how that feels?”
There was a smack like flesh on flesh and a pained grunt, and d’Artagnan flinched almost violently next to him. Athos extended an arm to touch d’Artagnan’s, willing him to stay still just a moment longer.
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to help, anyway,” the voice continued. “You probably really don’t know anything, eh, do you, mutt?”
Another smack, and Athos grit his teeth. “Athos,” d’Artagnan breathed, all but pleading.
“Can you see inside?” he asked softly. The Gascon shifted, turning his face until his eyes were at the small opening, and he blinked at the light. After a moment, he turned away again, blinking to adjust his sight again. “One guard, can’t see any weapons,” he reported. “Porthos … he looks really bad, Athos,” he added.
Athos cocked his head, considering, then nodded. With a short gesture, he sent d’Artagnan to the other side of the door, then moved to the other side of the corridor, crouching down with sword and pistol at the ready so he would be able to move the moment d’Artagnan got the door open.
The young swordsman reached for the bolt and hesitated shortly. “Not locked,” he murmured, exchanging a confused look with his mentor. Maybe they didn’t think it necessary due to the presence of the guard within the cell … Athos shrugged and mentioned for d’Artagnan to go on. With a violent pull, the door sprang open, and Athos rose and was in the cell with two steps, rushing at the guard who stood in the middle of the room and looked at him with an almost comical expression of surprise on his face. Seeing no weapon on him, Athos dropped his own and instead plowed into him and drove him against the opposite wall, violently bouncing the man’s head against the wall. He withdrew, and the man crumpled down to the floor. With an almost satisfied smirk, Athos turned away from him and towards the upright figure of his friend in the middle of the room.
d’Artagnan was already there, stepping towards Porthos with his hands carefully lifted. “Porthos?” he addressed the man cautiously.
Porthos didn’t answer, and Athos frowned. He was awake, that much was clear, standing under his own power, though his hands and legs were bound, his arms drawn cruelly backwards.
d’Artagnan touched a shoulder, and Porthos flinched violently backwards. “I’m awake!” he swore. “Don’t--” But he did not continue, just stared around the room with wide eyes, confused and seemingly scared.
The two Musketeers exchanged a look, and Athos stepped up to his protégé’s side. “It’s alright, Porthos,” he assured him. “We’ll get you out of here. You’re safe now.”
Porthos blinked uncomprehendingly, swaying where he stood. “Yer just sayin’ that. Won’t answer any of yer stupid questions,” he mumbled.
“Porthos, it’s us!” d’Artagnan pleaded, slightly desperately. The captured Musketeer closed his eyes and shook his head. “Isn’t you. Charon isn’t him either.”
More looks were exchanged between the other two men, well past worried now. “Has he lost his mind?” the Gascon whispered. Why was he talking about his former friend whose death was almost a year past now?
Athos could do no more than shake his head, just as lost as the young swordsman. “Let’s get him out of here,” he decided. “Hopefully, Aramis can figure out what’s wrong.” He wished that the medic was with them right now but under the circumstances it had seemed prudent to leave the one with the sharpest vision outside to guard their back.
d’Artagnan nodded and moved behind Porthos to cut his bonds, murmuring words of comfort to calm him, even if it seemed as if Porthos was lost in a world of his own and barely registered that he was spoken to. Athos stepped close and held onto Porthos’ upper arms to stabilise him until d’Artagnan was finished. The contact drew another round of assurances from him: “‘m awake, ‘m awake, no need to hit me.” Athos bit back a curse. Whatever torture these men had devised, it had been quite effective at making him suffer, it seemed, though he did not for one moment believe Porthos had divulged anything under it.
He flinched and tried to pull away when they pulled his arms over their shoulders to lead him out of there, but weak as he was, it was not hard to hold onto him. Caught in his stupor, they were almost carrying, though he was aware enough to try and walk, and he kept talking, mumbling incoherently. Charon’s name was in there again a few times, and most distressingly, so were several attempts at protesting that he was awake, and pleading to let him sleep. Athos wished he would just pass out but he did not, lids at half mast but snapping open every few seconds to look around, wide-eyed and confused. Their attempts to calm him down, insisting that he was safe and could sleep if he wanted to, did not seem to reach him.
Finally, they made it outside, and Athos gave a low whistle. Only a moment later, Aramis’ figure coalesced from the shadows near the wall of the house, and he came over swiftly. “Everything’s quiet,” he reported. “How is he?” His fingers were twitching with the obvious need to check on Porthos but he knew that they needed to put some distance between themselves and the captors, at least get back to the place where they had left the horses.
“Nothing’s broken, just bruises, I think,” Athos replied. “But … I think they kept him awake the whole time.”
“He’s delirious,” d’Artagnan added, his voice hoarse. “Doesn’t know us and keeps talking nonsense.”
Aramis’ head snapped up, eyes widening in alarm. He took another look at Porthos while keeping pace next to Athos. With a deep breath, he took off his hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Sleep deprivation - that’s insidious,” he murmured.
“What does it mean for him?” Athos asked, trying to keep his voice level though Aramis’ reaction ratcheted his concern further up.
Aramis bit his lip, then shrugged. “I don’t have much experience with it - from what I know, sleep is pretty much the only thing that helps,” he explained. “There are a lot of things that can go wrong, though. Is he feverish?”
“He’s somewhat warm,” d’Artagnan said dubiously.
Aramis nodded distractedly. Making up his mind, he said: “I’ll go ahead to the horses, make up a bedroll and prepare what I can. We need to get him lying down and keep his temperature down. You get him there, right?”
Athos nodded. “Of course,” he told him. “Go do what you think necessary.” Even if it was only helpful to easing Aramis’ anxious mind, he would never get between the medic and what he believed to be necessary to care for a patient. Well, within reason - he had to do so to keep Aramis from running himself into the ground in the name of caring for others quite a few times.
The medic went ahead, and by the time they had made their way to the small clearing, he had set up camp, one bedroll waiting for Porthos who was still stubbornly, impossibly awake - or at least in a state that you could not call sleep, startling awake a few moments after he had seemingly drifted off and trying to walk on unsteady legs repeatedly, even though they were mostly carrying him.
They lay him down, and he went pliantly enough but then shot upwards again. “‘m not sleeping!” he assured them again.
Athos and d’Artagnan stepped back, giving Aramis room to work but standing ready to render any assistance he might need. If there was anyone who could get through to Porthos in his current state, it was his closest friend. Or at least Athos hoped so, since the delirious confusion holding Porthos in its grip was scaring him more than he cared to admit. Next to him, d’Artagnan fidgeted nervously, his gaze fixed on Porthos and Aramis.
The medic ran his hands down his friend’s body, checking methodically for injuries. When he had finished his exam, he told the others over his shoulder: “Nothing major, luckily - two of his ribs seem to be bruised, I’d strap those later. He’s running a fever but it’s not dangerously high yet. We just need to get him to rest.” Turning back to his patient, he cupped the dark face in a gentle hand and said: “Porthos, you are safe. No one will hurt you now. You can sleep. Please, sleep.”
Dark eyes blinked sluggishly up at him.”Charon?” Porthos asked, and the other man barely managed to avoid flinching.
“No, Charon is not here,” Aramis replied patiently. “You know me, mon ami. You know us, and we are here. No harm will come to you, I swear.”
The large Musketeer looked around, searching for something. “Charon was just here,” he murmured. “He … Wasn’t him, wanted me to stay awake. Sleeping hurt.” He sounded so lost, so helpless in a way none of the others had ever heard him.
“No one will hurt you,” Aramis repeated. “Porthos, please. Rest. Let go.” He stroked through the dark curls, looking around for the others with his own helplessness in his eyes.
“Maybe we should just knock him out?” Athos suggested in a low voice as he came closer and knelt down on Porthos’ other side, taking his hand and squeezing it. d’Artagnan hovered close by worriedly for a moment before he gathered himself and got down on his knees next to Aramis, laying a gentle hand on Porthos’ chest, careful not to restrain or exert any pressure.
Aramis frowned, then shook his head. “As a last resort, maybe. I’d still rather not hurt him further … Especially when he’s already frightened and confused.”
The sudden stillness under his hand in Porthos’ hair made him look down, and he met Porthos’ eyes. For the first time since Athos and d’Artagnan had pulled him from the cell, he seemed to have found a moment of calm - his gaze was still far away, not recognising them, but less frantic, less fractured. Aramis held his breath as he carefully let his fingers run over Porthos’ head, only taking another to voice a whispered: “Porthos?”
Porthos blinked, moved his head, then with a sudden sigh, he leaned into the touch, his fingers giving a weak squeeze to Athos’ hand.
“That’s good, Porthos,” Aramis soothed without stopping his gentle caresses. “Just relax. We got you.” He looked up to meet Athos’ eyes, a slight hopeful smile tugging at his lips. In the end, Porthos knew them.
They stayed that way for who knew how long, talking to him in gentle tones, touching and reassuring him, but it did not matter.
Because in the end, Porthos slept.
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aspeckeithfics · 4 years
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Keith (Voltron), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Muzzles, Aromantic Asexual Keith (Voltron), Season 1 or 2, Unrequited Lust, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Bondage, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Whumper POV, Creepy Whumper, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), whumper has a half Galra fetish Series: Part 27 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020 Summary:
“So gorgeous. A true work of art.” The Hartian sighs and gazes at his latest procurement, an absolutely stunning half-Galran specimen.
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babycharmander · 3 years
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Man I miss these tag games so often... Almost missed this one.
I was tagged by @actingwithportals!
Rules: Post the file names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous the name.
Send me an ask with the title that intrigues you the most and I’ll tell you something about it!
There’s also something about tagging as many people as you have WIPs, so yeah. (Also please start a new post if you do this so I don’t get a bunch of notes!)
So uh... here’s my WIPs. I’m sticking with only fanfics:
Unity Ch10
Go Through Me
Leatherwing Aftermath
IZfic ch1/ch2/ch3/notes (multiple files for the same fic)
The Worst Night
Rusty
The Funerals
Feb-Whump-ary
AAW fic?
Reverse Curse AU
Coco/Portal Crossover
Garbage
Hands
Dumpster fire
Guessing Game
On a Shooting Star
Mightier than the Spear
ABT ch1
okay I THINK that’s everything.
I’ll tag... @jaywings @netbug009 @pengychan @silverstreams and uhhhhhhhh... anyone else who wants to do this, tag yourself.
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allonnzy · 4 years
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Characters: Hunk (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Additional Tags: Sickfic, Vomiting, Emetophobia, sorry its really short, Sick! Lance, Supportive Hunk (Voltron), Whump, Hurt/Comfort, more fluff than anything Series: Part 1 of Feb-Whump-Ary Prompts Summary:
Lance gets space-flu. Hunk comforts him. Fluff ensues.
FYI this is super short, but I didn’t realize how long its been since I wrote a fic. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to write the other ones I’m behind on soon!
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 29
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 29
by sunshinehime
Shiro’s armored feet bang on the metal floor of the smuggler’s ship as he sprints, searching for any sign of Slav.
Words: 463, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 30 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Slav (Voltron), Original Male Character(s)
Relationships: Shiro & Slav (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Paralysis, Needles, Whump, POV Shiro (Voltron), But Slav is the whumpee, Season 2, just imagine they're on an extra mission before the finale, Non-Graphic Violence
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 29
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ao3feed-galrakeith · 4 years
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
by sunshinehime
“So gorgeous. A true work of art.” The Hartian sighs and gazes at his latest procurement, an absolutely stunning half-Galran specimen.
Words: 371, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 28 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Keith (Voltron), Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Muzzles, Aromantic Asexual Keith (Voltron), Season 1 or 2, Unrequited Lust, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Bondage, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Whumper POV, Creepy Whumper, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), whumper has a half Galra fetish
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
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flowers-creativity · 4 years
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Paris, 13ième Arondissement - Influenza
Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay), Captain Jean Tréville Warnings: None Summary: It’s flu season, and the 13ième Arondissement is struck severely.
Notes: Written as part of @yuckwhump‘s Feb-whump-ary, this is Day 7 - Influenza. Contains very little actual influenza and lots of comfort. And worldbuilding because this is my first try writing a modern AU! So meet the guys as Parisian police officers.
I put them in the 13ième arrondissement (most known for being home to the Chinese quarter, the National Library and the Gare d’Austerlitz) because they served under Louis XIII. If the whole thing gives off a pretty strong Brooklyn Nine-Nine vibe, this might be due to the fact that it’s the police procedural setting I’m most familiar with (and I’m admittedly too lazy to do much research).
AO3 link
Aramis looked around when he entered the bullpen. The open space was usually bustling at this time - after all, he was slightly late but only by three minutes, so he doubted Athos would give him grief for it. But today, the bullpen was strangely quiet, and he just spotted Marceau at his desk, and there was someone in the break room, looked like De Foix … The Captain’s office door was closed.
Aramis made his way over to their small office - it had its perks, being the best team and also direct reports to the squad’s lieutenant. It was actually Athos’ office, strictly speaking, but Treville had not protested when Porthos and he had moved their things to it, too. Though, with four desks in it now, it was definitely cramped …
Athos swivelled his chair around and greeted him with a raised eyebrow, so Aramis quickly raised his hands apologetically. “I know, I know, I’m late. But at least I’m here. Where the hell is everyone?”
Athos held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded and turned back to his computer. “There’s a nasty bout of the flu going around,” he said. “Half the squad is down, and even more of the uniforms.”
“Wow.” Aramis dropped into his chair, switched on the computer and set down his bag. “I didn’t even see any signs of that, must be a really bad one striking everyone down so quickly.”
“It was the weekend,” Athos pointed out mildly, “and you’ve been out of the office for most of last week.” He tapped his pen on the desk, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “Speaking of which, good job on that report. Once d’Artagnan and Porthos get here, we can get going on the follow-up.”
Aramis nodded. It had been a lot of leg work for d’Artagnan and him those last few days, but it had paid off with enough leads that they were pretty sure of the next time the bank robber group they were investigating would strike. “Not like them to be late,” he could not help but remark, throwing a worried frown towards the two empty desks. Usually, d’Artagnan was first in the office, and Porthos not long in following - Athos was impeccably punctual, of course, and the role of latecomer fell to Aramis himself more often than not.
“We’ll give them another few minutes,” Athos said as he pulled up some documents on his screen and started to read. Aramis sighed and nodded, turning towards his own screen.
He had just opened his mailbox to check for messages when someone knocked on the door and barely waited for Athos’ “Yes?” before opening it. Their Captain stuck his head in the room, measuring up its two occupants, then got to the point without much of a preamble: “Good morning. d’Artagnan just called, he’s sick. The flu.”
Aramis swore. Their youngest hated taking sick days (not that the older ones were much better at taking time off work), so it must have hit him hard to call in.
Athos nodded back at Treville. “Thanks, Captain. Keep us informed when he’ll be back.” Treville gave them a nod and a smile that looked more like a grimace - that many people off sick must be an administrative nightmare, not to mention the many cases that went unsolved - and shut the door again.
Aramis and Athos exchanged a look. “Let’s hope criminals get the flu, too,” Aramis murmured.
The lieutenant snorted. “Thankfully, they do,” he replied.
Silence descended again as they resumed reading messages and reports. It must have been ten, fifteen minutes later when the door opened again. Behind them, Porthos’ deep bass rumbled: “M’rng, guys.”
Athos and Aramis’ heads snapped up at the same time, and they shared an alarmed look before turning around towards the door. For a moment, they just stared at the large man.
Then Athos sighed and pinched his nose, getting up and grabbing his jacket. “Get him home,” he told Aramis. “I’ll tell Treville. The rate this is going, he might just close down the precinct.”
Aramis nodded. “Will do. I’ll text you later.”
“‘M not sick.”
“So you’ve said, yes,” Aramis replied blandly while he was steering his car through mid-morning traffic. Rush hour was over but was he just imagining that there were fewer cars on the roads today?
“You don’t believe me.”
“So I’ve said, yes.”
He threw a sidelong glance at his friend in the passenger seat. Porthos had his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. With a sigh, Aramis shook his head as he returned his attention to the road and reached out to flick down the shade so the tiny mirror on it was revealed.
“Porthos, I know your skin colour. And it’s usually not gray.”
A low growl was the only answer. Aramis resisted the urge to sigh again, and the rest of the drive was spent in silence.
Porthos’ protestations as to his well-being would have been more believable if he hadn’t swayed as he got out of the car, holding onto the door for a moment. Aramis quickly rounded the car and ducked beneath his arm, wrapping his own around his friend’s waist. “Yes, I see that you’re perfectly well,” he murmured as he steered him towards the lift.
Porthos did lean on him but nevertheless objected again: “I don’ see you clucking like a mother hen over the pup, an’ you said he’s sick, too.”
“That’s because he had the good sense to call in and not get to the precinct looking like death personified.”
“Always so dramatic.” He could practically hear the eye roll in Porthos’ voice.
He could also hear that Porthos’ usual deep rumble was having a definite raspy quality, so he just smiled and didn’t reply, just guided him carefully to lean against the back of the lift cabin while he turned around and pressed the button for Porthos’ floor.
And by the time they had made it inside the front door of his flat, Porthos was well and truly past any pretenses. It was not a long walk from the lift but it was long enough that he had started sweating, though he did not seem to feel warm - on the contrary, there was a subtle shiver running through him at least once. He collapsed gratefully onto his couch when Aramis deposited him there. “Alrigh’, alrigh’,” he finally mumbled. “Might be a bit under the weather after all.”
Aramis stood, hands on his hips, lips pursed. “Glad you’re admitting it,” he said flatly. “Why did you come in? I know you can be stubborn about things like this but this was especially mule-headed.”
Porthos shook his head. “Wanted to be there for d’Artagnan’s big moment. He was so excited on Friday,” he explained wearily. “He said you’ve had some good leads, finally enough for a solid hypothesis. So, y’know, first time him takin’ the primary and bein’ the one to do the presentation, that’s a big deal.”
Aramis suppressed a sigh and nodded. “That’s very sweet of you,” he said and ignored the glare Porthos gave him for being called ‘sweet’. “But not worth your health, and even our youngster saw the wisdom in that.”
Porthos grumbled something into his beard, then suddenly groaned and let his head fall into his hands. Alarmed, Aramis crouched down beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Headache? Dizzy?” he asked.
Porthos shook his head without lifting it. “No - well, yes, that too,” he finally said. “Just, we met on Friday to watch the game. Must have been me to get him sick when you’ve both been out of the office so much and you didn’t get sick. Aw, hell.”
Aramis could not suppress a small smile and ran his fingers through the dark curls. “Stop that,” he chided. “He might have picked it up anywhere else and any other time, and even if he did get it from you, it’s not your fault.”
Porthos made a small, miserable sound that tugged at Aramis’ heartstrings but nodded and raised his head again, wiping his hand over his face. “Guess I’ll just go lay down and try to sleep it off,” he said. “You should go back to Athos.”
“In a minute,” Aramis replied as he rose with him, keeping a hand on Porthos’ arm though he steadied almost immediately. Together, they made their way to the bedroom, and though Porthos undressed himself quickly and without help, he did not protest when Aramis all but tucked him in. Aramis felt his forehead - yep, there was a fever developing, no doubt about that - and left the room. A trip to the kitchen and bathroom later, he was back with a bowl he sat down next to the bed - just in case -, a glass of water and two aspirin he placed on the bedside table. “Alright, I’ll be back later to check on you,” he said while running his hand again through Porthos’ hair. “Sleep well and feel better soon, okay?”
Porthos gave him a sleepy smile and made a shooing motion. “I’ll be fine. Go help Athos not bein’ overrun by the criminal elements who don’ have the flu,” he said.
Aramis laughed, patted his head and left. Outside, he sighed and shrugged on his jacket. Time to go and be a police officer then, instead of playing nurse around here.
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flowers-creativity · 4 years
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An unfinished thing - Feb-whump-ary #2 - Broken bones
Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay, d’Artagnan (Charles) Warnings: Violence Summary: There’s no such thing as a routine mission ... Especially not when there’s unsafe terrain about.
Notes: I’m trying to take part in Feb-whump-ary (organised by @yuckwhump) but struggling. So just to get this out there and be able to concentrate on something else, here’s my piece for day 2, broken bones, in all its unpolished, incomplete glory. I might finish it later - for now, it’s just what it is.
They really needed to accept that there was no such thing as a routine mission, Athos thought sourly. Or else they needed to expand the definition to schedule in at least one ambush per mission. When was the last time they had made it home without being attacked once?
That was about all the time he had to think before his feet found the ground, dropping down from Roger's back, and his sword was already in his hand to begin its dance. He did not need to  look to know that to his right and left, his brothers did the same, after they had all loosened a shot at the attackers, two in Aramis' case. The first of the men found himself at the business end of Athos' blade, and the deadly dance began. 
Though his main attention was on his opponent - skilled but not overly so -, Athos attempted to maintain some overview over the group of attackers and his fellow Musketeers, made more difficult by the trees surrounding them and the craggy ground. d'Artagnan to his right seemed to have no trouble holding his own against two men, his own trademark whirlwind fighting style having been tempered and given direction in his months of tutelage under Athos. To his left, Aramis was fighting with his usual elegance and an air of enjoyment that was rather inappropriate for the situation. Athos could not resist the twitch of the corners of his mouth upwards in response, though. None of them could deny their love of a good fight, so maybe they should be grateful to the bandits for indulging them.
He frowned when he realised that he could not see Porthos. However, he picked up the sounds of clashing blades behind him, and after a short look behind his adversary to ensure no one else was coming at him from that direction, he quickly sidestepped and whirled around, forcing the other man to give ground and take a few steps back.
There! Porthos' unmistakable large frame loomed through the half-light beneath the trees as two attackers were coming at him from different directions. The Musketeer growled and drew his maine gauche, using both blades to block the slashes coming at him from left and right. Athos returned his attention to his own opponent, intent on finishing him off quickly to go help either Porthos or d'Artagnan. 
The man went on the offensive again, pushing roughly against their crossed blades until Athos had to take a step back. He bit back a curse and backed off to let the other's blade slip off his own, then turned his wrist and swung upwards. But the bandit pulled a main gauche and blocked the strike at his midsection. Athos frowned and adjusted his estimation of the man’s skill upwards by a notch. These didn’t seem to be run-of-the-mill bandits - were they after the papers the Musketeers were carrying?
He opened his mouth to ask the man he was fighting - not that he was seriously entertaining the hope to get an answer - but was interrupted by Aramis crying out: “Porthos!” His head flew up to look at where he had last seen his friend, and his heart froze at the sight: The two men Porthos had been fighting were closing rank before him and pressed forward, and the large Musketeer’s body bent backwards to evade the first sword thrust but the second found his side as he impossibly bent even further backwards. And then he was suddenly gone, as if the ground had swallowed him. Athos’ brain stuttered, struggling to comprehend what had happened, and he marshalled his thoughts back into line by willpower alone. One thing was clear: Porthos needed help.
He unleashed his worry for his brother and his fury like a storm against his opponent, and three strikes later, the man sank to the ground in a bloody heap. Athos withdrew his sword just as another man charged at him with an angry cry, and he recognised one of Porthos’ attackers. With a growl that would have made his friend proud, he met the man head-on, twisting his sword at the last minute to bind the blade coming at him, then pulling his main gauche and slashing out at the man’s throat with his left hand. A spray of blood hit his face, and the pressure against his sword vanished instantly but he barely registered it, already sprinting past the other man towards the spot where Porthos had vanished.
It was only his quick reflexes that saved him as his brain registered what had happened, and he skidded to stop himself on the loose forest soil and turned to throw himself sideways. He slid another few steps and grabbed desperately at a tree root to arrest his motion. With a jerk, he came to a stop, only his lower legs dangling over the edge of the ravine that had suddenly opened up before him.
Athos blew out a breath, then used his hold on the tree root to pull himself back on solid ground. Letting go, he turned back around and on his hands and knees, he approached the edge where the earth fell away. He leaned over and looked down. The forest’s light seemed to dim further down but with some squinting, he could make out the shape of a man just a few metres below him. There was no doubt that it was Porthos - Athos would have recognised his shape anywhere. But he was lying still, absolutely motionless, and Athos’ heart clenched with fear.
“Athos,” someone breathed out next to him, and then Aramis dropped down at his side. “Where--?” he started to ask but then seemed to catch sight of Porthos below them and broke off. “Is he--”
Athos bit down the sharp retort that sat at the tip of his tongue. “d’Artagnan?” he asked instead.
Aramis quickly looked back over his shoulder. “Finishing up,” he told him.
Athos nodded, then looked up and down the edge of the chasm cut into the forest floor. It was not deep, five or six metres perhaps, but an unlucky fall could still do untold damage. “We need a rope,” he told the marksman, and Aramis was on his feet in a flash, striding back towards where they had left the horses.
By the time he was back, d’Artagnan had joined them, breathing heavily as he sheathed his sword. “Where’s Porthos?” the young man asked. His eyes widened when Athos mutely pointed downwards. “Is he alive?!”
Athos hated that the only answer he could give was: “I don’t know.” He turned towards Aramis and gestured for him to hand over the rope he wore coiled over one shoulder. “We’ll lower you down,” he told him.
Aramis just nodded and gave Athos the rope, then accepted back one end and started tying it around his middle. Working quickly, they were letting him down into the ravine only moments later. It was another few tense moments until he called up: “I’ve reached the floor.”
Athos used the root that had previously been his saviour to tie off the rope, then fell to his knees next to d’Artagnan to look down on their friends below them. “How is he?”
Aramis was crouched at Porthos’ side, his hands searching for injuries as his eyes critically assessed the large man’s condition. At Athos’ question, he looked up and called curtly: “Alive.”
Athos breathed a sigh of relief. Alive was the most important thing, everything else was secondary. He could feel d’Artagnan practically vibrating with tension at his side but willed himself and their youngest to stay still until the medic had finished his examination.
Finally, Aramis sat back on his haunches and looked up at them again. “I think he broke a few bones - two ribs on his back and his right arm, a head wound and that sword wound in his side,” he listed. “Throw me down my kit so I can wrap the wounds, will you?”
d’Artagnan was on his feet immediately. “I’ll get it!” he called and disappeared.
Athos looked down again. Aramis had bent back over his friend, murmuring words too low for Athos to understand - if he was to guess, he was trying to rouse Porthos from his unconsciousness. “Aramis!” he called and waited for a moment to meet the sharpshooter’s gaze. “I’ll walk the edge of this thing and see if there is a better place for us to bring you two back up,” he informed him. Upon receiving his answering nod, he got to his feet and started off, letting his gaze wander from the bottom of the ravine to the trees lining its edge.
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 28
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 28
by sunshinehime
Shiro realizes he may have raised too much hell when a Galran guard and sentry approach his cell holding what looks to be a giant metal collar.
Words: 417, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 29 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: Gen
Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Original Galran Character(s)
Additional Tags: Collars, Punishment, Pre-Canon, Post-Kerberos Mission, Kerberos Mission, Captivity, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro (Voltron) Angst, Blood and Injury
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 28
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
by sunshinehime
“So gorgeous. A true work of art.” The Hartian sighs and gazes at his latest procurement, an absolutely stunning half-Galran specimen.
Words: 371, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 28 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Keith (Voltron), Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Muzzles, Aromantic Asexual Keith (Voltron), Season 1 or 2, Unrequited Lust, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Bondage, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Whumper POV, Creepy Whumper, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), whumper has a half Galra fetish
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 27
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 26
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 26
by sunshinehime
Kolivan and Keith share a cell, arms and legs bound behind them with cuffs connecting the limbs.
Words: 491, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 27 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: Gen
Characters: Keith (Voltron), Kolivan (Voltron), Original Galran Character(s)
Relationships: Keith & Kolivan (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Wetting, Broken Bones, Violence, can take place anytime between seasons 4 through 6, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 26
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 25
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 25
by sunshinehime
Nyma isn't bitter. Absolutely not. Not even a little.
Words: 499, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 26 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Nyma (Voltron), Original Characters
Additional Tags: Blindness, Permanent Injury, Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Canon, Betrayal, sort of non canon compliant, because Nyma is obviously not blind in canon, but I worked it to make it fit regardless, female whump
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 25
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 24
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 24
by sunshinehime
“Please, don’t hurt her okay? It’s not her fault, she just did what she had to do!”
Words: 468, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 24 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Lance (Voltron), Original Female Character(s), Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron)
Relationships: Lance (Voltron) & Original Female Character(s), Lance & Voltron Paladins, Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Shiro (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Past Violence, Starvation, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has a Clone, Shiro (Voltron) is a Good Friend, can take place anytime between seasons 4 through 6
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 24
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 23
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 23
by sunshinehime
At Lance’s panicked words, she looks down and the situation is slightly more dire than she realized.
Words: 447, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 23 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: Gen
Characters: Allura (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron)
Relationships: Allura & Hunk & Lance (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Stabbing, Blood and Injury, Poisoning, Allura (Voltron) Whump, female whump, Language, can take place anytime between seasons 4 through 6
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 23
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 22
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 22
by sunshinehime
One moment Lance is sniping sentry on some random Galra ship, trusting his team to protect his front, and the next he hears a frantic cry from Pidge before her comm shorts out.
Words: 461, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 22 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Lance (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Deafened, hearing loss, Explosions, Lance (Voltron) Whump, can take place pretty much any season, Language
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 22
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29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 20
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 20
by sunshinehime
As Keith packs away the cleaning supplies and takes off his face mask and gloves, there’s a strange fizzing sound before he’s plunged into darkness.
Words: 446, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 20 of 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge 2020
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Keith (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Phobias, lygophobia, Fear of Dark Places/Spaces, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Season 1 or 2
read it on the AO3 at 29 Day Feb-Whump-Ary Challenge: Day 20
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